Runaway Girl

There was slight shuffling noise on the other side of the hall. Someone was moving about very quietly. Then a whispered voice said the magic words, ‘push paper through again Tasha.’ I did and of course this time the key appeared as I gently pulled the paper back into my room. In a trice I had unlocked my bedroom door. In the gloom, I recognized my beautiful friend Sonia standing in the shadows just along the corridor. She put her finger to her lips and beckoned to me. I followed her to the bend where it joined the main upstairs hall. We peeped round the corner and then she pointed to the stairs that went up to the attic. I’d never been up there before because there was a door which was always closed. I’d assumed it must be locked. ‘That’s been our escape route if anything ever went wrong,’ she whispered. ‘We explored it ages ago. That door not locked and inside there is window in roof… you should be able to escape. That’s all I tell you. Now get things immediately and go. Good luck, Tasha. Remember, I know nothing.’ Then she slipped noiselessly down the main corridor and was gone. All I grabbed from my room was some money, a change of clothes and my old holdall. I remembered to lock my bedroom door and take the key with me to give me a bit of a breathing space in case the men arrived during the next few minutes. Any delay to their movements would be a help. Then I crept up those creaky attic stairs, my heart in my mouth all over again as I imagined that every noise made by my feet would alert Giorgio to my movements. But I was lucky and reached the top without anyone noticing, and went through. Again I closed the attic door so that hopefully they wouldn’t immediately guess that this was how I had got out of the building. I soon saw that Sonia was right. The only window was a small velox pitched about five feet above the floor. There was no chair or item of furniture to help me climb up to it so I just had to grab the bottom bar of the window and the surrounding rafters and keep trying to pull myself up. Once again my skinny body came in useful and I eventually managed to get a hold while I struggled to undo the latch. My arms were killing me and I was just thinking that at any moment my hold would loosen and I would fall to the floor with a tremendous noise when the window opened. Now I was able to find a firmer grasp by holding onto the window edge and then lever myself up. In a few seconds I was staring out at the miles of rooftops, chimney pots, TV aerials, telephone wires, satellite dishes, roof gardens and skyscrapers that spread across London. I pulled myself onto the sloping part of the roof and closed the velox behind me but not before I heard the sound of several pairs of heavy shoes scrabbling up the stairs and into the hall one floor below me. I clambered down the slope as silently as I could till I reached the flat part of the roof that ran along the back and left side of the house. I reckoned that with luck I might have all of two minutes before they worked out where I had gone and came chasing after me. I knew I had to be quick. But while I was struggling to escape from my room it must have rained again because the tiles and roof spaces were slippery and they shone in the late afternoon light. If I didn’t take care I could easily trip and fall to the ground so saving the thugs the job of killing me. The strong wind didn’t make my job any easier either. And which path across the roof space in front of me should I take? If there was a map for roof top living I certainly didn’t have it on me. But it didn’t take more than five seconds to realize I had no choice…. ** DS Bridges was slowly freezing to death. Several times she had turned on her car’s engine for some life-saving heat. But she wanted to avoid drawing attention to her presence if at all possible. For one thing, this was a sleepy cul-de-sac containing only around forty houses. And for another, most of the other parked cars wore aging registration plates but hers was a brash, bright red coupé, scarcely a year old. This was her second day to keep watch on the house in Lower Market Street. She had carefully situated her car on the opposite side from the house and around five doors down so that she was parked almost at the blocked end of the road. From here she had an excellent view, helped by some standard police binoculars. This kind of duty had never been one she had relished so she had brought her laptop. In between keeping watch she investigated the ownership history of Giorgio’s former house. By twelve her coffee flask was empty, the salad sandwiches she had made that morning and the last piece of fruit had all long been eaten. She was also in danger of running out of cigarettes. She closed her laptop and decided to wait till one o’clock and then give up her vigil. So far she hadn’t tried to find a resident who might be willing to host a permanent camera. From what she had observed of the comings and goings along the street, it seemed unlikely they would find someone with a young family or an elderly long-term person who would welcome a camera’s presence in their upstairs bedroom. And the others she had observed seemed more likely to refuse help, if asked. However, could she bear yet another long morning stint? Perhaps, despite all the difficulties, tomorrow they would have to take the bull by the horns and try to find a home for their camera. That was, assuming they continued with this part of their investigation. Earlier that morning it had suddenly hit her that once the gang did return and discovered Giorgio’s body was gone they would instantly realize that their anonymity and cover were at least partly blown. But, so too, would be their own. She wondered whether Hassan had quite worked this out yet. Till now, their great advantage had been that the gang were almost certainly unaware their activities had been rumbled. On the other hand, once they opened the house, the gang couldn’t be sure exactly how much the police knew. If Tasha had disappeared into runaway-land and had not talked to anyone then the gang’s worst nightmare might be avoided since the police might have stumbled across Giorgio but not necessarily anything concerning the real nature of their activities. Yet, surely they would realize that someone had informed the police of what had happened at 19, Lower Market Street and if it wasn’t Tasha it must have been Sonia or Vera. Or perhaps Evelina who remained under their control. In this scenario the gang could hope either that the girls had no real knowledge of their kidnapping scheme or that they were too frightened to tell the police what they know because of their own illegal situation and possible complicity. Yet, however you looked at the situation, any advantage she and Hassan might gain from identifying and following those gang members who arrived at the house had to be weighed in the balance against their inevitable losses. At twelve-thirty she had just lit her fourth cigarette of the day. As she was winding down the passenger window by a fraction to evict some of the smoke, she saw a medium-sized green transit van turning into the top end of the road. Immediately she closed the window and held her breath as the van cruised along the street. Where would it stop? It swerved to the right and finally parked just a few yards down from number 19. Once the van was stationary and situated only forty or so yards from where she was sitting, she could see that its registration number appeared to be painted onto a temporary plate tied to the van’s front with rope. A sure sign of crooked activities, she mused. Nothing happened for a minute. Then two men emerged from the cab, opened the front gate of Giorgio’s house, mounted the steps and began unlocking the door. Grabbing her camera she clicked away during the precious few seconds before they moved inside. She phoned Hassan…