On the Hunt Page 3

  “You know what Corky knows, Danny-boy. Maybe he’s pissed off the Magyars somehow. After you’ve found Mrs P, Corky’s gonna dig deeper into Prentiss Haulage. Loads deeper, but that ain’t happening ’til later. Okay? Corky can’t leave you without backup.”

  “Aw, does that mean you’re worried about me? Didn’t know you cared. Over.”

  “Nah. Just means Corky don’t want the blame if you gets hurt. Mr K and the doc will be pissed, and Corky wouldn’t want that.”

  Nemeth continuing to twitch and groan. A dark wet stain had spread across the front of his jeans and down the legs, but Danny couldn’t tell whether it was blood or urine. Probably a mixture of the two.

  Danny ripped out the miserable creature’s earpiece. He yanked the Hungarian’s right hand away from his groin and the left from his throat, turned him onto his front, and used the spiral-flex cable to tie them behind his back. Nemeth put up no resistance, but turned onto his side and curled into a foetal ball, mouth open and flapping for air. His face had turned a nasty shade of purple.

  “There’s something serious going on here, Corky. Driver ordered Nemeth around. He sounded like the boss. Must have a hell of a lot of juice to spring Nemeth from a Hungarian prison and transport him all the way to the UK. A hired hand like Nemeth wouldn’t be able to manage it on his own. As for how the bugger ended up at Prentiss House … Anyway, that’s for another time. I’m going in. Danny, out.”

  Danny wiped his feet on a welcome mat that actually said “Welcome” and reached for the lionhead handle on the door Nemeth used. He twisted the handle and leaned against the door. It opened as quietly as before. A wave of warmth wafted into his face. It smelled of lavender air freshener.

  Inside, the large entrance hall made Danny’s jaw drop. Straight ahead, a wide central staircase with marble treads split in two halfway up to the first floor. The walls were painted a cream colour so deep it might have been clotted Devon, and the flooring matched the one in the portico in both material and pattern.

  Oversized chess pieces, hip height, lined the walls. Major pieces only, no pawns. The four rooks—one in each corner—doubled as plant pots and contained what looked like plastic ferns. The knights had been converted into low-level lampstands complete with silk shades.

  The décor said something about the owners and about the designers who pandered to the whims of their clients, and nothing it said happened to be complimentary. The entrance hall could have made the set of Love Island.

  He grabbed Nemeth by the collar of his jacket and quickly dragged him into the house and across the hall. The groaning man’s leather shoes squeaked and left black scuffmarks on the chessboard tiles. He also left a thin trail of blood. If Robbie P and his missus employed a housekeeper or a cleaner, they’d have their work cut out to polish the floor back to a shine. Danny hauled Nemeth all the way around to the back of the hall and deposited him behind the staircase, out of sight.

  Danny stopped, listened. Heard nothing but the creaking of an old house being warmed by the rising sun. The entrance hall stood empty, all six internal doors were shut tight. Above him, the house remained quiet. No footfalls, no quiet conversations, no TV or radio.

  Silence.

  Focusing on the ground floor, Danny used the memorised architect’s plans to picture what lay behind each closed door. From left to right in a circle: office, downstairs cloakroom, kitchen—the double doors of the entrance—dining room, front room, and, finally, the sun room which overlooked the rear gardens.

  He hesitated, trying to decide where to go first.

  Fuck’s sake, Danny. Move!

  The front room would be as good a place as any.

  He hurried across the hall, skirted the staircase, and paused outside the door. He pressed an ear to the panel and held his breath. A quiet whimpering.

  He knocked gently. The whimpering stopped.

  Silence trundled through the house once more. Even Nemeth had stopped his pitiful and evermore feeble whining.

  Chapter Three

  Wednesday 3rd May – Danny Pinkerton

  Amber Valley, Derbyshire, UK

  After receiving no answer, Danny knocked again and entered a room large enough to house a basketball court, but without the benches. Every piece of furniture in the room faced a curved TV the size of a multiplex cinema screen. Throw rugs, soft furnishings, upholstery, walls. The overarching colour pallet was green—subtle tones a-plenty. If the entrance hall held all the charm and comfort of a modern railway station, this room was tasteful and felt almost homely by comparison.

  Bright sunlight flooded through a triple row of bifold doors, one of which was open, allowing the sage green curtains to billow into the chilly room.

  An enormous, six-seater sofa dominated the space in front of the TV. Cowering in the far corner, surrounded by half a dozen throw cushions and hugging a stuffed toy—a brown-and-yellow-spotted giraffe—Marian Prentiss turned towards him.

  The dark bruises beneath her bloodshot eyes still looked angry and painful, her nose still protected by a metal splint brace. She looked at Danny with disinterest. Her reaction to a total stranger entering her front room couldn’t have been more surprising, or disconcerting.

  Rather than shout and scream at his intrusion, she returned her eyes to the TV’s muted screen. The programme—a man and a woman sitting on a red sofa, chatting—typified the blandness that was daytime scheduling.

  Danny stepped further into the room, but kept a decent separation between them for fear of spooking her.

  “Mrs Prentiss?” he asked quietly.

  She turned her head to study at him once more. Confusion on her damaged face turned to vague recognition.

  “Who … Do I know you?” The husky and nasal tone to her voice confirmed that her injury still had quite some healing to do.

  “No,” he said, shaking his head. “At least, we’ve not actually been formally introduced.”

  “What … do you want now?” Although she tried to hide it, the poor woman couldn’t mask the fear tainting her voice.

  “Nothing, I’m here to help.”

  “That’s what he said. At first.”

  “Who?”

  Marian shot a frightened glance at the door before lowering her eyes. She hugged the giraffe tighter as though seeking its comfort and protection. Another gust of chill wind billowed the curtains and raised goosepimples on her bare arms. She didn’t seem to notice.

  “Vadik.”

  “The one driving the Range Rover?”

  Slowly, suspicion in her eyes, she dipped her head in a nod. “Yes.”

  “Who is he?”

  “Don’t you know? You work for him!”

  “No, Mrs Prentiss. No, I don’t.”

  She frowned and her lower lip trembled. Tears dripped from the bloodshot eyes and ran down the outside of the splint. She licked them away from her chapped lips.

  “Are you okay?”

  “As if you care!”

  Finally, an appropriate reaction. Anger. Fitting, but misdirected.

  “I do care, Mrs Prentiss. That’s why I’m here.”

  She looked past Danny and towards the open door he’d entered through. “Where’s … where’s the other one?”

  “Csaba Nemeth?”

  She frowned and sucked air through her teeth, wincing at the movement. “No one told me his name. Evil man. An animal.”

  “Big guy. Ugly, covered in tattoos?”

  Again, she shot a glance at the open door.

  “Y-Yes. Him.”

  “Did he do that to you?” Danny raised a hand to indicate her injuries.

  The breath caught in her throat. She pressed her lips together, nodded.

  “You know he did.”

  I know for definite now.

  The wind blew another blast of cold air into the lounge. Danny rushed to the other side of the room and pushed the central hinge on the bifold doors. They swished on pneumatic tracks and closed with a satisfying click. He drew back the curtains
and the room brightened even more. All the while, he felt Marian’s eyes boring into the back of his head. Yet, still she didn’t move. She seemed resigned to his presence.

  “That’s better,” he said, rubbing his hands together. “Bitter in here.”

  He returned to his original place near the door, giving her a wide berth. No crowding. At any moment, she could start screaming. The last thing Danny needed.

  “Nemeth and I had a ‘free and frank exchange of views’. He won’t hurt you again.”

  She clamped her jaw closed and grimaced. The injury wasn’t confined to her nose and eyes, but extended to the side of her face. The swelling too.

  “I don’t believe you.”

  “Nemeth’s out of action. I promise.”

  “Vadik said that, too. He’s a liar.”

  She jumped to her feet and scrambled away, keeping the settee between them, another line of defence to augment the protection offered by the little giraffe.

  “Who are you?” she demanded, her voice raised, almost shouting.

  Danny lifted his arms, hands open in an attempt to placate. “I’m a friend, Mrs Prentiss. Here to help. Really.”

  She pointed to the open doorway. “And him?”

  “I told you, there’s no need to worry about Nemeth. He’s not going to hurt you again. Won’t be able hurt anyone for a while.”

  She lowered the giraffe slightly. “Really?”

  Danny dipped his head. “He’s behind the staircase in the hall, tied up, and in no condition to go anywhere. I promise.” He smiled gently, encouragingly. “Go see for yourself if you like.”

  Her knees buckled. She grabbed the back of the settee, teetering on the edge of collapse for a moment before straightening.

  “You’re lying! I-I don’t believe you. This is some sort of trick. A sick joke.”

  Still smiling gently, Danny shook his head. “No tricks. No jokes. Stay there a sec. I’ll be right back. I need to check on our tattooed ‘friend’ anyway.”

  He took the mobile from his pocket and hurried out of the room, which was just as well. Csaba Nemeth had made something of a miraculous recovery. Danny found him sitting upright and leaning against the wall behind the staircase, struggling to push himself to his feet.

  On seeing Danny, the Hungarian redoubled his efforts to stand. The soles of his leather shoes squeaked on the tiles and he slid up the wall and onto his feet. A stream of words spewed from his bloodied and battered mouth. Danny didn’t need to speak Hungarian to understand their meaning. He raced towards the bound man and kicked him in the nuts again.

  Third time’s a dream.

  Nemeth’s rant ended abruptly. The tattooed man doubled up, collapsed to his knees, and bent forwards, forehead connecting with the tiles. Danny’s follow-up boot to the temple ended all resistance. It probably ended Nemeth, too. Not that it mattered. Although kicking a man in the head when he was bound and helpless might have offended the Marquess of Queensberry, Danny didn’t give a shit. Given the opportunity, he’d have offered every paedophile on the planet the same treatment. Men who beat up women, too.

  Without bothering to check the pulse at the downed man’s throat—dead or alive, it didn’t matter—Danny raised his mobile.

  “Say ‘cheese’, old man.” He pressed the button and the image of the pathetic, curled blob of a man saved to the camera roll. “Oh, not to worry. A smile won’t improve the picture a whole lot.”

  He returned to Marian and showed her the photo. She burst into tears—these seemed like tears of relief. Danny again stepped back to his spot by the door and waited for her to recover. It didn’t take more than a few seconds before she’d quietened enough to look up at him again.

  “Are … are you from the police?” she asked, a tremble in her voice.

  “No, Mrs Prentiss. I’m just here to help.”

  “One of Robbie’s friends?” Again, she frowned. This time, a grimace didn’t follow it. Adrenaline must have been masking the discomfort.

  “No, Mrs Prentiss. Your husband and I have never met.”

  “You’re not one of them? Really?”

  “I swear. Is there anyone else in the house besides the two of us and the cretin with the tattoos?”

  “No.” She showed him the ghost of a smile.

  He took a speculative step forwards, watching for a response. She didn’t flinch. He moved closer. Again, she held her place behind the settee.

  “Would you mind?” he asked and pointed to the cushion closest to him. “You and I need to talk.”

  She shuffled to the front of the settee but made no move to sit.

  “It’ll be more comfortable if we sit,” Danny said quietly. “You stay on that side. I’ll keep my distance waaaaay over here.” He added a cheesy grin.

  The woman, who turned out not to be a battered wife, tugged a sweater from the arm of the settee and draped it over her bare shoulders before lowering herself tentatively into the corner of the leather unit. Once surrounded by the comforting cushions, she crossed her long legs.

  Questions raced through his head, demanding answers, but she needed time to settle. Pushing her too hard too soon would most likely be counterproductive.

  Marian took a deep, stuttering breath and looked him up and down, studying hard.

  “I-I’ve seen you somewhere before. I … know it. If you’re not one of Robbie’s friends or … one of them”—she glanced towards the entrance hallway—“who are you?”

  “My name is Danny,” he said, starting with an easy one. “Danny Pinkerton, but if you ever call me Pinkie, I’ll be most upset.” Again, he smiled. “If I look familiar, it’s because you saw me … yesterday afternoon. Outside the Aspire Hospital. Remember the accident? The traffic jam?”

  He paused to give her time to remember.

  “My God!” Her hand reached up to her throat. “The hitchhiker covered in mud and … blood. We barely spoke. What are you doing here?”

  Danny took a deep breath before launching into the story. This part could easily become a little sticky.

  “I saw your injuries and your reaction when the driver reached across you. You were really scared. I thought the driver was your husband.” He shrugged and grimaced in apology. “When you drove away, I memorised your car’s number plate. A friend of mind has access to the DVLC database and—”

  “You thought Robbie was driving the car?”

  “A reasonable assumption at the time. Your husband’s the registered owner and the Range Rover is really … Well, I didn’t think he’d let anyone borrow such an expensive piece of machinery. I put two and two together and came up with—”

  “Five,” she said, almost as a sigh. “You assumed I was a battered wife? Well you were wrong. Dead wrong. Robbie wasn’t driving, and he didn’t hit me. He would never hit me. Not ever.”

  Danny cast his mind back to the previous day. It had been raining heavily, and the Range Rover’s tinted windows made it difficult to see inside to the driver.

  He’d so misread the situation.

  “An easy mistake,” he said. “I’ll apologise to your husband when you introduce me, but …. can you tell me what’s happening here?”

  “You won’t believe me. This is a nightmare. It’s going to sound like the plot of a gangster movie.”

  “Try me.”

  “Robbie and I are being held against our will.”

  “That,” Danny said, feeling the weight of the Beretta in his jacket pocket, “I’ve already gathered.”

  “Right, yes, of course. Erm, well … two nights ago,” she began, speaking to the giraffe, “Robbie returned from w-work with two armed men. I’d never seen either of them before. R-Robbie told me they intercepted him on the way from the d-depot.” She stopped talking, swallowed, and looked up at Danny. “Robbie runs a haulage company. It’s based in Derby.”

  Danny nodded but didn’t tell her that he probably knew as much about her husband’s business as she did.

  She took another deep breath and continue
d, her voice growing stronger all the time. “Robbie said they forced him into the back of his car and drove him here. When they arrived we thought they were going to rob and maybe kill us, but they just kept us here … in this room … at gunpoint. At first, they said nothing. Wouldn’t answer any of our questions. Just stood there”—she pointed to where Danny had stood when he’d entered the room—“aiming their guns at us. Terrifying. I-I … soiled myself.” Her chin trembled and she lowered her eyes to the soft toy again.

  “That’s natural. Nothing to be ashamed of,” he spoke quietly, trying to offer comfort.

  Marian nodded. “I know, but … the one outside … Nemeth … he laughed at me. Humiliated me. Robbie wanted to fight them, but they had the guns. It was useless.”

  She broke off. A tissue appeared in her hand and she dabbed gently at the tears.

  “Is that when Nemeth hit you?”

  “No. No. I asked … b-begged the other one, the one who introduced himself as Vadik Pataki. The one who took Robbie away this morning. I-I asked him if I could have a shower and get changed. He said no. Then his mobile phone rang. He left the room to take the call while the other one, Nemeth, guarded us. Five minutes later, he returned and said I could change. Nemeth took me upstairs to my room. The way he l-looked at me … I-I thought he was going to … to …”

  She broke down again. This time, wracking sobs accompanied the tears. Danny wanted to reach out in comfort, but it didn’t seem appropriate. He waited, giving her more time.

  He checked his watch. 08:47. Still early. Wherever Robbie P had gone, wherever Vadik Pataki had forced him to go, they wouldn’t be away forever—hopefully. Danny needed to speed things along, but couldn’t force the issue.

  Slowly the sobs quietened. Eventually, they stopped. Watery eyes found Danny’s.

  “Sorry,” she said, “it’s embarrassing. I never cry. Not ever. But this is … this situation is ….” She took another deep but fragmented breath.

  “Are you okay to continue?”

  Although she nodded and said, “Y-Yes, I think so,” she fell silent again.

  “Nemeth took you upstairs?” Danny prompted.