Safe No Longer Read online

  ALSO BY GAYLE CURTIS

  I Choose You

  Too Close

  Memory Scents

  Shell House

  Wilfred, Fanny & Floyd: Autobiographical Sketches of a Culinary Genius

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, organizations, places, events, and incidents are either products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events is purely coincidental.

  Text copyright © 2020 by Gayle Curtis

  All rights reserved.

  No part of this book may be reproduced, or stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise, without express written permission of the publisher.

  Published by Thomas & Mercer, Seattle

  www.apub.com

  Amazon, the Amazon logo, and Thomas & Mercer are trademarks of Amazon.com, Inc., or its affiliates.

  ISBN-13: 9781542008204

  ISBN-10: 1542008204

  Cover design by Heike Schüssler

  For Nicki and Martin, Fiona and Arnie

  CONTENTS

  START READING

  CHAPTER ONE

  CHAPTER TWO

  CHAPTER THREE

  CHAPTER FOUR

  CHAPTER FIVE

  CHAPTER SIX

  CHAPTER SEVEN

  CHAPTER EIGHT

  CHAPTER NINE

  CHAPTER TEN

  CHAPTER ELEVEN

  CHAPTER TWELVE

  CHAPTER THIRTEEN

  CHAPTER FOURTEEN

  CHAPTER FIFTEEN

  CHAPTER SIXTEEN

  CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

  CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

  CHAPTER NINETEEN

  CHAPTER TWENTY

  CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE

  CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO

  CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE

  CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR

  CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE

  CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX

  CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN

  CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT

  CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE

  CHAPTER THIRTY

  CHAPTER THIRTY-ONE

  CHAPTER THIRTY-TWO

  CHAPTER THIRTY-THREE

  CHAPTER THIRTY-FOUR

  CHAPTER THIRTY-FIVE

  CHAPTER THIRTY-SIX

  CHAPTER THIRTY-SEVEN

  CHAPTER THIRTY-EIGHT

  CHAPTER THIRTY-NINE

  CHAPTER FORTY

  CHAPTER FORTY-ONE

  CHAPTER FORTY-TWO

  CHAPTER FORTY-THREE

  CHAPTER FORTY-FOUR

  CHAPTER FORTY-FIVE

  CHAPTER FORTY-SIX

  CHAPTER FORTY-SEVEN

  CHAPTER FORTY-EIGHT

  CHAPTER FORTY-NINE

  CHAPTER FIFTY

  CHAPTER FIFTY-ONE

  CHAPTER FIFTY-TWO

  CHAPTER FIFTY-THREE

  CHAPTER FIFTY-FOUR

  CHAPTER FIFTY-FIVE

  CHAPTER FIFTY-SIX

  CHAPTER FIFTY-SEVEN

  CHAPTER FIFTY-EIGHT

  CHAPTER FIFTY-NINE

  CHAPTER SIXTY

  CHAPTER SIXTY-ONE

  CHAPTER SIXTY-TWO

  CHAPTER SIXTY-THREE

  CHAPTER SIXTY-FOUR

  CHAPTER SIXTY-FIVE

  ACKNOWLEDGMENTS

  ABOUT THE AUTHOR

  Most of the locals called him The Raven or The Tramp, depending on what capacity they knew him in, due to the many occasions he slept in the rafters of Thorpe St Faith’s church on Blue Green Square, or out in the open during the summer months.

  Amos Geraint Browne was his full name. Very few people knew that about him. They were also unaware that he had a Cambridge degree and had worked as a copyeditor for the Telegraph before his world shuddered like a small earthquake, tilting his life on its axis until it finally settled, leaving a huge crack running through it.

  Earlier that night, Amos had stumbled through the centre of the village square after it had fallen asleep following the bank holiday celebrations. It was littered with drink cans, screwed-up napkins, food wrappers and fag butts. Amos wasn’t interested in any of that: he didn’t smoke or take drugs, and he limited alcohol to the bitterly cold nights in the rafters of the old building. Sometimes he would find shelter in the graveyard – it felt marginally warmer outside than in the draughty church, with its high ceilings, arctic stone floors and expanse of chilled glass. Even so, he was grateful for the roof that protected him from all weathers during times when his mental health took a dip. These moments had been more frequent lately, and the only solace he seemed to find was in the confines of this particular sanctuary.

  Amos located what he was looking for. His stomach lurched and grumbled at the sight of the half-eaten food on the few tables outside the Drum and Monkey. It was the place to be whenever there was a bank holiday and, being the last one of the summer, Jan the landlord had laid on live music and a barbecue. On one of the far tables there was a plate that looked like it hadn’t been eaten from, but it wouldn’t be the first time Amos had seen a mirage in the desert. He stepped cautiously towards it – a double bacon cheeseburger with chips, the pub’s speciality, and homemade coleslaw and salad. One bite had been taken out of the bun, but apart from that, it was untouched. Amos slid on to the bench and placed one hand over the food, feeling it beneath his palm. Confirming it was real and not a figment in the desolate land of food scraps he usually experienced, he set about the plate, giving not one care to any manners he might have been taught as a child. Some moments later he sat up, stretching his stomach, which always pained him when he ate anything substantial. He ended his stretch and rested his elbows on the table, glancing around to see if anyone was about, but all the revellers had left hours ago. The only movement was the gentle breeze whispering through the dry leaves of the trees that lined Blue Green Square. There weren’t many nights Amos didn’t venture from the church during the dead man’s hour to wander around the square and find somewhere to sit and watch the stars, or the wildlife that dared to creep around before daybreak. He loved this time of night when there was no one around – peace at last from all the noise he usually had to listen to.

  That’s when he saw the young boy lying beneath the oak tree in the middle of the green. He was facing away from Amos, towards the church. His bright white hands, tied behind him, looked like a cluster of little crabs as they shone in the darkness of the night. It was a trick, a silly bank holiday prank, it had to be. Amos crept slowly around the tree until he was facing the child, and that’s when he recognised the boy. Rooted to the spot, unable to move or breathe for some moments, Amos stared at Raymond Hammond. He looked around again but there wasn’t a soul about, not one light on in the ocean-dark panes of glass that made up the windows of the houses surrounding the green. Amos sat down on the dew-bejewelled grass, his eyes locked on the boy he knew to be his son. Not many people knew this fact; it was something Amos and Kristen had managed to keep hidden from the glaring eyes of the town. Raymond and his best friend Cara often played in the churchyard where Amos liked to sit on warmer days. They would chat to him, share their sweets, and he felt privileged they wanted to spend time with him, when most people tended to avoid him.

  Some minutes later, Amos stood up. There was a rucksack lying against the gnarled trunk of the tree. He felt like he was gliding towards it. He unzipped the bag and emptied the contents on to the grass: a couple of DVDs, a can of Vimto, some chocolate bars and bags of crisps. There was still something else in the rucksack, and when Amos reached in, he found a small hoody, neatly folded. He smelt it, taking in the scent of fabric conditioner, a long-ago luxury for him, and felt something drop to the ground. It was an old Action Man, its dirty blond fuzzy curls peeling
away from the plastic skull. It was scuffed on the arms, and the army trousers looked like they had once belonged to another doll – they were slightly too short in the leg, and the waistband had been re-sewn. Apart from the hooded sweatshirt, he placed everything back in the bag along with the Action Man and laid it against a nearby oak tree.

  Amos observed Raymond for a few moments, then he leant forward and pulled Raymond towards him, as tears trickled down his face. Reaching into his pocket, he found his penknife and cut at the cable ties holding the boy’s hands behind his back. Then, slowly and carefully, he pulled the boy’s sweatshirt on over his head, not wanting him to get cold, slipping each arm through the sleeves, kissing his curled hands as they appeared.

  Zipping up his own coat and pulling up his hood to protect himself from the chilly air of the small hours, Amos collected Raymond into his arms, holding his body close, and began walking back towards the church. It had been an unfavourably hot summer, but as the month had slipped towards September, the nights were turning colder.

  Inside the church, sitting on the altar, Amos laid Raymond down and cried inconsolably, his heart aching so hard that he pressed his fist into his chest, then bit his knuckles, trying desperately to transfer the pain. Thoughts he’d often had of wrapping a rope around his neck and plunging himself from the rafters towards the cold stone floor seeped into his mind, stronger than ever now that the one purpose in his life had been snatched from him.

  Amos prayed for a miracle – but, lifting Raymond up again, he could feel his son’s body turning colder in his arms. He got to his feet and carried him from the church, laying him to rest where he’d first fallen asleep.

  CHAPTER ONE

  Someone was banging on the back door at Rachel’s house, rattling the glass along with her nerves. When she peered out of the window, she saw Jason pulling at the handle.

  ‘You never lock up, what’s wrong with you?’ he snapped, pushing past her and walking into the lounge. ‘I told you to behave normally.’

  ‘Sorry, I’m a bit shaky. I can’t seem to calm myself down.’

  ‘You have to. Is Cara here?’

  ‘Upstairs, listening to music.’ Rachel went over to the window and closed it.

  Jason collapsed on to the sofa. ‘Have you explained what’s going to happen?’

  The air was stifling, so she reopened the window and the patio doors. ‘Kind of. She just thinks she’s going away for a while and she mustn’t tell anyone.’

  ‘Oh, great, well, that clears everything up. Bloody hell, Rachel.’

  ‘What do you want me to say to her? You’re going to be kidnapped tomorrow but it’s not real, you just have to play along?’ She glared at him. ‘I’m a teacher, for fuck’s sake, do you know what I stand to lose if this goes wrong?’

  ‘I’m taking just as many risks as you. If you’re getting cold feet, just tell me and we can forget about it all.’

  Rachel tipped her head to one side, like it was the most stupid thing he could ever say. ‘Of course I’m worried about it – I can’t think about anything else. But I can’t see any other solution. Cara simply isn’t moving any further forward at the club.’

  ‘Look,’ he said, ‘it’s a no-brainer. For God’s sake, pull yourself together. You know Cara’s safe with me.’

  ‘I’m just unsure of what’s going to happen afterwards. The police will be all over the place.’ Rachel began pacing the room, her nerves getting the better of her again. She swayed from it being a great idea to an absurd one and back again, every few minutes. ‘Bloody hell, Jason, this is too big. We can’t do this, it’s madness, a stupid idea. If we get caught . . .’

  ‘Make sure we don’t then.’ He stood up and forced her on to the sofa. ‘What’s the big deal? Cara’s just going on a little holiday, and while she’s away we’re going to be on Adrian Player’s radar. He’ll jump on this.’ His voice was softer now. ‘She’s one of his gymnasts and he loves getting involved in major news stories. It’ll make him look really good. He’ll give us whatever we want. And imagine the money we’ll rake in along the way.’

  ‘But we can’t hide her forever. How, where and when is she going to be found?’

  ‘It’s fine, I’ve been working out the details. She’ll turn up somewhere, not knowing where she’s been or who with. She’s a good girl, she’ll do what we ask her. She might need a little help along the way . . .’

  ‘What do you mean?’ Rachel searched Jason’s face, wondering if she knew him at all these days and what had caused him to change. She had always believed he was close to Adrian Player, but it seemed to her now that all he wanted to do was get back at Adrian and she didn’t know why.

  Jason moved on to the sofa next to her and rested his elbows on his knees, linking his fingers together. ‘We might have to give her some sedatives, just to keep her calm, in case she gets worried about anything.’

  ‘No way, absolutely not,’ she said. ‘You are not drugging my daughter to get her to do what you want.’

  ‘Listen to yourself. You’re agreeing for your daughter to be kidnapped, but you’re outraged at the thought of her having some sedatives to help her sleep. She won’t be used to my flat, so they’ll stop her feeling homesick or getting in a panic. Loads of people give their children a mild sedative, you know that.’

  ‘It doesn’t mean I agree with it. I don’t like the sound of this at all.’ Rachel stood up again and walked over to the patio doors, enjoying the faint breeze that drifted through her hair and around her neck.

  ‘Just think of the position we’ll be in,’ Jason said. ‘You’re always saying how fed up you are with the humdrum. You’ll be on the television – not just rubbing shoulders with Adrian Player, but all sorts of influential people. Imagine what it’ll do for Cara’s future in gymnastics. She’ll be noticed again and receive better training. You’re doing this for her, that’s what you must focus on.’

  Rachel pushed her hands into the pockets of her shorts and turned to look at him. She couldn’t deny the entire package was really attractive. She recalled the first time she’d found out that Cara had been talent-spotted by Adrian Player. The recognition Cara had received had changed them both overnight, as it felt like the prospect of fame was just within reach. All at once there was life after Howard. She discovered a heady new confidence. But, lately, she’d felt like it was all slipping away, as new, younger talent was being chosen for the exclusive club. There was less contact with Adrian, leaving her feeling like she was at sea, drifting away from a large boat filled with people she aspired to be.

  ‘We will go ahead with this,’ she said, ‘but on the condition you don’t use any drugs on Cara, and that’ – he moved over to her and grabbed her hands, trying to interrupt her – ‘and that – listen to me, Jason – and that at any time I say it has to stop, you respect my wishes.’

  ‘Of course. I promise, you won’t be sorry, Rachel. It’s going to work perfectly. I know what I’m doing.’

  ‘It didn’t work out too well for that woman who drugged and hid her child under someone’s bed, did it? She went to prison.’

  ‘Forget her, she was an idiot. All I need you to do is act like a woman whose daughter has been abducted. Say as little as possible and don’t overdo the waterworks.’ Jason stepped outside the patio doors and lit a cigarette, offering one to Rachel, but she waved it away with her hand. She’d throw up if she smoked. ‘I was thinking, maybe you could do some research on fundraising campaigns. You know, find a tag that represents Cara, so people raise money, start crowdfunding on social media. Not immediately – give it a week or so, when we’ve got Adrian involved.’

  ‘Let’s just get the first part over with,’ Rachel said, still unsure of the whole plan. When Jason enthused about the ridiculous idea, it seemed real and achievable, like what they were doing wasn’t that huge. But when she was alone, lying in bed, unable to sleep, she swayed from it being a great idea to an absurd one, and by the time the morning light pierced the gap in the curtains, sh
e’d talked herself out of it.

  ‘It’s just a tiny step into a whole new life. This is completely within our reach; I can feel it. We just need to take what we deserve. Trust me, it’s going to be fine.’

  Rachel nodded, taking a deep breath. She did trust him; in some ways he was her best friend. They had the same thoughts and opinions, wanted the same things, and above all they understood one another. She’d known him for years – he’d worked with her husband when they’d both been in the police force – and he’d been a great comfort to her after Howard had gone.

  ‘Do me one favour.’ Jason finished his cigarette and flicked it into the flowerbeds.

  ‘What?’

  ‘Stop chasing after Dean Grayson. It’s creepy.’

  CHAPTER TWO

  The following day, Rachel drove Cara to Adrian’s private gym, trying to calm the fluttering nerves inside her stomach. The car stalled before Rachel was able to coordinate her foot to place it on the clutch and, yet again, she hadn’t pulled up close enough to the intercom. She didn’t bother to restart it; instead, she wrenched the handbrake on like she was lifting a large bag of bricks. Ignoring Cara tutting beside her, she stepped out of the car and approached the imposing iron gates leading to the gymnasium and pressed the buzzer, pushing her face up against the screen.

  ‘You don’t need to get out of the car!’ a voice rasped. ‘You just drive up to the gates, reach out of the window and flash your ID card.’

  ‘Is Jason in?’ Rachel shouted. ‘I need to speak to him. Can you ask him to come out?’ There was no answer and she leant forward to say something else but then hesitated and just stared at the screen, cringing at her ineptness.

  She recognised the voice as belonging to one of the personal trainers at the gym. Most of them were moody and exasperated; she put it down to all the steroids they took. Rachel didn’t care – the novelty of working there still hadn’t worn off. She was a full-time teacher at one of the local high schools but had jumped at the opportunity to work at Adrian Player’s exclusive gym at weekends. She had to manage the reception on Saturdays and was often asked to give some of the children lifts there on Sundays, and to try-outs or competitions at other gymnasiums across the country.