‘Flat on your back, pull the branches over you.’
Simon did as he was told with an urgency he did not feel. The police helicopter was starting to circle the surrounding area, flying low. In a few minutes, they would be right over the dyke in which he and Will were concealed – and pretty well concealed, he thought – but if the crew caught sight of anything resembling men on the run, as per their instructions, they would not drop down further to investigate. Only one or two police would know the score but the helicopter crew would be included in that and made aware that one of the escapees was working undercover, though they would have been given no further information. They would make a great show of searching, and then buzz off.
It was unpleasant in the ditch, the vegetation scratching their arms and faces, the mud and slime at the bottom rank-smelling as they disturbed it. It was close, and humid, and another twenty minutes before the helicopter went out of their hearing. They waited quarter of an hour before Will said he felt it was safe to move on. Another hour of trudging and crawling slowly along and he stopped and turned his head.
‘OK, in about a hundred yards, we climb out of here and make a short dash skirting the side of the field, to a crown of trees. Not many of those around here and I’ve had it marked out. We won’t be seen in there, the foliage is pretty dense and the grass is high round the edge. We hole out there until dark. Then we’ll make our way about five miles to a farm. The house is empty but the stables are in use. That’s the next hiding place.’
‘You seem to know all this like the back of your hand.’
‘I do … and what I don’t know I’ve mapped out for weeks – months. Only worry is if they use night-flying helicopters with thermal-imaging cameras but those will pick up horses and with luck we’ll blend in with them. Otherwise, if we’re in a ditch or out in the open lanes and fields, we’d be picked out as the only heat source for miles and they’d have us.’
‘Listen, where exactly are we heading and how long’s it going to take? I’m bloody starving and we’ll need water again.’
‘The bottles have to last us until we get to the farm. There’ll be a stable tap.’
‘All right but then where?’
‘Andrew’s,’ Will said curtly. ‘Let’s get a move on, shall we?’
Half an hour after reaching the shelter of the trees, they were both flat on their backs asleep. There was a slight breeze and there was shade. That was all they needed. They lay a few yards apart, under the shelter of different trees. Simon smelled the earthy smell and the dry-leaf smell and the smell of his own sweat. It was cool now. He was exhausted, but too alert to sleep very deeply and he was the first to wake. There was a deep silence, broken far away by the sound of a tractor. He looked over at Will. He was on his side, head on his left arm, snoring slightly.
Whatever happened in the long run, he knew they were not going to be hunted down and arrested within the next few days. The London team would get what they needed from Ray Norman. His own job was the same – to stick close to Fernley and try to get names, details, everything and anything that would lead them to the paedophile ring. Until he had something, he would not be expected to run off, nor did he want to. In fact, he felt more optimistic than he had done inside Stitchford. Out here, he had far more chance of bonding with Will and ingratiating himself well enough to be let into secrets. Inside, there had always been a risk, and always others about, and a general atmosphere of watchfulness. Plus the therapists, on the alert for any close relationships and bent on breaking them up. One-to-one friendships were always frowned upon.
He rolled over and lay with his hands crossed behind his head, looking through the leaf canopy to the sky. Blue. Still. He looked over at Fernley again. Could he take a chance and try to make even the briefest contact via the device secreted on the Snoopy watch? No. Will might wake suddenly before he had any chance to cover up what he was doing. Not worth the risk.
A collared dove settled in the tree and began to coo softly. Nothing else moved. Will slept on.
Rachel came into his mind, her face clear and close in front of his eyes. Rachel. She deserved better. Any woman deserved better, he knew that. His family were used to this sort of thing, and even if they worried, took it in their stride. Not Rachel. He wished he believed in telepathy and could make it work. Wished, more mundanely, that he could contact her, or get a message to her. Knew that he could not.
He loved her. But did he ever love anyone enough to let them make a permanent home at the centre of his life? He had minded more strongly than he knew was reasonable when she had moved in and started to make her mark on his flat, leaving traces of her presence everywhere. It was a statement and he had not been able to accept it. And if that was the case, how could he conceivably think of marriage?
He couldn’t.
Will Fernley woke and sat up in one single, alarmed movement.
‘It’s OK, nothing’s happened,’ Serrailler said.
‘Jeez.’ Will lay back. ‘Nightmares. You?’
‘Nope. Out like the proverbial. I’m bloody hungry though.’
‘Time?’
‘Half eight.’
‘Christ, we’ve been asleep for hours.’
‘We were knackered.’
Simon stood and did some arm-swinging and stretching, trying to get his cramped muscles to ease. Lying on hard ground was not the best way to keep his back problems at bay. Will was doing press-ups but flopped onto his stomach after nine. ‘Not as fit as I should be.’
They sat side by side, hearing the leaves rustle, the distant tractor, an even more distant train.
‘So – this Andrew whose place you said we’re going to. He the barrister guy?’
Fernley nodded. ‘Top man.’
‘You said he won’t be there?’
‘Probably not, but he comes down on Friday afternoons, and if we’re still there, which I dare say we will be, we’ll meet up then.’
‘Is he prosecuting or defending?’
‘Mainly defending. Just once in a while he takes on a prosecution but it has to be worth his while. No legal-aid stuff.’
‘Charges high?’
‘You could say.’
‘Has he looked after you?’
‘God, no. Wouldn’t come within a million miles.’
‘Because you’re friends?’
‘No, though that isn’t the best thing. No, other reasons. You could call it … clash of interests.’ Will laughed.
Simon had the feeling in the pit of his stomach which came when he sensed he was getting somewhere. It happened during questioning. They gave you nothing, blocked you, dodged, stone-walled, played dumb, and then something gave – maybe a give so slight only an experienced interviewer would recognise it for what it was, but once the hairline crack had opened up, it was almost always just a matter of time before the entire structure crumbled.
‘Not sure I follow you,’ he said.
‘Yes, you do. He’s a top barrister, he earns a mint, he gets the high-profile work. He can’t afford to be careless. He can’t be seen to associate with – me. My sort. Your sort. Oh, come on, Johnno!’
‘Ah … got you. Yes. I see. Sorry – being obtuse there.’
‘Too right. And while we’re on the subject – don’t for God’s sake say anything … you don’t know, you haven’t been told a thing. He’s a mate of mine, he’s willing to give me – us – a place to stay for as long as it takes, but that’s it. He won’t talk. You don’t talk.’
Simon held up his hands. Then he said, ‘I’ve been here before. One or two – well, friends. Public profiles – businessmen. A big-name journo. Headmaster. I even know an MP.’
‘Only one?’
It was easier once it grew dark. They left the open flat lands behind and skirted along the edges of hedged fields. They came to a B-road and a shack of a shop with petrol pumps attached. One jeep was pulled up getting fuel but the shop seemed empty.
‘I’ll go in, you stay round the back,’ Serrailler said. He knew there would have been a blackout on their names and photographs being put out over the media, and if the unit had its way, a total block on any news of their escape at all, but however small the chance, in the event of any problem he was better able to deal with it than Fernley. Simon had no money. Will tossed him a fiver. He bought bottles of water, sandwiches, chocolate and biscuits. The television was on behind the counter and he glanced at it. The weather forecast. Dry, mild night, sunny day tomorrow, dry again. They could have worse. Behind the rack of crisps, he pressed a button on his watch, merely to send the pre-recorded message that he was OK.
Beside the petrol station, what had once been a garden was now a dumping ground, with a dilapidated caravan and some ancient but serviceable plastic furniture. A hedge hid them from sight of both the shop and the road. They sat there and drank and ate ravenously and in silence. Three cars and a van went past.
‘How far?’ Simon said, wiping his mouth.
‘Couple of miles, across country again, to the stables. There’s a disused airfield not far from here, though. I wondered if we could hide out in the buildings instead. I don’t know about you but I’m still pretty knackered.’
‘Isn’t that the sort of place they’d expect us to make for?’
‘There are several old airfields in this part of the world. They wouldn’t have the manpower to search them all, though I guess they’ll get round to it. Worth a chance?’
Simon waited before replying, staring at the ground, chewing the last of his sandwich. Then he said, ‘OK. You’re probably right. They don’t have the resources to look everywhere and if you add up the empty houses and decommissioned churches and airfields and God knows what else, we could be anywhere. Let’s go for it.’
The night was so balmy that they lay outside on some rough grass verges around one of the hangars, rusting and boarded-up, even the danger notices falling into disrepair. Keep Out notices were attached to the perimeter fences but there were plenty of gaps and they had no difficulty getting onto the site. The inside of the few flat-roofed buildings that remained were damp, rat-infested and unpleasant. The floors were broken-up concrete. It was better on the grass. They lay on their backs, looking up at a night sky thickly scattered with stars. There was a half-moon and no cloud, so they could easily see all the way around them.
Simon was dozing, going over events, trying to plan ahead, when Will Fernley said, ‘Doesn’t it all seem a bit odd to you?’
‘What?’
‘Well, taking into account the area to cover and all of that – still, wouldn’t you have expected more patrol cars and helicopters around? That petrol station sold local papers but the boards didn’t mention a breakout, I looked – they were about a man being drowned and the football team. They must be throwing everything at it – they ought to be. There isn’t a peep.’
‘There was.’
‘One chopper and one siren, first thing. If I lived around here I’d be baying for blood. Two convicted paeds out of Stitchford? The earth ought to have stopped revolving.’
Serrailler did not reply.
‘Doesn’t seem odd to you, Johnno?’
‘Now you mention … I’m not going to worry about it though. We could have gone in several directions – they’re searching the others. We got lucky.’
Fernley leaned on his arm and looked at Simon, searching his face as if to find something out there. ‘Why did you trust me?’
‘No option.’
‘Of course you had an option. You needn’t have come.’ ‘Are you mad? Chance to get out of that hellhole? It was pretty clear you’d got it planned. I just decided to risk it. Who wouldn’t?’
‘Oh, a lot wouldn’t. Most of them in there. You’d been there a few weeks. You didn’t give it much of a go.’
‘I knew it the minute I walked in. That it was a big mistake. By the time I was in the first group meeting, I was absolutely bloody certain. Therapy? All right, it works for some – a few. Though I guess it’s damage limitation more than anything, but if they’re prepared to go through with it, good luck to them. They’re desperate. They want to change, to crawl out of their old skins and into new ones. And Stitchford is their one and only chance.’
Will rolled onto his back. ‘Cassiopeia. The Plough. The Bear. The Pleiades …’
‘Always wish I’d been able to make sense of that. Beautiful – beautiful names. I’ve tried endless times – got charts and so on, and it still all looks the same to me.’
‘I’ll teach you.’
‘You couldn’t.’
‘You’re like me, Johnno. Tell the truth.’ ‘I told you, the night sky all looks –’
‘Fuck it, not the sky. How we are. You and me. That’s why we wanted to get out. I knew it as soon as we started talking.’
‘Knew what?’
‘As I said – those guys want to change. Want to be different. Cured. Whatever. They hate who they are. But we don’t. I don’t. You don’t. We don’t want to change because we like what we do. We enjoy it. We’re hooked. You can only change a druggy or an alcoholic if they want to be changed. Tell me I’m wrong.’
Serrailler was silent for a long time. He looked at the Bear. Orion … Then he said, ‘You’re not wrong.’
He lay awake for some time after Will had rolled over and gone to sleep, head on his arm. He wondered how many of the others felt like Will, that having got a hard-won place, they had to play along with the treatment and keep their real feelings concealed. Not so many, he guessed. Will had always struck him as too relaxed and easy-going about the whole thing. Now he knew why. Will had stuck it out only because it was less frightening than being a nonce in prison, where the aggression and hostility and sometimes outright violence wore you down. But Will had also known that it might be slightly easier to escape from a therapeutic community prison than a regular one, and although security was presumed to be tight at Stitchford, he had been right. The chink in the armour had not been hard to find.
It was going to be harder from now on. Serrailler closed his eyes. The air was pleasant, it wouldn’t drop down cold at dawn. He would not let himself go to sleep yet. He needed to think himself more thoroughly into his undercover persona now, to behave as the paedophile Johnno Miles behaved. If he was successful, he would not feel good about it.