On the Run

Chrissy had to be careful as the people carrier took a very indirect route to the house and Chrissy knew if she followed it, it would be obvious and so after a few minutes she gave up following it and drove to the end of the road where she could see the house; her car was chosen as it was a Ford Fiesta and was universally common throughout the UK. She was able to park up and get a good view of the side of the house and watched as the girls arrived only to be roughly unloaded and given to an elder woman, dressed in an apron.

Chrissy had the start of a story and took another dozen photographs before driving to her hotel. She needed to see the photographs she had taken and loaded them up on her laptop. They had mostly come out well and she instinctively let them load up to the newspaper file server while she satisfied her urge to use the facilities: her editor was going to love this, she knew. She could do an exposé and licked her lips as she looked back through the photographs again; there was something on the whiteboard with that days date and she zoomed in. "Tirana arr" against someone's name and there was another entry the following day "Tirana dep"

She could only speculate that "dep" meant depature and Chrissy took a deep breath and glanced at her phone displaying twelve missed calls; it went again and Chrissy picked it up.

"Sorry Rob, tied up," she told the editor who barked down the phone at her. "But I can't speak. I'm off to Tirana," she told him. He swore and started shouting at her, but Chrissy hung up and started packing.

Chrissy was going back undercover and she was going to the airport. She was going to have a front page exclusive.

Chapter XIX

"Rosemary Bateman," a Police officer said as he approached a small desk in the clinical custody suite. "Arrested for using forged money to pay a debt to a gymnasium."

Rosie shook her head and looked at the stout man behind the desk. "But I didn't know it was forged. He didn't tell me it wasn't real. I didn't do anything."

He looked at the two arresting officers and they shrugged. "She's been like this since we turned up. Swore blind there was a guy upstairs who had given her the money but there was no-one and no sign of anyone."

"There was," Rosie screamed and the man frowned and pointed a finger at her.

"Ssshhhh, save it for the interview and the judge. Now, name?"

"What?" A tearful Rosie asked.

"Name? What's ya name, love?"

Rosie sobbed and rubbed her eyes before giving all the details the Custody Sergeant needed to book her into a cell. She rang her boss, Sammy Reynolds, but there was no answer and she cried as she left a message on his mobile phone. She howled as she was thrown into Cell 7 – a cold, eerie room containing a raised mattress, a toilet and a small sink and she slouched down on the mattress and burst into tears.

Just what had Ian got her involved in? He had said he was running away from his angry father and had managed to get her arrested: all she had done was to offer him sanctuary, a hot dinner and a night of uncomplicated sex, was that so wrong?

Rosie sobbed for two hours, frequently wiping her eyes as the cell door opened and a young suited man came in. He held out his hand and she looked up to see him smile. "Sorry I'm a little late, your family sent us. Martin Wheeler from Parkin, Fox and Carver." She looked blankly at him and he cleared his throat. "Solicitors."

Rosie gave a relieved sigh. "Oh sorry."

"It's OK," the young man soothed. "It's fine, we need to go through with you what happened."

Rosie took a deep breath and began to explain about Jamie coming over the wall, the story and the money he had given her, although she told the young Martin Wheeler that she had been lent the money not given. He nodded, and slid his finger through his short black hair, nodding as she spoke and taking notes.

"Well I reckon the Police won't want to prosecute," he told her. "There is no evidence you knew anything about the forgery of the money and they will want to know a name if you have one."

"Ian," she cried. "Ian Richards. I told them this and they have a description"

Martin licked his lips and took a deep breath. "You see, I've been thinking. I reckon you were found by a guy on the run. Someone running from someone."

"Yeah, his Dad."

"Right, well I have had a look at people in the age range," he said and showed her a dozen pages of photos printed from a desktop printer. "Sorry about the quality."

"He had blonde hair," Rosie told him and he interrupted her. "And was running away from his Dad 'cos he split up with a girl. Oh, and he had never had asparagus."

Martin sighed and then pursed his lips. "Don't think I have any files on when was the first time someone had asparagus." Rosie gave a nervous giggle and then he looked at her. "These come from the Missing Persons Database and Crimestoppers but ignore the hair, you can cut or die hair. Look at the faces, the eyes and the ears and the like."

Rosie shrieked. "Crimestoppers?" Rosie returned to the first couple of pages and she called out excitedly. "Him, that's him."

"What?"

"There. He has blonde hair now, but that's him."

"You sure?"

"I had sex with him," Rosie replied and then apologised for being crude. "Yes that is definitely him."

Martin adjusted his tie and looked at her. "James Prutton," he read. "Wonder what he did."

Rosie looked at Martin. "You mean to say I let a dangerous criminal into the house and, oh my God, into my bed. I'm so stupid."

Martin touched the emotional girl on the arm. "Well I can sort out this. They will want a formal interview with you but I will be in with you and we will just explain what happened with the money and the guy and they should let you go. On bail at least."

"Bail?" Rosie shrieked and he squeezed her hand. "Sorry. You must think I am really stupid."

Martin smiled. "We all make mistakes," he cooed and then looked into her eyes. "We all do silly things. You trusted a stranger, it's not the worst mistake to make, is it?"

He got up as the door was opened and looked to see the Custody Sergeant in the doorway. "They are ready for you."

"Excellent," Martin said and held out his hand to the young Rosie. "Come on, let's get this over with."

Martin guided the young girl through the Police interview and let her explain about the man jumping over the wall and who they thought he was. The Police officers looked surprised when she claimed he was one of the most wanted men in England and had been in her bedroom only three hours previous but they suspended the interview and left to phone an Inspector Williamson 200 miles away.

An hour later, Rosie was back at the house with it being dusted for fingerprints and Martin was squeezing her hand. "See, I told you," he told her and she bit her lip. "Told you it would all work out in the end."

"Thank you," she muttered back and looked at his deep blue eyes and smiling face. "You are so clever."

He pursed his lips. "Well it helps if your client isn't guilty," he told her and gave a sigh. "Even trainees like me can cope with clients who are clearly innocent."

Rosie laughed and they watched the final crime of scene officer finish and remove a fingerprint. Rosie looked back at Martin who rubbed his nose nervously. "Well as you have no further need for me, if you want me I'll leave you my card."

Rosie took a deep breath and nodded as he slid a business card from his wallet. "I don't want to be left alone in this house," she muttered. "I think he will come back."

Martin squeezed her hand and looked into her gaze. "He scarpered when the Police came. He won't come back to the scene of his crime."

"He might," Rosie said mournfully and Martin checked his watch. "If you don't have anything to do I'd like you to stay the night." She cocked her head and she raised her eyebrows. "In the spare room."

"Well I was going to see the Vagina Monologues," he told her and she rubbed her hands. "My brother and this girl he is chasing want to see it and didn't want to go alone so I have been roped in."

"Oh that's my favourite," Rosie said instantly. "It's so funny and well, could I come too?"

Martin tried hard not to smile. "Of course. I don't suppose a meal at the pub is out of the question then?" Martin asked and the tired girl smiled for the first time that day.

"No," she grinned. "It most definitely is not."

* * * * *

"I still don't get it Sir," the Sergeant muttered as he swirled his tea around the mug. "I mean the statue was fake so did Doszak buy fakes or did he have copies made."

Richard sighed and looked out over the court gallery. "I've been wondering about that. I mean the guys reckoned it was one of the best copies they'd ever seen. Probably good enough to fool most auction houses. But I don't know. I can't see Doszak buying a fake and he did buy it at auction. I guess we'll know eventually."

"So is that it for the robbery investigation?" He asked. "I see you're running the other one."

The Inspector shrugged. "You know, I just don't know. I can't help feeling that, along with DI Hargreaves' undercover operation that they trampled on, Oliver and his friends may have hindered something Jaroslav wanted to do and he is going to punish 'em for it. We can't chase them forever and we got one of the little blighters. All credit to 'em though, they got in and got out again, and got free, even with us chasing them."

The Sergeant licked his lips and took a deep breath. "Sort of makes you wonder if they would have done it if they knew we were watching the 'ouse."

"Yeah, well, we weren't watching the gate were we? If they had come through the front we would have 'ad 'em."

"And if we knew the statues were fake we wouldn't have put loads of officers on it, would we? Probably would have got away with it."

"Probably not," the Inspector said idly. "But we caught him," he said, pointing towards Oliver and then rubbed his nose. "And the other two are on a wanted list but there's no point going for 'em. They could come back and as long as they don't get arrested they'd never get caught."

The Sergeant looked around the mostly empty Gallery. "No Doszak here then?"

"No. But then Doszak will be trying to catch up with them and I am not sure that is better. They dropped him in it."

The Sergeant smiled. "Yeah, 'cos thanks to them, Alice got to call us, we got to snoop around Doszak's house while Doszak was flying back from the Ukraine," the Sergeant replied. "Wonder if the young lad knows what a favour he did for us?"

"Probably not," chuckled the Inspector. "Nice having new people up here wasn't it?"

The Sergeant smiled. "Yeah, how is old Alice?"

"Back in Devon now. I spoke to her last week. Walking the beat in her little village again. She didn't like being undercover at the Manor, being housekeeper for a Ukrainian gangster, said it scared her. But she did a good job for us."

"She did, didn't she?" The Sergeant hummed and the court started to fill. "Oh recess over."

The judge waited for the parties to reassemble in court and cleared his throat, turning to the defendant. "Oliver Prutton, you have pleaded guilty to this court of burglary, contrary to the Theft Act 1968. While your representative indicates that this is a first offence, I cannot show leniency due to the gravity of the crimes committed. However, this court has heard that you have showed genuine remorse and the stolen item has been recovered for the victim, albeit that it is subsequently discovered to be a forgery."

Oliver went to say something but he got a stern look from the judge.

"In addition, I am minded to look upon your early guilty plea and level of remorse shown. I am also keen to look upon this as an isolated example, and accept your representatives case that it was familial pressure that led you astray."

Oliver wiped his face and glanced up at the public gallery; it was packed and he saw the familiar face of his mother gazing down at him with misty eyes. The judge continued. "However, the seriousness of the crime cannot be diminished and your representatives desire that this be a suspended sentence is simply not appropriate. You will be detained for one year and eleven months."

"Two years," Oliver exclaimed and there a silence in the court.

"Yes Mr Prutton, one year and eleven months. And I hope that you will use that time to consider where you went wrong and how you will rebuild your life on leaving detention. You will have many years of life ahead of you and plenty of time and opportunity to rebuild it."

Oliver stared open mouthed at the judge, flanked by oak panelling and a myriad of assistants. He felt his hand being pulled and was guided down the steps towards the cells to begin a jail term. He was warned he might get jail but he really wanted a suspended sentence.

Instead, he was about to have to face his biggest fear. He was going to go to a prison.

* * * * *

Emma ran up the hill and looked back; it was the third time that day she had ran from the Police and while she knew they were almost certainly not looking for her she didn't want to be in their presence.

She looked back behind her to check; they were nowhere in sight and she breathed a sigh of relief, only to find herself falling over something small and wiry.

There was a squawk from underneath her and she turned to see a little boy looking dazed and tousled. Emma muttered an apology, first in English and then in Spanish. The boy, clearly under the age of ten, looked at Emma and went to scramble to his feet but Emma glimpsed a spark of Gold in his bag and she opened it.

It was a statue, an exact copy of the one in her bag and she instantly checked her rucksack. The little boy had been thieving off of her and she was about to give him a hiding when she felt the cold metal of her own statue in her bag.

"Where did you get this?" Emma asked and the boy shrugged, looking confused. He went to get to his feet, but Emma grabbed his hand. "Don-day si con-sig-way," Emma spluttered in her broken Spanish and the boy muttered something back which she couldn't understand.

In the end the boy muttered "o-tel" and she asked him to take her. She pulled out a handful of Pesos which made the reluctant boy smile and he lead her to a rundown hotel 400 metres away.

He pointed to it from over the street and then held out his hand for the money which she gratefully gave him. His eyes widened as she realised that she had just given him over five hundred pounds but didn't care; she had found Jamie, and she wandered over the road. The receptionist was screeching as she entered and she clapped eyes on her former lover shouting back.

"Stolen," he said slowly. "Someone has been in my room."

Emma coughed but Jamie didn't turn around, he was too busy yelling at the manager. "Oi," Emma called and Jamie turned to face her.

"Do you mind love," he snapped and turned back to the owner of the hotel. "I've been robbed. Fuckin' 'ell, talk to me in English."

Emma sighed and walked over to the shouting man, pushing him back against the wall to get his attention. "Shut it," she said firmly and he looked at her for the first time.

"Oh Em ..." he blurted out and stopped mid-sentence and she looked at him.

"Yes, now I've got it."

"Got what?"

"It," she said firmly as the two people listened to their conversation.

"No, but I've been robbed."

Emma slowly shook her head and raised her eyebrows. "Yes and I've got it."

"Got what?" Jamie asked exasperated.

Emma sighed and leant forward to whisper in his ear. "The stolen statue." His eyes flew up and he looked at her with raised eyebrows.

"Ya mean."

She turned to face the two hotel employees and smiled. "Lo see-ento. El eh un poco ton-to," she said confidently and they nodded smiling, replying in their native tongue.

"What did you just say?" Jamie asked as she pushed him out of the lobby and towards his room.

"Oh that I am sorry, but you are a moron."

Jamie scowled and she pulled out the statue from her bag. "There are easier ways to introduce ya-self," Jamie moaned. "Breakin' in and nickin' stuff."

Emma snorted. "Ya got turned over by an eight year old."

Jamie shook his head. "I ain't believin' ya."

"Well we need to find this General," Emma told him and he threw up his hands.

"Yeah I know that."

"Well there's two of us now," Emma said with a grin. "So we should be able to get 'im."

* * * * *

The Prison Officer barely uttered a word to Oliver as he was guided to a cell on the second floor of the prison. The walls echoed with sounds of shouting and yelling, and there was a feint smell of humans – urine, sweat and faeces all mixed together. The burly gentleman jangled his keys and unlocked a scratched door.

A large man jumped down from the bed. "Dino, someone to stay with you," the Prison Officer said with a grin."

"Dino" grunted and waited for Oliver to be pushed inside the cell, watching him as he stumbled into the tiny room. It was painted grey, but the brickwork was clearly visible behind it and there were two bunkbeds on the right hand side of the cell. Two small chairs and two cupboards adorned the left hand side and the door slammed closed behind him.

Oliver looked at him, his eyes piercing through his shaking body. He smelt of stale sweat and was topless, his muscles bulging out. He was wearing just a pair of shorts and had a shaven head; he looked brutal and Oliver gulped.

He reached for the first set of cupboards and Dino barked. "S'mine."

"Sorry," Oliver replied demurely, and went to open the other one.

"S'mine as well."

"Right," he muttered and looked up at him. He was scared and intimidated. "I s'pose I've got the bottom bunk."

Dino didn't answer but just smiled and cracked his knuckles together. "Oliver Prutton," the nervous man said and held his hand out to the brutal prisoner, who looked at his hand then at the burglar it was attached to. "Yeah, right," he muttered withdrawing it. "I s'pose you heard the job I pulled?"

Dino grunted, and opened his cupboard to take out a pornographic magazine. Oliver gulped; it wasn't women that adorned the front cover but muscled, naked men. He didn't feel very safe.

Dino laughed and waited for Oliver to sit on the bed and cleared his throat."Mr Doszak says 'hello' and could you please tell him where his fucking money is," Dino asked in a calm voice and Oliver turned around to see Dino standing over him. Dino reached forward and grabbed him by the throat. "Tell me, or I can do this to you," he threatened and opened the magazine with his right hand on the centre page. "And I have a ten inch cock and no KY.

"I don't know," he wailed as Dino started pushing down his shorts. "I don't know. And I am not gay." Dino didn't care and pulled out his cock from his trousers. Oliver shook his head and backed away but the wannabe rapist advanced on him. "Get away from me," Oliver cried and Dino smacked him around the face, causing him to fall to the floor.

Dino grabbed him by the throat and pulled him to his knees, choking the robber. Oliver gasped and Dino forced his erect cock into the mouth of his cellmate. "Now suck."

Oliver's gagged for air, but Dino rammed his cock into Oliver who glanced up and instinctively bit down as hard as he could. Dino howled and smacked Oliver in the mouth who just bit harder. Dino reached for his knife, hidden behind the cupboard and plunged it into Oliver's body, who gasped and slumped to the floor, as two Prison Officer's frantically unlocked the cell door.

Dino was screaming, his manhood hanging limply from his body and blood poured out of his crotch. The officer restrained him while the other one knelt down beside Oliver, who lay lifeless in a rapidly expanding pool of blood. "Get an ambulance," he shouted into the corridor. "Knife wound."