For the Sake of the Children: The first Chloe Webster thriller (Chloe Webster Thrillers Book 1) by Alex Highcliffe Page A
Authors: Alex Highcliffe
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involving a boy who’s been separated from his mother and it’s really not her fault. I’m sure she’ll get him back soon, but it’s making me think about mum. Sometimes I really miss her you know dad? I mean, I miss her all the time of course, but sometimes I really miss her. I think I’ll go up to the grave at the weekend and tidy it up; it’s bound to be a bit messy after the winter we’ve had. I’ll get some fresh flowers and tell her about my new job.’
‘Okay love. I’ll try to get up there myself soon but it’s not easy with this useless leg of mine.’
‘I know dad. I don’t suppose you need to be there to think about her, but it makes me feel close to her.’ She took a large mouthful of wine and the instant hit certainly seemed to do the trick. She immediately took another.
‘Whatever makes you feel better, love. So when will this boy get back to his mum then?’
‘Well hopefully very soon. I have a meeting with the local authority in a few days and I’m going to try to persuade them to let him come home. He’s at his grandma’s house, so it’s not the end of the world, but I bet he misses his mum. Or he will do if he doesn’t get back to her soon. Her ex-boyfriend will hopefully be behind bars shortly, so that should help. It’s a mess to be honest.’
‘Well there’s nothing you can do from here, so why don’t you try to relax and forget about it for a while. It’ll do you good in the long run.’
‘Thanks dad. This is why I don’t want to move out you see? I need our little chats to keep me sane. And a drinking buddy of course.’
‘You know this will always be your home. Now then, pour me another glass of that wine, it’s going down really well. Probably too well - I might need another bottle at this rate.’
They both laughed.
And as the two of them enjoyed each other’s company and their relationship continued to grow, many miles away a desperate father sat with his head in his hands. Nathan prayed for the safe return of his own child. His wife was beyond emotion, physically incapable of shedding any more tears, and was now a shell, unable to live the life of a high-powered marketing executive that she had been living so successfully only days before. His own life had fallen apart too, blown to pieces by the events in Amsterdam the week before. There had been no news about Francesca from the police since the sighting in Hull. Thoughts drifted into his head of what they would do if Francesca was never found. What would it do to them? How would they cope? Would they cope? He shut them out as best he could.
She will be found. She has to be found.
37
It was still well before eight, but the dark evening ensured that very few people were out and about. Of course, it wasn’t people he wanted, it was cars, and cars lined every road, covered every driveway, and were hiding in every garage. The Timer felt like a child in a sweetshop, and he took his time, savouring the moment as he browsed the selection. This was an affluent neighbourhood and a wide variety of top of the range models littered the tree-lined streets. He needed to be careful, though, and couldn’t risk an alarm going off at this time; people would appear very quickly if that happened. He needed keys, and over the years he’d developed many ways of getting hold of them.
He sauntered along the edge of the road beneath the streetlights, looking for an opportunity, passing huge houses which loomed up over gates and hedges as he passed. He could probably have chosen a more accessible area but he did like a nice car. The properties here were large with tight security. Gates were high, hedges were thick and most cars were tucked away safely in garages or protected by lights and on-board security systems. He kept moving in the February night air, not least to fend off the encroaching cold. Passing the odd car parked out on the road he tried their doors to see if anything had been
‘Okay love. I’ll try to get up there myself soon but it’s not easy with this useless leg of mine.’
‘I know dad. I don’t suppose you need to be there to think about her, but it makes me feel close to her.’ She took a large mouthful of wine and the instant hit certainly seemed to do the trick. She immediately took another.
‘Whatever makes you feel better, love. So when will this boy get back to his mum then?’
‘Well hopefully very soon. I have a meeting with the local authority in a few days and I’m going to try to persuade them to let him come home. He’s at his grandma’s house, so it’s not the end of the world, but I bet he misses his mum. Or he will do if he doesn’t get back to her soon. Her ex-boyfriend will hopefully be behind bars shortly, so that should help. It’s a mess to be honest.’
‘Well there’s nothing you can do from here, so why don’t you try to relax and forget about it for a while. It’ll do you good in the long run.’
‘Thanks dad. This is why I don’t want to move out you see? I need our little chats to keep me sane. And a drinking buddy of course.’
‘You know this will always be your home. Now then, pour me another glass of that wine, it’s going down really well. Probably too well - I might need another bottle at this rate.’
They both laughed.
And as the two of them enjoyed each other’s company and their relationship continued to grow, many miles away a desperate father sat with his head in his hands. Nathan prayed for the safe return of his own child. His wife was beyond emotion, physically incapable of shedding any more tears, and was now a shell, unable to live the life of a high-powered marketing executive that she had been living so successfully only days before. His own life had fallen apart too, blown to pieces by the events in Amsterdam the week before. There had been no news about Francesca from the police since the sighting in Hull. Thoughts drifted into his head of what they would do if Francesca was never found. What would it do to them? How would they cope? Would they cope? He shut them out as best he could.
She will be found. She has to be found.
37
It was still well before eight, but the dark evening ensured that very few people were out and about. Of course, it wasn’t people he wanted, it was cars, and cars lined every road, covered every driveway, and were hiding in every garage. The Timer felt like a child in a sweetshop, and he took his time, savouring the moment as he browsed the selection. This was an affluent neighbourhood and a wide variety of top of the range models littered the tree-lined streets. He needed to be careful, though, and couldn’t risk an alarm going off at this time; people would appear very quickly if that happened. He needed keys, and over the years he’d developed many ways of getting hold of them.
He sauntered along the edge of the road beneath the streetlights, looking for an opportunity, passing huge houses which loomed up over gates and hedges as he passed. He could probably have chosen a more accessible area but he did like a nice car. The properties here were large with tight security. Gates were high, hedges were thick and most cars were tucked away safely in garages or protected by lights and on-board security systems. He kept moving in the February night air, not least to fend off the encroaching cold. Passing the odd car parked out on the road he tried their doors to see if anything had been
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