See How They Run by Tom Bale Page B

thought …’
    ‘Afraid not. What case are you calling about?’
    ‘Oh, it’s, uh, a personal matter. Sorry to have bothered you.’
    He was speaking again as Alice cut the connection and dropped the phone on the bed, shuddering with pent-up fear.
    A personal matter . Well, you got that right, she thought, shaking off an image of the man with the knife, his filthy mouth bearing down on her breast.

    B ack to the window : there was no sign of the woman who might or might not have been Sian Cassell. Alice picked Evie up, glancing nervously at the phone. She was almost expecting the detective – the real detective – to ring back and say he knew there was something wrong.
    But he can’t help you. It’s too late for that.
    Evie refused to be soothed in her mother’s arms. Alice tried to laugh off the rooting mouth.
    ‘Oh, baby, surely you’re not hungry already?’
    Evie met her eye, looking remarkably certain. Milk on demand, buster: that’s the deal.
    Alice fed her on the bed, the parcel still within reach. She was thinking that it represented evidence, so maybe there was still time to go to the police.
    But what if it contained something illegal? Perhaps they’d believe what Alice told them, or perhaps, it occurred to her now, they would seek other explanations.
    Like Harry, for example.
    We appreciate that you reported this in good faith, Mrs French, but have you considered that your husband might be involved, without your knowledge?
    She found herself questioning Harry’s measured reaction last night, when she admitted to the delivery. Shouldn’t he have been more shocked? Angrier?
    Oh God, this was madness. How could she even think such a thing?
    Evie fed ravenously for what seemed like an age, shook off her drowsiness while being changed, then fed again and finally went off to sleep. Alice stood up, rocking her gently as she moved to the corner of the window. Her gaze homed in on 43, just in time to catch a ripple of movement behind the bedroom curtains.
    He was in there. Hiding.
    Alice came alive with a sudden fury. How dare he do this to her!
    And with that, the decision was made.

    E vie grumbled in her sleep as Alice wrestled her into a pramsuit. The walk would soon send her back off, especially as she was going to be in her baby carrier rather than the buggy.
    Alice checked the street before locking up, then made a cautious circuit of the neighbouring streets to be sure the car she’d seen wasn’t waiting nearby. Back in Lavinia Street, her temper still high, she strode up to number 43 and knocked on the door.
    No answer. Alice knocked again, hard enough to rattle the door in its frame. Luckily, Evie stayed asleep. Leaning out of the recess, Alice surveyed the street once more, then crouched down, being careful not to squash Evie, lifted the letterbox flap and shouted through the narrow slot: ‘Mr Grainger! I have another letter for you.’
    She waited, still squatting, ignoring the discomfort and the fact that she would present an ungainly sight to anyone walking past – the massive arse that Harry valiantly insisted wasn’t massive at all – and although there was no sound from within the house, she was sure she could sense a presence.
    He was listening.
    She lowered her voice. ‘We went through hell because of you, Mr Grainger, or should I say Renshaw ? Now come to the door and face me.’
    Still nothing. Her knees were aching. Evie’s feet were digging into her abdomen. Holding the door for balance, Alice straightened up, her other hand reaching for the envelope in her back pocket. Perhaps she’d just shove the packet through the door and pray that was the end of it.
    She could hear a car some distance away; in Buxton Road, maybe. She was turning to look when the front door was wrenched open to reveal the man from the other morning, a horrified expression on his face.
    ‘Quickly!’ He motioned her inside, but Alice had frozen in shock. When she failed to move he grabbed her by the arm. She