Hell's Gate: A gripping, edge-of-your-seat crime thriller Read online

  Angel greeted Cyril as he entered the restaurant. “Thank you so much for coming. As you can see we’re filling up.”

  Cyril looked round quickly trying to identify any familiar faces. With only a cursory glance, he recognised no one.

  “May I introduce Dr Pritchett? This young man is the son of the owner. Angel, is that correct?”

  “Yes, only things missing are my wings. I had those clipped by my father long ago,” he laughed. He leaned over and shook her hand. “A pleasure to welcome you Doctor. Please let me show you to your table, then I’ll leave you to have a look around. Hopefully you’ll not find too many…” he paused and smiled at the couple, “teething troubles tonight!”

  Cyril smiled remembering their previous conversation before complimenting Angel on the restaurant’s ambience; the lighting, the flowers and the impeccable waiting staff certainly reflected an expensive commitment to success.

  “Tonight will be a full tasting menu of which my father and his team are very proud. My father will talk with everyone after the meal. He’s too excited and a little nervous right now. If there’s anything you need, anything at all, please see me, or one of my staff. Your complimentary drinks are here.”

  A waiter smiled and proffered a tray containing flutes of Champagne and glasses of orange juice.

  Cyril ignored the orange juice. “Cheers!”

  “May these be the worst of our days, Cyril,” Julie said before touching Cyril’s glass with hers. “Thanks for the invitation. I can’t remember the last time I ventured out socially mid...” She paused, not completing the sentence as Cyril had been distracted by the entrance of two more guests, both women. One was about thirty, attractive and elegantly dressed, whilst the other was older with the appearance, to the casual observer, of a dreadnought. It could be her mother, she thought. “I’ve worked on corpses with a happier countenance. Old conquests?”

  Cyril laughed. “No! I’m dreadfully sorry but I know those ladies, professionally I hasten to add. One I can see coming here tonight and enjoying the evening but the other!” He sipped his drink and looked back at Julie.

  “The older one will be dancing on the table with her knickers on her head by nine,” she whispered.

  Cyril nearly choked on his Champagne. He had clearly underestimated the good Doctor and he knew he had made a wise decision to spend the evening with her.

  “That, my dear, is the wife and mother-in law of the bag of bits you collected from Pannal Road.” It was Julie’s turn to choke on her Champagne. “I think I mentioned that they’d had a rocky final year or two. Well, the one on the right could just have had something to do with that.”

  “She could certainly guard a hen house!” Julie observed.

  “She could guard a high security prison!”

  The evening was not only relaxing but the food was proving to be excellent.

  A small sorbet arrived with what looked like a miniature window garden decorating the edge. Cyril turned to look at one of the paintings on the wall that Julie was discussing when he saw Mrs Baines stand before receiving directions from a waitress. She was heading towards the toilets. He then realised that Joan was moving across the room towards them.

  “DCI Bennett, how lovely to see you! Are you enjoying the meal?”

  Cyril introduced Julie and exchanged the usual pleasantries when he caught sight of Mrs Baines in his peripheral vision. She looked anxious and more than a little flustered. He turned his head and Joan instinctively registered Cyril’s changed expression and followed his gaze.

  “Please excuse me, something hasn’t pleased her, probably the quality of the toilet paper.” She giggled but it didn’t conceal her frustration. “Lovely to meet you both. Duty calls, I must go and calm troubled waters.”

  “Good luck” Cyril proffered before looking back at Julie but he could see that the mother-daughter discussion fascinated her. Within minutes both were leaving the restaurant.

  “I guess the knickers will not be her crown tonight.” Julie chuckled. “I’d better go and check that all’s up to scratch in the ladies. Something’s truly rattled her cage. Maybe she forgot to put any knickers on this evening and she’s realised her cabaret performance is ruined.”

  Cyril laughed out loud and a number of faces turned in his direction. He took the opportunity to go to the bar; he needed to stretch his legs. Cyril refused the complimentary Champagne after the first glass; he particularly fancied the Italian beer. Whilst he was standing at the bar, he noticed two men walk briskly across the car park from the rear of the building and climb into what looked like a large van, Cyril checked his watch, it was five past nine; he shook it just to be on the safe side. He noted that one of the men was considerably taller than the other. Another car pulled in to the car park. Another figure emerged. Even in the dark Cyril could tell that it was Angel, running from the rear of the restaurant and leaning on the van’s window. He also noted that the driver of the car transferred to the waiting van before it left. Angel’s arms flailed as if he were upset over something. As he turned to collect his drinks from the bar he couldn’t fail to see that the kitchen door leading to the restaurant was held ajar; a waiter was calling for a missing order. Cyril’s eyes fell on one of the staff, a female, who seemed dreadfully upset as she stared out onto the parked cars. He turned back to see what she might be looking at but all he observed was the van leaving and Angel’s return.

  “Will there be anything else, Sir?” the barman requested.

  Cyril turned away from the window, smiled and shook his head. He paid and returned to his table arriving just before Julie. Julie just raised her eyebrows and shook her head. “Given them a thorough inspection and all appears in order.”

  ***

  Cezar pulled the white van onto a deserted road and then attached fluorescent magnetic blue and yellow reflective strips to the rear doors and to each side. He added lights to the roof giving the van the appearance of belonging to the police, although no wording had been applied. The orange glow from the streetlights barely crept through the darkened windows in the rear doors. Rares tugged at the electrical ties binding his hands and feet as the two caged dogs squealed in anticipation, eager to get at the trussed body. One of the two men in the back kicked the cage and laughed whilst the other just stared at Rares.

  Once ready the van moved off. Within fifteen minutes it was turning on to Fallow Road. Cezar parked up and the two people in the back cut the electrical ties from around Rares’ ankles and took him from the van. They quickly bundled him over the small fence and into the undergrowth. The gag in his mouth made breathing difficult and his bound arms meant that he had to rely on his captives’ support on the dark, sloping ground. Cezar looked up the road and noticed another car appear. The driver flashed his lights before parking a short distance away. Three people emerged, two looking more than a little bewildered. Cezar checked that they were wearing gloves. They followed the first group over the fence with a great deal of apprehension before blindfolds were tied. Nobody spoke. Cezar again scanned the road and collected a box and a stun baton, which he attached to his belt from the back. Quickly he collected the muzzled dogs and followed the others, cursing as the dogs tangled themselves in the fence. Subtly, he belted both of them to sort the problem. The additional gloom from the overhanging trees and the steep slope made walking particularly difficult, especially with the dogs, but Cezar’s strength kept the dogs close by. It was a little easier once the ground had levelled where the railway track had once run. They were soon at the entrance to the tunnel, its arched opening partly camouflaged by the hanging ivy. The metal tracks and wooden sleepers had been removed years ago. A small stream of rust-coloured water dribbled out at the bottom before disappearing sideways into the brambles.

  Cezar handed out the head torches. Little was said and when it was, it was in Romanian. Cezar turned on his head torch; the others would only be illuminated once in the tunnel. There was no need to draw unnecessary attention to the dark siding.

/>   Discarded beer cans and bottles littered the place and smashed glass glowed almost jewel-like in the grass as the light was reflected. Part of a bicycle lay almost concealed, the green arms of brambles locking it in a final embrace.

  Harrogate’s Brunswick Tunnel was built in 1848 to allow trains to run into the centre of Harrogate without the polluting smoke. However, its life was short-lived being made redundant fourteen years later. It had a reprieve during the Second World War when it was used as an air-raid shelter. Bombproof walls and toilets were constructed, these, however, were now heavily disfigured through time, vandalism and graffiti. Steps were constructed to ease access and at one time the way emerged somewhere near Leeds Road, an entrance that is now permanently closed and concealed. To a generation of children, it had become known as The Darkie.

  Cezar was the last to move through the opened grill that normally blocked the path to the only remaining entrance. Those already in, stood silently, blindfolds removed. The four hundred yard tunnel yawned ahead. At the far end, looking smaller than they actually were stood the multi-coloured, brick walls that showed the true perspective of the tunnel’s length. Water-filled corrugations ran across the dirt floor, permanent scars made by the long-removed railway sleepers. Their flat, puddled surfaces reflected some of the light onto the arched, stone roof. The echoing sounds of dripping water and muzzled, excited dogs added to the tension felt by all.

  Rares knew what was coming as his eyes looked for the space that had once been occupied by the unfortunate tramp, but he could see that it was empty apart from some remnants of discarded clothes. Unfortunately for him, lightning did not strike the same spot twice! His eyes ran the length of the tunnel as eager hands forced him onto the floor before stripping the clothes from his body.

  Cezar brought out the staple gun and one of the men holding Rares by the arm instinctively moved his head. He had been there before and he had felt the pain and fear. Rough hands pulled the elastic over Rares’ head and he felt the sharp, intense pain of the first staple bite through the skin on his forehead and splay against bone. With his mouth blocked, snot and saliva erupted from his nostrils as another and then another staple stitched the torch’s elastic to his head.

  “You know the rules?” Cezar turned to the two frightened and confused family members who had been brought down to witness the event. “A lesson to you all. This is what happens to those who show disloyalty to the family. Watch and learn.”

  The girl, on seeing the man being stripped, grew even more anxious, knowing that she had not been fully co-operative. She anticipated his rape or hers to follow and then she looked at the dogs. She blocked her imagination; surely they would not use them for that purpose? She shivered. Peter Anton, standing between them, felt her body shaking and tried to calm her but his efforts had little effect.

  ***

  Cyril and Julie were eventually introduced to Hai Yau who seemed more than thrilled with the evening. Everyone applauded as he brought out the kitchen staff. Cyril was surprised at the number. His eyes scanned for the girl he had seen earlier but she was not amongst them. He looked at Julie.

  “Strange that,” he said in a low voice. His eyes darted around the room, thinking that she might have come into the restaurant earlier but he could not see her.

  “What is?”

  “I know one of the kitchen staff is missing. I saw her earlier and she looked very upset.”

  “Probably over-egged the pudding and got a clip round the ear.”

  “Very true, they were probably all on edge. Are you ready?”

  Cyril took another look round before making his way to the bar as they were leaving in the hope of seeing her in the kitchen. She was nowhere to be seen. Angel appeared with a smile.

  “I have to say that the restaurant and the meal did you credit. Everything has been perfect. I noticed two ladies leave before the final courses, I hope nothing was wrong?”

  “The policeman in you is showing, Mr Bennett. No, nothing was wrong. I think the elderly lady found it all a little too exciting, either that or she had too much Champagne!” Angel smiled and shook Cyril’s hand. He looked down and noticed a twenty-pound note had been subtly transferred in the action.

  “For the staff,” said Cyril. “I’m sure it’s been a traumatic experience for many, especially those in the kitchen, first night nerves and all!” He looked over Angel’s shoulder towards the kitchen for one last check for the girl but she wasn’t there.

  “That’s very generous. Thank you. Is something wrong?”

  “No, sorry.”

  “Dr Pritchett it has been a pleasure. May I?” he leaned across and kissed her on both cheeks. “Let’s hope we see you at Zingaro again soon.

  He turned to Cyril and their eyes met, each man trying to read what might lay hidden.

  ***

  The ties were cut from Rares’ hands. “You know The Chase? Now we’ll remove the gag and it’s game on for you. If you win, then all’s fine, but if not…”

  “Please, I’ve done nothing, I don’t deserve this. I’m loyal. They are my dogs.”

  He started to cry and urine splashed and then dribbled down his legs, it was an involuntary action that had no effect. Cezar jumped back but still managed to slap Rares’ head. “Fucking hell!”

  Rares could not feel the cold, the wet nor the sharp stones on the soles of his feet, he simply began to run. The light beams followed him, penetrating the gloom of the tunnel like beacons of hope. Rares looked and saw the white stalactites hanging from the roof and his mind filled with the vision of long, sharp, white teeth that he knew would soon follow. It was then that he heard the instruction to release the dogs. He tried to run faster but his feet slid in the oozing mud.

  ***

  The taxi pulled up outside Julie’s apartment. “Coffee, DCI Bennett, or do you have other plans?” She slipped her hand onto his. “There might be a little nightcap on offer too!” She smiled and opened the taxi door. Cyril paid and followed her up the path. The entrance hall was as elegant as he had expected from the building’s façade. Black and white marble squares stretched the whole length; small, delicate side tables clung closely to the walls, each displaying an ornament or vase of fresh flowers.

  “Communal entrance, Cyril. We share it. If you look at the stained glass on the first landing you can see why I’m so enchanted by this place.”

  She did not see his corrected frown; he knew what communal meant! Had it been anyone else… He climbed the stairs and looked at the large window. Only the streetlight entered through the coloured glass, failing to do justice to the craftsmanship. Leaded-edged, delicate glass flowers framed the internal pattern of what looked like geometric, glass shapes made up of blues and purples. On a summer’s day the light show would be magnificent.

  “It’s fabulous, Julie. Must see it in daylight.”

  She did not hear, she had moved inside the apartment.

  ***

  The light show in Brunswick Tunnel was anything but magnificent it was clinical and cold. Beams of white from turning heads created sinister patterns on the rough-faced stone blocks that lined the walls. The observers’ breath billowed like small vents adding a sinister appearance to the whole macabre scene. For Rares, time seemed to slow as his senses grew, heightened through intense fear. His ears were alert to the sounds behind and he felt no strain from his pumping limbs as he sprinted for life itself. He never flinched as his left big toe was nearly severed on a broken bottle. Held only by the upper flesh, it began to flap as he ran, spewing blood to mix with the mud and the puddles. He was purely focussed on the wall at the far end, a wall that, thankfully, appeared to be increasing in size. He had to reach the safety and security that it represented.

  A routine police patrol vehicle ambled down Langcliffe Avenue, the road that was constructed directly above Brunswick Tunnel. All, as usual, was quiet. There had been a number of calls made to the police during the school holidays, reports of youths disturbing the neighbourhood. The local
police often found them near the Tunnel’s entrance, usually in possession of illicit alcohol, but they never proved to be a problem and were soon disbanded. Now it had been made a regular route for the area police patrol. The Council too had acted by securing the entrance but Cezar had removed part of the metal grill earlier in the day. He would secure it the next day, dressed as a council workman so as not to draw any attention to himself.

  The police car slowed and PC Leach glanced down Fallow Road. He noticed the police van. Surely the kids were not there tonight, he had not had a call. He drove on before stopping at the bridge that crossed the railway line linking Harrogate and Leeds. He climbed out and stretched before moving to lean over the parapet. He stared in the direction of the disused Brunswick Tunnel siding. Trying to penetrate the dark, he could only see the broken, orange glow of the streetlights through the trees that ran along Fallow Road. There was nothing below where the siding ran to the tunnel’s entrance. Briefly, he looked across to the other side and as he turned back, it was then that he saw the first, faint flash of a white light. He concentrated his stare on the dense foliage some distance from the track where he had seen the light.

  ***

  Cyril followed Julie into the apartment. She had already selected music and set the mood with the lighting.

  “There’s some rather nice whiskey in the cabinet under the bookcases, glasses are out, as is some ice!” she called from some far-off room.

  Cyril smiled like a cat that had just found the cream. A bottle of Jameson Irish Signature Reserve was still sitting in its cylindrical tube. He quickly poured two measures. He casually allowed his hand to slip, as he poured the whiskey into Julie’s glass, after all, it was hers.

  “That was a lovely evening, Cyril, and apart from the drinks it was complimentary?” Cyril nodded. “And for a Yorkshireman, evenings don’t get better than that, do they?”