Free Hope Road by John Barlow Page A

cards, plus a large hard-backed order book. He takes a selection of leaflets.
    “Funny set up, don’t you think? Using a hotel room as an office?” He opens a leaflet. “
Galey Tractors
. Been cleaning a lot of the mud off the carpet, have you?”
    “Eh?”
    “Farmers, y’know?”
    She says nothing. Then, tentatively: “If I were you, love, I wouldn’t go poking around.”
    “Just trying to find Freddy, that’s all.”
    “Like I said.”
    “I’ll be extra careful!”
    “Take the advice, John. None of my business, but…”
    He nods, flicking through several more leaflets for tractor attachments, then putting them in his pocket.
    “Mike Pearce. What do we know about him?”
    “Mike? Don’t you know Mike?”
    “Why should I?”
    She seems embarrassed, as if she’s offended him.
    “Sorry, love. He’s the kind of bloke your dad would’ve known.”
    “Any idea where I can find him?”
    “Takes a drink at Lanny Bride’s place in town. You know it? Behind the Grand.”
    “Lanny Bride’s place? Not my world, Sandy.”
    She smiles patiently, just like she used to do when he was fifteen trying to get served in her pub.
    “Keep it that way,” she says.
    Someone’s coming down the corridor.
    “Look, I better go. You still in Armley?”
    “Got a flat on Town Street.”
    “Here,” he says, handing her a business card. “Give us a bell. I’ll see you later.”
    Fuller is outside.
    “Don’t worry,” John says, yanking the door wide open, “I’m on my way.”
    Fuller, tight-lipped, watches him spin to his left and take the fire exit.
***
    He answers on the second ring.
    “DC Steele.”
    “It’s John Ray. The girl’s called Donna Macken.”
    “We know.”
    “And you’ll want to be looking at the
Eurolodge Hotel
up on the York Road.”
    A brief pause.
    “Why’s that?”
    “Because that’s where she was at midnight.”
    He hangs up.

Eleven
    H e drives a hundred yards up a side road, turns around, and watches.
    They arrive in minutes. Two uniforms in a patrol car. Quick walk round the hotel and in they go.
    He checks the time. Why is he waiting? Doesn’t know exactly. But whatever happened last night started in that hotel, and Freddy was there.
    Whatever happened…
What the fuck ever happens? Money, sex, drugs. The holy trinity. But where does Freddy fit in? If he’s run away, where’s he gone? Because he’s got no one to run to. No wonder he’s scared.
    He rang you all night, John. He had you. But you weren’t answering.
    He shifts in his seat. The holy trinity… Perhaps that’s why people liked his dad, because with Tony Ray it was always business. Good old-fashioned cash. No drugs. No women. And no body count. Joe changed all that.
    The
Yorkshire Post
is on the passenger seat. He scans the article again.
A larger-than-life character
. The nostalgia for old-school crims gets on his nerves.
Larger-than-life… loved his mum… salt of the earth…
Bullshit. A crook’s a crook.
    More cars arrive. Baron and DC Steele step out of one and make straight for the revolving door, brisk, full of purpose. Half a dozen more men appear from the other cars, several with large hold-alls. They line up to go through the heavy rotating doors and are gone.
    Fifteen minutes pass. Yet still he waits, looking down at the hotel, as if it might yield up its secrets if he stays there long enough. No one else goes in. No one comes out. Guests? There’s only the Ukrainian bloke. His compatriot vanished at the same time as Freddy last night, after giving Donna a good slapping.
    As he reaches for his
Marlboro Lights
, Detective Constable Matthew Steele emerges from the hotel. He looks straight up the road and raises his arm, pointing at the Saab like a headmaster picking out a miscreant from a crowded playground.
    John considers the arrogant runt for a moment. Cheap suit and a snarl.
    Shall I ignore him? See how long he stands there with his arm in the air?
    No. He turns the key, fumbling for his lighter as he