Chapter 6 #3
Kathleen descended the stairs and made room for the officers to do their snooping.
Oliver addressed Kathleen. “Mrs. Evans, I think I shall take you up on your offer for tea.” He gestured for her to go into the kitchen.
As soon as he was sure they were out of earshot he whispered, “I gave Henry a heads-up. He took a runner until we can get things sorted.”
Kathleen was stupefied. “I don’t understand. What is going on?”
“The incident that occurred the other day involved a couple of unsavory people. Powerful people. They are going to try to pin it on Henry and considering the people involved, it was in Henry’s, yours, and Emily’s best interest for him to disappear. And it’s also best that no one knows where.”
Kathleen began to shake again and pulled a chair out from under the table. Oliver filled the kettle with water and tossed some loose tea into a strainer. He whispered over his shoulder, “I told him I would keep an eye out for you.”
Kathleen stared blankly. This was really happening. Her world was coming apart.
“Kathleen, I have to ask you to try to go about your life. Do normal things. These people may try to track you to see if you can lead them to Henry.”
“The police or the criminals?”
“Both.” He poured the hot water into the cups.
“Whatever you and Emily need, you can call on me, but let’s put some air between us for the next couple of weeks.
Get yourself a burner phone and then call me at this number.
” He passed on a card with a handwritten number. “Just let it ring once and hang up.”
“A burner phone?” Kathleen was incredulous.
“Yes, but use it sparingly. If anything should go awry, we don’t want to have an electronic fingerprint from mobile phone data.”
Kathleen slid the card into her pocket. She was in a state of disbelief.
Soon they heard footsteps coming down the stairs. Oliver pretended to carry on a previous conversation. “So, you are certain your husband will be back shortly?”
“If Henry is up to doing what he usually does, then yes, or you can catch him at the bank half past nine.”
Oliver looked at the other officers. “Anything?”
“No. Seems all of his clothes are here. Shoes. Bathroom essentials.”
“So, did it look like he took a runner?” Oliver asked sternly, encouraging the detective to say it.
“Not from what I observed,” the constable replied.
The other officer nodded in agreement.
“Thanks.” Oliver turned to Kathleen. “Apologies for disrupting your morning.”
“No worries. We had to get ourselves started anyway.”
“If you hear from your husband, please tell him to contact us.” Oliver handed her his official business card. “You can reach me on this number.” Kathleen also had Oliver’s landline number, but she knew he was putting up a front for his colleagues.
“Thank you. Good day, gentlemen.” Kathleen watched the four men descend the stairs. She leaned against the door. “Henry Evans, what have you gotten us into?”
Weeks later she had more questions than answers when an anonymous note had been shoved under her front door.
Tell us where he is or your daughter may go missing too.
This time she didn’t shake. She didn’t flinch either.
She had to follow Henry’s lead and get out of town.
Emily was terribly unhappy leaving her friends behind, but she felt the gravity of the situation, especially when the threat targeted her.
Not that threatening her mother would be a better option.
The situation became very personal, and extremely dangerous.
Kathleen sent a text message from her burner phone to Oliver’s.
Leaving town. Will contact you when we land somewhere.
Oliver replied:
Understood. Be safe.
Emily had recently finished her secondary school and would move on to sixth form. Birmingham offered a safe haven and a university for Emily. Once they were settled, she phoned Oliver at his home and gave him her new address. The call took less than a minute, not easy to trace.
After they moved, the threats ended but Kathleen wanted to play it safe a bit longer. She decided to lay low for the first year in Birmingham and took a job as a nanny, rather than trying to secure a teaching job.
Meanwhile, Oliver was concerned about the Evans women.
He had promised his friend that he would watch over them, and he would keep his promise.
Birmingham was almost two hours from Manchester, but Oliver would figure something out.
He wrote a note to Kenneth Barlow, aka Henry Evans, and mailed it to his last known address.
Several days later Oliver received a reply.
Oliver’s next move was to find a post office somewhere between Manchester and Birmingham.
Oliver decided on Stafford, a little more than halfway between the two cities.
And for the next ten years, on every third Thursday of the month, Oliver traveled the two hours to be the messenger for Henry and Henry’s family.
Each package contained over a thousand pounds, often with a simple note. It had become a ritual.
Oliver had carefully managed to keep the open arrest warrant out of the news, and Henry’s whereabouts remained a secret to the public, and to his family.