Deadly Vengeance: A gripping crime thriller full of twists and turns (Detective Jane Phillips Book 3)

by OMJ Ryan

  Phillips let out a chuckle. ‘Yeah. You’re probably right.’

  Just a few metres away, a couple dressed as an angel and a devil walked out of the main entrance. They giggled, arms locked and bodies huddled against the night.

  Jones kept his voice low. ‘You said on the phone we’re investigating a missing girl. How old is she, and how long’s she been gone?’

  ‘From the little information I got from Fox, she’s a teenager,’ said Phillips as she glanced at her watch. It was approaching midnight. ‘And she’s been missing about an hour and half, I’d say.’

  Jones raised his eyebrows. ‘The chief super briefed you? Not quite standard procedure for a missing person, is it?’

  Phillips shook her head and looked towards the main entrance. ‘I think it’s fair to say the missing girl’s father is not someone you would deem as “standard”, Jonesy.’

  Jones’s eyes widened with anticipation. ‘Really? Who is he?’

  ‘Sir Richard Hawkins.’

  Jones paused for a moment. ‘Richard Hawkins, the munitions trader?’

  ‘That’s the one,’ said Phillips. ‘And he’s just been knighted, so mind your Ps and Qs.’

  ‘Friends in high places then, is it?’

  ‘If you call Downing Street “high places”, then yeah.’

  ‘Bloody hell,’ said Jones. ‘I wondered why MCU was involved in a missing persons case. I mean, it’s hardly a major crime, is it?’

  ‘Depends on the missing person, doesn’t it?’

  Jones nodded. ‘Yeah, I guess it does. So how come you and I drew the short straw? Why aren’t Bov and Entwistle here?’

  ‘It must be because I like spending time with you, Jonesy,’ said Phillips, her tone playful. ‘Not to mention the fact Fox wants a show of force on this one, as does the chief constable. So they’ve got the “dream team” – that’s you and me. Plus, at this stage I’m not dragging the whole team out to look for a rich kid who’s more than likely just run off for the night. For all we know, she’s probably partying somewhere with her mates as we speak.’

  At that moment, Sir Richard Hawkins’s large frame appeared in the main entrance to the club. He was talking at high volume into his phone. He appeared almost surreal, dressed as he was in his Halloween costume.

  Phillips nodded in Hawkins’s direction. ‘That’s our guy there, Count Dracula. Quite appropriate, I’d say. He’s probably on the phone to the chief constable, questioning our methods already.’

  ‘Oh, God. He’s one of those, is he?’

  ‘Yep, I’m afraid so. Which means we should let him know we’re here.’

  Phillips walked towards Hawkins, who stood with his back to her, and Jones fell in behind. As she approached the large stone steps up to the club entrance, she pulled her credentials from her coat pocket. ‘Sir Richard?’ she said in a loud voice.

  Hawkins turned, the phone still held against his ear. ‘Yes?’

  ‘DCI Phillips from the Major Crimes Unit. This is DS Jones. We’re here in connection with your daughter’s disappearance.’

  ‘I’ll call you back,’ said Hawkins into his phone, and ended the call.

  ‘Shall we go inside?’ asked Phillips.

  Hawkins nodded. ‘Follow me,’ he said, his tone flat, and turned on his heels and walked briskly into club.

  Phillips turned to Jones briefly and raised her eyebrows. As usual, he knew exactly what she was thinking.

  ‘A real charmer, isn’t he?’ said Jones, in a low voice.

  ‘Isn’t he just?’ said Phillips, then headed inside.

  Phillips found Hawkins in an empty club lounge, standing next to a woman seated in an armchair. Her hair ragged and dishevelled, Phillips suspected she had recently removed some sort of wig. It was obvious from her puffy red eyes and the streaky face paint on her cheeks that she had been crying. A white handkerchief was clasped in her trembling hands.

  As Phillips approached, Hawkins wasted no time on pleasantries. ‘My daughter is missing, Inspector, and you’d better find her or there’ll be hell to pay.’

  Phillips bit her lip and chose to ignore the threat. ‘Who first discovered Hollie was missing, Sir Richard?’

  Jones removed his notepad and prepared to take notes.

  ‘My wife, Sandra.’ Hawkins nodded in the direction of the woman in the chair.

  ‘And when was this?’

  ‘About ten-thirty,’ Sandra said in a weak voice, without looking up.

  Phillips glanced down at her now. ‘And what makes you think she’s gone missing as opposed to run off somewhere? I have to say that, in most cases relating to a missing person, we usually tell families to wait for twenty-four hours before getting too concerned. Especially when it comes to teenagers.’

  Hawkins spoke before Sandra could answer. ‘We are not “most cases”, Inspector. I can assure you of that.’

  ‘She would never have run off without telling me,’ said Sandra, ‘never.’

  ‘My wife is right, Inspector. Because of what I do, there are many people who would like to take a pop at me. Any one of them could have snatched her.’

  Phillips was taken aback. ‘Are you saying you think she’s been kidnapped?’

  Jones stopped scribbling and looked up from his pad.

  ‘That’s exactly what I’m saying,’ said Hawkins.

  Phillips sensed that now was not the time to suggest any other possible theories regarding Hollie’s disappearance. Instead, she changed tack. ‘Have you tried calling her phone?’

  ‘Of course we bloody have,’ said Hawkins, far louder than was necessary in the empty space.

  ‘It’s switched off,’ Sandra said.

  ‘And that’s just not like her. The bloody thing is never out of her hand,’ added Hawkins.

  Sandra looked up at Phillips and wiped her nose with her handkerchief. ‘Richard is right, Inspector. She lives on that phone. That’s why I’m so worried.’

  Hawkins patted his wife’s shoulder, much like a man would pat a dog’s head. It seemed evident he was not someone who possessed a soft touch.

  Phillips locked eyes with Sandra and produced a warm smile. ‘We’ll do everything we can to make sure she’s found safe and well, Mrs Hawkins—’

  ‘You’d better!’ Hawkins interrupted her.

  Phillips once more ignored the jibe. ‘Well, we need to have a look round the club and speak to the manager. Can you tell us where his office is located?’

  Hawkins gestured with an upwards movement of his head. ‘Down there.’

  Phillips swivelled to see a long corridor behind her. She turned back to the pair. ‘Thank you,’ she said, keeping her voice soft. ‘Hollie may well turn up at home in the next few hours, so there’s no sense in you staying here and worrying. Let us check things out here, and if she still hasn’t turned up by morning, we’ll head over to your house first thing. Ok?’

  Sandra looked to her husband, who nodded. ‘You’ll update me the moment you hear anything, Inspector?’ he said.

  ‘Of course,’ said Phillips, with a reassuring smile to Sandra.

  ‘Very well,’ said Hawkins. He helped his wife from her seat and headed off in the direction of the car park.

  Once she was sure they were both out of earshot, Phillips puffed out a loud sigh of relief. ‘Well, that was fun.’

  ‘Like being stabbed in the scrotum with a rusty nail,’ said Jones, his tone laced with sarcasm. ‘What they say about Richard Hawkins being an arsehole clearly isn’t true. I mean, he’s actually quite pleasant once you get to know him.’

  ‘Come on, Jonesy,’ said Phillips with a grin. ‘Let’s go and see the manager. He’s a Mr Green, so I’m told.’

  3

  Just as Phillips was about to knock on the door to Green’s office, it opened. The tall, thick-set, suited man on the other side jumped with shock as he came face to face with Phillips, and Jones stood at her side.

  ‘Mr Green?’ asked Phillips.

  Green’s brow wrinkled, accentuat
ing his large pale forehead, as he maintained his grip on the door handle. ‘Yes?’

  Once more Phillips produced her credentials, and Jones did the same. ‘DCI Phillips and DS Jones from the Major Crimes Unit. Can we talk to you about the disappearance of Hollie Hawkins?’

  Green’s eyes narrowed for a moment as he studied their IDs. When satisfied they were who they said they were, his face softened. ‘Of course, of course. Come in.’ He moved to one side to allow them access to his office. ‘Please, take a seat,’ he said, pointing to two chairs set in front of the large beech desk.

  Phillips and Jones sat as Green walked to the other side of the desk and took a seat in the plush leather chair. ‘How can I be of help?’

  Jones prepared to take notes.

  ‘What can you tell us about what happened here tonight?’ said Phillips.

  Green’s face was blank. ‘I really don’t know, Chief Inspector. Our annual Halloween party went off as planned, and was a huge hit, as always. We had a full house of members and their families, with fairground rides, toffee apples, candy floss, etcetera, and everyone seemed to be having a wonderful time. Then, at around ten-thirty, Mr and Mrs Hawkins came to my office and said they couldn’t find their daughter, Hollie. Mrs Hawkins was in quite a state of panic and very upset.’

  ‘And how did Mr Hawkins appear?’ asked Phillips.

  Green shrugged. ‘How he always appears: austere, to the point.’

  ‘So, what happened then?’

  ‘I followed them into the clubhouse to see if we could find her. Together with my head of security, John Robbins, we checked every room in the building, as well as the outdoor tennis courts, but there was no sign of her.’

  ‘I’m assuming you have CCTV, Mr Green?’ asked Phillips.

  ‘Naturally. We have one of the most sophisticated security systems on the market,’ said Green. ‘This is a very exclusive club, Chief Inspector. Our members include Premier League footballers, politicians, lawyers, TV stars, etcetera. They demand the utmost privacy, so only the very best will do at Marstons. Plus, our security team is top-notch, hand-picked by me, with many of them coming to us direct from the military. John Robbins is a retired Royal Marine himself.’

  ‘Can we see the video footage from this evening?’ said Phillips.

  Green nodded with vigour. ‘Certainly. John is looking at the tapes as we speak. Please come with me.’

  Green stood and walked round the large desk. Phillips and Jones stood as Green opened the office door, then ushered them back into the corridor. ‘John’s office is just next door.’

  A moment later, Phillips and Jones followed Green into John Robbins’s office. Robbins was intent on a series of large CCTV monitors fixed to the wall in front of him.

  ‘John, this is Chief Inspector Phillips and Detective Sergeant Jones. They’d like to take a look at our CCTV,’ said Green.

  Robbins turned and stood. A well-built man with a barrel chest and broad shoulders, he was not especially tall – probably five foot ten, Phillips guessed – and, despite wearing a shirt and tie, it was evident he still looked after himself physically. His closely cropped hair was a nod to his military background.

  Stepping forwards, Robbins offered Jones his outstretched hand. ‘Chief Inspector. John Robbins, head of security.’

  Jones flinched and glanced at Phillips before shaking Robbins’s hand. ‘I’m Detective Sergeant Jones.’

  Green did his best to rectify Robbins’s obvious assumption. ‘Er, John, this is Detective Chief Inspector Phillips,’ he said, gesturing to Phillips.

  Robbins flushed and offered his hand to Phillips. ‘My apologies, Chief Inspector, it’s just I—’

  ‘Can we see the videos, Mr Robbins?’ said Phillips. She had little interest in his apology.

  Robbins cleared his throat. ‘Of course.’ He retook his seat in front of the monitors. Phillips and Jones moved to stand behind him.

  ‘I’ve spent the last half hour going through tonight’s footage. I started by checking the car park camera’s number plate recognition data against Mr Hawkins’s registration plate.’ Robbins showed them the footage as he spoke. ‘I was able to identify his time of arrival, which was just after 19.30. I then looked at the main entrance cameras. A moment later, we see Hollie making her way into the club. I’ve followed her through the clubhouse and outside onto the tennis courts, where the funfair was set up for this evening’s event. As I switch between cameras, you can see she walks round the entire space before finally stopping to talk to a girl of a similar age.’ Robbins tapped the screen with the index finger of his left hand, revealing a heavily tattooed wrist.

  ‘Can you zoom in on them?’ asked Phillips.

  Robbins followed her instructions.

  ‘Do you recognise the other girl?’ said Jones.

  ‘Her name is Charlotte Jenkins,’ Green said. ‘Her father works in television.’

  ‘Has anyone spoken to her?’ said Phillips.

  It was again Green who answered. ‘Yes. Mrs Hawkins spoke to her when she first went looking for Hollie. Miss Jenkins said she and Hollie had spoken earlier in the evening, but that nothing much had been said. Apparently their conversation had ended when Miss Jenkins took a call from a friend, and I’m afraid she couldn’t recall seeing Hollie after that and—.’

  ‘The footage backs up her story,’ Robbins interjected, rolling the tape forwards. ‘As we can see here, Charlotte takes a call and walks away.’ He paused the tape.

  Phillips studied the screen in front of her for a moment. ‘What happens next?’

  ‘I don’t know. This is where I’d got up to when you arrived.’

  ‘Ok,’ said Phillips. ‘Let’s play the tape and see.’

  On the monitor, Hollie watched Lottie as she walked away, talking directly at her phone screen. Hollie took a moment to scan her surroundings before folding her arms tightly across her chest and leaning against the wall of the tennis court – the unmistakable slouch of a teenager trying to hide the fact she was upset. Hollie stood for a few minutes on her own before she was approached by someone in full costume.

  ‘So who’s this then, I wonder?’ said Phillips.

  They watched as the person, wearing what appeared to be a black head-mask and a long coat, tapped Hollie on the shoulder and began a conversation.

  ‘How far does the zoom go in on this?’ asked Phillips.

  ‘It’s at the optimum level for pixilation just now. I can go further in, but the picture quality will suffer.’

  ‘Ok,’ said Phillips.

  The conversation continued until the person in the mask produced something in her hand and showed it to Hollie.

  ‘Pause it there. Zoom in on whatever is in their hand,’ said Phillips.

  Robbins obliged, but as he had warned, the image blurred.

  ‘Is that a joint?’ said Jones.

  ‘Hard to tell for sure, but it looks like it to me,’ replied Phillips.

  ‘It can’t be. We have a zero-tolerance drugs policy,’ spat Green.

  Phillips ignored him. ‘Ok, zoom out again and let's see what happens next.’

  As the tape played, Hollie followed the masked individual into a darkened corner of the tennis courts, at the side of the clubhouse building, before disappearing out of sight around the corner.

  ‘What’s around that corner?’ asked Phillips.

  ‘Air conditioning units,’ said Robbins.

  ‘Do you have cameras there?’

  ‘No, I’m afraid not. There’s no real need. No windows or access into the building. There is a gate, but it only allows access to the air conditioning units. If anyone decided to make their way round onto the courts from there, this camera would pick them up,’ said Robbins. ‘Having said that, there is one on the other side of the fence, just a bit farther along at the side of the building. It points at the pro-shop for the golf course, where we keep the golf-carts. That one might be of use.’

  ‘Ok. We may need to check it in a moment. For now,
let’s see if they come back round onto this camera.’

  Robbins played the footage in realtime for the next couple of minutes, but nothing significant happened. So he fast-forwarded it at six times normal speed for a little while longer. The timestamp on screen showed that in the ensuing thirty minutes, Hollie still did not return.

  Phillips was starting to lose patience. ‘Check the golf shop camera.’

  Robbins pulled up the footage and located the time when they had last seen Hollie on the tennis court. This camera was secured to the wall at least twenty metres away from the air-conditioning units, and the lighting was poor. Robbins pressed play and they watched in realtime.

  For a few minutes nothing happened aside from a fox trotting out of a hedge onto the concrete driveway before heading back into the bushes. Then, a moment later, the gate to the air-conditioning units opened tentatively, and a masked head peeped out before retreating back inside. Another minute passed, and a van approached. Its lights were switched off and it stopped just in front of the gates. A masked man jumped from the driver’s seat, moved round to the back of the van and opened the rear doors. He then opened the gate and signalled to someone on the other side. Two more masked men appeared, guiding someone wearing a hood over their head and with their hands tied in front of them to the back of the van.

  ‘Stop it there,’ said Phillips. ‘Zoom in on the person in the hood.’

  She scrutinised the grainy image for a moment. ‘Flick back to the tennis court camera.’

  Robbins pulled up the previous footage.

  ‘Can we see them side-by-side to compare?’

  ‘Sure,’ said Robbins.

  Staring at the two images, Phillips was sure the person under the hood was Hollie Hawkins. From what she could see, the height, build and clothes were identical.

  ‘So, that looks like Hollie. Play the rest of the golf shop footage.’

  Robbins obliged, and they watched as Hollie was lifted inside the van. Bringing up the rear, a final masked man shut the gate, then jumped into the van and closed the doors. A split second later, the vehicle roared off down the path towards the main entrance to the country club.