by Chris Simms
Chapter 36
Jon was surprised to find that, apart from DCI Pinner, the third-floor meeting room was empty. He’d been expecting a team of detectives waiting for a brief. No sign of Weir, either. He looked at Pinner questioningly.
The other man shook his head as he started to move aside some paperwork. ‘There’s been a bit happening since you left. Sit down.’
Jon gave Iona a wary glance as they settled into the nearest chairs. His phone went off and he slid it from his pocket and checked the screen. Alice. Of all the times to ring me, he thought, diverting her to answerphone.
‘The death of Olivia Farnham is being treated as murder,’ Pinner announced. ‘Inevitable, given the footage shot from the cab of that crane.’
Jon immediately knew where this was going. He sat up straight. ‘But he’s our suspect – likely to be behind the killings of at least six ex-servicemen.’
Pinner sighed. ‘You were in the MIT, so you know how it works: murders are their responsibility. The Counter Terrorism Unit is here for sneaky-peeky stuff, not catching killers.’
‘Those deaths weren’t even on MIT’s radar. They’d written them off as suicides. It was only the work we did here that proved—’
Pinner’s hands went up. ‘No need to persuade me of that. But this has already gone up the chain. DCI Weir is on his way to a meeting with the ACC. They’re working out the best way for everything to be handed over to MIT. It’s just a question of how soon.’
Jon leaned back in the chair and crossed his arms. ‘Bollocks.’
‘However,’ Pinner added, ‘there’s a decent chance we won’t be entirely shut out. DCI Weir is going to argue that we provide support.’
‘Great.’ Jon snorted. ‘So we sit in the office and wait for them to call us with the odd question?’
Pinner sighed again. ‘DC Spicer, would you mind closing the door properly? Thanks.’
Jon got to his feet and swung it shut with a bang. Once he was back in his seat, Pinner sat forward. ‘You’ll be aware I was at the mortuary earlier. My involvement in this has a personal angle.’
Jon nodded slowly.
‘Edward Farnham is someone I’ve known for over twenty years. We have been on family holidays together. When Olivia was younger and less,’ he stared sadly off to the side, ‘troubled.’
Watching him, Jon saw another side to the man. The DCI was someone who was trying to support a friend the best way he could. He regretted his earlier flippant comment to Weir about Masonic lodges.
The DCI cleared his throat. ‘You know Weir isn’t your biggest fan, DC Spicer?’
‘Yeah, I’d sensed it.’
‘He says you’ve got attitude. You’re too headstrong. I’m guessing, during your time in uniform, you worked with the Tactical Aid Unit?’
The knuckle-draggers, thought Jon. The largest and most physical officers serving with Greater Manchester Police. Whenever local uniforms couldn’t handle something, the TAU was called in to break a few heads, restore order and then disappear. God, he thought, it was such a laugh. ‘I did, yes.’
Pinner smiled knowingly. ‘Going straight in where others feared to tread, mmm?’
Jon started to say something, then stopped.
‘What?’ Pinner asked.
‘It’s nothing.’
‘DC Spicer, we’re speaking openly. What did you want to say?’
Jon tapped a foot, unsure how honest to be. ‘You’ll know my arse was kicked out of the MIT. For pretty much the same reasons that Weir finds a problem. But this unit didn’t take me on for my tiptoeing skills. What’s his problem?’
Pinner nodded his agreement. ‘He has a different way of doing things. Perhaps more of a micro-manager? He gives orders, you obey them.’ Pinner waved a hand. ‘Listen, how you go about your business might ruffle feathers. But the way you two operate as a pair seems pretty damn effective. Especially for the situation we find ourselves in currently.’
Jon eyed the other man cautiously. ‘Which means what, sir?’
Pinner’s eyes shifted momentarily to the door. When he spoke, his voice was almost a whisper. ‘I’d say we have a few hours, tops, before this investigation moves across to the MIT and a new SIO takes over. Before starting to make any decisions, that person will need to be fully briefed. It’s time that Olivia’s baby doesn’t have.’
Jon waited, wondering where the DCI was going with this.
Pinner’s eyes shifted to Iona and then went back to Jon. ‘Continue with what you’re doing and I’ll cover you for as long as I can.’
Jon wasn’t sure he’d heard correctly. ‘You want us keep after whoever owns the phone?’
‘Isn’t that our best chance of finding the baby?’ Pinner asked.
‘It is.’
‘So we’re agreed?’
Jon turned to Iona. ‘I’m up for it. You?’
She hesitated a second before nodding. ‘OK.’
‘Right,’ Pinner sat back. ‘What do we know about this fucker?’
Iona quickly explained how the phone number that had featured on Wayne Newton’s records belonged to a handset registered with the Manchester Veterans’ Helpline. ‘That handset has been assigned to this person,’ she concluded, laying down the sheets she’d just printed off.
Pinner studied them in silence. ‘He’s ex-forces, too?’
‘All the people working at the helpline are,’ Jon said. ‘Seems he’s using the phone operator role as a way of identifying potential victims. Our theory is that, if someone rings the number needing help and they fit his criteria, he calls them back and gets their physical location.’
Pinner lifted his chin. ‘They’re vulnerable, possibly incapacitated with drugs or alcohol ...’
‘That was certainly the case with Wayne Newton,’ Jon responded.
‘Christ. Why do you think he has he taken it upon himself to start killing people?’
Jon shrugged.
‘What’s important, in our opinion,’ Iona said, ‘is that killing Olivia Farnham was a change of direction for him. I think we can assume that she didn’t ring the veterans’ helpline. So the killer couldn’t have called her back and asked where she was.’
‘Which means,’ Jon said, ‘he came across her by chance: taking Olivia’s baby was never part of his plan.’
Pinner’s gaze dropped to the printouts once more. ‘Have you started looking at the building where he lives?’
‘Not as yet.’
He glanced up. ‘This ... this is great work. Both of you. I didn’t realise you were this close.’ He ran a hand over his mouth. ‘Christ, we’re way outside Counter Terrorism territory, here.’
‘What do you want us to do?’ Jon asked.
‘Get everything needed to execute a raid on his flat. If the MIT are being too slow, be prepared that it might be you who crashes down the door.’
Jon waited until they’d entered the stairwell before he glanced at Iona. ‘That was a bit unexpected,’ he whispered.
‘You think he meant it?’ Iona looked worried. ‘That he’ll cover us?’
‘What choice do we have?’ Jon replied. ‘We have to trust him.’
Iona still seemed troubled. ‘I suppose if it’s not yet officially MIT’s case ...’
‘Exactly. So let’s get all we can about where he’s living.’ His phone started to ring as they entered the main office. Alice, again. ‘I’d better take this.’ He started towards an empty desk. ‘Babe, can I call you—’
‘Have you heard from Holly?’
‘Holly? No. Why?’
‘She’s not called your phone?’
He came to a halt. ‘No. Alice, why are you asking?’
‘You need to come home, Jon.’
‘What’s happening?’
‘I can’t find her. She’s not here!’
‘What do you mean she’s not there?’
‘She’s gone.’
‘Gone where?’ He realised he had lifted his free hand and was gripping his forehead.
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‘I don’t know! That little rucksack she keeps in her room is missing.’
Jon needed something to anchor him to the floor. He turned round and sat heavily on the edge of a desk. ‘Alice, slow down. When did you last see her?’
‘Hours ago. Hours! I thought she was in her room. Oh God, Jon, where will she have gone?’
‘Hours?’ He checked the time. It would be dark soon. ‘How many hours? Two, three, more?’
‘Maybe three? I’m not sure.’
It took all Jon’s strength to keep his voice slow and calm. To not let the panic in his wife’s words infect his. ‘Where’s Duggy?’
‘It’s Sunday – at my mum’s.’
‘Right.’
‘I asked her to hold on to him. Jon, something’s happened. I just know—’
‘Listen to me, Alice.’
‘I mean, what if she’s—’
‘Listen to me!’ Heads turned. People were watching him. His mouth had gone dry. He wanted to retch and gulp in air all at once. ‘Alice, listen. I’m coming home. But start calling round her friends. Can you do that?’
‘Yes ... yes, I’ll do that.’
‘I’m on my way.’
Chapter 37
Gavin wanted to stay where he was for just a bit longer. Sitting here cross-legged, safely anchored before his shrine, he felt at peace. So different to when he was high up, just after someone else had crossed to the next world. Then he felt a giddy sense of exhilaration. It was partly due to the adrenaline of what he’d just done and partly due to where he was. Standing on the edge of a large drop tended to monkey with your heart rate. So did hearing someone’s cry of surprise or panic. The last noise they would ever make. Except, of course, the sound of them as they landed.
But here, in the quiet of his flat, he could control his breathing and reflect on things properly.
He gazed at their pictures. The happy smiles on their faces. It was, he knew beyond all doubt, exactly how they looked right now. Those smiles were ones of encouragement. Soon, they were saying to him, soon we’ll all be together once more!
The candle let out a tiny crackle as something ignited in the wick. The flame shivered briefly. He let his eyes drift to the painting by Bosch. The pair of figures bathed in brilliant light at the far end of the tunnel. Claire and Sophie, of course. Waiting for him in that place of purity. He focused on the sheer whiteness of the circle in which they stood. So clean and perfect. And the tunnel leading to it wasn’t long. Not much more than a hundred metres. It wasn’t far to go for an eternity of happiness.
That’s how he thought of it for all those he’d helped. As they fell through the air, some – the ones he couldn’t persuade otherwise – believed they were dropping to the ground. Those were the ones who gasped, cried out or kicked and flailed at the air.
But the ones who’d seen the truth, they kept quiet. Not a sound. Because they knew that, though their body might be dropping towards the earth, the part of them that lived forever was being carried swiftly upward. Leaving this world for somewhere better.
It was time to go.
He unfolded his legs and got to his feet. The holdall was ready on the floor, his wings folded neatly at the top. In the gap between them, he’d formed a little crater in the folds of his long black coat. Just right for a baby.
He blew out the candle and waited for the smoke to rise up so he could breathe some in. Was that the last time he would experience that aroma? He didn’t think there would be such things as smoke where he was going. In the photo, his wife’s and daughter’s eyes were on him. It didn’t seem right to leave them there staring out at their empty home. He contemplated packing them into the bag. But why do that when they would be together so soon?
Instead, he traced the tip of a finger over their faces then turned the frame face down. Doing that had the appropriate air of finality. There was nothing more for them to see in this world. Over at the kitchenette, he put a line through the final day. All done. He put on his tabard and zipped it up. At the window, he looked down on to the street below. Several parked cars, but no vans or other vehicles that might belong to the police. Knowing that wouldn’t be the case for long, he went to retrieve his bag from the floor.
Maybe it was anxiety, but he needed the toilet. Cursing the fact it had to happen now, he skirted round the bag and continued quickly towards the bathroom.
Chapter 38
Jon looked round his daughter’s bedroom, hands in his pockets like he was attending a crime scene. Idiot, Spicer. Why didn’t you see this coming? Wiper appeared in the doorway, tail moving slowly from side to side. A hopeful wag. Jon knelt down and held out a hand. ‘Come here.’
The dog trotted over and lent its head against Jon’s thigh. He trailed his fingers across the animal’s head, grateful of the calming effect it had on him. Think, Jon. Think what might have been going on with her. What was she planning?
The rucksack she liked to use for any trips out was missing from the hooks on the back of her door. He got to his feet and quickly checked she hadn’t put it in her wardrobe. All the time, the mental barrier he’d erected in his head was threatening to collapse. He couldn’t let that happen. Couldn’t let all the despair and dread out. Every now and again, his mind would flash up an image. What a certain type of adult will do with a child, if given the chance. He had to shove the thoughts aside. Tell himself to shut the fuck up. That wasn’t going to happen to Holly. It wasn’t ...
‘That was Helen, Maisy’s mum,’ Alice called up from the bottom of the stairs.
From the shake in his wife’s voice, he knew the answer already. ‘And?’
‘Nothing. I don’t know who else to call, Jon. I mean, there’s only Diane and Cheryl who haven’t rung me back.’ Her voice was starting to crack. ‘Maybe I should drive round to their houses?’
He closed his eyes tight. He needed to think. And he couldn’t think. Not with his wife’s tormented voice ringing in his ears.
‘Jon? I want to drive round to—’
‘Hang on. Let’s just ... pause a second.’ He opened Holly’s bottom drawer. The thick fleece wasn’t in there. He went to the shelf above her bed. Fairy lights were strung along its edge. The tin can she kept her pocket money in felt light. He glanced in. Only coppers. There had been a handful of pound coins in there, he was certain. Oh, Christ. He couldn’t help looking out the window. The streetlights were starting to come on. Half an hour before night, at the most. And she was out there, somewhere. Alone.
A text sounded. He took his phone out. A message from Iona. ‘MIT took his address. On their way there now.’
They didn’t hang around after all, Jon thought. So we’re out of the investigation. It’s over. He couldn’t have cared less.
Alice called up to him again. ‘Jon, surely we should just ring the police?’
‘Ali, I know how it works: it’ll be a while before a patrol car turns up. And then some officer a month into the job will spend the first hour asking questions from a list he was given back at base. Then he’ll take our answers to his senior officer who’ll put them to one side while he finishes whatever he was doing; we can do more ourselves.’
He checked the tiny desk Holly used for homework. Lying in the centre of it was a school exercise book. He recognised it: at the back had been that picture. The one of Pompeii. He turned to it again and examined the disturbing imagery. The abandoned baby. Smoke pouring from buildings. The end of the world. Familiar things, suddenly irrelevant. In the fields beside the road, a small flag hung from a chest-high pole. It stood next to what looked like a shallow pit of sand. A thought occurred.
He walked out of her room and trotted down the stairs, Wiper following close behind. ‘She didn’t say anything that sounded odd?’
Alice was sitting on the bottom step, hunched over as if in pain. ‘No,’ she groaned. ‘Nothing.’
‘OK.’ He squeezed past. ‘Has she been out to the shed?’
‘The shed? I don’t think so.’
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nbsp; ‘I want to check something. One minute.’ He undid the bolt on the back door and stepped into their little courtyard. The previous summer, he’d bought a small shed. It was a useful place to store items like windbreaks, sunshades and deckchairs. Things for days out. He swung the door open, allowing light from the kitchen window to shine in. Top shelf: the little camping stove was missing. He felt a glimmer of hope. No sign of the purple picnic rug, either.
Back in the house, he checked the food cupboard beside the boiler. The lower part was where things like baked beans, ravioli, savoury rice and other quick and easy-to-make items were stored. There was a gap where, he was certain, several packets of instant noodles had been. Back in the hallway, he crouched before his wife. She looked ill. ‘I have a feeling I know where she is, Alice. You stay here in case she shows up. I have my phone. Anything happens, call me.’
‘Where do you think she went?’
‘You know the bottom of the golf course? The little copse of trees. I made a camp there with her back in the summer, remember?’
‘Why? I don’t understand. Why look there?’
‘I think she’s taken a few things with her. Stuff to make food. It just makes sense. I won’t be long. Keep your phone with you. Come on, Wiper.’
The group of officers made their way up the stairs. The apartment they wanted was on the fourth floor, to the right. They were a team of six: two were carrying Perspex shields and one was carrying an Enforcer. The men were incredibly quiet. Once in position outside the target apartment, they turned to the man who was hanging back. He nodded before whispering into a throat mike.
‘We’re all good.’
A few moments later, the ring of a phone sounded in the flat.
One of the officers at the door had what looked like a doctor’s stethoscope pressed against the wood. His head was bowed, eyes shut. The phone rang for another thirty seconds before falling silent.
