by ML Rose
Sandy Burton, the senior financial crimes officer, raised a hand. “Under Rhys Mason’s name, six hundred thousand pounds was stored in a NatWest bank account. Last week he took out all of the money, in four instalments, and all in cash.”
Arla said, “He’s looking to go off-grid for a long time. Probably even escape this country. We need to catch him before he gets away.”
She asked Sandy, “What other properties does he own?”
“Last year he sold two properties. The money from the sales went into his NatWest account, but again, he took the money out.”
Arla said, “How much did he make from selling those two properties?”
“Roughly two hundred thousand,” Sandy said, glancing at the notes in her hand.
“He can’t be carrying all that cash around with him. He’s either invested it in something, or kept it hidden.” She continued. “If he has more than one property, as Rebecca has indicated, it’s possible he’s buying them in cash. That way, he doesn’t leave a trail, although land registry should have some details of his buying and selling.”
Sandy said, “Not necessarily, guv. Land registry can only put down the name and details given to them. If he uses a fake name and identity, that’s all we have to go with. And having been through land registry records, I can tell you there’s no evidence of him having bought another property. So, if he is buying them, it must be with cash and a different name, as you say.”
“What about the CCTV footage?” James asked. “Outside Martha Smith’s house, I mean.”
Rob stepped forward. “Roslyn and I spent the morning in the media lab. No one came in to Martha Smith’s property this morning. There are railway lines behind her house, and it’s possible the intruder came into her garden through the rear. The CCTV at the rear belongs to the rail company, and we’ve requested them as urgent.”
Arla snapped her head towards him. “You mean we don’t have them yet? That’s ridiculous. Let me speak to them after the meeting.”
Rob nodded.
Arla faced the assembled staff and continued. “I think he had a getaway car, especially if he was carrying a baby. After what he did, it’s virtually impossible to step into a bus or taxi. There’s a high chance a cab driver would have reported him. He wouldn’t take that risk.”
Harry said, “Rebecca mentioned a black Honda following her around. We checked with DVLA—Rhys Mason is the registered keeper of a car matching that description. We’re looking for ANPR data on the number plates.” Automatic number plate recognition was used extensively from road cameras for vehicle identification.
He continued. “Hopefully we can nail the car down later today.”
Arla glanced down at the points written in her notebook. “Any news from the social media accounts? Any new posts trolling Rebecca?”
Roslyn said, “Yes, guv. A couple of hours ago, I picked up some new posts. It’s the usual stuff, calling Rebecca’s son the spawn of the devil who needs to be put down.”
The phone started to ring. It was a hotline from the controller at the switchboard, who was instructed to call only if there was an emergency. Everyone hushed and stared at the phone. Harry broke the spell, striding over to the table and reaching out a long arm to pluck the receiver into his hand. He introduced himself, and as he listened, his lips parted in silence and the skin around his eyes relaxed.
“Send emergency units to both crime scenes. We are dispatching from here, now.”
Harry put the phone down, catching Arla’s eyes. He spoke to her, but faced the rest of the officers gathered as well. His tone was quiet, but the words fell like explosions in the silent room.
“Grant Stone’s car has just been blown up. He was pronounced dead on scene. And—” Harry stopped and passed a hand over his face. “—Rebecca Stone has just been kidnapped from her parents’ house.”
CHAPTER 45
The heavy odour was sickly sweet, pungent. It made Rebecca gag. She tried to breathe, but a cloth covered her mouth. She took deep breaths through her nostrils, unable to avoid the nausea caused by the horrible cloying smell of the cloth. She recognised the scent from a college science experiment many years ago. Chloroform.
Her head was vibrating, but not from her usual headache. The right side of her face was numb, and she was lying curled up. Her whole body was shaking, and when she tried to move her hands, she realised they were tied behind her back. She couldn’t see anything, but heard a dull roar, louder in the right ear.
It took her several minutes to realise she was in the trunk of a moving car. A thin line of daylight entered through a gap, but she was in almost complete darkness, bound and gagged. Even her feet were tied. She stretched her legs and immediately hit the sides. A shard of pain travelled up her legs into her spine, making the nausea worse. She felt helpless, and angry at the useless tears that budded in her eyes.
She groaned with pain as the car hit a pothole, flinging her around the confined space. She curled further into the foetal position, and strained to rub her face against her knees, trying to loosen the rag tied around her mouth.
It was hard work, and when the car lurched again, her head slammed against something hard, making her wince. She decided to lay still and conserve her strength. She tried to piece together what had happened.
When she’d left the barn, she had secured the latch, but it wasn’t hard to open. She cursed herself for not fixing a lock on the barn door. She must’ve become unconscious and then Rhys had carried her to his car. And that was where she was now. She wondered where he was going. It was still daylight, which meant it was afternoon, about four o’clock. Soon, in an hour or two, it would be dark.
She could feel the car slowing as sounds of traffic faded. The car entered an uneven road, jarring her back and head repeatedly. She rolled around, trying to stabilise herself with the tied legs. It was a hopeless task. Luckily, it didn’t last long.
Abruptly, the car came to a halt. It was very quiet all of a sudden. She couldn’t hear the sound of traffic, which was unusual. Had Rhys gone farther into the countryside?
She heard the driver’s door open and shut. Boots crunched on the ground and she heard them coming around to the trunk. A key turned, then sudden light washed over her as the door opened. She blinked in the light, only able to make out the shape of a man leaning over her. She could smell dust and the faint stench of diesel fumes.
The man leaned over, partially blocking out the grey daylight. She still couldn’t see properly, but heard the familiar voice. “Are you okay, Becky?”
The solicitous tone made her shiver. Rhys sounded concerned, apologetic even, and it reminded her of the times when he was violent with her, then begged her for forgiveness.
She felt his fingers against her face, pulling the rag free. She breathed in deeply, gulping the welcome, fresh air. He moved to her feet and loosened the ties there. But he didn’t free her hands.
“I’m going to make you stand up, Becky. Don’t worry, I won’t let you fall. Please don’t shout. There’s no one here. Screaming will only make things worse for you, as I’ll put the gag back on.”
A strong arm encircled her shoulders, and another pulled her legs out till they dangled outside. Rhys made her lean against the car, his arm around her back. She didn’t want to look at him.
They were in a disused yard, old rusty machinery in one corner and a building that looked like a warehouse opposite them. There was a long drive and she couldn’t see the end of it. The dirt road was uneven, and she could see the fresh, muddy tyre marks where Rhys had driven up on it. On either side, she could see similar warehouses, an industrial wasteland.
She stood and Rhys kept the arm on her back for a few seconds. She shrugged it off, then looked at him for the first time. He had a white parka on, the hood lined with fur. He was wearing a baseball cap, jeans, and trainers. His eyes ran over her warily, and he stood taut and ready, as if he anticipated her making a run for it.
“There’s nowhere to go, as you can see,
” he said in a calm voice. “If you run, I’m going to find you and then lock you up here.” He pointed to the car boot.
He had a three-day stubble on his cheeks, and he was still good-looking. His large brown eyes observed her intently, his thin nose tapering down to full, pink lips.
She looked away quickly, her body shuddering at the conflicted memories that rose up inside her in a tidal wave. It felt bizarre, like she was in a dream from which there was no escape. It was cold, too, and she gripped herself tightly, feeling goose bumps spread down her arms. When she turned to look at him again, his eyes were still locked onto her, calm and deadly.
“Why are you doing this, Rhys?” Her voice broke and she blinked furiously, stopping the prickle of tears. “You took my baby, and now. . . .” Her throat closed, silencing her words.
Rhys raised his eyebrows and shook his head as a smirk appeared on his lips. He grabbed her arm above the elbow in a claw-like grip and marched her towards the warehouse. She stumbled along, knowing it was useless to fight. He was big, and stronger than he used to be. She was tall herself, but would never beat him in a fight.
They went round to the back of the warehouse, and Rhys opened a rusty door and went inside. He flicked a switch on, and to her surprise, white halogen lights flickered to life overhead. The warehouse floor was large enough to park several trucks inside. There were two rooms at the far end, each with a door opening out onto the open floor.
The interior had been cleaned, Rebecca noticed. There were no weeds here, no smell of animal urine like outside. Rhys marched her towards the rooms at the rear and flung open one of the doors. It was an office space, with an old, dust-covered desk, threadbare carpet, and a chair with one leg missing.
He shoved her down in one corner and then squatted in front of her. His lips curled upward as he breathed heavily. A scowl appeared on his face.
“Why, Becky? Why did you leave me? It didn’t have to come to this.”
She stared at him. He took the cap off his head and ran a hand through his flattened, wavy dark hair. An unwelcome memory seeped into her mind—how she’d rubbed his scalp and how much he enjoyed it. She swallowed hard and snapped her eyes shut. She wished he would just go away, but clearly, he wanted her attention.
Which wasn’t a bad thing. She needed to keep him talking, to buy time. She needed to find out where she was. He was obsessed with her, and that was her only weapon at the moment. Her jaws relaxed as she opened her eyes and stared at him like she used to. With an effort, a light smile played on her lips.
“I didn’t want to leave you, Rhys. What we had together was good; it could have lasted forever.”
His eyes narrowed, as if he didn’t want to believe her. His breathing quickened and she saw his hands clench into fists. Good, she was getting under his skin. She drove home her advantage. Leaning forward slightly, she dropped her voice to a husky whisper. “Remember that time we went to Puerto Banús in Spain?”
Rhys rubbed a hand against his stubble. “That was a long time ago,” he said in a careful voice.
She didn’t want to overdo it. He would see through that easily. She kept her voice even and maintained eye contact.
“Yes, but those were our best days. When we could talk to each other. Then you changed. I didn’t want that, Rhys. If you could go back to the way you were. . . .” She lowered the corners of her lips and her eyes fell to the floor. A careful mixture of regret and confusion remained on her face.
“Then what?”
“Then maybe, just maybe, we could try again. Maybe we could go to Spain, and never come back. Or whatever.” She shrugged. She smiled again, a little fuller this time. “That would be nice, right?”
It was Rhys’s turn to look perplexed, a panoply of emotions playing across his face. He sat down cross-legged. His eyes remained narrowed. “You want to get back with me?”
She shrugged. “We could try, right?” She fought to keep her expression sincere.
He smiled. The snarl reappeared and his eyes glittered. “You fucking bitch. You think I’m that stupid?” He reached forward so swiftly she had no time to move. He grabbed her by the throat and pushed her against the wall, leaning in. She heard his teeth gnashing, his breath hot and heavy. She fought against him but he was too strong. She gagged; the grip on her throat was tight.
“You destroyed everything the day you married that bastard. Now you want to go back to the way it was before?” He thrust her back violently against the wall, just holding her throat. Then he let go abruptly and stood. Rebecca coughed and sputtered, a trail of mucus drooling down her mouth. She slid sideways, then fell forwards, her face resting on the flea-covered, dirty carpet. She didn’t have the strength to lift her head.
“You think I’m that stupid?” he thundered. “You destroyed my life; now I’ll do the same to you.”
Rebecca thought quickly. She needed to come up with a different plan. “Water,” she croaked. “Please. . . .” She coughed, making gagging sounds. She turned on the floor, looking up at him. He stood with his fists bunched by his side, an angry snarl on his face. She coughed again, then retched.
“Please, Rhys.”
It worked.
Rhys turned and left and she heard him running across the warehouse floor. She straightened immediately and looked around the room. She spotted two shelves above the desk, holding nothing but dust. Her eyes fell on the chair. One leg had come off, and it lay on the floor, with a screw sticking out from the top. Her eyes lit up. Her spine creaked and protested, but she managed to stand. Then she heard Rhys coming back. She lay down quickly, back to her previous position.
He came in and offered her a glass of water. He held it to her lips and she finished it, then leaned back against the wall, gasping. “What are you going to do to me?”
A crafty smile appeared on his lips. “It’s a surprise.”
CHAPTER 46
The MIR-1 was a hive of activity. Arla was seated at the desk, her eyes on four new TV screens.
Live feeds were not possible at the moment, but Johnson had put in an urgent request at the road and transport command. It was taking frustratingly long to hear back from them.
In the meantime, Arla was using the time to go through the CCTV feeds from around Martha Smith’s house and the car park of the doctor’s surgery where Grant Stone had been a patient. Grant’s housekeeper had told them he was going to the doctor’s and Roslyn and Rob were at the site. They had talked to several witnesses who had seen Grant both arrive, then drive off in his golden Porsche.
Uniformed officers rushed in and out of the room, and the radio on the desk squawked incessantly. Harry was leaning over Arla’s shoulder and he reached out a long arm to turn off the radio. Then he lifted a finger to point at one of the screens. “There. The man in the blue mechanic overalls. He’s kneeling by Grant’s Porsche.”
“Yes,” Arla said excitedly. The figure turned around but they only got a poor view of the face.
The man clearly knew where the cameras were pointing. Arla could make out a black baseball cap and a beard. His hands were covered by gloves. She zoomed in but there was no bare skin visible. She zoomed back, then focused on his boots. They looked similar to the boots Rebecca had found in Rhys’s house. She watched the man’s gait carefully, putting the video into slow motion.
Then she grabbed her radio. “Duty controller one, this is DCI Baker.”
“Controller one receiving, DCI Baker.”
“Alert all road surveillance units on Operation Newton to search for a man with a beard and dark glasses. Black beard and dark glasses.”
“Roger that, DCI Baker. All units on Operation Newton alerted.”
Arla hung up, then grabbed her radio again. She called the three members of her immediate team, telling them what to expect. Harry’s eyes were roving around all of the screens. He jabbed his finger at the screen on Arla’s right.
“Stop!” he exclaimed. Arla looked at the screen. It showed a Range Rover going down Clapham Hi
gh Street. She knew the road well, from the usual shops on the side.
“Is that Rebecca’s car?”
“Yes it is.”
“Go back a frame.”
She did as Harry asked. Apart from traffic she couldn’t see a great deal, and they scrolled back a couple of more frames before Harry asked her to stop again. “There.” Harry’s fingers tapped the screen, landing on a black Honda. “That sounds like the car Rebecca had seen following her around.”
Arla’s eyes widened as she zoomed in on the number plate. Harry snatched up the radio. “I need the ANPR and DVLA details on Bravo Victor 12 Delta Sierra Tango. Black Honda, but different colour also possible.” He repeated the number plate, and put the phone down. It rang again immediately and Harry answered, then handed it to Arla.
“DCI Baker,” Arla said tersely.
“It’s your favourite pathologist, my dear.” Dr Banerjee’s mellow, warm voice came down the line. “I’ve been examining the new victim, Martha Smith.”
She clutched the receiver tighter to her ear. “Yes, doc?”
“Primary cause of death was exsanguination by bleeding from the uterine artery, as we suspected. There were no other knife marks on the body. From the edges of the wound, I extracted traces of nickel and chromium. The concentration suggests these are residues from a common kitchen knife, easily available in any store. Nothing special about the murder weapon.”
“Question is, where has it gone?”
“That’s your job, I’m afraid, my dear.” Banerjee paused. “Any progress with the case?”
“Plenty.” Arla told him what had happened in the last few hours.
“Good Lord.” Banerjee sighed. “I’d better let you go, in that case. But I found a couple of other things on baby Reggie I should inform you about.” Arla listened, then flipped open her black notebook and scribbled on a page.
