Clare closed her eyes. She was so tired and the thought of another day of hunting for Abi Mitchell, followed by a dinner party with Geoffrey’s sister and her friends was fast losing its appeal. ‘Can I let you know?’
‘Of course. But do try, Clare. For me.’
Tuesday, 24 September
Chapter 12
‘Press conference arranged for twelve midday,’ Tony told Clare as she entered the station.
‘Does Wendy know?’ she asked.
‘Don’t think so. Give her a call, please. And get the boy wonder to help set up the room. Tell him we need his journalistic abilities to get it properly prepared.’
Clare glanced at Lyall, who was tapping away at his tablet again. ‘Good idea, Tony.’
‘And that, Inspector, is why I’m going to be the next Superintendent!’
Clare ignored this and walked through to the incident room. ‘Anything come in overnight?’
Nita looked up. ‘Nothing much, boss. Managed to get a car reg off the CCTV around the pharmacy. Turned out to be stolen. Found it burned out on a bit of waste ground in Dundee.’
‘Where was it stolen from?’
‘Perth Road.’
‘Figures.’ The houses at the far end of Dundee’s Perth Road were large with leafy gardens. Easy enough to pick up a car without being observed. ‘Ah well, another dead end.’
Janey rose from her computer. Clare thought she seemed tired. ‘They’ve found that couple in the Peak District, boss. Checked out. Absolutely no sign of a baby. No child seat in the car or anything like that.’
Clare sighed. She could only hope that the press conference would yield something. They were all starting to feel the strain.
Sara put her head round the door. ‘Boss, could you come out here, please?’
A woman in a raincoat was standing near the front desk. Clare thought she might be in her late forties but somehow she had the world-weary air of someone much older. A young lad who towered over her stood a little behind, his fingers drumming continuously against his legs. The lad had a shock of hair and, beneath a thick fringe, Clare could see that his eyes were flicking left and right.
She approached them with a smile. ‘Hello, I’m Detective Inspector Clare Mackay. How can I help?’
The woman hesitated, and the boy continued to look at his surroundings, avoiding Clare’s eye.
‘Let’s go somewhere quieter,’ Clare said.
In the interview room, with the door closed, the woman began to relax. ‘I’m Marjory Brown,’ she said, ‘and this is my son Devon.’
‘Devon?’
‘It’s a family name.’
Clare smiled at the lad. He must have been about eighteen, but he lacked the confidence normally found in kids of that age. Maybe the surroundings were making him nervous. ‘Nice to meet you, Devon,’ she said. Then she turned back to Marjory. ‘Was there something you wanted to tell me?’
Marjory glanced at her son. ‘Devon, you know, has a learning difficulty. He struggles with social situations, but he does like going out and about by himself.’
Clare was beginning to wonder why Sara hadn’t interviewed Marjory and Devon herself. ‘I see…’
‘He went to the fun run on Sunday,’ Marjory was saying. ‘Down on the West Sands, where that poor baby was taken.’
‘On Sunday?’
‘Yes, that’s right.’ Marjory turned to her son now. ‘You were standing quite near the couple and the pram, weren’t you, Devon?’
Devon nodded. ‘Saw the baby.’
Clare’s mouth was dry now. ‘Devon, did you see someone take the baby?’
Devon shook his head. ‘I saw pizza.’
‘Devon loves pizza,’ Marjory explained. ‘And when he saw the motorbike with the pizza bag on the back, he thought they might have some for sale. So, he went across the dunes to ask if he could buy some.’
Devon nodded again. ‘But the man said a swear word and that meant I had to go away.’
‘Did you see who bought the pizzas?’ Clare asked.
‘No pizzas.’
‘He didn’t have any?’
‘No. Didn’t have pizzas. Bag was empty. It was a big empty bag.’ And he held out his hands to indicate the size of the bag.
‘Devon thought it was strange,’ Marjory said. ‘He’d seen the bike arrive and the driver hadn’t taken anything out of the bag.’
Devon was watching Clare, his eyes dark beneath the fringe. ‘I really like pizza.’
‘Me too, Devon. No mushrooms though.’
He grinned. ‘No. No mushrooms.’
‘Devon asked the man if he could look inside the bag,’ Marjory went on. She gave her son an encouraging smile. ‘I don’t think you believed him about there being no pizza, did you?’
Devon shook his head. ‘But the man unzipped the bag and showed me it was empty. Then he told me to go back and watch the race. In case I missed the start.’
‘And is that what you did, Devon?’
He glanced at his mum. Marjory took her cue. ‘Tell the Inspector what you saw next, Devon.’
‘The man came over to watch the race. But then he moved away a bit. I think he wanted to look after his bike. In case it was stolen. I watched the runners like he said and the next time I looked he was back at his bike. He zipped up the bag and rode away.’
Clare waited.
‘But the bag was full,’ Devon went on. ‘It wasn’t flat any more. It was really full so he must have been picking up pizzas, not delivering them.’
Clare stared at Marjory then back at Devon. A picture of the incident room, buzzing with activity just minutes before, flashed across her mind. She thought of the TV appeals, the officers out knocking on doors, the hours spent trawling through phone records, interviewing possible suspects. They were ploughing a colossal amount of resources into this investigation. And here she sat, isolated from it all, in this tiny interview room, with this socially awkward lad and his mother. Was it possible that they held the key to Abi’s abduction?
She was suddenly aware of her heart pounding away in her chest. ‘There was something in the bag, Devon? As the man rode away?’
‘I thought it was pizzas,’ Devon said, ‘but pizzas don’t move and the bag was moving. Maybe it was the man’s cat. Cats move, don’t they? They make a noise, too.’
Clare said, ‘So, the man arrived with an empty pizza bag, and when he left, there was something moving inside the bag? Is that right, Devon?’
The lad nodded again.
‘Devon, did you notice which pizza company it was?’
‘Railway Pizzas,’ he said, then he reeled off the phone number of the company. ‘In Leuchars.’
Clare snatched up a pen and jotted it down.
‘He knows the registration number too,’ Marjory said. ‘Go on, Devon, tell the Inspector.’
Devon gave Clare the registration number. Clare wrote this down and rose from the table. ‘Excuse me a moment, please.’
Out in the main office she motioned to Chris.
‘What is it?’ he asked.
‘The baby was carried off in one of those pizza delivery bags.’
‘What – on the back of a motorbike?’
‘Yes, I think so. Here’s the registration and the phone number of the company. It’s in Leuchars. According to the young lad, you go through Guardbridge, head right for Leuchars and it’s shortly after the railway station. Take a couple of lads and head over there now. It’s only six miles. Blue light it until you’re within a mile then kill the siren. Do nothing to put them on their guard. Just say you’re checking up on untaxed bikes.’
Chris picked up a set of car keys and made for the door.
Clare returned to the interview room. ‘Sorry about that – I just wanted to let my colleagues know what Devon has told us.’ She smiled at him. ‘Thank you, Devon. You’ve been really helpful.’
Marjory frowned. ‘I’m sorry it’s taken us so long to come forward. It was only when Devon mentioned the man
might have a cat in the bag that I realised what it could be…’
‘Please don’t apologise. You’ve helped us enormously.’
‘There’s something else, too, isn’t there, Devon?’
The lad nodded. ‘The pram,’ he said.
‘The baby’s pram?’
‘Yeah. I heard the lady screaming. Dead loud. So I looked at her.’
‘Yes?’
‘She was looking in the pram and she screamed. Then she picked up a piece of paper and she read it. And then she screamed again. Really loud. And she said about her baby being gone.’
‘What sort of paper, Devon?’
‘Like from a notepad. With lines.’
‘Could you see what was written on it?’
‘No. But she looked at it like she was reading. And she screamed.’
Clare’s mind was racing. ‘Did you see what the lady did with the paper, Devon?’
‘Put it in her pocket.’
‘You’re sure about that?’
He nodded his head vigorously.
Clare said, ‘Devon, can you describe the pizza man?’
Devon nodded. ‘He had a helmet on when he arrived but he took it off and rubbed his hair. Then he put it back on again.’
‘Was this when he was watching the race?’
Devon shook his head. ‘No. When he stopped the bike he took his helmet off. But then he put it on again to come and watch the race.’
‘Would you like to give a description to another officer? Maybe help make up a photo on the computer?’
Devon brightened. ‘I like computers.’
Clare rose and gave the lad a smile. ‘You’ve been really helpful, Devon. If you wait here, I’ll find someone to take you to one of the computers. See if we can come up with a photo of the man.’
Clare found Janey in the incident room. ‘Got a minute?’
Janey followed her to a spare computer in the corner of the room and Clare explained the situation.
‘Can you work on an E-FIT with the young lad, please? See if we can get a clear image of the abductor.’
‘Will do.’
Clare took Devon and his mum into the incident room. A few heads looked up then went back to their enquiries. Janey greeted them with a smile, pulling out chairs for the pair, and Clare left them to it.
‘Boss,’ Sara called as she appeared. ‘Chris on the phone.’
‘Bloody hell. That was quick.’ Clare took the phone from Sara. ‘Chris?’
‘Spoke to the owner of the pizza shop. Bike was stolen sometime between Saturday night and Sunday morning.’
‘You had a good look around?’
‘Yeah. Nothing here. We’ve got the names and addresses of all their riders so we’ll get them checked out. Could you get one of the uniforms to see if any of them have pre-cons?’
‘Sure, give me the names. Oh, and Chris…’
‘Yeah?’
‘Back here for midday, please. I want you in with the reporters, watching the reaction of the Mitchells when the cameras are on them.’
Clare hung up and stood thinking for a minute. The bike could have gone past ANPR cameras, depending on which direction the rider took.
‘Sara?’ she called across the office. ‘Job for you.’
While Sara checked the ANPR database, Clare’s thoughts returned to Lisa Mitchell. Until now, she had no reason to think Lisa was anything other than a distraught parent. A victim of a random abduction. But now – that note – why would she conceal it? And that phone too. Who was Lisa calling that she didn’t want them to know about? She thought again about the Mitchells’ finances. A large house and two expensive cars and they were, what, a groundsman and a tanning salon assistant? It didn’t add up, even if he had earned a packet working on the rigs.
She opened her office door to find Tony bent over a copy of the force Mission Statement. He scooped the papers up and put them in a drawer as she entered.
‘The Mitchells’ finances,’ she said, ‘I’d like to look into them.’
‘Reason?’
Clare related Devon’s tale about Lisa finding a note in the pram and putting it in her pocket.
‘Ask her about it.’
Clare frowned. ‘I’m not keen. With the press conference coming up, I want to see how she is in front of the cameras. If she is holding something back, I don’t want to put her on her guard. I’d rather wait to see if she trips herself up.’
‘That the only reason?’
‘No,’ Clare said. ‘They seem to have a lifestyle beyond their means.’
‘So you want a court order?’
‘Yes please. I’d like a credit check, bank account balances, direct debits, mortgage payments, insurance, car loans plus monthly income.’
‘You sure about this, Clare? There’ll be hell to pay if they’re clean and it gets out we investigated them.’
‘Can’t take the chance, Tony. We have to find out why Abi was taken.’
‘What about the E-FIT photo? Are you planning to hand copies out to the press?’
‘No. I want everyone here to see it first. Someone might know him. But, if we release the photo, he might leg it before we can pick him up.’
‘Okay, Clare. Let’s hope one of the lads recognises him, then.’
‘Amen to that.’
* * *
Clare found an empty interview room and sat down to think. She was starting to believe there was more to the Mitchells than she had first thought; Lisa’s affair with Phil Patrick for a start, and now this. She wondered what the court order would turn up. Surely Kevin’s salary would be above board, but the tanning salon… It was an easy business if they wanted to avoid money going through the books. Perhaps they didn’t even record the number of clients they saw in a day. Maybe Lisa offered a discount for cash in hand. Maybe the owner didn’t even know.
Clare checked her watch. Two hours until the press conference began and she wanted a good hour to run through statements with Tony. Wendy was bringing the Mitchells in about half an hour before.
She had time. She snatched up her car keys and told Sara she’d be back by eleven.
Chapter 13
Bronzalite was on Woodburn Place, a small street which led to the harbour. Clare found a parking space opposite the salon and killed the engine. Despite the warm September sunshine, she felt a cold blast of wind straight off the North Sea as she stepped out of the car. She pulled her jacket round her and walked across the road. The salon had been a house at one time but now the downstairs windows were bricked up and a sign above the front door proclaimed it to be St Andrews foremost tanning salon. Looking at the outside, Clare doubted that, somehow. She pushed open the front door and a bell rang, alerting staff to her presence. Inside, she found the walls lined with yellow pine, reminiscent of a 1970s sauna. A young girl with jet-black hair and an expression to match greeted Clare without enthusiasm.
Clare showed her card and asked if the owner was in.
‘Suppose this is about Lisa’s baby,’ the girl said.
Clare neither confirmed nor denied this. ‘The owner?’
‘Hold on.’ She disappeared through a door behind the counter and a few minutes later, an older woman emerged. She was impeccably made-up and clearly a sunbed addict herself.
‘I’m Sacha,’ the woman said. ‘You’ve come about Lisa, poor lamb. How is she?’
‘Oh – you know,’ Clare said, avoiding the question. ‘Actually, I’ve just come to say that we don’t want Lisa and Kevin bothered with phone calls and visits. So if you do need to get in touch with her, maybe you could go through us?’
Sacha seemed to swallow that. ‘Of course,’ she said. ‘Anything to help. Anything at all.’
‘You must be missing her,’ Clare said.
Sacha shrugged. ‘We’re not busy just now so I’m managing.’
Clare strolled round the salon, stopping to look at the products in a glass case and the price list behind the counter. ‘I’ve never had a tan.’
Sacha studied her. ‘You look pretty tanned to me.’
‘Just back from France.’
‘Nice. Soon fades, though, doesn’t it? I could book you in for a top-up. Do you a good price.’
‘Maybe another time. I’m guessing you don’t get many police coming in.’
‘You’d be surprised,’ Sacha said. ‘They like a tan, the polis. But it’s mainly older kids and students. Especially when they’re having dances and that. Then just before the summer we get busier. Nobody wants to go on the beach chalk white, do they?’
‘As long as you can make a living at it, eh?’
‘Not as much as I’d like,’ Sacha said. ‘I’m thinking of hiring someone to do nails as well. Bring in a few more customers.’
Clare thought it wouldn’t do any harm to keep Sacha onside. ‘I can hand out a few cards at the station for you, if you like. Spread the word.’
Sacha lifted a handful of business cards from the counter and gave them to Clare. ‘Tell your colleagues I’ll see them right. You lads find Lisa’s baby and it’s half price for you all.’
Clare thanked Sacha and, clutching the business cards, left the salon, the door ringing again as she went. She checked her watch. There was still plenty of time before the press conference and she strolled the short distance to the harbour. A small bascule bridge, which formed part of the Fife Coastal Path, was in the process of lifting, to allow a motorboat to putter its way through. She stood, watching the bridge for a few minutes. A queue of walkers were waiting to cross.
‘You look hungry, hen.’
Clare turned to see a woman of around sixty carrying a blackboard on a metal stand. She was dressed in a long, striped apron, tied round her middle, and Clare guessed she was from the tiny harbour cafe, little more than a portacabin but a hit with locals and visitors alike. She glanced at the board and read:
Today’s Specials:
Leek & Potato Soup
Salmon Quiche
Caramac Cake
‘Polis?’ the woman said.
Clare smiled. ‘That obvious?’
In Plain Sight Page 11
