by Jack Slater
‘He took you off it,’ Louise guessed.
Pete nodded. ‘But this time Mark took it over. And we’d already made some headway. We knew what car they were in, roughly where they were going to be. We just didn’t manage to get close enough.’
‘So now there’s a child killer out there with his brother in jail and Tommy to do with whatever he pleases,’ Louise summarised. ‘And you arrested his brother.’
‘I know it sounds bad but…’
‘But nothing! It is bloody bad. As bad as it gets. My son’s out there somewhere. His life’s in danger and that stupid prick in charge of the bloody station’s too concerned with political correctness and keeping his nose clean to know what common sense is, never mind how to use it. Do something, Pete, for God’s sake! Save our son!’
‘Dad, please,’ Annie joined in, tears streaming down her little face. ‘Can’t you get Tommy back again?’
‘We’ve got to let Mark Bridgman do his job, love. I promise he’s good at it. If anyone can find them, he can.’
‘But he’s not you,’ she insisted.
Pete smiled at her confidence in him, then instantly regretted it as pain dug into his cheek deeper and more intensely than when the injury was created. ‘No, he isn’t. But he’s allowed to do it and I’m not right now. I wish I was, but my boss won’t hear of it. It’s against protocol.’
‘Well, fuck protocol!’ Annie declared, hopping off his lap to stand defiantly in front of them, hands on her hips. ‘I want my brother back - safe and soon.’
Pete’s eyes snapped open in horror. ‘Where the hell did you get language like that?’
‘Wake up, dad! I’m at school every day. Do you think all kids my age are polite and innocent or something?’
‘No, but you should be. And especially in this house. I don’t use language like that and I don’t expect you to, either.’
‘So, how else am I going to wake you up?’
‘I’m fully awake, Missy, and don’t be so bloody cheeky.’
‘I’m not being cheeky, I’m being a sister. And you should be a father.’
‘That’s enough!’ Pete snapped as Louise reached for Annie’s arm and puller her in closer.
‘Calm down,’ she said. ‘Your dad’s explained the situation. None of us like it, but it is what it is. We’ve got to wait for Mark to do his job and that’s all there is to it.’
‘If I did get involved again now, it would compromise any case we had. The man would be free to walk away and do something like this to someone else. Or to us again.’ He shook his head. ‘We can’t risk that.’
‘But we can risk Tommy?’
‘That’s not what I said and not what I meant. You know better than that, young lady.’
‘Do I?’
‘What’s the matter with you tonight?’
‘I’m scared! At least last year we knew he was alive, wherever he was. Now he’s with a man whose brother you’ve put in jail and who won’t think twice about using Tommy as a pawn to get him back. I know what I’d do for my brother. Why should this man be any different?’
Pete took a breath, once more amazed at how grown-up his young daughter could be. ‘He’s very different. But, you’re right to be scared. I am, too. But we’ve given Mark all the information we managed to find. What he looks like, where he’s from. What car he was driving when he was last seen. Where we were hoping to pick him up. What he’s done in the past. So Mark’s got as much chance as we had.’
‘He hasn’t got the same incentive, though, has he? He’s not Tommy’s dad. It’s just another case to him.’
Pete shook his head. ‘No. Police are like family to each other, you know that. The things we see, the things we go through together, they create a bond that’s stronger than any job outside the emergency services or armed forces. If Tommy’s my son, then Mark thinks of him as a nephew.’
‘Yeah,’ Louise sneered. ‘So how do you account for Simon Phillips?’
‘There’s an exception to every rule. And he’s not on the case anymore. His involvement ended when Tommy was brought in.’
‘Who cares about Simon Phillips,’ Annie broke in. ‘If he’s not on the case, he doesn’t matter. Tommy does. And this man that’s got him. Where is he, Dad? And what’s he doing to…’ Her voice faltered and Louise pulled her in, holding her tight.
‘Every resource we’ve got is out there trying to find them,’ Pete told them both. ‘Dave said it earlier tonight: for now, it’s not the Devon and Cornwall force he’s up against, it’s the Gayle force. And we will track him down. I promise.’
‘Words,’ Louise retorted, rocking Annie gently as she sobbed into her shoulder. ‘We don’t need words, we need actions.’
‘And there will be action. There already is: as much as we can throw at it.’
‘Then it better be enough.’
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
Pete was surprised and pleased to see his whole team already at their desks when he got in the next morning after dropping Annie at school. He’d spoken to Colin Underhill the previous evening, arranging for the guard on Annie and Louise to be made official, then spent a troubled night, tossing and turning as his brain refused to shut down and rest.
‘Bloody hell,’ Dave said. ‘You look as rough as a badger’s arse.’
‘Thank you for those few kind words.’ He touched the dressing on his cheek and the stubble around it that he hadn’t been able to shave. ‘I feel it, too, but there’s too much to do, to give in to it. What’s the latest?’
‘The papers and the local news have got hold of Mrs Turnbull’s story and Cathleen Webber’s death but they’re a couple of pages in and with a lot less copy than the Combined Courts attack. That’s gone national and it seems like Fast-track’s getting earache from on high about it, especially when it was announced on the ten o’clock news that the son of a police officer was abducted during the commission of the crime. Didn’t you see any of this?’
‘I’ve been too busy trying to keep the rest of my family safe to bother with the news.’
‘Fair enough. Well, like I say, the chief’s not a happy camper. He was spitting bullets first thing. It’s all way too much like taking the piss and he seems to be taking it personally. On the plus side, though, the Southams’ pictures are out there now. They’ve been described as wanted men from Wiltshire with a do not approach warning. Call us on sight. And we’ve been through the five files you got last night. Plus another three that me and Dick came up with. Only one of them had any forensic evidence that could be definitely linked to it, though, and that was a bust.’
‘Why?’
‘They got DNA. Not semen but a pubic hair. Just the one, mind. They developed a profile from it, but they’d got nothing to match it to - and there’s nothing in the database either.’
‘That, we can remedy,’ he said. How bloody long had they stayed last night? He felt a swell of gratitude and had to clear his throat before he could continue. ‘We’ve already got access to his house. A hair brush, a toothbrush, a piece of clothing that’s been worn and not washed. A hat, maybe. There’s all sorts of places to find his DNA in there.’
‘What about getting a warrant, though?’ Dick asked. ‘He’s officially a misper, not a suspect as of now.’
‘We’ve got enough to make him a suspect, even if we haven’t got enough to bring charges yet. And we’ve already got permission to enter from his daughter. I can get a warrant sorted, I reckon.’
As he was speaking, the squad room door opened behind him. He turned to see who’d come in.
‘Mark. Any news?’
The slim, dark haired DS grimaced and shook his head. ‘It’s like they’ve vanished. Must have gone to ground somewhere.’
‘How? A grown man with a boy as hostage – where are they going to hide?’
Mark shrugged. ‘If he’s prepared to kip in the car, there’s endless places. It’s not like, with modern cars, there’s a button to pull to open a door anymore, is it? He could lock
it up, pocket the key and sleep safe in the knowledge that the kid couldn’t go anywhere, tied or not.’
‘And no sign of the red Focus?’
‘Unfortunately, yes. Abandoned in a supermarket car park. Nothing missing from there but two from another one nearby. No idea yet which, if either, they’re in.’
‘Without getting physically involved, which supermarkets are we talking about?’
Mark hesitated for an instant then seemed to reach a decision. ‘Alphington R…’
The door opened behind him and he snapped his head around as one of Simon Phillips’ DCs, walked in and headed for his desk, giving them a nod of greeting as he struggled not to react to the glaring white dressing on Pete’s face, surrounded by livid bruising.
‘So… Sorry, but that’s all I can tell you,’ said Mark. ‘Except that we’ll put all we can into it.’
‘I know that.’ Pete clapped him on the arm. ‘I told Louise and Annie last night.’
‘All right then.’ Mark headed towards his desk on the adjoining block. Pete had just taken his seat again when DS Jim Hancock walked in.
‘How you doing, Pete?’
Pete cocked his head. ‘I’ve felt better,’ he admitted. Then looked across towards the one member of Simon Phillips’ team who was in the room. ‘And worse.’
‘Take it easy, mate,’ Jim said and headed for his desk.
Pete knew the few words were an expression of support. He pressed his lips together, accepting them as such and turned back to his crew.
‘I’ll have a look,’ Jane offered.
Pete was torn. He didn’t want to undermine Mark but at the same time, he needed to know he was on-track. ‘All right. Just a glance. Then we need to focus on Hanson. Has anybody seen the guvnor yet?’
‘No,’ said Dick, his tone saying much more – like Stupid question. You know what time it is.
‘OK. I’ll wait for him to come in and see him about the warrant.’
‘The Chief’s in,’ Ben said.
Pete looked at him. ‘The less I have to see that… him, the better I’ll like it.’
‘What, again?’ Dick asked.
Pete knew exactly what he meant. ‘Yes, again.’
Dick shook his head. ‘Whatever happened to discipline in this country, eh? What did you say now?’
‘Not a lot,’ Pete replied. ‘Couldn’t get much of a word in.’
‘Still,’ Jane offered. ‘Even he’s not awkward enough to refuse a justifiable warrant out of spite. Is he?’
Dave grimaced. ‘I wouldn’t put anything past the dozy prig.’
‘Was that with a “g” or a “ck”?’ Jill asked.
‘Take your pick,’ Dave said. ‘Either’s appropriate. But, as it happens, it was a “g” on this occasion.’
‘That’s what I thought. You haven’t gone politically correct on us all of a sudden, have you?’
Jane snorted as Dick choked and Ben giggled.
‘There.’ Dick pointed towards the window behind Jill, Dave and Jane.
‘What?’ Jill and Ben asked together.
‘It’s gone.’ Dick’s shoulders slumped. ‘I was sure I saw a pig flying past. Or it might have been a prig.’
Dave nodded slowly. ‘Take the piss all you want,’ he said. ‘I can take it.’
‘I can’t,’ Pete said. ‘We haven’t got time.’ He pushed his chair back with a sigh. ‘Oh, well. Into the lion’s den, I suppose.’
*
‘Ben,’ Pete called. ‘Have you got anything?’
‘Not yet, boss.’
‘Bring some evidence bags up here, then.’
Pete was standing in Jonas Hanson’s bedroom, staring down at what was lying in the bottom of the wardrobe. He heard the stairs creak a couple of times then Ben stepped in, his hands, like Pete’s, already clad in light blue nitrile gloves.
‘What have you got, boss?’
‘The pillow there. Don’t bother stripping it, just take the whole thing. The slippers on the floor and the shoes – especially the trainers - in the wardrobe here.’
‘Nice one. Nothing in the bathroom?’
Ben knew that was the first place he’d have looked on coming up here.
‘His toothbrush and razor are gone and he’s put fresh towels and facecloth out.’
‘Downstairs is similar,’ Ben said as he stepped forward and crouched to pick out the black trainers and put them carefully in an evidence bag. ‘All neat and tidy, ready for him to come home to, whenever he decides to.’
‘Unless we track him down first,’ Pete replied.
Ben sealed the evidence bag and took another one from the small stack he’d brought for the next pair of shoes. ‘I can’t make out why he’d have gone off without telling Sally, at least, if he was up to something nasty. It’d be bound to bring her round here looking for him.’
Pete took an evidence bag and picked up the slippers. ‘What kind of father was he?’
‘Strict, but he loved her.’
‘So, she loved him. What was she like as a kid?’
‘Happy. Bubbly. Full of fun. But not dippy. She had brains and knew how to use them. It was just, she got pregnant young, I suppose. Took motherhood seriously enough to put her career to one side.’
‘What kind of career was she after?’ Pete asked as he labelled the bagged slippers.
‘Nothing fancy. She was brought up by a builder and a shop-worker. She’d got no university aspirations or anything,’ Ben explained. ‘She talked about wanting to go into the ambulance service at one time. I think they’d come out to her gran or something. But it never happened, of course.’
Pete slid the pillow into a large paper sack and folded the top over twice before taping it. ‘So, he had to expect her to come round looking for him. But he can’t have expected her to go up into the loft.’
‘Why would he? Anybody who bothered would only give it a glance, see he wasn’t up there and come down again. It was just that she’d been looking into the family history – ancestors and that. And her mum hadn’t been exactly forthcoming, she said, so she thought he might have something she could use tucked away up there.’
‘That must have been a hell of a shock, finding all that stuff in there instead.’
‘Yeah.’ Ben was writing the label for the last of the pairs of shoes. ‘It took some soul-searching before she came to me with it.’
‘I bet. It’s a good thing she did, though.’
Ben glanced around. ‘Anything else in here, do you reckon?’
‘I haven’t checked the bedside drawers yet. Might be a bin, too. Did you check the one downstairs?’
‘Yes. Emptied and a new liner in it.’
Looking around as Ben spoke, Pete spotted the one up here and stepped across. ‘Same here.’ He reached for the bedside drawer unit as Ben moved towards the one on the other side. Pulling it open, he found the usual detritus in there. A small jar of change, a nail clipper, a pair of scissors, a box of tissues, a small jewellery box which he lifted out and opened. A tie pin and matching cuff-links glinted back at him, old-fashioned and cheap-looking. He snapped it shut and replaced it, continuing to rummage. He found a notebook and pen, a small torch. Then a photo packet like those in the trunk in the loft.
‘Hello.’ He lifted the packet out, unsure what he was going to find inside.
Flipping it open, he pulled out the contents and relaxed. Family photos. Sally as a youngster, her mum, even a couple with Jonas in them, holding or playing with his daughter.
‘Boss?’
Pete looked up.
Ben was holding up a similar but bulkier photo packet. As Pete watched, he opened it and removed the contents. Pete saw his jaw clench. He frowned, flicking through a few, then handed them across.
The top one was of a young woman, bound, gagged, naked and terrified. Pete checked the next one. Different girl, similar pose. The next one again. And the next. He flipped through the pile. There had to be fifty or more pictures there.
Ben
was watching him, his expression somewhere between horrified and numb. ‘And everybody thought Fred West was an evil bastard,’ he said when their eyes met.
‘Either this is some pretty sick porn or, if these are all different subjects, as it looks like, then West’s got nothing on this bloke,’ Pete confirmed. ‘We need to go through them and check if they match what we’ve got from upstairs then let forensics have a go for fingerprints and DNA. It’s a bloody shame we haven’t got his computer.’
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
Pete’s phone rang as they were climbing into the car outside Hanson’s house. He took it out and answered it automatically.
‘DS Gayle.’
‘Pete, its Bob. I’ve got a call for you.’
‘Who from?’ Pete asked the desk sergeant back at Heavitree Road.
‘Don’t know. He wouldn’t say. Just said he wanted to talk to you about yesterday.’
Pete’s gut felt suddenly cold and tight, but he couldn’t say why so instead, he said, ‘Put him through.’
There were a couple of clicks, then a hollow sound on the line.
‘This is DS Gayle. How can I help?’
‘You could let my brother go, so I don’t have to start hurting your son. Or you could keep him and I will hurt the boy. In fact, I’ll probably kill him in the end, but he’ll suffer long and hard before then. Up to you.’
Pete felt nausea and rage at the same time. He turned away from the car and Ben at the far side of it, speaking in a low tone. ‘You harm as much as a single hair on that boy’s head and I’ll track you down and kill you, regardless of the job. If anyone knows how to get away with it, it’s a copper. You remember that, Southam. Now, you’d be best advised to let him go. Because, as long as you’ve got him, we’ll be hunting you down like the rabid dog you are.’
‘That your final answer, is it? Don’t want to phone a friend? Your wife, maybe? Or your daughter?’
