“Where is it?” she asked, her voice low. She extinguished the headlights.
“A hundred yards up ahead. Call it in, now.”
“Shouldn’t we investigate first?”
“You want to go in there with a bunch of organised criminals inside?”
“You know they’re in there?” she asked him.
“DI Finch, you need to trust me. Call it in. This and the gym.”
She grabbed her phone.
“Show me the screen,” he said.
She held out her phone as she dialled the number for Force Response.
“DI Finch, Force CID, here. Possible sighting of Trevor Hamm, wanted for terrorist activity.”
She put her hand over the phone. “I have to tell them the location.”
“What’s your location, ma’am?” the woman at the other end asked.
“One moment. She opened the What 3 Words app. “Amps, masters, nuance.”
“Received. We’ll require authorisation.”
“Operation pre-authorised by Detective Superintendent Randle.” She eyed him.
He nodded, his face pale. “Tell them to be careful. Civilians.”
“Possible civilians in the building,” she said. “Care required.”
“Received. We’ll be with you in twelve minutes.”
Chapter Seventy-Nine
“Rhodri, where are you right now?”
“Back in the office, boss. Spoke to Adi, didn’t get much I’m afraid.”
“Surely you got something?”
Mo was in his car, driving away from the hospital. The post-mortem had been ugly but not particularly helpful.
“Jukes had been in the reservoir for two weeks,” Rhodri replied. “They’ve cordoned off a five-meter radius, but nothing so far.”
Mo scratched his neck. He shouldn’t be disappointed; the chances of finding forensics when a body had been left for that long would always be slim.
“Make sure he informs you if anything comes to light.”
“Already asked him, Sarge. Any joy with the post-mortem?”
“Initial assessment was correct: he didn’t die from drowning.”
“How did he die?”
“Broken neck.”
Rhodri winced down the phone. “Poor bastard. Not those cuts on his chest?”
“Nope. Looks like someone snapped his neck.”
Another wince. “How?”
“Dr Adebayo’s still working on that. Forensics would help.”
“Like I say, Sarge, if anything comes to light… Connie’s back, she’s got CCTV on the go. I’m helping her.”
“Where from?”
“There’s houses being built just north of the reservoir. They’ve cleared a lot of the land, gives a good view.”
“You’ll need more people to go through it. We’ve got a hefty time window to work on.”
Mo was approaching Selly Oak. He turned into Zoe’s road and searched for a parking space.
“Most people have gone home,” Rhodri said.
“What about Sheila’s team?”
“Solsby is still doing door to door. DS Griffin and DC Sarpong are on their way to Hamm’s house.”
“Yeah.” Mo parked his car and walked towards Zoe’s house. “I’ll be with you in a bit. Just need to check on the boss.”
“Give her mine and Connie’s best.”
“Will do.”
Mo hung up and knocked on Zoe’s door. No answer. He leaned sideways to peer in through the bay window. A cat sat on the windowsill, miaowing at him. He put his hands against the glass to get a better view inside.
The next door along opened and a young man with messy blond hair emerged. “Mrs Finch has gone out.”
“Mrs Finch?”
The man shrugged. “That’s what I call her. She says call me Zoe, but… well it’s a bit odd, someone her age.”
Mo resisted reminding the man that at forty, Zoe wasn’t exactly a candidate for the retirement village.
“D’you know where she went?”
“She had an argument with Nicholas. He stormed off. I shouldn’t be telling you this.”
“It’s OK.” Mo showed his ID. “I’m her colleague. If she comes home, tell her Mo’s looking for her, please?”
“No problem.” The man closed his door and reappeared in the front window of his house, trying not to look like he was watching Mo.
Mo turned away from him and dialled Zoe: voicemail.
“Zo, it’s Mo. I’m at your house. Call me, I’m worried about you.”
He hung up. Catriona was on call tonight, the girls were at their gran’s. He could go home and keep his wife company while he waited for Zoe to get in touch and Cat waited to be summoned. Or he could help Connie and Rhodri out.
He got into his car and pointed it towards Harborne.
Chapter Eighty
Zoe’s phone rang: Mo.
“Leave it,” Randle said.
“He’s worried about me. My mum died.”
“Sorry for your loss.”
“She was a drunk.”
“You didn’t get on?”
“No.” She wasn’t about to start telling her life story to David Randle. “What now?”
“We wait.”
“We should investigate the house. What if there’s no one there?”
“I saw someone yesterday. It’s the perfect spot to hide a hostage.”
“Hamm isn’t exactly short of properties. And he knows we’re aware of this one.”
“I think he wants me to find her. He just doesn’t want me making it official.”
“So you dragged me in.”
“You’re a good detective, Zoe. You’re the person I can trust.”
She bit back the words she wanted to fling at him and put a hand on her door. “I’m taking a look.” She slid out of the car before he could stop her.
The night was chilly, the air crisp. She could hear the distant hum of the M42 somewhere ahead of her. The road was lined with dense hedges and was wider than she would have expected for such a remote spot.
She peered in the direction Randle had told her the house was in. She wanted to confirm it was inhabited before she went barging in there with Force Response. But she knew this was risky.
She went to the Mini’s boot and brought out her stab vest and baton. She clutched the baton, feeling its weight in her grip.
An owl hooted from somewhere above as she shuffled beside the hedge towards the house. She flinched and looked up, catching faint movement in a tree. She wasn’t keen on wildlife, she preferred the city.
There was a gap in the hedge up ahead, a driveway leading off. She steeled herself and crept towards it.
Footsteps approached from behind. She flattened herself against the hedge and turned towards them: Randle.
“I told you to stay in the car,” he hissed.
She shook her head, which felt tight. “I want to see for myself.”
“Bloody idiot.”
She glared at him. She’d given up caring about obeying orders from this man. Tonight’s events had to mean he wouldn’t be her boss for long.
“How d’you know it was Hamm that took your wife?” she hissed.
“I got a message. I’m not showing it to you. I deleted it.”
“It’s evidence.”
“Zoe, don’t be naive.”
She turned away from him, aware that if she looked at him for a moment longer she would be tempted to hit him with the baton. She leaned around the hedge towards the house.
A light was on over the front door. Two cars sat in the drive, a black BMW and a red Jaguar.
“Whoever lives here isn’t short of cash.”
“It’s Hamm’s house,” Randle whispered into her ear, making the hairs on her neck stand on end. “One of those cars might be his.”
“He could be renting it out. Or he’s sold it.”
“I checked the ownership with the Land Registry. RJ Holdings.”
“The house was
registered under Hamm’s name when we raided it.” She turned to him. “Say that name again.”
“RJ Holdings.”
“That’s the same company that owns the gym. He’s transferred it.”
Randle raised an eyebrow at her. “So now you know.”
“I need to call Sheila Griffin.”
“No, you don’t. Force CID will be here in a few minutes.”
“If we can prove Hamm is behind RJ Holdings, we’ve got grounds to raid the gym.”
“I’m authorising all this, Zoe. You don’t need to prove anything.”
“I want to do this properly.” She thought of Lesley: above board, by the book. Lesley knew the importance of following procedure if evidence was to stand up in court.
“I don’t care about the fucking evidence, Finch,” said Randle. “I want my wife back.”
A light came on at the front of the house.
“That’s the study,” Randle said.
“How do you know?”
“I broke in. And… nothing.”
“He invited you there, didn’t he?” Zoe took a step away from Randle. What was she doing here?
When Force Response arrived, how could she find a way to tell them what he was up to? He was leading them all into a trap.
“Shush.” He brought a finger up to his lips. She tightened her grip on the baton and turned back towards the house.
A woman entered the study. She went to the window and pulled a set of curtains closed.
“So much for that,” said Zoe.
“Think, DI Finch. Did you recognise her?”
“She was fifteen metres away. It’s dark.”
“Blonde hair, pulled up in a bob. Prim expression. Solid, but not fat.”
“Margaret Brooking.”
His eyes flashed. “Hamm’s housekeeper.”
She shook her head. “Howard Petersen’s housekeeper.”
“So they share? I think you can guarantee that woman knows about more than how to clean Hamm’s properties.”
“OK, so say you’re right and one of Hamm’s employees is in there. We didn’t have enough to charge her after the attacks. She’s just a housekeeper. And she could be alone.”
“Two cars.”
She looked back at the cars.
“The BMW is hers,” Randle said. “So whose is the Jag?”
They were interrupted by the sound of a car approaching from behind. Zoe leaned out to see better.
It wasn’t the squad car she’d been expecting. Maybe Force Response had brought an unmarked vehicle.
She hung back, waiting to see if someone got out. The passenger door opened and a heavily-built black woman emerged. Zoe frowned.
Another woman got out of the driver’s side. Zoe stepped forward.
“Sheila?”
“Zoe? What are you doing here? I thought your mum…”
“Long story.” Zoe turned back towards Randle.
He’d gone.
“Fuck,” she muttered. Had he gone towards the house, or was he hiding?
Coward.
“You OK?” asked Sheila.
“People keep asking me that.”
“We’ve come to knock on the door, see if we can get a feel for whether Hamm might have been here.”
“Force Response are on their way,” Zoe replied.
“What? Why didn’t you tell me?”
Zoe looked back at Sheila, who looked pissed off. “I can’t…” She looked behind her again. If she revealed him now, he’d run. She’d never find his wife, and she’d never be able to take him to Carl.
She curled her fingers around her car keys. Her Mini automatically locked itself when she was away from it for more than thirty seconds. He had nowhere to go.
“Let’s knock on the door,” she said. “Might save Force Response a job.”
Chapter Eighty-One
Connie arched her back and yawned. “Sorry, Sarge. D’you want a cup of tea?”
“I’ll get it,” said Rhodri. He jumped up and grabbed the mugs from the four desks.
Connie, Rhodri, Mo and DC Solsby were all in the team room, trawling through the CCTV. Connie had set it to play at double speed and allocated a day to each of them, working backwards from two weeks ago. She’d rewatched the footage she and Solsby had found when they were in his car, but it hadn’t helped. At least the picture was clear, even if there was nothing to see.
“You want to take a breather?” the sarge asked her. “We’ll miss things, with tired eyes.”
“I’m fine.” She smiled. “Young eyes.”
“Oi.” He grinned. “I’m not that old.”
“Sorry, I didn’t mean…”
“Connie. You need to learn that it’s OK to take the piss. Even out of your senior officers.”
“So I can tease Dawson for those awful ties he wears?”
“There is a limit.”
She laughed. Rhodri returned with a tray of mugs. “What’s so funny?”
“Connie’s about to have a go at DCI Dawson for his fashion sense,” replied Solsby.
Connie gave him a look. “No, I’m not. But I’m allowed to take the piss out of the sarge.”
Mo waved his pen at her. “To an extent.”
“So how do I know?” she asked him. “How can I tell if I’ve crossed a line?”
Rhodri placed a mug in front of her. “You should know how to do that already.”
“I do with you, Rhod.” She blew on her peppermint tea, impressed that he’d remembered.
“You can say whatever you want to me.” Rhodri placed mugs in front of Solsby and Mo. The sarge nodded his thanks.
“And you’ve got a pretty good feel for it with me,” added Solsby. “At least, you’re getting there.”
“You’re harder to read than Rhod.”
“That’s just because you haven’t known him for so long,” Rhodri said.
“We’re becoming good friends, aren’t we Con?” Solsby gave her a wink. “Rita.”
Rhodri looked between the two of them. “Ugh. Get a room, you two.”
Connie felt her stomach dip. “Rhod! It’s not like that.”
“No? Course, you’ve got Rav, haven’t you?” He turned to Solsby. “All loved up, they are.” He poked his finger into his mouth, miming retching.
“Rhodri,” Connie muttered.
“OK,” said Mo. “That’s enough. I think we’ve all had a rest for our eyes. Let’s get back to it.”
“Thanks, Sarge.” Connie was relieved to turn back to her desk. She could cope with this kind of banter with Rhodri, but throwing Solsby into the mix made her uneasy. She didn’t want Rav thinking she didn’t take their relationship seriously.
She leaned back and stretched her arms above her head. She rolled her head around, loosening her neck muscles.
OK. She had a fresh video to start on. From nineteen days ago. She clicked on the folder for the early morning recording.
She enlarged the video on her screen and shifted her chair forward. She sipped her tea, stifling a yawn.
After about twenty minutes of watching – forty minutes of screen time, putting her at 2:40am – a car appeared onscreen. It drove along the same stretch of road she and Solsby had seen the car take in the earlier video. Maybe there was someone who made a habit of coming to the reservoir at night.
Connie reached her hand to the back of her neck and pulled, stretching out her muscles. There were God knew how many more videos to go through. Stay awake.
Once again, a person emerged from the driver’s seat, then another from the passenger seat. Connie watched as the second person opened the boot.
“What have you got in there?” She tapped her pen against her chin. Opposite, Rhodri coughed and slammed his mug onto the desk, making her jump.
The man stayed next to the boot for longer than in the previous video. Connie became more alert as she watched. She leaned in.
“What you got, Con?” Rhodri was watching her across the desk.
“Pro
bably nothing,” she replied. “It’s almost identical to something me and Gordon saw earlier.”
Solsby flashed her a warning look from across the room: don’t use my first name. She mouthed sorry and grinned as she returned to her screen.
“Hang on a minute.” She paused it and zoomed in.
“What?” asked Solsby. He stood up from his chair.
Connie set the video to run forwards, but slowed down this time, not sped up. The sarge had also left his desk and stood behind her, his hand gripping her chair.
“Connie,” he breathed.
She nodded, eyes glued to the screen. “I think we’ve got it, Sarge.”
Chapter Eighty-Two
“So did Mo tell you we were coming out here?” Sheila asked as she and Zoe waited for the door to be answered.
“Something like that.” Zoe stared at the door, not wanting Sheila to see the unease in her eyes. She should tell her colleague what was going on. But what would happen if she did?
The door opened and a woman with a blonde bun, wearing a blue striped apron, answered. She wiped her hands on a tea towel.
Sheila held up her warrant card. “Margaret Brooking?”
“That’s me.” The woman looked between the two detectives. “How can I help you?”
“Do you own this property?” Zoe asked.
“No.”
“Can you tell me who does?”
“The company that employs me.”
“Which is?”
“RJ Holdings.”
“Do you also work for Howard Petersen?”
Her expression flicked. “I do. Mondays and Wednesdays. Can you tell me what you’re here about, please?”
“We’ve had reports of suspicious activity in the area,” Zoe said.
A frown. “I haven’t noticed anything.”
“Do you mind if we check inside, just to be sure? We want to make sure you’re safe.”
“I know you,” the woman said to Zoe. “You’re DI Finch.”
Zoe held up her ID. “You have a good memory, Mrs Brooking.”
“I’m not letting you in.”
“Are you alone?” asked Sheila.
“Yes.”
“Smells good,” Zoe commented. A garlicky scent was coming from inside.
Deadly Fallout (Detective Zoe Finch Book 6) Page 26
