by Simon Hall
“I often look back and wonder whether I knew at the time that it was a mistake. I think I must have felt unease, but that was about all. I was reassured that if I didn’t want to join up at the end of university, I didn’t have to. I could still find that elusive career in my three college years. At the very least, it bought me time. But nothing came and so, in the absence of an alternative, I joined the army.
“I began training to be an officer, but I quickly realised it was an error. Everyone was bigger, tougher, more determined and more driven. And I … well, I just didn’t really care. So, unsurprisingly, I failed. I won’t bore you with the reaction of my father, but you can imagine it. All I can say is that no matter what you come up with, it can never be as hurtful as the quiet but choking weight of disappointment I felt came to rest upon me. I was his only son, and a failure.
“I resolved not to waste my training completely, so I looked around for other possibilities. I’ve never been talented at forming relationships with people – I suspect you’ve guessed that and no doubt your psychologists have something to say on the matter – and I’ve never had a girlfriend, but I have always loved animals. We had a pet dog when I was young, a border collie. I loved him greatly. Smudge was his name. But he died when I was five and my father didn’t want a replacement. Pets were too much trouble, he said. But I missed that dog and the memory of Smudge made me think perhaps I could work with animals. There were vacancies at the time for dog handlers, so that was what I did.
“It was a revelation. For the first time in my life I found something I wanted to do. For the first time, I had a place where I felt comfortable. I felt valued. I belonged. That had never happened to me before. Not only did I want to be a dog handler, I enjoyed it. You’ll see from my record how I trained and was paired up with Sam. And you’ll see how his love and loyalty saved my life, how we retired together and then how he was taken from me.”
Gibson’s words trailed off into silence. Dan and Adam exchanged glances. The detective stepped forward to check the tape machine, but its spindles were still turning, a soft hiss of the phone line leaking from the speaker.
“I’m sorry, Dan,” came Gibson’s voice again. “The memory still hurts. He was my one true friend. It took a few seconds to compose myself again. It’s important for all our destinies – yours, mine and Nicola’s – that I get this clear and right.
“Anyway, I was explaining myself. You now have the background to what I’ve done. But again, Dan, knowing you, I imagine you would have guessed much of this anyway. I expect it’s a familiar enough story. What’s important now is the more recent past.
“My employment as the shell-shocked Security Guard you met dates back to a couple of weeks after an infamous moment in the recent history of Greater Wessex Police. It is, if you like, the catalyst. It is what set this sequence of events in motion.”
Adam reached out and pressed pause on the machine. ‘Any guesses before we go on?’ he asked. The two code-breakers shook their heads.
‘Dan? He’s talking to you here. Any idea what he’s going to say? The more you can get into his head and guess what he’s thinking, the better chance we have of finding him.’
Images of guns were filling Dan’s mind. Guns in Bosnia, guns back in Britain, guns wielded by policemen, used to shoot dogs and more recently people. But then he had the advantage. Despite what Adam had told him on the phone, not to listen to the tape back at the office, to wait until they were together, he had. And not just him either, but Lizzie too.
He’d had to tell her, she was his boss and this was an extraordinary story gifted to them. For once she’d been silent as she listened, her eyebrow hitting a sharp peak of delight at the calm insanity they heard. And then her masterstroke, not just listening to the tape, but making a copy which she intended to use in tonight’s programme. He’d thought about it and would probably have suggested it, but wanted her to do it, wanted to be detached from that decision which he knew would enrage Adam.
‘A Wessex Tonight world exclusive,’ she’d imagined the headline aloud, her voice breathless. ‘We can bring you the man who abducted Nicola talking about why he did it.’
He still had no idea how he was going to tell Adam. Don’t worry, Lizzie had said, a stiletto grating the carpet tiles. Just tell them we’re doing it. The police need us. This guy wants to talk to you and that means we can squeeze the cops for stories. You can negotiate exactly what we use, but we’re going to use it. It’s the exclusive of the year.
She was right, but Adam was going to go mad, and mad at him, not her. But not for now, that. Later.
‘I’d guess it’s something to do with firearms,’ said Dan finally, trying to sound as though he was thinking it through. ‘We know he’s got a grudge against the police for killing his dog. I’m wondering if the first shooting of that guy in Bodmin was the catalyst for all this.’
‘My thoughts exactly,’ said Adam, straightening his already impeccable tie. He reached out and hit the play button. ‘Let’s see.’
“Do you remember Bodmin and the police shooting a man dead there?’ continued Gibson’s tinny voice. “That was what woke me. Up until then, my thoughts of revenge had been simmering, but they were only thoughts, vague fantasies. Then I saw the poor man’s family on television, crying, saying the police didn’t need to shoot him. It was that which made me snap. They shot Sam. They shot this man. They had no need to do either. But they did need to be taught a lesson. I’d been mulling over a plan for quite a while, and I was suddenly sure it was time to put it into action.
“I needed a job where I could meet people and get to know them. I needed to have access to their names and addresses. That security guard position couldn’t have come at a better time. I got the job and I waited, built up my little plan, piece by piece. I thought I’d have plenty of time, but that wasn’t to be the case.
“Your police force, Adam, was almost too keen for me. I thought it would be years before your trigger-happy, unaccountable marksmen despatched another unfortunate to their grave with their usual impunity. But no. It was only a few months. So I had to act. It came sooner than I expected, but I had the necessary information and so my work began.
“Which brings us to where we are today. We’re not at the endgame yet, but we’re approaching it. We’re almost there. And everything is going beautifully. It won’t be long now.
“That’s almost all I have to say, Dan, and Adam too. I know you’ll be listening in and I hope you don’t mind if I call you Adam now? It seems we’re getting to know each other very well. We will talk again, but I fear it will be briefly and, as I’ve said, the circumstances won’t permit a detailed conversation.”
Adam swore under his breath.
“So I’ll sign off now. But don’t worry, I haven’t forgotten that I promised you another clue. What can I say? All you need to find Nicola and myself is in the letters I have already sent. Look again at what I said about where I might visit. You’ll have guessed by now that I’m not there, but it could help you nonetheless. I haven’t taken a plane either. And remember what I asked you about the rose. That too could be important. Goodnight for now then, Dan and Adam and whoever else is listening in. Until the next time. Goodnight.”
Adam stopped the tape. ‘A copy’s gone to the labs for urgent analysis,’ he said. ‘Their preliminary thoughts are already here. It was a mobile he used to call. He withheld the number and it’s untraceable. There’s not much in the background to help us. The main point they make is that it’s quiet, very quiet indeed. There’s no hint of cars or planes or mobile phones, or even noise from houses.’
‘He’s out in the countryside somewhere,’ said Dan. ‘Somewhere remote.’
‘Yep. And that’s consistent with his military background. He can go out somewhere he won’t be noticed and survive for a few days quite easily.’
Dan thought about what he’d heard on the tape. ‘But probably not in a tent from the sound of that. I don’t know why but it just felt like he
was in a house or building of some kind. It had that kind of hollow sound to it.’
‘Agreed,’ replied Adam. ‘And that’s what the labs’ analysis says too. But where? We’ve checked all his bank accounts. There’s no payment to anything that might help us. No holiday cottage, nothing like that. We’ve checked on bookings in case he paid cash and there’s anything suspicious, but we’ve come up with nothing. So what does that leave us?’
‘The usual places,’ said Dan thoughtfully. ‘Dartmoor, Exmoor, Bodmin moor. The more secluded parts of the coast. In other words, a very big area. Huge in fact.’
‘Yep. I’m getting the helicopter in again to help us. It’s got a thermal imaging camera so it can spot people on the ground. The Tactical Aid Search Groups are ready to go. All force leave is cancelled. We’ve got as many cops as we can raise ready to go looking. There are also volunteers like the Dartmoor Rescue Team offering their services and we’re going to use them. They’re good. But we desperately need to narrow down the area we’re searching. So, Eleanor and Michael, this is where you come in. He’s teasing us with his riddle. Taunting us in fact. Any ideas?’
They were an odd pair, thought Dan. She was older, in her mid 50s, wore a navy cardigan and flowing floral skirt. Her hair had turned silver, but her face was still soft and fine, remarkably unwrinkled, with strong cheekbones and lips, and large, brown eyes. She would have been beautiful once he imagined, and not so long ago either. She still had an alluring quality.
He was much younger, probably in his late twenties, wore ripped jeans, trainers and a black T-shirt. A Celtic band of ornate green tattoo peeked out from under his left sleeve. His hair was spiky and black, looked dyed, and he smiled continually and with a hint of nerves.
‘I believe he’s telling you the truth,’ said Eleanor, and her voice was gentle and warm, like a favourite aunt reading a bedtime story. ‘He wants to be caught. That’s the whole point of this. His being caught is the final act in his drama. But I don’t think he’s ready for that yet. He’ll tell us when he is.’ She looked down at the cassette player, thought for a moment. ‘You said he was armed?’ Adam nodded. ‘Then I’d say he was looking for a showdown. He’s probably preparing for it now.’
‘We’ve gone through the letters in detail,’ added Michael, whose voice was surprisingly deep for his thin frame. ‘There’s nothing obvious in there. I’ve got a computer program that looks for acrostics – you know, patterns in the words, or sentences made up from the first or second letters of the words, or things like that – and it came up with nothing. It checks for anagrams too and didn’t find anything there either. So it’s more subtle than that.’
Adam stared at them. ‘What do you think he means when he talks about not taking a plane?’
‘He’s telling you to check the airports,’ said Eleanor. ‘You’ve got two within your range of an hour, haven’t you? Exeter and Plymouth?’
‘Yep.’
‘I’d look there. I don’t think he’d be hiding there as they’d be too busy and noisy, but you might find a clue.’
Adam scribbled a note. ‘Any other ideas? He’s keen to talk about Manchester isn’t he? But he’s not there, we know that now. So why’s he still talking about it?’
‘Beats me,’ said Michael with a nervous smile. ‘But I’ll look at it again. There might be something in the place names up north that could relate to names down here. I’ll go over the maps.’
‘That band of gold reference in one of the earlier letters was odd,’ added Eleanor, rolling up the sleeve of her cardigan as if about to go to work. ‘I’d like to look at that some more. It didn’t fit into the flow. I’ve no idea what it means, but it may be something.’
‘I’ve got an idea,’ said Dan. ‘It’s about the rose thing he mentioned, or the names in other words. You know how he’s gone for women whose Christian names make up the Chief Constable’s? It’s been Sarah Jane Nicola. Well, the Chief Con’s surname is Hill. So I reckon he’s on or beside a hill somewhere. And I’m guessing now, but given his desire for a showdown, I bet it’ll be a well-known hill and that’s where this will all end.’
‘Good thought,’ said Adam slowly. ‘But how many hills are there in Devon and Cornwall?’
‘Hundreds. But at least it’s an idea.’
‘I agree. I’ll get the search teams working on what we’ve come up with.’
‘What’s that?’ snapped Whiting, as Suzanne placed the letter on his desk. He looked tired, hunched over his work, his eyes ringed a dull red, a sheen of oily sweat shining on the bald strip over his crown.
Suzanne kept her voice neutral. ‘I think it’s better if you read it, sir. As one of the officers seconded to your investigation I’ve been asked by the Police Federation to deliver it to you.’
Carefully he opened the stark white envelope and read, then sat back on his chair and read it again.
‘It is a vote of no confidence in me,’ he hissed, looking up at her. ‘And more importantly it is a notice of withdrawal of cooperation with our investigation. The Police Federation say I have no evidence whatsoever to justify the continued suspension of PC Crouch and that he should be immediately reinstated. It adds that I have demonstrated my ineptitude by allowing his name to leak to the press and wrongly accusing a fellow officer of facilitating that. As such, a motion of no confidence has been passed by the officers of Greater Wessex Police in the investigation and my stewardship of it.
‘The only way I can force anyone to submit to my inquiries now, it notes, is if I arrest them. It goes on to say the lack of any evidence denies me that option. As far as the Federation are concerned, the inquiry is at an end. I have been given all reasonable cooperation. To continue now, they say, would be tantamount to a witch hunt, carried out only to placate the hysterical baying of the media and the unwarranted suspicions of senior police officers who have never been presented with the acute dilemma of whether to open fire in the course of their duty.’
Suzanne wondered whether to say she thought the language in the letter rather overblown, but that it had some reasonable points to make. She decided against it, stood upright, waiting, hands behind her back, readied herself for the explosion. But it didn’t come. Whiting wiped his brow.
‘I don’t care about this, Suzanne,’ he said, and his voice had lost its usual hiss. He sounded vulnerable and disillusioned. Even, remarkably – almost human?
‘I don’t care about unpopularity,’ he went on. ‘That is part of the job. You expect it and accept it. But I do care about doing my duty. The naming of Crouch – and the picture that’s been published – is unforgivable. However much I am aware it was not me who caused it, nevertheless it is me who is in charge of the investigation and so I bear responsibility. The Police Federation are entirely correct in that, as they are in another matter. There is no evidence whatsoever against PC Crouch. All we have is suspicion about what may easily turn out to have been coincidence. I cannot justify the continued suspension and intrusive investigation of a police officer on the basis of that alone.’
Whiting adjusted the pile of change on his desk, taking the tower of pennies and two pences down and forming them into a square. ‘Where have we left to go in our investigation, Suzanne?’
She thought for a moment. ‘Nowhere obvious, sir.’
‘Indeed. There is no forensic or ballistics evidence to give us suspicion?’
‘No, sir.’
‘And the virtual reconstructions give us no grounds for suspicion?’
‘No, sir.’
‘And the accounts of all the witnesses and the police officers involved tally?’
‘Yes, sir.’
‘And there’s no hint of some grand conspiracy so beloved by the media? No calls between Crouch and Gardener and the two women, no communications to plot and plan the shootings?’
Suzanne shook her head. She almost felt sorry for Whiting. ‘No, sir.’
He stared at her. ‘Then I’d say this investigation was at an end, wouldn’t you?’
‘That’s a matter for you, sir,’ she replied, controlling her voice to hide her surprise.
He sat back in his chair and adjusted a cufflink. ‘Yes.’ The hiss was back. ‘Yes, I’d say we’ve reached the end. I shall take a couple more days to reflect on all the evidence we have gathered and then I shall submit my initial report. In the meantime, you can inform the Police Federation that their letter and its contents have been noted. No further interviews will be required of anyone and I will give them a decision on the reinstatement of PC Crouch by the end of the week. But we must be fair, as I know PC Crouch has been under considerable pressure, not least from having his picture published. You can tell the Federation that my interim opinion is to recommend no charges be brought, either criminal or disciplinary, and that he be reinstated.’
It was the first time Dan had been driven in a police car on an emergency call and he couldn’t help enjoying it. Initially, he’d just been pleased not to have to use his throbbing ankle to drive himself. Now the pain had been largely forgotten in the thrill of the violent cornering and squealing tyres. He hung on to a handle above the door and tried not to smile. It reminded him of fairground rides of younger days.
The wailing siren bullied the traffic aside as they sped along the main road north out of Plymouth, towards Dartmoor. They were heading for the airport. Gibson’s car had been found in one of its extensive car parks.
A white van that had been doing far more than forty in the thirty limit suddenly slowed and slewed out of their path. They accelerated around it, the car’s tyres screeching in protest. The van driver watched nervously as they passed, then relaxed in relief as they sped on. Another line of traffic darted aside, like young fish desperately avoiding the snapping jaws of a hungry predator. Adam didn’t even look up from his notes. ‘This could be our break,’ he kept muttering to himself.
