Deadline

by Simon Kernick

  'I had an accident. Banged my head against the car door.'

  Barry's gaze then dropped to the bloodstains on his shirt.

  'Are you all right to go through with this tonight? Because if you're not . . . if you're not well or something . . .'

  'I'm fine, I promise.'

  But even as Bolt spoke, he wondered for the first time whether he really was capable of operating effectively. He thought of Marcus Richardson, his face smeared with blood as he lay curled up in a defenceless ball against his flailing kicks; of Emma, a girl he might never know, chained to a rusty iron bed, a black hood over her head, while an unseen man ran a knife across her neck. Then he forced out the thoughts and focused on his boss.

  'I won't mess this up,' he said firmly.

  Barry nodded once, accepting the answer. 'Good. I need you fine. In fact, I need you more than fine. You were the one who initiated this op, and it's got to work.' He looked at his watch. 'We've got a final briefing at three thirty for everyone taking part. After that, I want you and Mo to get down to Mrs Devern's place and brief her. It's essential she doesn't mess things up either. There's going to be a lot riding on her.'

  'She knows that.'

  'Make sure she knows it again.'

  'What about the ransom money?'

  'You're taking it with you, so don't suddenly go AWOL again.' He smiled to show he was joking, but Bolt wasn't entirely sure he was. 'The rest of the team are going to be following you,' he continued, 'so we'll be ready to move as soon as they call. You'll be in charge on the ground. I'll be overseeing things from here.'

  'No problem.'

  Bolt nodded decisively because he had a feeling this was the kind of encouraging gesture Barry wanted to see. His boss looked more stressed than Bolt had seen him for a while, and he knew that his own actions weren't exactly helping.

  'If this goes well, it'll be a huge boost for SOCA, and for us,' said Barry, watching Bolt closely, looking, it seemed, for answers. 'But if things go wrong . . .' He let the words hang in the air for several seconds. 'If they go wrong, then you and me, we're going to be in a lot of shit, old mate.'

  More than you'll ever know, thought Bolt. More than you'll ever know.

  Thirty-seven

  The briefing was short and to the point. It focused purely on how the operation to follow the money, apprehend the kidnapper and rescue Emma was going to work. It seemed like a good plan with an extremely high chance of success to most people. To Bolt it was full of holes.

  Afterwards, when he and Mo were in the Jaguar driving to Andrea's place in a convoy of cars containing the rest of the team, the canvas holdall with the half a million pounds locked safely in the boot, Mo asked him about the lead he'd been working on all day. Bolt knew he had to tell his friend the truth now, so he told him about his visits to Richardson's and Ridgers' addresses, leaving out the part where he beat the shit out of Richardson.

  'Why didn't you tell me any of this earlier?' Mo asked.

  'I didn't want you thinking that I'd lost control – you know, after what I told you yesterday.'

  'But you spoke to Tina. Do you trust her more than me?'

  'No, I don't. Of course not. I just wasn't sure what you'd say if I asked you to look up Ridgers' number. Also, Tina's got good contacts at the phone companies.'

  'And you really think I wouldn't have helped you?' Mo looked deflated.

  'Look, I'm sorry.'

  Bolt wished he wasn't having this conversation. He wished too that he hadn't opened his mouth the previous day and put himself in such a vulnerable position with one of his most trusted colleagues.

  'How did you get that bruise on your head? And the blood on your shirt?'

  'I had an accident. Banged my head on the car doorframe.'

  'I'm a detective, boss, not a ten-year-old.'

  Bolt sighed. 'I broke into Richardson's place. He attacked me. We had a fight. That's how I got it.'

  'What the hell is happening to you?' demanded Mo.

  'What's happening to me is that it could be my daughter who's imprisoned by the kind of scum who've already killed at least twice, and so won't hesitate a single minute to kill again. That's what's happening. OK?'

  'But you can't go round breaking into people's houses and having fights with them. It's just not the way to get things done.'

  'What is the way, then? Tell me!'

  'To focus,' snapped Mo. 'To focus on making sure this operation's a success. Not on running round on a wild goose chase.'

  'It's not a wild goose chase.'

  'It is, boss. What proof have you got that either of them has any involvement whatsoever? Absolutely none.' Mo shook his head angrily. 'If it wasn't so bloody late in the day, I'd be talking to Barry about it right now.'

  They continued the rest of the journey in brooding silence. They'd never argued before, not like this. They'd had the occasional niggling disagreement and cross words, but it had never got anywhere near the position they were in now. Mo was openly questioning his ability to do the job, and, though Bolt desperately didn't want to admit it, he had some justification too. Another line had been crossed, one from which it was going to be a hard journey back, and he knew exactly whose fault it was.

  Thirty-eight

  It was after five when he and Mo left the convoy and turned into Andrea's street, having been given the all-clear by the surveillance team watching the house. It was the third time in a little over twenty-four hours that he'd been here, and each time Bolt arrived he felt worse than the time before. He couldn't help wondering how he was going to be feeling the next time he came – if there was a next time.

  Heaving the bag containing the money out of the boot, he walked to the gate in silence, Mo following behind. Marie the liaison officer buzzed them through. She was wearing a more concerned expression than usual as she opened the door to him.

  'Still no word from the kidnappers,' she told him.

  'How's Andrea?'

  'She's bearing up, but her nerves are shot with all this waiting. I think all of ours are.'

  It was the first sign from Marie that she was getting personally involved in the case. Bolt wasn't surprised. Liaison officers might be highly trained but they were still human, and, he noted wryly, someone like Andrea had always been good at tugging on other people's heartstrings.

  'They'll be in contact soon enough,' he said, nodding to Matt Turner who'd poked his head round the door of the study. 'Is she upstairs?' he asked Marie.

  'She's in the lounge,' she answered quietly. 'She's been there most of the afternoon. She said she wanted to be left alone.'

  Andrea was on the same sofa she'd been on yesterday afternoon. Apart from the change of clothes – she was smarter today, in a white blouse and black knee-length skirt – she might as well not have moved. Her haunted, almost hypnotized expression remained the same, and she only gave him the barest of glances as he and Mo entered the room.

  Bolt felt a sudden, almost overwhelming urge to take her in his arms, but he fought it back down. He put the holdall on the floor between them and took a seat opposite her. Mo remained standing near the door.

  'They haven't called, Mike.'

  'I know. But they will. They want the money, Andrea. That's their sole motivation for this.'

  She stared into space. 'I can't lose her. I . . . I just don't know what I'd do.'

  Bolt leaned forward in the seat, willing her to look at him. 'You've got to be strong, Andrea. Do you understand?'

  'OK,' she said quietly in a voice that didn't fill Bolt with confidence. For the first time he wondered if she'd be able to do what they needed her to do.

  'For Emma's sake.'

  She nodded, a little more decisively this time, and looked down at the holdall.

  'Is that the money?'

  'Yes. There's a tracking device attached to the lining on the inside. It's so small it'll be almost impossible to find. There are also two further devices, also very tiny, attached to the notes inside.'

  'Bu
t surely the kidnappers'll find them?'

  'Eventually they will, yes, if they know what they're looking for.'

  'Which they do, Mike. You know they do.'

  'But we're not going to let them run with this money for long. We'll be following you the whole way as you deliver it. There'll be surveillance teams travelling in front of you and behind.

  There'll also be helicopter back-up. There's no way you're going to be in any danger.'

  'I'm not worried about me, Mike, I'm worried about Emma. We're putting her life in danger here, and I can't stop thinking about it.'

  'Look, we'll keep back so we're not noticeable, and you'll be wearing a mike so we can monitor any conversation you have, and a tracking device so we don't lose you either. Mo, can you put them on for Andrea?'

  Mo nodded curtly, and attached the devices to Andrea's blouse while Bolt continued.

  'When you've delivered the money and withdrawn from the scene, we'll track the money to its destination. The kidnappers may put the money in a different bag but they won't have a chance to check half a million pounds in cash for trackers. We'll then follow them and the money to that destination and arrest them there.'

  'But what if Emma isn't there? What if they're hiding her somewhere else?'

  It was the big question, one that Bolt really didn't want to think about, because it represented the biggest flaw in their plan.

  'The chances are she will be, Andrea. If all the kidnappers are involved in the drop – and given that there are only two of them, three at the most, they probably will be – then they won't want to leave her alone for long, I promise you.'

  'It's all chances and likelys though, isn't it, Mike?' she said as Mo moved aside. 'That's the problem. There are no guarantees. They've already killed Jimmy. What if they kill Emma too?'

  Bolt could have added that they'd also killed her cleaner, but he didn't. Back at the Glasshouse it had been decided not to tell Andrea about this latest development until after the ransom drop, because of how it might affect her mental state.

  'There are no guarantees, Andrea. Not in something like this. But you've got to trust us. We know what we're doing.' He decided to change the subject. 'Have you ever heard of anyone by the name of Scott Ridgers?'

  She lit a cigarette with shaking hands, and blew out a thin plume of smoke. 'No. Should I have? Who is he?'

  Bolt told her about the possible connection. When he'd finished, she looked shocked.

  'You're not saying this has got anything to do with what happened all those years ago, are you?'

  'It's possible. We can't find him at the moment.'

  'Was it common knowledge that I told you about the robbery, then?' She glanced at Mo as she spoke. 'I swore you to secrecy.'

  'And I kept it secret, I promise. It's just a possibility that he's involved.'

  'I only ever met a couple of Jimmy's friends, and I don't remember a Scott Ridgers,' she mused.

  'Fair enough,' he said, not entirely able to mask the disappointment in his voice. He wasn't totally surprised. Ridgers was a vague lead at best, and now he was beginning to get vaguer.

  It was a long shot, but he pulled out of a pocket an A4-sized copy of Scott Ridgers' latest mugshot and unfolded it.

  'This is a photo of him.'

  The moment she took it, her eyes widened.

  'I know him,' she said simply.

  Thirty-nine

  'He's done work in the garden here before,' said Andrea, still staring at the photo. 'For the firm I use. I've seen him here a couple of times.'

  Bolt looked at Mo. His colleague's face was impassive.

  'What's the name of the firm?'

  'Brandon Landscapes. I've got a business card with all their details round here somewhere.'

  She got up and rummaged round in the top drawer of the pine cabinet next to the sofa until she found what she was looking for.

  'And when did you see the man in the photo here?'

  'He's only been here recently,' she said, handing Bolt the card. 'In the last few weeks. I hadn't seen him before that.'

  'Did he act suspiciously at all?' asked Mo, speaking for the first time.

  Andrea shook her head, sitting back down. 'No. Just did his job.'

  'Did he ever come inside the house?'

  'No. I never let any of the gardeners inside the house. There was never any need. And also, quite a few of the people who work for Mike Brandon have criminal records.'

  Bolt raised his eyebrows. 'Really?'

  'The idea's to help them get back on their feet.

  I've always thought it was a good idea but, you know, I'm not entirely stupid. I'm not going to give them the run of the place. Not with their backgrounds.' She picked up the photo again. 'God, do you really think he might be involved?'

  Bolt suddenly wished he wasn't, after what Bouchera and Richardson had both said about him, but he nodded. 'Yes, I do. And it shows we're on the right track.' He glanced at Mo as he said this.

  Bolt looked at the card Andrea had given him and saw that Brandon was a local Hampstead firm.

  'Well, we're going to need to get on to them straight away and see if they've got any other contact details for Mr Ridgers.'

  He stood up and excused himself and Mo.

  As soon as they were out in the hall, Bolt let out a deep breath. He turned to his colleague, hoping for some form of acknowledgement that he'd been right to follow up the lead.

  'I still don't agree with how you went about it,' he said grudgingly.

  'This is my daughter we're talking about,' Bolt hissed, leaning close to Mo. 'I had no choice. And now we're getting somewhere, aren't we? Because this is way too coincidental. Ridgers is involved. No question.'

  'OK, but we still don't know where he is and we haven't got a lot of time to find him.'

  Bolt nodded. 'But I was right to do what I did.'

  He turned away before Mo could say anything else and dialled the number for Brandon Landscapes. The call went straight to message and he left one, asking Mike Brandon to get back to him urgently. Then he called Big Barry and gave him the news.

  Barry seemed to forget his earlier irritation with Bolt, and praised him for his good work. 'We don't want to put out an alert in case any local copper tries to nick him before he's picked up the money. But it's good to be able to put a name to one of them, Mike. Well done.'

  Matt Turner emerged from the study as Bolt came off the phone.

  'Any chance of getting relieved here, boss?' he asked. 'I'm going stir crazy.'

  'Don't worry,' Bolt told him wearily, 'this is all going to be over soon.'

  He wasn't sure what else to say so he left Turner and Mo there and went and stood out in the garden. He had a strong need to get away from everyone. It was a beautiful early autumn afternoon, with only a few wispy strands of cloud and aircraft trails crossing an otherwise perfect azure sky, but he was unable to enjoy the solitude. Like Andrea, he couldn't stand the waiting. It gave him far too much time to think, and the fact that his hunch had paid off was proving to be a doubleedged sword. As Barry had said, it was good to be able to ID one of the kidnappers, but the fact remained that he'd also been accused of being a paedophile, and he was quite possibly holding Bolt's daughter. That thought made relaxation of any kind impossible.

  He paced the garden for quite a while, then went back inside. He could hear Mo, Turner and Marie talking quietly in the study but couldn't make out what they were saying. Not wanting to interrupt them, he knocked on the living-room door and was unsurprised to see Andrea still in her seat, smoking.

  'You know what?' she said through the smoke, without looking at him. 'The contents of that bag . . .' She motioned with a flick of her head towards the holdall on the floor. 'It's just a load of fucking paper, isn't it? I've spent my whole life trying to earn as much as I can of those little bits of paper, and all for what? A nice big house. A big car. A daughter I might never see again . . .'

  'You can't think like that, Andrea. You've got t
o be positive.'

  She managed a weak smile. 'We'll get through it. Won't we?'

  'If we're strong, we'll get through it. And tonight we both need to be very strong, and very focused.'

  She stubbed the cigarette out in the ashtray and stood up, taking a step towards him. 'Will you hold me?' she asked him. 'Just for a moment?'

  She looked so vulnerable that Bolt knew there was no way he could resist, and he went to take her in his arms.

  And then stopped, startled by a sound that inspired hope and fear in equal measure.

  The ringing of the phone.

  Forty

  Emma's voice came over the line on loudspeaker. Like the previous day, it was a recording. Unlike the previous day, Bolt's relationship with her had changed, and he experienced a wrenching in his stomach as she spoke, her words nervous and halting.

  'Hi Mum, it's me. I'm OK. It's Saturday. I've seen the paper.' A short pause. 'They say that they'll let me go tonight if you give them the money. But you can't involve the police. Please. Otherwise . . .' Another pause, longer this time.

  They were in the study. All five of them. Turner, Marie, Mo, Bolt and Andrea. Turner clicked frantically on his laptop, trying to secure a trace. The others stood silent, waiting. Bolt couldn't look at Andrea, even though he knew she was looking at him. The receiver was shaking in her hand. He caught Mo's eyes and saw sympathy there. He didn't acknowledge it. Instead, he stared at a fixed point high on the ceiling, his jaw set hard.

  There was a click at the other end of the phone, and then the familiar disguised voice came on the line.

  'Do you have the money yet, Mrs Devern?'

  'Yes.' Delivered firmly.

  'Good. And have you spoken to the police?'

  'No.' Delivered just as firmly.

  'We have someone with your daughter. He has instructions to kill her at ten p.m. exactly if he hasn't heard from us, so I would advise you strongly to do the right thing this time.'

  Bolt flinched at his words, and for a moment Andrea appeared unsteady on her feet; then she began to speak confidently into the phone.