Cradle to Grave

by Rachel Amphlett

  ‘Guv.’

  The chorus of voices died down, and Kay beckoned to Carys.

  ‘Are you okay to continue? Not too tired?’

  The detective constable shook her head. ‘I wouldn’t want to be anywhere else right now, guv.’

  Thirty-Three

  Gavin glared at his mobile phone screen and swore under his breath.

  ‘Any news?’ said Barnes.

  ‘Nothing.’

  ‘Come on then. The sooner we do this, the sooner you can go back to checking your phone.’

  Upon reaching the incident room that morning, Sharp had provided both men with an update regarding the possible sighting of Greg Victor and Alice.

  Eager to join the search, Gavin had been disappointed when the DCI had tasked them with speaking to the business owners who Greg had been having job interviews with since arriving in Kent four months ago.

  ‘We need to know what their impressions of him were,’ said Sharp. ‘The statements taken by uniform only provide confirmation that he had meetings with them. I want to know what he told them. The more information we’ve got before we interview him, the better.’

  Gavin couldn’t argue with the DCI’s logic, and bit down his frustration that, despite working four night shifts in a row, Carys was now leading the search for Alice.

  He got on well with his colleague, but there had always been an underlying competitive edge to their working relationship. A year ago, he’d been convinced she was going to apply for the role of detective sergeant that had been advertised within the team at Maidstone, and was surprised at her admission that she didn’t feel ready for such a task.

  ‘Oi, Piper.’

  Barnes’s voice dragged him from his thoughts. The detective sergeant was holding open the door into the carpet retail shop, his eyebrow raised. ‘Are you coming, or what?’

  ‘Sorry.’

  Gavin hurried after him, and blinked as his eyes adjusted to the artificial lighting inside the shop.

  An overwhelming smell of chemical compounds assaulted his senses, the air thick with the stench of new carpet and rugs. To his left, rolls of carpet samples had been stacked along the wall, the varying vibrant, mock antique, and muted tones providing a plethora of choices for the shop’s customers. Piles of rugs in different shapes and sizes had been stacked along the shop floor to his right.

  At the far end of the shop, two men in short sleeves and wearing ties broke off from their conversation and watched as he and Barnes approached.

  Barnes held up his warrant card. ‘Who’s the manager here?’

  The shorter of the two, a man in his mid-forties with a receding hairline and wireframe glasses, almost raised his hand before changing his mind at the last minute and pointing at his chest.

  ‘Me. What’s this about?’

  ‘Sorry – your name is?’ said Barnes.

  ‘Clive Morton.’

  ‘Is there somewhere we can talk in private?’

  Morton turned to his colleague. ‘Charlie, can you give me a shout if it gets busy?’

  The other man gave a curt nod, his mouth downturned. ‘Sure.’

  Morton beckoned to Gavin and Barnes, and then walked past a wraparound desk laden with catalogues and an ancient computer, before swiping a security card over a panel next to a door at the back of the shop and holding it open for them.

  ‘There’s a kitchenette down by the fire exit on the left-hand side,’ he said. ‘We can talk in there.’

  Gavin entered the cramped space, wrinkled his nose at the dirty cups piled on the draining board and the stain-covered microwave door, then turned to face Morton and pulled out his notebook.

  ‘What’s this all about?’ said Morton. He folded his arms over his chest and leaned against the door frame, his eyes moving from one detective to the other.

  ‘Greg Victor,’ said Barnes. ‘We understand you interviewed him for a job here. Can you confirm when that was?’

  Martin scratched his chin. ‘I thought the name sounded familiar. He’s the bloke who’s gone and done a runner with that little girl, isn’t he? I thought there was something about him.’

  ‘When did you interview him?’

  ‘Must have been about eight or nine weeks ago. Charlie out there was the successful applicant, and started about a month ago, so yeah – eight or nine weeks.’

  ‘What were your impressions of him?’

  Morton frowned. ‘I can’t really remember.’

  ‘You just said you “thought there was something about him”,’ said Gavin.

  The man’s face flushed. ‘It was only a figure of speech. I do recall he was early for the meeting. I was running late, coming back from our head office at Ashford, and he was wandering around the shop when I got here. Megan, who was working here that afternoon, said he didn’t talk much once he had introduced himself.’

  ‘What did he tell you about his previous employment?’ said Barnes.

  ‘Nothing much, other than what was already on his CV. I mean, come on, he killed animals for a living, right? He didn’t seem enthused about it, that’s for sure.’ He shuddered. ‘If I was him, I’d have been looking for a new job, too.’

  ‘Do you still have a copy of his CV on file?’ Gavin looked around the cramped kitchenette, but couldn’t see a filing cabinet.

  ‘Probably not,’ said Morton. ‘Head office deal with all that. The only CVs I keep on file are for those people I end up employing.’

  ‘We’ll need a name and number for someone we can speak to there,’ said Barnes. ‘Why didn’t you give him the job?’

  ‘Because I had two other applicants who were better qualified,’ said Morton. ‘I was spoilt for choice.’

  After concluding the interview, Barnes led the way back to the car and paused next to the driver’s door, tossing the keys from one hand to the other.

  ‘Well, despite Kay’s assertion that these interviews are going to help to build up a picture about Greg, I can’t help feeling that he’s a bit of a grey man. He’s not exactly mister personality by the sound of it, is he?’

  ‘It was only a job interview,’ said Gavin. ‘How many people have you interviewed over the years that you can recall, despite our training?’

  Barnes grimaced. ‘Who’s next on the list?’

  Gavin checked his notes. ‘There’s a builders’ merchants about half a mile away from here in the Tonbridge direction. According to the paperwork we found in his room at Robert and Annette’s house, Greg had an interview there at the beginning of August.’

  ‘That was only a few weeks ago.’ Barnes wrenched open the car door. ‘Let’s hope they remember more about him.’

  Gavin said nothing, put his notebook away and then pulled his mobile phone from his pocket. There were no new messages, no missed calls.

  The passenger window went down.

  ‘Trust me,’ said Barnes, ‘if they find Alice, Carys will let you know. Come on.’

  Gavin scowled, and got in the car.

  Thirty-Four

  Barnes wrapped his fingers around the steering wheel, gritted his teeth and willed the traffic lights to turn green.

  Beside him, Piper flipped through the apps on his phone screen muttering under his breath. The young detective constable turned his attention to the road as Barnes accelerated once more.

  ‘What road is this builders’ merchants on?’

  ‘Just off the London Road,’ said Barnes, and lapsed into silence once more.

  It was all he could do not to pull over and check his own phone.

  The thought of Alice Victor being taken across the marshes by her uncle brought back painful memories of his own daughter’s kidnapping and near drowning.

  It had only been the quick thinking of a police constable and a sergeant that had saved Sarah’s life. Barnes didn’t know what he would have done if he’d lost her – or what he would have done to the man who had taken her.

  He tried to fight down the sickness in the pit of his stomach and vowed he would call h
is daughter that evening when he finished his shift. Now that she was at university, their conversations had become all too brief for his liking. He suspected she thought of him as being overbearing sometimes, but had the kindness to understand what drove his fears.

  ‘What?’ His colleague’s voice jerked him from his thoughts. ‘Sorry – didn’t catch that. What did you say?’

  Piper pointed out the windscreen. ‘It’s this turning off to the left up here.’

  ‘Okay.’

  The builders’ merchants took up a large lot on the corner of the junction, the entrance on one road and the exit on the other. Sandy-coloured dust covered the concrete apron, and Barnes suppressed a groan as he saw a man wielding an angle grinder cutting concrete paving slabs on one side of the yard near the car park.

  ‘This car is going to look like it’s crossed the bloody Sahara by the time we leave here,’ he said.

  Piper snorted. ‘Well, you’re the driver, so it’s your turn to clean it.’

  Barnes rolled his eyes, switched off the engine and climbed out. He blinked as the breeze wafted a fresh cloud of dust towards them, sneezed, then locked the car and hurried towards the warehouse-sized building.

  He dusted a fine powder from his shoulders as Piper followed him between a pair of unmanned service counters, and ignored the cheerful pop music that blared from speakers in the far reaches of steel rafters that soared above his head.

  Eight rows of tall shelving units ran from one side of the store to the other, and signs hung from girders proclaiming where to find plumbing supplies, bathroom fixtures and fittings, or kitchen appliances.

  ‘Nightmare,’ said Piper, as a family of four led by a harassed-looking father brushed past him, their bickering voices disappearing around a corner and into a row labelled “lighting”.

  ‘Another few years, and that’ll be you,’ said Barnes. ‘Couple of ankle-biters at your feet, nagging wife, the lot.’

  He grinned as his colleague shuddered, then spotted a man in a bright-yellow polo shirt pushing a handcart laden with rolls of wallpaper.

  ‘Excuse me?’

  The man slowed to a halt and looked Barnes up and down, then Gavin. ‘You the police?’

  ‘We were wondering if we could have a word with the manager?’

  ‘Stephen? He’s out the back. Go along here, then turn left. You’ll see an office – he’s in there.’

  ‘Thanks.’

  The man grunted an acknowledgement, then wheeled the trolley away, the squeak of a wheel an indication of his slow progress as Barnes turned and walked in the opposite direction.

  He spotted a double set of windows at the back of the warehouse-like building where the staff member had directed them, and rapped his knuckles on the open door.

  A waif-like twenty-something spun around from a laptop he’d been peering at, and jumped to his feet. ‘Who are you?’

  Barnes made the introductions. ‘We’re looking for the manager.’

  ‘That’s me. Stephen Francis.’

  ‘Really?’ Barnes cleared his throat to hide the surprise in his voice, and wondered when everyone had started to look so young. ‘How old are you?’

  ‘Twenty-nine. Why?’

  ‘We wanted to speak to you about Greg Victor. I understand you interviewed him for a job here about three or four weeks ago.’

  ‘Oh. Him.’ Francis flopped back into his seat, and ran a hand through his collar-length hair. ‘Yeah, I’m kind of glad I didn’t employ him now. What a nightmare that would’ve been.’

  ‘What can you tell us about him?’

  ‘Nothing much.’ Francis’s top lip curled. ‘I don’t think he fancied reporting to someone younger than him. As soon as he clapped eyes on me, he sort of clammed up. He could’ve done the work – I mean, stacking shelves and operating a cash register isn’t difficult – but I could see that he was going to be trouble. I gave the job to someone else.’

  ‘Do you still have a copy of his CV?’

  ‘I think so. Hang on.’

  Barnes moved out of the way as Francis pushed his chair back and crossed the tiny office to a four-drawer filing cabinet in the corner of the room.

  The store manager stooped as he opened the bottom drawer and rummaged through the contents before pulling out a two-page document and thrusting it at him.

  ‘Here you go.’

  ‘Can you give us a copy?’

  ‘You can keep that one. It’s not like I’m going to employ him now, is it?’

  Barnes didn’t respond, and instead ran his gaze over the contents of the CV. It matched exactly with the one that had been found at Annette and Robert Victor’s house, and provided no new information about Greg’s background.

  He resisted the urge to sigh. ‘Okay, thanks for your time. We’ll call you if we have any further questions.’

  ‘You’re right,’ said Gavin as they left the builders’ merchants and crossed the dusty car park. He finished flicking through the CV and then folded it. ‘Nothing out of the ordinary. Makes you wonder why he’s gone off the rails like this.’

  ‘Doesn’t it? I mean, kidnapping his niece is bloody extreme.’

  Barnes stopped walking as his phone began to buzz in his pocket. He fished it out and swallowed to counteract the lump in his throat as he read the message.

  Gavin’s phone vibrated a second later.

  ‘They’ve found her,’ said Barnes, his voice croaking. ‘They’ve bloody found her.’

  Thirty-Five

  ‘Give me those binoculars.’

  Kay snatched them from the outstretched hand of the police officer beside her, and then trained them on the flat marshy land below the Common.

  ‘Where?’ she said.

  ‘Find the goal posts on the playing field,’ said Laura, shielding her eyes from the sunlight. ‘Then come forward until you see the outer reaches of the marsh. There are some scrubby trees in the middle. I saw a flash of blue amongst them, and then a man and a little girl.’

  Kay held her breath as she followed her directions, and then let out a gasp.

  ‘Bloody hell, Hanway – good spotting.’ Kay passed back the binoculars and took the radio Carys held out to her. ‘I need two teams heading back towards the recreation field now. We have a likely sighting on the marshes, but I don’t want to make him run. We need to think of Alice’s safety.’

  She turned to PC Morrison. ‘Dave – where’s the water patrol? I need a boat down by the river walk, just in case.’

  ‘I’ll get on to them, guv.’

  Handing back the radio, she caught Carys’s gaze as the detective constable lowered her mobile phone. ‘Did you tell Barnes and Piper?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘Okay. Have them go back to the incident room and start phoning around to get the nearest available ABE in for a briefing as soon as Alice has been recovered. Make sure they check the cells, too – I don’t want Greg Victor trying to self-harm while he’s in custody. Twenty-four-hour watch, got that?’

  ‘Guv.’

  Carys moved away and held her mobile to her ear, her instructions to her colleagues carrying on the slight breeze that rustled the tree branches above Kay’s head.

  The Achieving Best Evidence officer would be the only person allowed to interview Alice about what had happened on the boat and her subsequent kidnapping. Even Alice’s mother wouldn’t be allowed to be present, but a specialist intermediary could be appointed if Annette wished.

  Kay knew how vital Alice’s evidence would be, and how critical her management of the little girl’s rescue and return to her mother would be analysed by her superiors, the Crown Prosecution Service, and Greg Victor’s defence solicitor.

  ‘Who’s leading the two nearest search teams?’ she said to a nearby police sergeant.

  ‘Hughes is down there, nearest the recreation field, guv,’ said the woman, ‘and Tasker is moving towards the marshes from the lower end of the Common.’

  Kay raised her hand to her brow and shielded her eyes agains
t the glare off the river from the rising sun. It beat against the back of her neck, a reminder that summer wasn’t yet over and that a little girl was out in the open, exposed to the elements.

  She watched the ambulance crew that hovered at the perimeter of the gathered officers, and swallowed as she watched them check their equipment and supplies. They would have all that they needed to treat Alice should it be required, but she knew from her own experience that keeping busy was also a way to counteract the nerves, and the fear that something could go wrong.

  ‘Guv, look.’

  Her attention snapped back to the marshland below at the sergeant’s voice, in time to see a man leading a child away from a copse of trees.

  His shoulders slumped with exhaustion – yet, when the child stumbled on the uneven ground, he didn’t hesitate and swept her up into his arms. He dragged his feet towards the houses that backed onto the recreation field, his whole body language depicting a man defeated.

  ‘He’s giving up,’ said Kay. ‘Get that team down there to fan out – don’t crowd him. Let him have some space in case he changes his mind. We’ve got no idea what his motive is, and I don’t want anyone spooking him.’

  ‘Got that, guv,’ said the sergeant, and raised her radio to her lips.

  ‘What’s going on, guv?’ Carys appeared at her shoulder, her mobile phone still clutched in her hand. ‘Is he moving?’

  ‘He’s broken cover,’ said Kay, pointing to the figure that was nearing a hedgerow behind one of the goalposts. ‘Have you got a map?’

  ‘Here.’ Carys held up her phone, then zoomed in on an image. ‘There’s a footpath in the corner of the field that leads to the road.’

  ‘Did you get that?’ Kay turned to the sergeant beside her.

  The woman nodded and relayed the information, and Kay watched as a third group of officers poured onto the road from a deep thicket, cutting off any hope of escape.