by Tara Lyons
“I’m currently parked outside Katy Royal’s apartment.”
“Good, you haven’t left.”
“No, sir. I thought she was acting a bit suspicious during the drive here. Used my phone to text her neighbour, but must have deleted it because there’s no message. She also switched my phone onto silent so I wouldn’t hear any notifications. Should I pop up to her flat, or try and find the neighbour?”
“Rocky, do you have a good view of the entrance?” Hamilton asked.
“Yes, sir. I’m hidden away, but I can see the apartment just fine.”
“Right, don’t move and do not take your eyes off that door, do you understand? I want to know the minute Katy Royal exits that building. There was no way she was leaving London without her son. I want to know what changed her mind so quickly.”
“I won’t let her out of my sight, sir.”
Hamilton ended the call, and although he was certain his partner had picked up the gist of the conversation, he relayed the information back to Clarke. The situation bothered him. He had seen the look of distress in Katy Royal’s eyes and wondered what her next move was. He was desperate to get back to the station and exchange updates with Fraser.
“Gov, I’m going to pop down the street to Penny’s Bakery,” Clarke announced after he cut the engine. “I think we all need some refuelling.”
Exhaustion suddenly attacked Hamilton. Although he knew everyone would plough through the fatigue they had all become accustomed to in this job, they needed some sustenance to help the battle. Standing in the courtyard, Hamilton reached into his wallet and handed his partner some money.
“Stock up on refreshments for the office, Clarke. Good thinking. I’ll meet you upstairs.”
In the incident room, Hamilton marched over to Fraser, busy updating the white evidence boards. He noticed the empty chocolate wrapper and diet coke can by her computer. It wasn’t even midday, but he couldn’t judge her breakfast choices when not one of them had slept in over twenty-four hours.
“Boss, I’m glad you’re back,” Fraser said. “I’ve just this minute got off the phone to Audrey Gibson. She examined the balaclava found in Campbell’s shed and it was a match.”
“What, to the woollen fibre under Emma Jones’s fingernail?”
“Yes, boss.”
“Okay… Good.” His mind pieced together parts of the puzzle. “Before leaving the scene, the firefighters confirmed no one was in that house. We have no idea where Pete’s gone, or if in fact he has Frankie Royal. It’s a matter of urgency that we find them both.”
“I’ve checked the local hospitals, but there’s no record of Campbell being seen.”
“He’d be foolish to use his real name.”
“I gave a description, but it was futile. We can’t be sure of his appearance now, and the receptionist couldn’t check every bed or cubicle.”
“No, of course not. Have an officer fax over Campbell’s image to all the major hospitals within a five-mile radius. The chief touched base with us before we left Bayswater, he was travelling to an emergency press conference about Frankie Royal. We’re hoping it’ll be aired in the next hour or so.”
He updated Fraser on Rocky’s whereabouts and, before they could discuss Katy Royal’s actions, Clarke barged through the doors with both hands full – one with a container of pastries, and the other with a tray of hot beverages. Hamilton suggested they all take a break before delving back into the search. Most of them were usually content to eat on the job, so he grabbed a warm sausage roll and polystyrene cup of tea and perched on the table in front of the evidence board. His mind reacted immediately to the fuel, eyes speeding over the images and connections and timelines before him. He grabbed a marker and added a new link between Campbell and Katy Royal.
“What’s The Swan, gov?” Clarke asked, joining his boss.
“Just the name of a pub Katy briefly mentioned earlier, but she had no further information about it.”
Clarke placed his coffee on the table and retrieved his mobile from his back pocket. After a few minutes, he was reciting the details shown on the phone’s screen.
“Right, let’s have a look at the map. There is one on Clapham Road, Sudbury, Stratford, Kington –”
“Stop, click on the Stratford one,” Hamilton interrupted.
“Okay… The Swan was a public house on Stratford High Street, close to the train station, but it closed in 2013.” He paused to glance at Hamilton. “Despite public interest, it was never renovated, reopened or sold. That’s in Campbell’s area.”
“Yes, and apparently, he was adamant that’s where the pair first met.”
Hamilton peered closer at the information, his index finger drumming on his lips. He reached over the desk and browsed through the records, pulling out the financial information collated.
“In 2012, Campbell sells his father’s lucrative local business and then closes that bank account. What did he do with all that cash?” Hamilton asked.
“You think he bought the pub, why?”
“It could be sentimental, if it’s the first place he saw Katy. Call the Stratford station and find out if anyone knows anything about this pub, particularly before it was sold, and who owned it.”
“That could take ages, and we’re not even sure that’s where Campbell’s money actually went. He could have bought a car, another apartment or probably used it to deck out that dungeon in his back garden. We can’t follow a cash trail, gov.”
“I know, you’re right, Clarke. And it could be a long shot, but that monster mentioned it while he had three people gagged and bound in the Royal’s house, so it must be important to him.”
His partner complied, and Hamilton sat at the desk surrounding himself with every shred of information they had obtained on Campbell’s life so far. He needed to create a vivid image of the murderer’s character. By creating a clearer understanding of who Pete Campbell was, there would be a chance he could apprehend the suspect before another innocent life was stolen.
“Boss, the incident room just received a call about a robbery at a chemist,” Fraser said, interrupting him from the task. “The attending officers scanned the CCTV footage and recognised the thief as Campbell. He stole a variety of strong painkillers and other first aid equipment.”
“So, he’s planning DIY treatment. Was he alone?”
“Inside the chemist, yes. However, the external camera caught his car parked outside and, although the image isn’t clear, there appears to be a small body lying in the back seat.”
“He’s got Frankie Royal! Where’s the chemist located, Fraser?”
“Old Street in Islington.”
Hamilton’s chair screeched along the floor. He flew to the evidence board and traced his finger along the large map.
“Old Street is the same route we took when we drove to Campbell’s house. Damn it! That maniac would have driven straight past this station.” Hamilton balled his hands into fists. “Although the chemist is between the Royal household and Stratford, I don’t want to make any assumptions this time about where Campbell might be. Fraser, let’s first confirm there are sentries in place at Campbell’s address, and then put them on high alert. But, I highly doubt he’d return home.”
“He might do, boss. How’s he to know we’ve even linked him to Katy Royal yet, let alone already have his home under surveillance?”
“This man is dangerous, but he’s not stupid. Press reports are imminent, if not already in the public domain, and the robbery was careless and unplanned, the opposite of how this man has previously acted. I’d say Campbell’s aware.”
Fraser nodded. “Okay, leave it with me, boss.”
“I’ll get in touch with the automatic number plate recognition data centre and see if we can evaluate which route Campbell took after he fled the Islington area.”
Before Hamilton could make the necessary call, Clarke covered his own phone receiver and explained he’d been put on a hold. Stratford’s desk sergeant was in the process o
f contacting one of the station’s longest standing police community support officers.
“Apparently, we can’t get better than this woman’s local knowledge of Stratford, as she was born and raised in the area,” Clarke said. “As well as being a PCSO with the station for ten years.”
“Definitely sounds like the contact we need to talk to right now.”
Clarke gave him the thumbs up and mouthed that the woman was in the building. Hamilton returned his focus to the office phone but was distracted once again, this time by the ping of his mobile.
He read Rocky’s message. “Katy Royal is on the move.”
CHAPTER THIRTY-FIVE
Rocky peered through the long, dangling tree branches that danced in the breeze around his windscreen. Two women exited the apartment and hastily climbed into the black Mitsubishi Outlander outside. There was a confidence surrounding Katy Royal, now she had washed and changed into clean jeans and a red parka, her short, blonde hair tied back. He immediately recognised the driver as the upstairs neighbour who had denied knowing Katy during his earlier search of the property with Fraser. Grabbing his mobile, Rocky made a note of the registration plate and sent a brief text to Hamilton. He started the car and followed at a safe distance.
The driver sped along the dual carriageway adjacent to Stanborough Park and the River Lea, switching lanes with no indication. The car circled the next three roundabouts and past the Hertfordshire Constabulary. Rocky had a desire to call his colleagues for back up, but was unsure as to why he was chasing a victim of crime. Knowing the area well, Rocky speculated on their destination. Remaining a few cars behind, travelling along Osborn Way, the Howard Centre came into view and confirmed his instinct. The Outlander came to a screeching halt outside the underpass entrance for Welwyn Garden City railway station and Katy hopped out.
Rocky closed in behind them as the driver sped off and Katy ran inside the station. Grateful for the one remaining space, Rocky swiftly parallel parked and grabbed his coat from the passenger’s seat. With Katy now out of sight, he had no choice but to lock the car and leave it abandoned without a parking permit; the last thing he wanted was to dissatisfy Hamilton by losing their victim. He didn’t want his first investigation in London to be his last.
He sprinted through the entrance, slowing his pace when he spied a flash of red making its way to the main station ticket office. He quickly picked up a copy of The Metro and hid behind the inky sheets of news. Katy was soon on the move again, towards the platform overshadowed by a train signalling its departure. Reluctantly, Rocky flew along the platform in her wake, hoping he hadn’t been spotted. He jumped onto the carriage before the one Katy had chosen, just as the doors slammed shut behind him, and the train jerked into movement. He carefully walked through the coach until he was close enough to observe her through the glass windowed doors.
Katy appeared edgy, fiddling with something in her hands and unable to select a seat. Rocky jumped back from view before her eyes settled in his direction. Satisfied she wasn’t about to open the door and cross over into his carriage, Rocky chanced another look, and peered back through the glass. Katy had finally chosen a seat, her head resting on the window as the train glided through the Hatfield and Welham Green’s picturesque scenery. He pulled away and, confident he couldn’t lose the woman on a moving train, retrieved his mobile phone and called Lakhani.
“Alright, mate,” the PC answered.
“Yeah, listen I need you to do something for me,” Rocky replied, and brought him up to date with the current situation. “Can you have a word with Katy Royal’s neighbour for us? She obviously knows more than she’s letting on, and may have some clue as to what Katy’s plan is. Find out what you can and let me know.”
“Leave it with me,” Lakhani said, and ended the call.
The train screeched to a halt at Potters Bar and Rocky ignored the distractions from other passengers and discreetly focused on the red coat. Despite living in Welwyn for a couple of years, Rocky was unfamiliar with the railway service, and therefore unaware of the train’s direction of travel. As they pulled away from the station, he waited for a carriage announcement before calling Hamilton.
“Sir, we’re headed for Moorgate Underground station,” he explained, after his superior demanded information.
“How long will it take?”
Rocky angled his head and concentrated on the railway map. “It’s seventeen stops, so I’m not sure… I’d hazard a guess at about forty to fifty minutes. But we have no way of knowing where she’ll jump off between here and there.”
“No, but I’d bet my badge on Katy returning to the city. We’ve had a development in the case.”
“But why, sir? What’s she doing?”
Hamilton huffed loudly. “Unfortunately, we haven’t discovered that part out yet, but she’s certainly part of something we’re trying to understand.”
“Wouldn’t it be easier if I just approached her?”
“No!” Hamilton snapped. “There’s a reason she ran away from us, and confronting her may ruin our chances of understanding why that was. We’re closing in on Campbell and have a possible location for him in the Stratford area. I want you to stick with Katy and keep me updated. Don’t let me down, son.”
“I won’t, sir,” Rocky said to the emptiness of his iPhone home screen.
He wasn’t disheartened his superior had hung up without a farewell; in fact, a sense of relief overwhelmed him. Rocky perceived Hamilton as a man on the edge, like a bubbling pot waiting to overspill, and he didn’t want to be the reason for that explosion. He was quickly learning there was little time for pleasantries. The secondment to MIT had welcomed him into one of the most in-depth investigations he’d worked on during his career. So far, he’d only skimmed the surface of the case but, after being handed the baton of responsibility, he was tenacious enough to prove his worth.
CHAPTER THIRTY-SIX
Hamilton jumped onto the nearest computer and securely logged in. He clicked the desktop’s Internet Explorer shortcut, his mind racing as fast as his fingers could type the words into the search engine. Within seconds, masses of results filled the monitor and he double-clicked on a London train service map. His eyes scanned the red route highlighting the journey from Welwyn Garden City to Moorgate while his fingers lightly traced over the screen; his home town of famous landmarks and tourist attractions at his fingertip. He waited. Something in the back of his mind slowly clawed its way to the forefront, and then he saw it. Curved upwards on the map, to the right of Moorgate station, he found the Queen Elizabeth Olympic Park signpost.
He swiftly opened a new tab, searched new keywords and waited for the information to load and process. The corners of his mouth turned up, discovering the route Rocky was currently travelling on was due to stop at Highbury and Islington, and would allow a direct connection to Stratford. Hamilton grabbed his mobile from the desk and composed a text message to Rocky, his thumbs dancing across the Samsung Galaxy quicker than ever before. He needed to inform the lad about Katy’s destination. At least where his gut feeling told him she was going.
“Right, we’re taking two cars and getting over to The Swan pub now,” Hamilton ordered Clarke and Fraser. “Granted, we made a mistake storming Campbell’s home address and we can’t afford to mess up again. But, ANPR has our suspect’s vehicle on Stratford High Street an hour ago, if we wait any longer we risk losing him. And Frankie Royal for that matter.”
Hamilton’s jaw tightened and his exasperation escalated at the thought of failing. At the thought of abandoning an innocent child in the hands of a killer.
“I understand but wait, boss, the back-up teams aren’t in play yet,” Fraser called after him.
He paused, pushing the door half open, and turned to face his colleague. “I’ll be damned if any further harm is going to come to that boy, just because we sat around here and failed to act quickly enough. There’s no harm in the three of us going ahead and doing a recce of the location before the other t
eams arrive.”
“Works for me,” Clarke said, and breezed by his partner out of the door.
Hamilton raised his eyebrows at Fraser and observed what he thought was a moment of hesitation in her reaction. She quietly nodded, snatched her coat and mobile phone from the desk and joined them.
As it approached midday, Hamilton could barely believe it was less than twenty-four hours since their last journey to Stratford. He used the time to touch base with the local station, who confirmed no one had returned to Campbell’s home address, and exchanged text messages with Rocky. If they hadn’t been covering such a wide geographical area, he would have sent Fraser to assist the temporary officer. Although Rocky seemed confident in the current role, Hamilton recognised the pressure of inconspicuously following a person of interest. Further difficulty came when doing this on London’s transport system. Whether it was the underground or overground, rail or bus, the service embodied a matrix of people scurrying and pushing, clustering together and ignoring others. Katy Royal could easily vanish.
Clarke drove past The Swan and turned onto a side road to park the car. Hamilton glanced out of the window and watched Fraser follow their lead, parking a few spaces ahead of them. The trio retrieved their stab vests from the car boot. Suited up, and ready for the imminent task, Hamilton gave his orders.
“Put your jackets on over your vests, I don’t want to attract any attention too early,” he said, zipping up his own. “Fraser I want you to stay out on the high street. You’re the command centre for when SCO19 arrive and our point of communication with them until they do. Clarke, we’ll patrol the perimeter to gauge if anyone is actually inside.”
The two men walked briskly around the corner onto Stratford High Street, scanning the vicinity and building of interest. The pub had long since been cared for, and stood out among the boutiques and chain of coffee shops. A busy neighbourhood, which had benefitted from the 2012 Olympic Games, gave The Swan a prime location for trade from the local businesses, campuses and tenants. Hamilton speculated why it had remained vacant for over three years, and as though his partner had read his thoughts, Clarke spoke in a hushed tone.
