Abduction in Dalgety Bay

by Ramsay Sinclair

  Thomas scratched his bruised neck and hesitated for a split second. “Us youngsters never knew his full name. We all had nicknames and aliases. We were told to call him Sid, hence the message I was sent.” Thomas cocked his head to the side and flailed his hands expressively. “A big fella he was an’all, one with plenty of underground contacts.”

  We three on the opposing side shuffled, intrigued by the revelation.

  “I used to be involved in that game until I was nicked for shoplifting a few times and went to juvie,” Thomas admitted candidly. “I guess he’d heard of my nimble fingers and speed when he approached me for the first time a few years back.”

  DCI Harvey pushed another evidence bag across the surface of the table, and Thomas eyed it knowingly.

  “As DI Cooper already explained, this letter was located at your home and is also signed off with the name ‘Sid,’” she said. “Can you fully explain this letter to us? When did you receive it?”

  Taking hold of the clear bag, Thomas flipped it over to see the reverse side. “The letter was sent on the 14th. In the envelope were the burner phone and the keys to the van, similar to all of our dealings before. I was supposed to wait for the text, which came this morning as you already said.”

  “That’s one day after Sarah was kidnapped,” McCall notes as she spied the font on the letter. “Enough time for the real kidnapper to dump the van for Mr Kirk to use.” She peered closely. “Mr Kirk’s letter contains a negotiation which, in broad terms, could be seen as a threat. It roughly explains that should Mr Kirk carry out this final task, then the person we now know as ‘Sid’ would leave him alone for good.”

  I took a sip of water. “Why would he promise you that, Thomas?”

  The teenager was snotty and stifled, constantly sniffing. It was enough to get on anyone’s nerves. Rifling in her trouser pockets, DCI Harvey pulled out a packet of tissues and handed them over. Thomas proceeded to empty the entire contents of his bodily fluids into the cushioned sheet of paper.

  “I got myself a bird.” he began and scrunched the tissue into a crumpled ball.

  McCall scoffed at the derogatory term. It was plain to see that Thomas didn’t mean to cause offence. It was simply his dialect and upbringing that spurred him to use such outdated nouns.

  “A right sort she is. I left the crimes behind and wanted us to have a normal life together. We’re young, but she’s--” he struggled to say it aloud.

  “She’s what?” I wasn’t sure what to expect.

  “Pregnant,” he finally burst out. “I’m going to be a dad.” He beamed proudly at the very idea, chuffed to the core. It was the first time we’d seen him brighten up. “We didn’t want to raise a kid like that. Our own lives were hard enough growing up. We only want the best for our little nipper.”

  Thomas was the epitome of an open book. He wasn’t holding back from spilling as much information that would prevent him from getting arrested. DCI Harvey dutifully scanned our papers.

  “Congratulations, Thomas. But surely having a kid of your own would make you reluctant to be involved in a kidnapping? If that was me, my conscience would get the best of me,” she implied with a shrewd certainty. Preying on his humanity, the one thing guaranteed to make him weak-minded. “Did this Sid guy promise you a share of the money? For a comfortable start, perhaps, now that your partner’s with child?”

  Thomas gaped at the question, almost hurt by the accusation. Sweeping his overgrown hair backwards, he shook his head violently.

  “I didn’t know there were any kids involved... I truly didn’t. I wasn’t getting any personal gain, except the promise of being left alone. I saw the couple standing by the warehouse and guessed they had the money in the briefcase. I checked for the cash and then left. Then you chased me in the cars. I panicked and acted out of character, for which I am sorry.” The apology seemed sincere.

  “I’m not an ignorant man, and I'm certainly not a kidnapper. My crimes were petty to survive, that’s all. I don’t want to go to prison again, and I can’t stay there. I’d miss the birth of our nipper, and my bird would have to fend for herself.” Thomas started to get worked up, panicking now that the full weight of the situation was bearing down on him.

  McCall suggested that we take a couple of moments for a breather. The ruffled teenager took the pause as a chance to regroup and relax again. Downing the cup of water, a refill was put back in its place. Taking a moment to ourselves, McCall was the first one to whisper her deductions to DCI Harvey.

  “Guv, I think he’s telling the truth,” she admitted so that Thomas couldn’t hear us.

  DCI Harvey agreed. “As do I. Uniform did mention a woman in the house when they did a search for Sarah. What about you, DI Cooper? You’re unusually quiet.”

  “Sorry, ma’am, I was thinking,” I joined in with their thoughts. “We’ve ruffled some feathers, that’s for sure. Based on the evidence we’ve got, I’d say he isn’t our kidnapper. There’s no sign or trace of Sarah at their premises and everything he told us links to concrete proof. But he did take the money. Whether he planned to keep it is irrelevant, and he nearly caused a dozen or so accidents with his driving. He’s an accessory to a crime.”

  McCall hummed in agreement. “Including us in that statistic. I think he’s still got a bit more to give about this Sid guy. Apart from that, he’s been fairly open with us.”

  DCI Harvey swung on the spot to face Thomas, who had a chance to calm down completely. “We’re nearly done here, Mr Kirk. We just have a few more questions to go through, is that okay? Remember, you can ask us to stop at any point during the questioning.”

  “No. It’s fine.” Thomas’s pale skin told us all we needed to know, and his determination to prove himself was almost impressive. Almost. “You said you’ve done jobs with the man whose alias is Sid before. Can you tell us more about him?”

  “Not with him, ma’am. For him,” Thomas specified and struggled to speak without a slight lisp from his dental problems. “Nobody works with him unless you’re really close. By close, I mean family or even closer than that. There were rumours circulating around the old network that he’s working with a woman these days too, a bird of his own, but I can’t prove that. Like I said, they’re only rumours.”

  Pondering the new data Thomas had armed us with, McCall fiddled with the gilt necklace that hung against her raised collarbone. “Family?”

  “Yeah.” Thomas nodded with certitude. “He and his brother were in business together donkey's years ago, when I was just starting out in the field.” Indifferent to the anecdote he’d shared, Thomas shuffled at the sudden silence that met him.

  “Hold on a minute, Mr Kirk.” I flicked through our wadded files in search of the buried employee records. Opening the records and placing them flat on the table in front of Thomas, I pointed towards Marvin Clark’s attached photograph. “For the tape, I’m showing photographs of the previously convicted Clark brothers. Is that him, Thomas?”

  “No.” Thomas shook his head, leaving us to deflate in disappointment. “It’s not that one.” He pointed towards Jerry Clark instead and caused us three to share a perturbed glance, wondering if Thomas was barmy or on some kind of drugs. He stabbed the paper decisively. “It’s that other one. I’m telling you, that’s the one who calls himself Sid. I’d recognise him anywhere. It’s the same scar across the eyebrow and forehead.”

  Struggling to bounce back after the curveball we were thrown, DCI Harvey eventually managed a coherent string of words. “Uh, Mr Kirk has successfully identified Jerry Clark through photo identification, as the man behind the messages and letters sent to him this past week.”

  “Looks like we’ve got a dead man walking,” I muttered, “under the guise and alias of Sid.”

  In a state of bewilderment mixed with vexation, we slammed our files shut decisively, realising we’d been led in circles and up the garden wall whilst we were at it.

  “Right. Thank you for the help, Thomas.” DCI Harvey accomplished a
small smile. “We’ve still got to send this case to the prosecution services, seeing as you are still technically an accessory to a crime. Until then, we’ll let you out on bail so you can spend it with your partner. Your first court date should be within twenty-eight days, and make sure you attend, rain or shine. I’ll personally tell the courts you’ve been compliant and have significant evidence to back up your claims. The worst outcome here is probably a loss of your driving license or fines, followed by some community service. Interview terminated at nine-thirty pm.”

  Thomas exhaled in relief at the news, collapsing lower in his seat. “Thank you very much, ma’am.” He shook each of our hands in turn, clammy and slippery at best. “Miss. Sir.”

  With a quick straightening of my tie, we all stood up and stretched out.

  “A word of advice, Tommy,” I told him. “No more favours for these kinds of people. Come straight to us next time and save yourself all of this trouble.”

  18

  There was a familiar paralysis to finding out you’d been lied to. Whether by friends, family, or strangers, it was always the same feeling of injustice, a stimulant for bitter revenge and rabid obstinacy. You felt gullible, your kindness was taken advantage of, and you swore nobody would ever play you that way again. That represented exactly how our team reacted when discovering Jerry Clark was still alive and plaguing us, no less.

  Everyone belonging to our CID team had stayed behind late, curious to find out what Thomas Kirk had to say for himself. In short, they’d been externally frustrated at the news and reacted in diverse ways that filled both ends of the spectrum. Nobody even tried to hide nor deny their shared aggravation.

  “For Christ’s sake,” Tony fumed and whacked his palm across one knee. For such a strapping lad, it wasn’t a feeble hit either. It would go on to leave a lasting mark. “We were barking up the right tree in the first place. That’s an expression you don’t hear all too much.”

  DCI Harvey sympathetically paused from writing upon the notice board, her golden wedding band reflecting the dim lamplight.

  It felt wrong to have an abundance of lights on at this time of evening, plus the lamps were something of an atmospheric touch. Outside of our department, the corridor had emptied from its daytime footfalls, the night shift workers mainly situated across the opposite end of the station. The deathly solitude out there was almost concerning. Trying to hide the eeriness of the silence surrounding us, we spoke loudly to cover up the absence.

  “He’s now going by the first name of Sid. An alias, of course.” DCI Harvey scrawled the name in huge lettering for all to see clearly. “Last name is uncertain thus far. It appears that Jerry Clark didn’t choose Thomas Kirk very wisely to carry out today’s duff operation.”

  “Yesterday, ma’am,” I noted as the clock hands were nearing midnight. “You’re right. Thomas had looser lips than… loose-lipped people, I guess.”

  “So Jerry Clark is missing a brain cell or two,” Rebecca deduced as she swivelled on her seat with all the grace of a ballerina. “That’s a comfort to know.”

  Cillian, dishevelled as normal and creased to within an inch of his life, found the comment relatively amusing. “You’ve only just realised? Faking your own death is enough to tell anyone he’s got a screw loose. Both of the brothers have, and if I'm saying it, there’s a problem. These boys are nutcases.”

  McCall couldn’t disagree, placidly cupping a steaming mug to keep warm. “We’ll send out a warrant for Marvin’s arrest. I want to talk to that slimy git first thing tomorrow for lying to us about his brother's death. The Carlings will be devastated to find out. What else do we know about Jerry, guv?”

  Glad that we were showing a keen interest in these new and improved sets of bullet points, DCI Harvey elongated her bony neck in pride, stretching on her tiptoes to reach the tip of the board.

  “His weakness is family, and there’s a potential romantic interest on the scene. Thomas Kirk had heard rumours from the network that they were in cahoots of sorts.”

  “Love weakens many criminals,” I spoke without thinking, the ghost of another sort coming to mind. “Even Thomas. He’s dropped out of the game to become a family man.” All these criminals were moving on, and where did that leave us? Stuck in an endless rut of cases, stuck in our small town ways that barely changed? When was it our time to settle down, to build a life where we weren’t fretting about kidnappers or murders roaming our streets? Cynics would say that day would never show.

  “Indeed,” she summarized, drawing a dozen or so spider legs coming off the chart. “What else do we know?”

  Stroking his overgrowing beard, Tony paced the floor in aggravation. “The transit van won’t be used for any further exchanges, as it’s in our care, and Jerry wanted the money without coughing up Sarah. Sarah’s his leverage, and who knows what ludicrous demands he would have ordered if the £20,000 made it back to him without Thomas Kirk getting caught. More money, or something even more dangerous? We know he’s still in contact with all the right networks.”

  A shared groan echoed across the room, passed on by constable to constable. The fishing boats on the water made a similar sound when the slimy floors creaked and groaned from their dated equipment. Rebecca was fiddling with a dropped epaulette one of the uniformed guys had lost in the corridor. They were constantly losing those damned things all the time. I had a good mind to carry around a tube of superglue and cover their shoulders in passing. That way, we’d stop finding them scattered all over the station.

  “When Jerry notices the van hasn’t been returned, he’ll need an alternative vehicle,” she noted. “New registration plates that we won't recognise.”

  “Speaking of…” DC Taylor alerted us.

  I’d forgotten he was here, actually, hidden behind his rectangular screen. The glare in his glasses created a weird reflection that I could see myself in, gaunt and bonier than I was accustomed to. This new weight was doing me a world of good in hindsight. I felt lighter on my feet, able to squeeze through small gaps and fit into a few suits that had been out of my range for years.

  “During your questioning with Thomas Kirk, I was patching up the original traffic cam footage from the thirteenth. Some angles have captured the van perfectly and are showcasing the same number plates as ours downstairs, so there’s no margin for error. This is definitely the vehicle containing Sarah.” He hovered above the spacebar in wait for our undivided attention.

  We gathered around the screen at his command, rubbing shoulders and struggling to cope with the sweaty smell that only became apparent when we moved inwards. Nobody had showered since the false exchange, and oh boy, did it smell in here. No exaggeration. McCall pinched her nostrils together whilst Rebecca located a sample size perfume hidden about her person. She spritzed a few hasty sprays, causing Cillian to sneeze me to splutter at the floral-scented undertones.

  “That was impressive,” Cillian flattered after pulling himself together. “I’ve never seen a woman do anything like that.”

  “Then you don’t know the right sort of women,” Rebbecca said breezily, satisfied at the new and improved scent.

  DC Taylor waited patiently, but a tapping of his blunt nails proved that patience was running low. “Now that you’re listening… As the van travelled at certain points, it pinged up on the markers around the bay. I can track the movements the van took and its general direction to connect them with a clear line on the screen. It’s slow work, but I'm getting there.” It was impressive, that went without saying. “From the individual hits at these certain points, I’ve patched together a rough map view of where the van headed that day.”

  Three hits were marked with a virtual pinpoint, a red line connecting them together to show the route. DCI Harvey poked the screen, a defect showing there as she did so.

  “The van headed towards the waterfront, then took a left?” Her lanyard thwacked the desk, hanging loose as she bent over to scrutinise the information. Scrolling and zooming inwards, DC Taylor shuffled
sideways to give us a clearer view.

  “Exactly. Jerry Clark drove towards a small car park, and that’s when this trail ended.”

  “What? It just went dead?” McCall marvelled at the technical geekiness.

  “Jerry parked the car there for a couple of days, presumably so that we couldn’t track him much further. The bay is sparse on traffic cams as it is, and this information was hard enough to come by.” DC Taylor leaned backwards, seated lower than the group of us. “Presumably, Thomas could take the van easily from the carpark after receiving the keys.”

  When we took a step away from the screen, my eyes were watering. Staring at computers and screens most days had that sort of repercussion.

  “Now, Jerry and Sarah couldn’t have gone far from this car park, surely?” I raised a valid theory. “Somebody would’ve noticed a man of his age holding a young girl forcefully, even if she wasn’t kicking and screaming.”

  “Sir,” DC Taylor said, “I’ve scanned the surrounding areas on the map, and this is what interested me.” The white pointer symbol of the mouse circled around a road leading away from the car park… or what looked like a road at first glance.

  Rebecca leered over. “That’s a ginnel there, leading directly off from the car park. Not many people would be walking down there. Easy to take a kid down there without being seen.”

  Flicking to a separate page that was opened on the screen, DC Taylor displayed a black-and-white photograph. “This was taken from a singular CCTV camera at the car park where the transit van trail stopped.”

  It depicted two figures with their backs facing us. One was a burly male with shoulders built like a rugby player, stocky and large. He was of a triangle shape, hips significantly smaller than the top half. His hand was gripped upon a slight girl's wrist, inconspicuous if you were oblivious to the situation yet obvious if you weren’t. The girl matched the build and frame of Sarah Carling, as seen in the identification photograph hanging on our CID wall.