“Purposely avoiding the CCTV cameras, the man that matches Jerry’s frame is wearing a baseball cap there,” DC Taylor said. “He must have switched the balaclava in the van so that the public wouldn’t be suspicious of him wearing a full mask around town, and the cap still keeps his face disguised from us.”
McCall did her best to contain the raging anger we were all experiencing. “Where does that alleyway lead to?”
“A neighbourhood that’s situated on the opposing end. The houses aren’t placed a million miles apart from each other, but there are all kinds of roads and cul-de-sacs that branch off in separate directions,” DC Taylor bravely conveyed. “Plus a significant lack of cameras that we can access. There are too many houses there to whittle down Sarah’s location easily.”
Surprisingly, we all remained calm. A dangerous sort of calm. There was a line that shouldn’t be crossed, and Jerry hadn’t just surpassed that line. He’d rubbed it out completely. Wracking my brain, an idea struck by process of elimination and prior experience.
“Are there any food takeaways or local shops near the location that DC Taylor just mentioned? With a kid to feed plus himself, they're either going to need supplies or takeaways of sorts.”
McCall saw the direction this was leading in. “He’s right. Phone all the hospitality places near that neighbourhood, and describe Jerry’s appearance to them.”
The team validated her speech with various responses, personal to their own linguistics. Cillian’s were barely even distinguishable grunts, whilst Tony’s and Rebecca’s were fully fledged answers.
“Takeaways should still be open if we catch them quickly. If none of them replies to those calls right now, then email them an urgent message that contains a photograph of Jerry Clark and ask if they’ve seen him recently,” McCall said.
Frazzled and adamant about closing in on our prime suspect, McCall’s appearance screamed overworked and underpaid. There wasn’t the usual meticulous edge to her. Instead, her wild curls, usually bursting full of life, had gone limp and unruly since the car chase and shirt crinkled.
“Lie and say we’ll charge them for not cooperating with the law if they don’t reply to the calls or emails within twelve hours. Hopefully, that’ll get us rapid replies if nothing else,” DCI Harvey agreed. “Let’s snap to it. I know we should all be at home and tucked up in our beds by now, but so should Sarah. After we’ve made the calls, we can leave.”
The constables spread out accordingly and stared at the clock. None of them said anything, yet we all knew it was ridiculously late. Nobody wanted to be the first to complain or to drag their heels. McCall stayed at the computer screen next to her respective partner, the two of them trawling further into the monochrome photographs.
A phone rang out and alerted us all from our quiet funk. DCI Harvey rooted around in her pocket, eventually digging out the frugal piece of technology.
“Husband, ma’am?” I said without thinking.
“This isn’t my phone, DI Cooper,” she revealed with a frown. “It’s the Carlings. I still have it from the other day. It’s from the same number as before, the one we can only presume is from a burner phone connected to Jerry.”
We were all stunned into a shocked silence, waiting for her to elaborate. I had an inkling that any message from a criminal wouldn’t be pleasant. A rugged Tony folded his arms across his broad chest.
“Another message at this time of night? Does this guy never sleep because I could really do with some myself? What does it say?”
Steadying herself by holding onto a seat, DCI Harvey’s expression turned stormy, a rain cloud that could forecast bad news. “Well, it’s certainly blunt. He’s ramped up the ransom to £25,000 and is giving the Carlings twenty-four hours to get the cash sorted.”
A chain reaction of agape mouths passed along the office. The text had certainly provoked a response from us.
“His patience is running out,” I noted. “He must need this money desperately.”
DCI Harvey wasn’t finished. “That’s not all. Jerry Clark knows we’re involved and knows that Thomas Kirk was caught on the scene. The message said that the next meeting will need to be with the Carlings only. If we show our face at their next gathering, he’s threatening to, and I quote, ‘harm and dispose of Sarah accordingly.’”
“The absolute sicko.” McCall turned a light shade of green, queasy at our newest threat. The shade didn’t match well with her carrot coloured mane. “The Carlings could barely afford £20,000, let alone five thousand more than that.”
“He wants our money but for the Carlings to meet him alone.” DCI Harvey scrolled through the message, glasses perched in their usual position like an elderly librarian. Although young, they gave her a wise appearance. “He knows we’d abide by his wishes if it meant keeping Sarah alive, hence the threat.”
“He may be bluffing again and not intending on handing Sarah over at all,” Rebecca suggested grimly.
“Slight change of plans, guys, in light of this new message,” DCI Harvey announced with her emerald eyes drooping at the corners. “No one goes home tonight at all, now that we’ve got a justified reason to prove Sarah’s in immediate danger.”
Cillian paced the room, and the rubber soles on his shoes squeaked at every turn. Judging by his balled fists, he was trying to control his flaring temper.
“I’ll be damned to let him control our actions anymore. I'm sick of him calling the shots.”
“On the plus side, Jerry doesn’t know we’re onto his identity and alias,” Tony noted. “We could be so close to getting him ourselves. We failed the first time over, and we can’t let that happen again.”
DCI Harvey was pleased with our willpower and proud of her new team's resolve. “Ring your loved ones, take a bathroom break, and get to work ASAP. We only leave this office for food, drinks, and to be relieved.”
“Aye, Guv.” We didn’t hesitate to answer.
McCall made a list of tasks to tackle head-on. “I’ll organise some late shift uniforms to start urgent door to doors around the suspected area by the car park, the one that captured Jerry and Sarah on the CCTV. Although I can tell you now that the neighbours won't be pleased about the police disturbance at this hour.”
DCI Harvey wasn’t fazed.
“I don’t give a crap. Sarah is more important than their beauty sleep. There are many roads over there to cover and not enough manpower on foot as it is.” She clicked twice. “Let’s get to it.”
Taking the advice, I punched in a familiar number on my mobile keypad and heard the dialling tone. It rang thrice. At last, someone picked up.
“Hey, babe,” I spoke softly so that the rest of the office couldn’t hear this private conversation.
Tony also had a mobile caught between his shoulder and left ear. I presumed he was having a similar talk with his wife due to the hissed affirmations that, no, he wasn’t with another woman and that an affair wasn’t even on his mind. We’d heard tales that his wife got jealous whenever we stayed behind late or purposely gave him cold meals as a punishment for failing to keep in contact during his longer shifts. Their marriage sounded… interesting.
“I’m sorry for not calling you sooner.” Tearing myself away from tonight's fascinating episode of Tony’s marriage saga, I listened intently to the soothing joy Abbey gave when heard who had rung. “It’s been--”
“A hectic day,” she whispered croakily. “I guessed. It’s good to hear your voice.” Plugging one ear to hear Abbey clearer over the office nattering, she still sounded muffled.
“You didn’t cook dinner for me tonight, did you?”
“Just some lamb,” she admitted, and I groaned in bitter disappointment. Imagining and salivating over the taste of the tender meat and special seasoning Abbey lathered the potatoes in was enough to make any man hungry. “It’s fine. I guessed something important had stopped you from coming home. It’s really late.”
“Were you asleep?”
Abbey chuckled gently,
as much as she could manage. “Of course I was. My eyes can’t stay open past twelve. But I knew you’d phone at some point, so it was only a light slumber. Are you still working on the kidnapping case?”
“Yeah.” I nodded, forgetting she wasn’t able to see the movement. “We’re onto something at last, and we’ve finally got a lead.”
The sweet grumbles that only occurred when she was tired echoed into my ear. It sent shivers down my spine and simultaneous goosebumps across my arms.
“Will you be home tomorrow morning?” The hopefulness was evident. “I feel like it’s been ages since I saw you. Since this case, you’ve been nothing but busy.”
Hating to dash her optimism, I gave a disappointed sigh. I yearned for nothing more than to be wrapped up snug in our cotton sheets. “I doubt it. We’ve got a suspect that needs to be arrested and interviewed. But I’ll come home as soon as we’re allowed to, I promise.”
“Okay.” She didn’t dispute my explanation. “Just be careful whilst you’re working and none of that bravado of yours. The team is there to help. You don’t have to shoulder all the burdens by yourself.”
Sometimes the line between mother and girlfriend was crossed in our relationship. It was simply a personal way of showing her love and affection. It was endearing.
“Yes, miss.” I chuckled. “Don’t worry. I’m not even leading the case. I couldn’t take on too many of the burdens even if I wanted to.”
A stifled yawn alerted that Abbey was probably drifting off at the muted mutterings shared between us. “I’ve got to go,” I falsified so that she wouldn’t have to feel guilty about hanging up first. “Plenty of work to do.”
“Okay.” She reluctantly allowed the hurried conversation to draw to a close. Music to my soul was the steady rhythm of her respiration. “See you soon.”
“Bye, love.” The affection oozed from my modulation and choice of description. A lopsided grin mindlessly covered my mouth long after the line had rung off. The lasting effects of Abbey always took a while to wear off too.
19
Two o’clock. The witching hour. For us, it was the ghost hunting hour, our own play on words to keep us amused and lively. On the local radio playing faintly in the corner and vaguely entertaining us were the familiar tones of Queen warbling about a rhapsody and corny songs to keep fumbling lovers amused in the darkness. All the classics, all night long.
There was an unusual aura to the office, one reminiscent of an overnight flight. Wary of other guests on board and not wanting to disturb them with the annoying habits we’d accumulated over the span of a lifetime, we typed and wrote like dancers engaged in the rigorous routines of a tango. Polished to perfection and not a step out of time.
For example, McCall kept the thigh tapping to a minimum, and Cillian buttoned his lips shut. It was a disorienting atmosphere, and it almost felt like we were the perfect strangers all over again, working deep into the bowels of the night. We were in the engine room that kept the steam train rolling, the ship floating, whilst we were barely treading above water above the funk of exhaustion as individuals.
As McCall sipped with vigour upon an Italian roasted blend of beans, the veins sweeping in her scleras became a vivid shade of cherry. She was an addict getting her fix. Worried that she’d overdone the stimulant, DC Taylor prized the china cup away with drooping eyes and a weary grin at his beloved’s pout. They were enamoured in every sense of the word, painfully obvious from every subtle touch they made. Dutiful and careful to respect their boundaries as individuals, rather than a pair simply spurred on by passion. The type of love everyone envisioned selfishly for themselves, but only the lucky ones would get to experience.
Was I one of the lucky ones? I guess I wasn’t sure.
Having tuned into the faint melodies, Rebecca listened to the final, lulling coda play out and linger for moments after it had ended. A stretched violin note dissipated, and she jolted out of the daydream. Or just a dream in general, I supposed, judging by the late hour.
With their desk covered in post-it notes bursting with half-finished theories or stressfully torn up leads, Cillian and Tony brushed elbows whenever they stretched out a step too far. The beefcake hunk of a guy made Cillian seem puny in comparison, completed by the beer belly that hung over the waistband of his already elasticated trousers. If he devoured any more pub crisps, buttons would pop off left, right and centre.
This was our team, boiled down to the mere parts of us that were ordinary: the relationships, the tiredness, and our various frustrations. These sorts of unexpected and lengthy shifts were the closest you’d get to spy on us in our natural habitat. All the graces and politeness had vanished, along with our careworn dignity. Right now, we weren’t detectives. Just overworked people desperate to get a case wrapped up.
I was hugely fascinated to know what they thought of me in return, sitting hunched over with rolled-up sleeves and dodgy tie, ink stains from a burst biro seeping into my best shirt material. Digging both palms into the surface of Tony’s desk, I’d pinched for a few hours after wanting company for the long night ahead rather than my secluded office, the scraping of the legs of my chair against the floor alerted a select few.
“Everything okay, sir?” Rebecca whispered due to the stillness of the room.
Smoothing away a biscuit crumb from the desk, evidence of my greediness and lack of a home-cooked meal, I held up my right thumb. “Everything’s fine. I’m just going to check on DCI Harvey. Need anything whilst I’m gone?”
“Uhm?” She scanned her peripheral vision in search of a drink that required refilling or files that needed transporting. “No, thanks, Sir. I think I’m alright for now.”
“Alright then.” I bobbed my head in goodwill and headed for the door. It was a task in itself to get my feet to walk properly, one step in front of the other. A well-deserved nap in the corner would have surfaced, but alas, there was no dedicated time for that sort of menial distraction.
The corridor allowed a crisp breeze to circulate, poles apart from the CID hub that was becoming stuffy from bodies being jammed into its contained space. I faltered at the decision whether to go left, have a cigarette break and watch the moon passing overhead or head right towards my initial bearing. Ultimately, I made the correct choice by following the passageway across a series of corners.
“Come in.” The disembodied voice floated through the gaps of the door, both near my feet and above my height.
Opening DCI Harvey’s office entrance, I was greeted by an unexpected sight. Contradicting the image I’d planted inside my head of a burnt-out and dog-tired superior, I saw the exact opposite. She wrote with such robustness that the pen scratched the paper, and a glass of water precariously set nearby nearly spilt from the flurried motion. Any faster, and DCI Harvey would be a blur of speed.
“Ah.” She took a mini-break upon my arrival. “DI Cooper.”
“You’re… still working. I mean, we all are, but you don’t even seem to be affected by the late nights. The team are like zombies back in there,” I pointed my thumb in the general direction of the hub.
“I’m… how do you say it?... hell-bent on figuring this out. Please, go ahead and sit. I could do with some company for a few minutes,” she expressed with an efficient approach I was quickly adjusting to. She’d fit in well with the team, so it was easy to forget she was new. “I presume you didn’t come here for a social catch up? I’ve learnt that apprehensive expression of yours already, DI Cooper.” A smirk tugged at the corners of her mouth.
I hated people reading me. I’d spent years working on a poker face for that very same reason.
“You’d be right. I’ve been thinking--”
“Uh oh,” she poked fun at me amusedly. “Sorry. Do continue.”
Starting again, It took a lot of effort to admit what I had to say. “I’ve been thinking about… important things. The case, to be precise. I just wanted to take the chance to say that you were right for putting McCall in charge of the case. Profe
ssionally, that was the right thing to do.”
Well aware that I was burning a bright crimson, I scanned the room for something to lay my focus on. DCI Harvey didn’t take the opportunity to jeer or relish in the chance to sing it from the rooftops. Instead, she stayed rather modest.
“What’s brought all this on?” She noticed my reluctance to speak. “This is a private room. Nothing you say will be told to anyone else outside of here.”
I muttered a heavy ‘cheers’ and welcomed the listening ear. “I know that I did wrong yesterday,” I started.
DCI Harvey clenched her jaw, mulling over the events that took place the day before. “How so?”
“During the car chase with Thomas Kirk, when he started reversing the transit van towards us…” I thought that it would be obvious that the entire team had noticed my spectacular cock-up. “I could’ve potentially got McCall killed because of my actions if it had ended up in a serious accident. You see, when the van was coming towards us, I froze up. McCall yelled at me to reverse, yet my feet didn’t seem to get the memo.”
“You were shocked at the idea of being harmed in action again,” DCI Harvey finished the anecdote, trimmed eyebrows producing an agonized frown. “Did it remind you of the explosion?” Gulping, I nodded, for the lump in my throat made it hard to answer. “It took guts to relay that… tough experience.”
“I’m probably just making a big deal of it. I thought you’d all noticed my mistake.” I wanted her to say it was trivial, that there was nothing to worry about. That regardless of my sudden mistakes, nothing was wrong with me. I wanted the lies to last a little longer, for me to pretend my usual facade wasn’t falling to pieces as we spoke. That I, Finlay Cooper, hadn’t changed from the tough and no-nonsense officer that I used to be.
Abduction in Dalgety Bay Page 16
