The Forgotten Mother: A spine chilling crime thriller with a heart stopping twist (Detective Arla Baker Series Book 3)

by M. L Rose

  “You have been busy Rita. Good work. See you soon.”

  “Be careful guv.”

  Arla thanked her back and hung up.

  Harry took a sharp right turn and stopped the car. They were within walking distance now. The road had an identical row of terraced properties on both sides. It was narrowed further by the parked cars on both sides.

  It was quiet, the buzz of traffic on the main road now behind them. Arla spoke on her radio, out of breath as they walked rapidly.

  “We’re coming up from behind. Are you in position? Over.”

  Andy’s voice was hoarse. “Yes guv. The cars have gone back to watch the main street exits. You want them where these roads join the main traffic, right?”

  “That will do for now. Make sure we have enough for a chase if he legs it. Did you call NPAS?”

  NPAS, or the National Police Air Service, was the helicopter search team.

  “Available within ten minutes, guv. Shall I tell them to get airborne now?”

  Arla looked at Harry, who was listening to the exchange. “Can’t hurt,” Harry said. “If he’s not there, all we have to do is call it off.”

  Arla agreed. “Call them, Andy. But tell them to stay away. Don’t want the noise warning him.”

  “Copy that guv.”

  Arla and Harry came around the corner and stopped under the shade of a tree. It wasn’t raining, thankfully. Arla’s eyes took in the grey door with the artwork glass panel, similar in size and shape to most of the front doors on the street. Two mothers walked down, pushing their prams and chatting. Briefly, Arla was reminded of her tryst with Harry in the parked car. She could see the spot. A movement caught her eye. It was Andy, without his jacket, staying behind a lamp post. There was no time to lose.

  She looked up at the bay windows of the property, curtains separated, a dark, lightless hole visible through the glass. It was daytime, but it was murky with clouds. The ground floor bay windows had their curtains drawn.

  “Go,” Arla whispered on the radio.

  CHAPTER 48

  Andy darted out from behind a car with another uniformed officer. The second guy held a battering ram in his hand. They were joined by two more officers who ran in from the sides. It happened very quickly. The burly man with the battering ram smashed the door open in two hits. Four of them barged in, Arla and Harry hot on their heels.

  “Police!” Andy shouted as he ran up the stairs. Arla stayed downstairs while Harry followed Andy. The house shook as heavy boots trampled over the floor.

  Arla raced into the kitchen. The back door was locked but the key was in, and she opened it to come out into the garden. The grass was overgrown and there was a shed in one corner. Arla ran down the stairs and approached the shed carefully. A uniformed officer was right behind her. The shed door was locked, but she peered through the glass. Two lawn mowers, an old pool table, a couple of rusty bikes and various other junk littered the place. There was no sign of a man.

  There was a whistle, and Arla turned around. Harry had opened one of the windows upstairs. He waved at her. “Come up here,” he said.

  Arla was resigned to the fact she wouldn't find Luke. She went back inside and up the staircase. The house was nicely decorated, she noticed. Original artwork hung on the wall, and the paint was new. The carpets were soft, and her feet sank in them. Harry was standing outside a bedroom. He had his gloves on. Without a word he turned, and she followed him to the chest of drawers in one corner. The bed looked like it hadn't been slept in.

  Harry had the bottom drawer open. He went down on his haunches and stared inside. Arla leaned over him. Harry pointed. The lights were on, throwing a bright glare off the full-length mirror against a wardrobe. Harry had lifted two layers of clothes and when Arla saw it, her breath froze.

  It was a hammer. The handle on it was short, made of a black polymer substance. Light glinted off the metallic surface of the hammer. It looked mean, squat and ugly. One side of it had a black mark on it. Arla shuddered when she thought what it must be. Dried blood.

  She licked dry lips and breathed. “Bag it,” she told Harry. She put gloves on herself. This house was now a crime scene too. Arla looked around the room. It was immaculate. She couldn't help wondering what sort of a single man kept the room so clean. Harry wasn’t single anymore, but his one-bedroom apartment looked like a bomb hit it.

  Arla knelt by the bed and inspected the carpet closely. No marks on it. She peered underneath the bed. There was a suitcase. She got Harry to pull it out. It wasn’t locked and inside all they found was old clothes.

  Andy appeared at the bedroom door. “Clean as a whistle guv.”

  Harry said, “Look what we found.” He held up the bag and explained that the murder weapon was probably a hammer. Andy’s eyebrows shot up.

  Arla had opened the wardrobe and was looking inside. Well pressed shirts and suits hung over a few pair of shoes. Everything pointed to order and symmetry. Even the potential murder weapon was stored neatly.

  Arla shivered, remembering how fastidious some serial killers could be. Had they just found one?

  She turned to Harry. “The garden. Any signs of recent digging?”

  He nodded and went downstairs to investigate. Arla called Parmentier, asking him to come down ASAP with a team. She called the car team on her radio. They had not seen any running figure, or anyone matching Luke’s description.

  Arla put the radio back in her pocket just as her phone buzzed. It was the station. She answered.

  “DCI Baker.”

  “It’s me,” the cold, hostile voice belonged to Johnson. “Where are you?”

  Arla gulped. “I...uh…just found evidence that could crack this case sir. I think you’ll be pleased.”

  “Answer the question, damn it. Where are you?” Johnson wasn’t mincing his words. Which meant he knew where she was. Arla sighed.

  “I’m at a suspect’s house sir.” Before Johnson could interject, she said, “Luke Longworth’s.”

  “Arla!” Johnson’s voice boomed. “How dare you disobey a direct order. Do you know what you have done?”

  “Sir I just found a suspicious…”

  “It doesn’t matter what you found. Get back to the nick right now. We need to talk.”

  “But sir…”

  Arla broke off when she realised Harry and Andy were gesturing at her. Harry was pointing up frantically. Arla moved the phone from her ears. That’s when she heard the sound. It came from the loft space above.

  Someone was moving around in the loft.

  CHAPTER 49

  Arla hung up, cutting a screaming Johnson mid flow. She would take the fall out later. Moving on the balls of her feet, she joined Harry and Andy in the hallway. The sounds above had stopped, as if the intruder had suddenly realised the house was quiet now. Andy leaned over the bannisters of the railing and whispered urgently to the rest of his team.

  Arla looked up to see the trapdoor for the loft space. Harry went back into the bedroom and came out with a chair. He stood on it, ready to unlock the door. The firearms officer, an MP5 submachine gun on his shoulder, came softly up the stairs. He crouched on the landing, pointing the gun at the loft space. Harry nodded at him, then glanced at Arla. A silent agreement passed between them. At the same time, a sudden, unexpected fear pierced Arla’s heart. She didn’t want Harry to be in the line of fire. It was strange, because she had been in many dangerous situations with Harry before, but never had she felt this way. Without knowing what she was doing, Arla stepped forward and waved at Harry to come down from the chair.

  He frowned at her, then realized. A tender, almost sad smile crept on his lips. He winked at her and shook his head slowly. A heavy weight was lodged in Arla’s throat. She found it hard to breathe. She suddenly realised that after all these years, today, she was more scared than she had ever been.

  She wouldn't forgive herself if something happened to Harry. As the senior officer, she should be up there, not him.

  But it
was too late. Harry had opened the clasp, and the trapdoor was lowering. It was deathly still in the house all of a sudden. The trap door lowered with a creak that moaned against the walls, unnaturally loud.

  Harry moved the chair and lowered the folded staircase. The loft space was dark, and the silence was unnerving. Harry put a hand on the staircase and put his foot on the first rung. Arla grabbed his sleeve and pulled him back. He looked at her quizzically.

  Arla spoke loudly. “This is the police and we are armed. We know you’re up there. Come down and surrender yourself.”

  Her voice echoed against the walls and there was silence again. Then very softly the creaking sound came again, before stopping abruptly.

  Arla said, “Luke? Is that you?”

  There was no response. She raised her voice again. “Nothing will happen to you Luke. We just want to ask you some questions. Don’t make this hard on yourself. Come down, now.”

  In the ensuing silence, the firearms officer crept forward, weapon pointed up. Arla knew he had no intention of firing; the weapon was a deterrent. They needed this person alive.

  “This is your last chance,” Arla said. “Then we’re coming up. I’ll count to five.” She counted out loud. At the count of three, a voice floated down from upstairs.

  “OK. I’m coming.”

  A few seconds later, a man’s face poked out from the loft hatch. Arla gaped at him.

  It was Ken Nixon.

  He caught Arla’s eyes and sighed. “Why don’t you come up here?” He disappeared from sight, then a light came on in the loft. Harry gave Arla a look, shrugged and climbed the stairs. She followed after him.

  There was a hollow feeling in her stomach, and the sinking realisation that she had got something very wrong.

  Ken stood in the middle of the loft space. Another man, wearing headphones, stood next to him. Both were dressed in warm coats and woolly hats. It was colder up here, and Arla saw two sleeping bags in one corner.

  The other man removed his headphones slowly, staring at both Arla and Harry. Two black holdalls lay on the floor, with wires and machines sticking out of them. A bunch of wires trailed down the floor and into the rafters, some heading into the walls. A camera and tripod was placed to one side. A radio receiver with shiny silver dials was at Nixon’s feet.

  “Oh God,” Arla said, gripping her forehead.

  Nixon was scowling. “I did try to tell you.”

  Arla’s temper flared but she kept her voice even. “Then why didn’t you? When you saw the evidence against Luke mounting up?”

  “This surveillance operation has been going for weeks, DCI Baker. Not much point in us being the security service if we tell everyone about it, is there?”

  Arla felt an overwhelming urge to slap him in the face and get out of this place. But she could do neither.

  “Tell me what this is about.”

  Nixon spread his hands. “Sure, you can see? We’ve been eavesdropping on Luke Longworth because he is one of the largest suppliers of violent pornography.”

  Arla blinked. “Violent pornography?”

  “Yes. The type that involves hurting people. It’s illegal, and often it includes children.”

  “That’s disgusting.”

  “It is. And for that reason, we are keeping a close eye on him.”

  Harry said, “But it’s Special Branch who normally deal with cases like these. Why you guys?”

  “Because he has financial dealings with overseas governments. Offshore bank accounts. That’s where he keeps the money from his illegal films.”

  A distant thought buzzed around in Arla’s head, getting closer. “These offshore accounts wouldn't be in the Bahamas, would they?”

  Nixon nodded. “Yes.”

  Arla said what she had long suspected. “Mike Simpson and Luke are connected, aren’t they?”

  Nixon didn't say anything, but he didn't have to. Arla spoke quickly. “And after David Longworth’s death, you wanted to investigate Luke, given his interest in this violent stuff.”

  Nixon shrugged again, and Arla wanted to shake the man by his collar. She stepped up to him, eyes blazing. “Why don’t you just tell me now, before we waste time and money on another wild goose chase?”

  He shifted, looking uncomfortable, then exchanged a glance with his colleague, who nodded. Nixon heaved a big sigh. “OK. Shall we head downstairs?”

  That made sense, as Arla was freezing. They regrouped in the living room, which again was nicely decorated.

  Nixon said, “We have arrested two film makers already for making child pornography. But that was the tip of the iceberg. Luke is the key member of an international gang. They’re global, with operations in almost every country. Very big in Africa and Asia, where regulations over these matters are not very effective, shall we say. This has been a year long, international venture and we’re working closely with our counterparts overseas. We get Luke, we can shut down the whole operation.”

  Arla sat down heavily on the sofa. “Have I ruined it?”

  Nixon blew out his cheeks. “To be honest, now that he’s missing, there’s no great harm in what you did. Obviously, it would matter if he was living here. But for the last two days, he has only been here once. I don’t know where he is. His phone is not working and he’s using a new number.”

  Harry was leaning against the wall. “Do you think Luke did it?”

  Nixon swung his eyes towards Harry. “Kill David Longworth? Possible. He’s a very messed up man.”

  “He had no motive,” Arla said. “But like you said, he’s disturbed.”

  A silent urgency filled the space between them. charging the air. Harry voiced the common thought circulating like wildfire in their minds.

  “We need to find Luke.”

  Arla tapped a finger against her leg. “What about the connection with Simpson? You said these offshore accounts Luke deals with are in the Bahamas. That’s where Blue Horizon, Simpson’s firm is based.”

  The look on Simpson’s face more or less gave it away. “Money from Luke’s productions do end up in Blue Horizon, among other firms. We’ve been keeping tabs on him as well.”

  Arla crossed her arms across her chest. “You cooperate with foreign governments but not with us?”

  Nixon coughed. “Actually, by bringing Simpson in you screwed our investigation. Which…”

  “Which wouldn't have happened had you talked to me to begin with. Correct?”

  Nixon clenched his jaw and stared back at her with hostile eyes. Arla returned the look. Nixon looked away eventually. He cleared his throat.

  “Look, we need a way to sort this out now.”

  Arla smirked. “Yes, you need our help. In fact, by charging Simpson, I think we have helped you. He’s under pressure now, and more willing to talk.”

  Nixon raised his eyebrows. “Who do you think sent Simpson the images of David?”

  “An unknown number. A pay as you go mobile phone, which has not been used again. The SIM card is probably destroyed.”

  “Last known location?”

  “Don’t know yet,” Arla said tersely. Why should I share information with you when you don’t do the same?

  She knew that even if they did find the location of the unused phone, by triangulation of the phone masts, the location was never a specific one. But she would get something within two to three hundred meters.

  Aloud she said, “I guess it’s time to get back and regroup.” Harry came off the wall and opened the door. Arla’s phone buzzed. It was Rita.

  She nodded at Nixon and his colleague and walked out the door, phone clutched in her hand. She didn't miss the searching look in Nixon’s eyes, like he was trying to gauge her next move.

  CHAPTER 50

  Arla and Harry rushed down the road, followed by the uniformed officers. Inquisitive residents stopped and gawked at them. Arla walked close to Harry, his figure shielding her from the windows of Luke’s house. The phone was in her ear.

  “Rita?”

/>   “Yes guv, I got something for you. Cherie Longworth got a text this morning. Luke put his name on it.”

  A fear struck against Arla’s spine like a whiplash. “What did the text say?”

  “You sold me out. Today, you’ll know the truth. The whole world will know.”

  A deep sense of unease was uncoiling in Arla’s limbs. Those words sounded desperate.

  “Where is the location?”

  “It’s within two streets of High Street Kensington. From the south west.”

  Arla frowned. Kensington was one of the most exclusive neighbourhoods in London. Where millionaire playboys hobnobbed with royalty.

  Rita said, “Thank God Cherie called us. Otherwise we would be in the dark. What shall we do, guv?”

  “I’m sending one of the squad cars out to Cherie’s B&B. Is she OK?”

  “There’s a team with her already boss. I didn't actually speak to her. Switchboard informed me.”

  “Good work, Rita. Listen, I’m heading out to Kensington now. Can you check if we have another uniformed unit near Kensington? Please alert them. We need to lock down Kensington High Street.”

  “But guv that’s…”

  “A big deal I know. But it’s necessary. When was the phone last used?”

  “Two hours ago.”

  “He could be anywhere. Keep Cherie safe, she’s number one priority as a witness now.”

  They arrived at the black BMW and Andy Jackson caught up with them. Arla told him and Harry what was happening.

  “Andy, I want you to get as many units as you can and head down to High Street Ken. I want a lockdown over a two square mile radius. Yes, I know it’s difficult. I want two NPAS helicopters scrambled, and in air now.”

  Arla paused. “When Luke escaped last night, Darren saw his car, didn't he? You said a blue Renault, M reg?”

  “That’s right guv,” Andy said, wiping sweat from his brow. “Shame we didn't get the rest of the licence plate.”

  “Never mind. Feed that information to NPAS. See you there.”

  Andy and his team ran off to their cars. Arla got into the car and Harry swung out quickly, joining the traffic, heading north for the winding grey ribbon of the Thames, which they had to cross to get to Kensington and Chelsea, the uber wealthy enclaves of west London.