Snared

by Ed James

  Chapter Forty-Seven

  Cheers, Vicky. Thanks for the update. I appreciate how difficult it is.” Forrester stood at the front of the gathering of officers. “This looks like another crime perpetrated by the same criminals behind the attack on Rachel Hay and Paul Joyce. I’ll be honest, these people are impressive — two kidnappings in the space of four days.”

  DCI John Raven entered the room, standing off to the side and leaning against a laser printer. Not the tallest of men, he focused on personal image instead — shiny grey suit, striped shirt and black tie. He nodded at Forrester then focused on his BlackBerry, his stubby thumbs hammering the keys.

  Forrester exhaled slowly. “Right, then. To summarise, we’re looking at two cases, potentially linked by these notes. We need to dig deeper into the sightings of a black car. Mac, can you take lead on that?”

  MacDonald slurped at a navy mug. “Will do, sir.”

  Forrester looked around the room. “This family were abducted and locked in cages. They look similar to the cages we found Rachel and Paul in. I want them looked into as well.”

  MacDonald noted it down. “DC Woods already has that on her work stack.”

  “Excellent.”

  Considine walked in, gaze darting between Forrester and Raven. “Sorry I’m late, sir.”

  “What’s kept you, Constable?”

  “I was just over at the Forensics lab.” Considine held up photocopies of the notes retrieved from all four locations. “The notes match. Typography, paper stock, even the newspapers they were taken from, The Sun and the Daily Mail. Printer used was a Brother MFCJ4510DW with recycled ink cartridges.”

  “I thought this was a glue job?”

  Considine leaned against a desk. “It is but there are some printed elements there. They reckon they printed the message out before sticking the letters on.”

  “Can we trace it to a sale?”

  “PC World had the printer on special a few weeks ago. There’ll be thousands of them across Tayside by now.” Considine checked his dark grey notebook. “Some better news, though, sir — they reckon the paper was unbleached recycled. Quite unusual in these parts.”

  “That’s useful, I suppose.”

  MacDonald set his mug down. A dribble of coffee slid down the outside, a black smear on the navy blue. “Do you think these people are terrorists, sir?”

  Raven looked up from his mobile. “Aren’t the NCA interested in taking it off us?”

  MacDonald shook his head. “Tried and failed that, sir, though we just had the one case at the time.”

  “What was their justification, Sergeant?”

  “They deem it a vigilante action targeted against specific individuals. We don’t know who’s behind it and their watch lists are all Irish and Islamic, no active animal rights cells at present. They reckoned there’s not much of a threat to the general public unless you’ve been caught doing something bad to animals.”

  Raven scowled. “They said that?”

  MacDonald blushed. “That’s me paraphrasing, sir. More interested in people poisoning reservoirs, blowing up hotels, sending anthrax to abortion clinics, that kind of thing.”

  “Given this morning’s events, Sergeant, it’s worth picking up with them again. A man losing his nose is a tad more serious than what’s happened previously.”

  “Will do, sir.”

  Forrester glowered at Raven. “I reckon we’re capable of solving this.”

  “Prove it, then.”

  “Certainly.” Forrester straightened his navy tie, adjusting his white tie pin in the process. “Additionally, we’ve got the case in Fife with the woman in the bin, which may or may not be linked. How’s that going, Mac?”

  “Still in the analysis phase, sir. The resources looking at it were on surveillance for the Muirheads and the Morton brothers over the weekend.”

  Forrester pursed his lips. “They’re still doing that?”

  “Yes.”

  “Let me think about it.” Forrester stared at Considine. “Did you ever verify the Muirheads’ alibi?”

  “I did, sir. I spoke to the friends and they confirmed it. They went for dinner, then to the Rep to see some play. Think we’ve got the ticket stubs from the wife.”

  “Fine.” Forrester licked his lips. “Last thing, DCI Raven and I are giving a news conference. Vicky, since you’ve led most of the investigation so far, can you be on hand?”

  Vicky swallowed hard, butterflies flapping in her stomach. “Certainly, sir.”

  Forrester smiled at Raven. “Do you want to say anything, boss?”

  Raven joined Forrester at the front, smirking as he nodded his head. “No, that just about covers it, David. I just need to be able to brief the Super and the Chief Super. That’s the main thing at the moment. While they’re comfortable with your approach so far, it’s key to note we’re not dealing with a murder here. This is a reasonably well-organised collection of individuals with an agenda as yet unknown. We progress as you’ve been doing so far until we obtain any intelligence that we’re dealing with a known group.”

  “Thanks, boss.” Forrester nodded around the group. “Dismissed.”

  Chapter Forty-Eight

  Vicky sat in the canteen, playing with the last two leaves of her salad. Sticky dressing pooled in the centre of her plate.

  Karen waved her hands in front of Vicky’s face. “Feels like I’m having lunch on my own.”

  “Yeah, sorry. I’m just distracted. I hate doing news conferences.”

  Karen pointed at the screen in the corner. Vicky was talking to the camera, the sheet of paper in front of her shaking. “You look good on the TV, Vicks.”

  Vicky scowled at her. “Shut up. I look like I’m twenty stone.”

  Karen leaned forward. “You look good.”

  “For my age?”

  “No, generally. Tying your hair up really suits you.”

  “Right.” Vicky fiddled with her ponytail. “I hate doing those things. I doubt anything’ll come from it, anyway.” She rubbed at her neck. “My neck’s killing me again.”

  “Did you try those bras I recommended?”

  “Didn’t make any difference at all. I think it’s stress related.”

  Karen set her cutlery down on her plate. “This is the first time I’ve spoken to you today. Spill.”

  “I saw you yesterday when you dropped Bella off.”

  “And I was in a rush. Spill.”

  “Kaz, there’s nothing to spill. We had a nice meal in the Ferry, then went back to Liz’s house for some drinks. That’s it.”

  “Did you . . . ?”

  “No.”

  “No?”

  “No.”

  “Vicky . . .”

  “What?”

  “Come on, Vicks. Are you losing your juju?”

  Vicky folded her arms. “Robert walked me home, if you must know.”

  “But he lives next door to them!” Karen laughed. “Did you ask him in for coffee?”

  “I gave him my number.”

  “Oh good.” Karen stretched out her tongue on the roof of her mouth. “You seriously didn’t shag him?”

  “No! I’m not that sort of girl.” Vicky crossed her arms. “You know I’m not.”

  “Did he do anything with your number?”

  “He texted me his.”

  “So are you seeing him again?”

  “Going for a drink tonight in the Stag’s Head.”

  Karen started waving her arms in the air. “Oh my God. I can’t believe it.”

  Vicky clocked MacDonald approaching. She leaned forward. “Karen, stop shouting.”

  “Can’t believe what?” MacDonald stood over them, frowning.

  Vicky glared at Karen. “This case.”

  “Really?”

  Karen sc
rewed up her eyes. “Aye.”

  “It’s a bugger, that’s for sure.” MacDonald gestured at one of the spare chairs. “Mind if I sit here, ladies?”

  Karen shifted her tray to one side. “Not at all.”

  Vicky pulled her ponytail over one shoulder. “How do you think the news conference went?”

  MacDonald shrugged as he chewed a mouthful of salmon and broccoli. “Seen worse.”

  Vicky glared at her can. “You mean my performance?”

  “You were fine.” MacDonald shook his head. “This is a nation of animal lovers. It’s going to be hard to get them motivated to punish vigilantes tracking down animal cruelty.”

  “Tell me about it.”

  “This can be a tough job at times.”

  Karen leaned on one hand. “You got any pets, Sarge?”

  “I’d love a dog one day, but it’d be cruel keeping it in a flat.” MacDonald ate a mouthful of couscous. “Have you been busy this morning?”

  Karen sat up. “Aye. Been looking into these cages.”

  Vicky slid her seat back as she stood up, noticing a few extra eyes on her, none looking away. “I’ve got to prep for the briefing at one. You coming?”

  Karen nodded.

  MacDonald rested his fork on the plate. “I’ll be there after I finish this.”

  Vicky left him to his lunch.

  Karen tapped her shoulder as she caught up. “Christ, Vicky, wait up.”

  “What?”

  “Why don’t you want him to know about your date?”

  Vicky shrugged, biting at her bottom lip. “I wish I knew what went on in my head sometimes.”

  Chapter Forty-Nine

  Forrester stormed into the office, clapping his hands as he headed to the whiteboard in the middle of the office space. “Come on, gather round.”

  The rest of the team congregated, with Vicky standing nearest.

  “Sorry. Forty minutes late isn’t acceptable — especially when I demand punctuality from you lot.” Forrester put his hands in his pockets. “I’ve just had my nuts toasted by the Super and I’ve not eaten so I want this done quickly. Given the fun we had out in Barry, I want a full update on where we are. Mac?”

  “The SOCOs still haven’t finished their search yet. As tight-lipped as my ex-colleagues in the south, so I don’t know if there’s anything useful yet. DC Woods, where are we with these cages?”

  Karen cleared her throat. “The bad news is loads of places sell them across Dundee. The good is I’ve got a guy coming down from Aberdeen to help me look at the ones in Barry. He’s pretty much a UK expert on animal cages.”

  “Takes all sorts, I suppose.” Forrester scratched at the hair on the back of his head. “What do you hope to get out of it?”

  “Well, hopefully he can nail it down a bit more than us looking for a metal cage. He reckons he can get make, model, the works. Maybe even tie it back to a supplier.”

  MacDonald nodded. “Make sure he’s reliable, yeah?”

  “Will do.”

  “Sounds decent.” Forrester scribbled on the whiteboard. “Are we anywhere on the car?”

  MacDonald shook his head. “Woods and Buchan have been going through CCTV from the industrial estate. Nothing concrete. The number plate search using the ANPR system has come up blank, which means they didn’t go through the Kingsway or the low road.”

  “The Riverside.”

  “Right. We’re looking at other possibilities but the CCTV teams are now actively looking for anything that matches our description.”

  Vicky raised her hand. “Given we’ve just announced the fact we’re looking for a car to the bits of Scotland who can bother with watching the news, I seriously doubt they’ll use it again.”

  “Agreed.” Forrester loosened his tie — the tie pin now hung vertically. “Those Fife schoolgirls are in the clear, by the way. They’ve admitted posting stuff on the message board but they were all on some sort of school trip when Rachel and Paul were done. If they know anything, they’ve not spilled anything so far.” He stared at Vicky. “You next.”

  Vicky nodded. “Zoë, everything we’ve got is predicated on the links you’ve identified between these accounts on xbeast and real people. Have you managed to prove how reliable it is yet?”

  “I’ve been working with a couple of colleagues in the Met.” Zoë tugged at her bra strap through her t-shirt. “They’ve got dummy accounts set up on there for this sort of thing. They posted some stuff, I posted some stuff. We used police accounts, mobiles, home broadband, mobile broadband dongles, even dial-up. They were all traced back to the correct IP address. In two cases we put a couple of chains of IP address maskers in there, which we managed to unpick successfully.”

  “Good work.” Vicky checked her notebook. “The alibis for John and Brian Morton both check out. Turns out Brian was in the hospital on Wednesday, under John’s supervision.”

  “I meant to speak to you about this earlier.” Forrester tucked his hands into his armpits. “Mac mentioned we’re still running surveillance on them. Is that right?”

  “We are. And the Muirheads.”

  “Have we actually got anything to show for it?”

  Vicky shrugged. “John Morton took his brother out to Tesco on Saturday.”

  “That’s it?”

  “Afraid so.” Vicky shook her head. “They were in when the battery hen farm attack was supposed to have happened.”

  “You think this is a red herring?”

  “Looks that way.”

  Forrester rolled up a sleeve. “I’m cancelling the surveillance as of now. This fat boy in his scooter’s an idiot but he’s not involved. Get Kirk and Buchan back in.”

  “Will do.”

  “Where are we with the Muirheads, Mac?”

  MacDonald grimaced. “Their lawyer’s threatening to sue.”

  “What for?”

  “Anything he can find. Guy called Fergus Duncan.”

  “Bloody hell. Look, I don’t trust them. We’ve still got surveillance on them?”

  “Yeah.”

  “Scale it back, but keep an eye on what they’re up to.”

  “Will do.”

  Forrester rolled up the other sleeve. “If we can confirm the link, I’ll be a bit more comfortable. I’ll get the press release updated and get on the phone to a few contacts so it goes in the overnight editions.” He scribbled a note on the board. “Mac, can you please pick up the NCA strand again? I’m feeling a bit exposed here, especially after both Raven and the Super just asked me about it.”

  “Got a few contacts I could use. Been thinking the National Wildlife Crime Unit in Livingston might be a better bet. They’re nationwide and specialised in this sort of thing. Could drive down there this afternoon.”

  “I’ll join you, Sergeant.” Forrester adjusted the first sleeve, making it the same length as the other one. “You got anything else, Mac?”

  “Still looking into the cat bin case in Fife. Nothing so far.”

  Summers held up his hand. “Sorry, sir. I just finished my review of the Fife case files. I found a note at the back of the file referencing a car speeding away. Matches the loose description of ours.”

  Forrester put his palm over his eyes. “Buggeration. We just went on the record with the media saying we’re dealing with just the two cases.”

  “Sorry, sir. Should’ve caught you before.”

  Forrester scowled at him. “You’d forty minutes to brief Mac or Doddsy.”

  Summers blushed. “They were both busy, sir.”

  Forrester glared at him for a few seconds before turning to Vicky. “Can you pick up on this Fife case and see if there really are any ties to the other two?”

  “Will do, sir.”

  “Really don’t want to look like a bunch of idiots with this.” Forrester looked
around the room. “Dismissed.”

  Chapter Fifty

  “. . . had this to say. ‘On Thursday we, uh, received a call-out to Invergowrie to the west of the city. A woman ha —’”

  Vicky reached over to snap off the radio.

  Considine pulled up outside the sheltered housing, a sprawling complex of concrete blocks and mossed tiles. “Not like hearing your own voice, Sarge?”

  “Does anyone?”

  “DCI Raven certainly likes the sound of his own voice.”

  “And DCs looking to make DS shouldn’t be saying that aloud.”

  “Right, aye.” Considine looked around, pink blotches climbing his neck. “Doesn’t look like Reed’s here yet.”

  “We’ll wait.”

  “Summers got himself right in the shit at briefing, didn’t he?”

  Vicky glanced at him. “That’s a bit pottle.”

  “A bit what?”

  “Pot calling the kettle black.”

  “Right, with you now.” He frowned. “How?”

  “You’ve a tendency to keep things to yourself, don’t you? Early sharing of information is critical.”

  “Okay. I’ll try harder next time.”

  “Don’t you get on with Summers?”

  Considine shrugged. “I’m not a fan of rugger buggers like him.”

  “And here was me thinking you DCs were thick as thieves.”

  “Thick as pig shit, more like.”

  Vicky laughed before spotting Reed trudging their way. “Speaking of rugger buggers.” She got out, meeting him by the entrance. “Thanks for driving up from Glenrothes, Constable.”

  “Just want to make sure us Fifers get a fair hearing, that’s all.”

  “DI’s orders?”

  “Something like that.”

  “Nothing to do with you not mentioning this car when we came out last week?”

  Reed narrowed his eyes. “No need to be like that. One tiny part of this case might overlap with yours. Big deal.”

  “This woman lived round there, right?”

  “Aye. Irene Henderson.”

  “And this guy saw a car speeding off?”

  “That’s about the size of it.” Reed smirked. “Not sure what you want to get out of it.”