‘So what do you think?’
I shake my head. It’s hard to say at the moment, but I’m conflicted.
‘From the outside it looks like something organised, but when you look more closely…’
Steve always looks worried. He’s got one of those faces. Etched with lines and always concerned.
‘Yeah. Agreed. If it wasn’t for the previous reports I’d be looking at a one off event. Someone with a personal vendetta.’ I can tell by the way his lip curls that he hates to admit this. Steve likes organisation. It feels simpler to him, more of a match for our skills. Personal is unpredictable. ‘But as it is, it’s got all the hallmarks of a campaign. Probably best to keep an open mind at the moment. Keep it basic with the parents until we know they won’t disclose.’
We enter the room and Lorraine Pascoe stands up and shakes my hand firmly.
‘Jan. Good to see you. Amy, Marc. This is Jan Pearce. She’s one of the best investigators in the country. You’re in good hands. And you’ve already met Steve.’
They look drained. Amy is slumped against Marc and he is leaning on the arm of the huge burgundy sofa. They look tiny against in the spacious lounge and are clearly traumatised. I perch on the edge of a recliner and Steve stands beside me. He starts his explanation of the investigation.
‘OK. Marc. Amy. Is that OK?’
They both nod, hypnotised by Steve and their expectations for their daughter to be returned immediately. I look at little closer at Marc Lewis. It never ceases to amaze me how wrong TV drama gets powerful people. He looks like a gentle man and his voice, a soft Scottish accent in contrast to Steve’s low Manchester vowels as he asks Steve the standard first question in their scenario, confirms this.
‘So what happens now?’
He hasn’t demanded anything. He’s a professional. He knows the way things work. Complex and difficult situations take time. Steve bows his head a little, pauses, and then answers.
‘So, Jan and I have had a look around and spoken to the forensics team. We’re going to have to seal off the nursery area for a while until we’re sure we’ve collected all the evidence. It seems that the perpetrator entered the property through the nursery bedroom window and escaped the same way. We’re haven’t established how they arrived and left as yet. We’re just in the process of collecting CCTV footage and that will be analysed as soon as possible.’
Marc frowns and puts his arm around Amy. I see him pull her closer to him, protecting her as much as he can.
‘So how will you find her? How will you find Maisie?’
‘We’ll be deploying search teams at first light. All our resources will be brought in to search the surrounding area. Jan will begin to profile the perpetrator and we’ll do some background research. I’ve got people out there right now interviewing possible witnesses and checking all available CCTV. Forensics will fast-track everything they can and we’ll keep you fully updated. There are three things you can do for me in the meantime.’
Amy’s crying. She’s a small woman with a wiry frame and her shoulders rise and fall with each painful word. Deep sobs punctuate her voice as she answers him.
‘What? What do we have to do? We’ll do anything to get our daughter back. Anything.’
Steve struggles in situation like this. With emotions. He’s trying to be as casual as he can, but he’s itching to get out there and review the evidence.
‘First, let us know if anyone tries to contact you about this. What I’m saying is there may be a demand for money or action of some kind, and it’s tempting to keep it to yourself and try to pay it secretly. Don’t do that. It’ll make things worse. Tell us if you are contacted and we’ll negotiate on your behalf. Second, don’t talk to the media.’ He glances at me. I know his reason for this are dual, to keep the case contained and to protect my identity. It has to happen sometime, I know, I can't run forever. But coppers protect their own so for now, Steve's keeping me out of the limelight. 'Third, make a list of anyone who you think might do this. Enemies. No matter how small the motive, include everyone.’
Marc lets out a small cry.
‘Enemies? You do know what I do for a job? I rip up the countryside and upset people. Those people hate me.’
Steve pauses. I know he’s assessing the situation. He needs to get a full picture.
‘This might be a good time to tell us exactly what you do. I know it’s a traumatic time too, but the sooner you explain, the better.’
Marc swallows hard.
‘I’m a director at Truestat Ltd. Executive Director. There are four of us in similar roles. It’s an international operation, but my interests are in the UK.’
Steve looks at me. We already know who the other three are from the previous threats. Marc continues.
‘I started off as a surveyor, looking at possible sites for nuclear power plants. As time went on and people retired I became a director. But I still do the same kind of work. Except now I work in security. That means as well as protecting the sites from anyone who wants to do harm. Terrorism, activists, lone gunmen. That sort of thing’
Steve interrupts, echoing what we’re all thinking.
‘So this could be blackmail.’
He nods sadly and I feel my hardened heart breaking.
‘Yes. Yes it could.’
I’ve worked on cases involving the energy business before. People so passionate about their cause, whichever side they are on. Motivated not only by money but by more deeply rooted, primal issues over land and sea, warmth and food. Then there are terrorists who know the damage they could wreak for destroying a power plant.
Marc wipes his eyes.
‘People feel strongly about it. But I never thought anyone would go this far. Sure, I’ve had death threats before now. I do business deals to the tune of billions of pounds and where there’s a contract there’s a loser. That list would be miles long.’
I pick out the obvious big issue.
‘Death threats?’
‘Yes. The office receives regular threats from members of the public demanding all sorts of stuff. Some of it quite nasty.’
‘And have you reported these threats?’
He’s desperate now. He’s wringing his hands and sweating.
‘No. I guess we got used to them. Desensitised. Nothing ever happens. There might be a demo outside our offices or some protestors gluing themselves to our trucks and drills, but never anything personal like this. Anything criminal. I didn’t think people would stoop so low.’
I want to tell him that there is no low point. The lowest point for criminals is hell. Steve nods and continues.
‘Even so, try to think of the obvious first then move on to the less obvious. Petty stuff. Lorraine will help you. It’s very important that we have names to look at. And could you let your office know that we’ll need copies of all the threats to compare with the ones we already have. And, again, don’t talk to the press. Not until we tell you to. Whoever has taken your daughter may be looking to raise the profile of their organisation. Don’t play into their hands or you might prolong this process.’
Marc suddenly looks alert.
‘The ones you already have? Is there more than one?’
Steve looks at me and I nod. Might as well be up front, as Marc and Amy will find out eventually. I begin to explain.
‘Several members of your company have received threats in the forms of notes posted to their homes in the last twenty-four hours. There was a blank template left in Maisie’s bedroom. We’re not sure if this was left accidentally at the moment, along with other forensic evidence. None of the other notes were acted upon. We think the perpetrator rehearsed the crime before they acted.’
There’s silence for a moment. Marc Lewis stands up, angrier now.
‘People from my office? Who? And who else? That points to blackmail, doesn’t it? Definitely something to do with work? So you think it’s blackmail? Oh my God. What if we don’t pay? What will they do?’
Steve shrugs. I
t’s a habit he has when he’s under stress.
‘We don’t know anything just yet. There could be several reasons.’
Marc’s face clouds over with grief as he goes over the reasons in his mind, but he doesn’t say what he’s obviously thinking. He doesn’t say it, because perhaps his wife hasn’t thought about it yet. He doesn’t speak the unspeakable. Instead he errs on the side of hope.
But we know. Me, Lorraine and Steve. We all know exactly what the different scenarios are here. In a way it’s lying by omission, but we have to keep believing in the best outcome. We have to. Suddenly Steve falls to his knees.
‘Look. We’re in bits here. I know it doesn’t mean anything to you, but Maisie’s our world. I’d give my job up tomorrow if it meant we got her back. Please. Please help us. Please.’
He’s in front of us and Amy runs to him. He stands again and faces me.
‘Do you have children?’
I don’t answer. I go over to them and put my arms around them. It’s not police practice and I know Steve doesn’t like this sort of thing, but I do it all the same. I speak quietly to them.
‘It does mean something to us. All I can tell you at this point is that I will do everything in my power to find your daughter. We’ve got a specialist team looking at the evidence right now and I won’t rest until I find her. Not a moment of this investigation will be wasted. I promise that I’ll do everything I can to find Maisie.’
Amy collapses against Marc again. Lorraine signals to us that this is enough, and that they can’t take any more. She guides them back to the sofa and speaks gently to them.
‘Is there anyone I can call? Relatives? Any friends who could come?’
Amy Lewis shakes her head.
‘No Marc’s parents are… no longer with us. And mine live in Canada. We’re both only children. We only have each other. And Maisie.’
They’re devastated and I’m drinking in their grief, the power of their feelings motivating me, but it’s time to go. Looking through the initial evidence will take time and I’ll brief the whole team in the morning with Steve. We leave them to grieve for their daughter. Once out of the room I hurry up the hallway. Steve’s behind me and Lorraine catches up.
‘I want all the forensics on those notes as soon as possible, Steve. We need to get back to the station straight away to look at the CCTV. I don’t like the sound of this. It’s not what it looks like.’
Steve stops in his tracks and I turn to face him.
‘No. There’s a certain way to go about these things. You know the procedure. Do what we can with forensics until the ransom demand comes. It looks pretty straightforward. Perpetrator takes rich influential person’s baby. Demands money or action. Victim returned. Or not. But either way we need to make sure all bases are covered. Not go off the beaten track. Not until we have something else to go on.’
But I can’t let it go. The empty cot and Maisie’s face are imprinted on my psych and I need to make my point.
‘No. Something’s not right. It’s too sloppy. Too much visible forensics. The notes. Amateurish. And there’s something connected to this place. Not sure what yet.’
Lorraine intervenes.
‘Look, I’ll stay here. Marc said there’s a spare room I can kip in and I’ll keep you both informed if he hears anything.’
Steve heads for the front door. I watch his long strides and hear one of his leather brogues squeak against the parquetted floor. I’d put Steve at about forty-five but he could possibly be nearer fifty. Rather than argue and have an unpleasant confrontation with a member of his team he’ll wait in his car. His philosophy is by the book, and we both know that he needs me to ask the difficult questions, the ones that his procedural ethics won’t let him. Despite me being a good twenty years younger than him, we make a good team. I’m there to avenge the dead and the missing and he’s there to avenge our police principles and make sure the case stands up in court at the end of it all. It works for us.
‘Yeah. Stay here, Lorraine. Jan and I will be back at the station looking at the CCTV. Because it doesn’t matter if it seems a bit strange at this point, Jan, we need to get a detailed picture of what went on tonight. Then we’ll decide which direction to take it in.’
Right on cue he heads for his car rather than face it out. It’s a good thing, because it always gives me space to calm down and think before I approach him again. He disappears out of the front door. Lorraine puts a hand on my shoulder.
‘Keep going Jan. You and Steve make a good team. And Petra. If anyone can do this, you can.’
She’s right, of course. Steve and I bounce off each other. He starts at one end of the investigation, the logical end, and I start at the other end and we meet in the middle. When I get outside he’s waiting for me.
‘Bloody big wall, that.’
I look over to the perimeter wall.
‘Yep. And no cameras looking over it.’
We walk towards his car.
‘Not much to go on at all, is there? Not outside those four walls?’ He auto clicks his car doors open and I get in the passenger side. ‘Still not driving then?’
I momentarily zone out of this investigation and into a previous lifetime when I drove a very fast car around the streets of London. It was a convertible and in that moment I feel the wind through my hair and hear Dusty singing Son of a Preacher Man, as I tap my fingernails against the leather bound steering wheel. In my mind’s eye, I glimpse graffiti and a luminous tag pointing to invisible pathway where a danger waited.
‘No.’
He sits there for a while, waiting for the engine to warm up. My dad used to do the same thing, even though most cars usually drive perfectly well without this. Then he speaks.
‘Know this area well, don’t you?’
‘Yes. Yes I do. In fact I don’t live far from here. Just over that hill. But you have to drive round it to get there. That’s what this place is like. All nooks and crannies. So many places to hide. I spent the early part of my childhood about five miles north.’
‘Right. So you’ll know where most of the cameras are because this isn’t like an inner-city enquiry. Someone’s gone to a lot of trouble to find this place to take poor Maisie Lewis.‘
I know where every camera is. And every phone mast. And the distance between them. I need to know the terrain in case I need to escape. I’ve already got a full map of the area in my mind, with the Lewis’s house in the middle. There’s no way this could be done without a vehicle. So now all we have to do is find out which vehicle that is. He revs the engine.
‘Busy round here is it, then?’
‘No. Not busy at all. Just down the road, in Greenfield, it gets busy, traffic taking the scenic route over the tops, but further up here it’s quiet.’ I don’t mention that it’s the reason that I bought my home, an old farm cottage, because of the relative solitude. ‘Several villages all set on the road through, Uppermill, Denshaw, Diggle, but that’s on the other side of Greenfield. This side is mainly remote sheep farms and isolated houses like the Lewis’s. Owned by rich people craving privacy. So busy around Greenfield, then busy around the Dovestones reservoir. Lots of local people out walking dogs. Pretty sure they’d report anything suspicious. It’s a funny place, Saddleworth. You can be on a busy transit road one minute then in the middle of a deserted moor the next.’
Steve looks at me. He's obviously tired.
‘Fond of it, are you?’
I smile a little. Fond. Understatement of the year.
‘Like I said, I grew up round here. What’s not to like? Plenty of history and acres of moorland. That’s why I moved back.’
He knows it’s a lie. He knows I moved back here to slip in the background. To be anonymous.
‘I’ll drop you off then, if you tell me where to go. Better get some rest before this kicks off big time tomorrow.’
I snort. He’s clearly underestimated my commitment to this case.
‘No chance. I’m coming back to the station. I
need to have a look at that CCTV and get a feel for this bastard. Whoever it is could be bloody long gone by now, but one things for sure, there aren’t that many ways out of Greenfield and I’m going to have a look at them all.’
Chapter Three.
We arrive at the station and make our way through the Major Investigation Unit. A corner suite at the very back of the Greater Manchester Headquarters houses SMIT, abandoned until a major case arises. Steve’s phoned ahead and the team is already gathering.
As we walk through the MIU the detectives and staff fall silent. It’s something I’ll never get used to, the reverence with which I am treated by my peers. In my mind, I’m just a girl from the backwoods of Oldham who got into a difficult situation, but managed to get out of it. To them, I solved Operation Lando and almost died in the process. Still in danger, but still on the job. Not because I’m a hero, because I’m compelled. I feel their eyes follow me. The first time after I returned from London there had been an embarrassing handclap. Now just silence.
We reach our newly resurrected office and find Lauren Dixon and Keith Johnson already at work. Our area is at the far end of the suite, cordoned off, and at the other end is a call centre, staffed with operators seconded from the main force, which will take any calls from the public and, in the event of a televised appeal, calls routed from the Crimestoppers line. All case meetings will be held in here, as well as all briefings to the press and any television and radio appeals.
The office is on the fifth floor of the building and skirts a corner. It’s normally used as a networking area, with the tables and chairs hurriedly removed and replaced by SMIT equipment in a situation like this. Security-wise it wouldn’t have been my first choice, as the outer walls are reinforced glass columns which allow a panoramic view of Central Manchester. It also allows the press who frequently gather outside, news vans with huge satellite dishes waiting to broadcast our every action to the outside world, a perfect view of us working. I could tell from news reports which journalists had been spending the time between statements peering through binoculars, and sometimes night vision glasses from the pictures they publish, into the inner recess of SMIT.
What I Left Behind (The gripping prequel to the DS Jan Pearce Crime Fiction Series) Page 2
