Tonight I’m not looking towards the City. The advantage of being so high up is that I can see the hills, the dark Pennines that have spawned this crime. The more I think about it, the more I think that the perpetrator knows the area. The timescale for the distribution of the previous notes was fast, indicating that whoever it is knows Manchester and Alderly Edge. A map would be no good for the Lewis's house on Link Lane. I haven’t checked but I’m fairly sure that it wouldn’t show on Ordnance Survey as much more than a dirt track.
Lauren is going through the records for the reports of the other notes and Keith is looking at the CCTV. They look up as I wipe a wall-sized whiteboard clean.
‘Lauren. Keith. We’ve spoken to Amy and Marc Lewis and looked in on the crime scene. Petra’s there now and she’s going to fill us in on forensics at the briefing tomorrow morning at eight o’clock.’
I see Lauren’s eyes dart to the clock on the wall. One forty-five. I continue.
‘It’s late, I know, but we need to make a head start.’
I pull over a large screen that’s attached to a computer and type in the postcode for the Lewis’s location. I select Google maps and focus in in the area around the Lewis’s house. As I suspect, neither the house nor the lane that leads to it is labelled or marked. It’s new technology and the team are gripped.
‘So this is Saddleworth. Link House is two miles outside the village of Greenfield, with one narrow road leading to it. Dirt track really. No other vehicle access. As you can see, the track around by the house and ends just past it where the moorland starts. There’s no turning point at the end, whoever goes up the track would have to back up down it again, unless they turned in the Lewis’s grounds. To the back of the property there’s a peat bog, then a reservoir about half a mile on. To each side moorland. The road opens onto a narrow country lane, Link Lane, which is circular, serving local farm traffic. Link Lane opens onto a junction. Right turns into the village and through to the Oldham Road, left turns towards Huddersfield and the M62, over the Pennines to Yorkshire. Taking the village route, the Oldham Road runs between Oldham and again toward Huddersfield and the M62. Keith, can you get the CCTV from those two junctions and any along the route for Saturday evening? They’re busy routes.’
I pause and look at Lauren. She’s doodling on a piece of paper, but stops when I stop talking. I’ve worked with Lauren before. Her background is in surveillance, where mine’s in psychology. She’s worked her way up through the force, hands-on policing. My route to this point was to study psychology, then to specialise in surveillance. Then serve a short apprenticeship in the halcyon days of criminal profiling when anything remotely relevant was admissible from the hard-partying profiling community.
Nothing was out of bounds and the people I worked with often went to great lengths to secure a conviction for which they had little evidence, just a gut feeling and a hangover idea usually. I’m not being unkind, that’s the truth. They worked on hunches and used honey traps. One of my mentors, the former Holy Grail of profilers, would regularly bring in a psychic to back up his vague claims. I learned a lot from them. I learned to work on gut feeling, on instinct, but then to make sure you back it up with action and facts. Intuition and intelligence. And to always turn up on time.
Things have changed, but Lauren’s opinion hasn’t. She still remembers my predecessors, late for meetings, stinking of whiskey, operating separately from the rest of the team. She’s wary of me and at the same time resentful. She wants my job and sees me as the only barrier to her goal. But this is no time for personality differences. I give her a break.
‘Lauren. Now’s the time to put all that training to good use. Can you plot out the reception points of the notes in relation to the crime scene?’
Lauren moves only to press a single button and her map appears on the screen. She folds her arms and smiles.
‘Done. Already done’
I look at her. Always ahead and that’s why she’s sitting in this room.
‘Thank you. Of course you have. So, we can see that the locations of the other threats are situated between Manchester and Cheshire. No particular geographic pattern, we already know that the recipients were selected in the context of the parent’s job, and this is the connection. So, I would expect the perpetrator to have taken the road through the village in order to return to the area they have been operating in.’
Lauren interrupts. She likes to have the last word.
‘Unless they’re taking Maisie to somewhere more remote.’
Steve takes over. He’s not a great fan of theories and he shuts this down.
‘We’re treating this as a campaign. All the signposts so far are pointing to someone with the motive of causing disruption to the oil and gas drilling industry. Putting the evidence together, we know that one parent of all the children who received the threats and of the abducted girl work in the same job description, some in the same company as Marc Lewis, some of them in competitor companies. That’s the connection. And it’s a dangerous one. They all work in nuclear security.’
A murmur waves around the room as people begin to understand what this case is all about.
Because of the location of the threats, we’re working on the initial assumption that the perpetrator is or has been travelling around Manchester, Oldham and parts of Cheshire for the past day or so, chances are they are still around and most likely scenario is that there will be a ransom demand. So initially we’re focusing on getting her back within 72 hours.’
Steve looks at me and I explain further.
‘To make sure that we have all the evidence and that we haven’t missed Maisie being kept in a location near to her home, we’ll be deploying a large search team around the house tomorrow morning at first light, extending to the neighbouring areas later in the day.’
Keith looks worried. It’s his job to manage the press and media and I know he’s assessing the full magnitude of Marc’s status and how soon his home will be crawling with journalists.
‘That’s very visible. Will we issue a statement to the press?’
Steve peers out of the window, prioritising.
‘No statement as yet. But these days we don’t always need to. As soon as anyone sees a police car it’s all over the papers. We need to keep a tight rein on it, Keith. If this is led by activists as I strongly suspect there’ll be a website and a forum page and someone will eventually spill the beans. The internet's a nuisance sometimes, but its strength is that it puts people with a lot to say it in a forum right where we can easily watch them. But the focus for the moment is tracking the vehicle that took Maisie away and increasing security on the nuclear plants. ‘
Keith thinks for a moment and then he asks another question.
‘How will we field them, then, when they ask? As you say, it’ll probably break at first light. And depending on how key Marc Lewis is, and how much they know about the previous activity, it could make national headlines. Do we need a cover story? For when people spot the search teams?’
I think about the yellow tunics moving through the purple heather, and the haze of pollen in their wake. Disturbing the dusty moorland, birds flapping in their faces as they flee. Moorland creatures running from heavy boots. Leading away towards the boggy ground with the outcrops of rocks. Easy terrain to hide a child. And the Dovestones Reservoir beyond, four miles in circumference and lined with dense forest. Plenty of hiding places out of the city, near to the crime scene. We have a huge job on our hands to even search the surrounding area for places a young child could be hidden. Dead or alive.
Steve reassesses. The ideal position would be to never tell the press anything unless it helps us, but he knows that it never ends up that way.
‘We’ll have to tell them something. The official line is that there’s a child missing from Greenfield village and the search is focussed on that. Unfortunately the minute a person is abducted from their property it becomes a public event. I think that whoever has done this has carefully calc
ulated the impact it will have. Always the same in these sort of cases. The fewer details the better at that point so that they we don’t exhaust the coverage. Because that’s when it becomes dangerous, when the captive is of no more use to them. But I don’t see any way we can search that area and avoid the press. We’ll just have to keep it low profile. Hopefully we’ll find Maisie soon and we won’t need a Plan B.’
Maisie. We know the name, but we don’t know the face. I’m already fully engaged with the case and Steve and Petra seen pictures of little Maisie at her home. But the rest of the SMIT haven’t. It’s all been hypothetical until this point. I turn to Keith now.
‘Keith. I believe a photograph of Maisie Lewis has been uploaded to the system. Could you distribute it throughout the SMIT intranet, please?’
We all need to know what the little girl looks like. This way, her face will immediately arrive on the computers of all members of the team, and embed itself into their consciousness. It flashes up on the huge screen in front of us in a second. Even Lauren’s features soften as the young child smiles out at us. I can see a strong resemblance to Amy Lewis. Brown curly hair and hazel eyes, she’s hugging a teddy bear, and wearing a badge that says ‘I am 1.’ So pretty. Obviously taken on her birthday just two weeks ago. We’re all dumbstruck for a second, then Lauren speaks.
‘Adorable. My God. How could they?’
Keith lowers himself over his laptop, shaking his head, red in the face. It affects us all differently, but the minute it registers that we are looking for a person, a child, everything changes. Maisie is adorable. She could be anyone’s niece or cousin. Or their own child. I know Lauren has five year old twins and I know how this must be affecting her, even if she doesn’t show it on her hard exterior. But we all have a job to do and this relationship to Maisie, a face to a name, spurs us on. They return to work Steve comes over.
‘I’m going to head off now. I’ll be back for the team meeting at eight o’clock. If anything happens ring me straight away. You should get your head down too.’
I pick my oversized handbag up and he heads for the door.
‘Oh I intend to. I’ll call you if anything happens. Oh, before you go, Steve, you were first up at the Lewis’s home, weren’t you?’
He stops in his tracks.
‘Yep. Me then Petra than you.’
‘So how did you find it?’
He thinks for a while. So much has happened today and we’re all so tired.
‘Oh. It wasn’t on my AA map. I drove around the lane twice then drove back into the village to ask. Didn’t spot the track up to the house that easily.’
‘That’s what I thought.’ I shout back over my shoulder. ‘Lauren. Can you go out there first thing and ask at the nearby farms for anyone asking directions in the past twenty-four hours. You should get a description of Steve and Petra, but anyone else, take a statement.’
I’m still not sure why, but I have a growing feeling that the person is local. Rehearsal abductors usually make their final target in a location where they feel most secure. Know the area. I suddenly think that whoever has took Maisie may come from the area, but they also knew the best way to take her away, as quickly as possible, without being seen.
I want to call after Steve and tell him what I suspect, but he looks beat. And he’ll be back in less than six hours. I watch him leave and then I call down to the warrant office.
‘Hi. Jan Pearce. Is there an empty cell I can use?’
The warrant officer gives me a number, warns me that it’s early Sunday morning and that the remnants of Saturday night are in most of the other cells. I grab my bag go downstairs and a young officer meets me. I’m always ready. Not just in an investigative sense, but also in a practical way. I always carry a change of underwear, a clean top – you can usually get away with wearing the same trousers two days running. No one even notices if you wear the same jacket for a month. Comb, deodorant, mascara and a selection of hair clips. Look professional at all times. That’s the only way people will take you seriously. The officer takes me to an empty cell and unlocks the door.
‘There’s a Holiday Inn across the road, you know.’
I smile at him. He could never understand. I have to be near. So near to the case that I can almost feel it.
‘This isn’t the first time I’ve slept in a cell, believe me. I’m used to it.’
I am used to it. I carry a change of clothes, because I know I need to be on site during an investigation. There’s a point where I have to go home to change and check in with my neighbours, the ones at the end of my garden who look after my Kirby. I have a red setter, still a puppy, all gangly and bouncy at one year old. I’d told them earlier on that I was out for the night at the hen party. The celebrations included a nightclub and a stay in a central Manchester hotel, which I had paid for up front. But I’m staying in a different kind of hotel tonight. The young officer jumps as one of the other occupants lets out a piercing scream, but I don’t flinch. I pull out a pair of silicone ear plugs and hold them up. He laughs loudly.
‘Be prepared!’
‘I’m prepared for anything. There’s a cup of tea with my name on it at the other end of tonight.’
What I don’t say is that also waiting there is a chain of paper dolls and a missing one year old.
Chapter Four
I’d slept fitfully and when I wake for my seven o’clock alarm call from the warrant officer the first thing I think of is Maisie. The second is the doll. The one from Maisie’s bedroom. Its shape had punctured my dreams, still familiar, but just outside the reach of my consciousness. And the red feet. I desperately wanted to search the internet and the depths of my memory for that shape, scanning the outline for a match.
No time though. I have to find Maisie. I jump up and push my dirty clothes into my bag, then hurry to the staff showers and have a quick wash and clean my teeth. All eyes are on me as I walk through headquarters to the team meeting. I nod and smile at familiar faces and take a coffee that is offered from one of the operations staff who has just been to the café.
At exactly eight o’clock I enter the SMIT meeting and step up to the front with Steve. I spot Lauren and Keith, and Pete Nelson, the detective who I knew from CID back in the days when I worked on more junior cases. He smiles widely and gives me a thumbs up sign. Several other members of the SMIT operations team, computer analysts and plain clothes officers who are coordinating the search and the door to door interviews arrive and we’re ready to start. Steve pulls me to one side.
‘Where’s Petra? Not like her to be late?’
I scan the room again, and then go to the window. Her car isn’t parked up. Steve thinks for moment. I know that he’ll want to get this briefing over as soon as possible so everyone can get out there.
‘OK let’s make a start. Although I was kind of relying on her to give a forensics report.’
He stalls a little by grabbing a coffee from the machine and while I’m still looking for Petra, I spot the first news van. Keith notices it too.
‘Bloody hell. They took their time.’
The van stops directly opposite the corner where we are, parking on a grass verge. I see the reporter step out and automatically back away from the window. The last thing I need right now is to be spotted. I look at Keith.
‘Local or national?’
He stands up and stares out at the tall man in the dark suit. He’s leaning against a white transit van with a huge disc on the top. There are sound people and a technician with a hand held TV camera.
‘National. ITV News.’
As he speaks, another news van arrives and parks farther up the road on the roundabout. Steve spots them on his way back and swears under his breath. Then he begins. The first slide flashes onto the screen. It’s the same picture of Maisie as we distributed last night.
‘OK. This is Maisie Lewis. One year old abducted from her home in Greenfield. Case notes and assignments are on the intranet. Jan Pearce is going to give you an overview.
’
I step forward.
‘I’ll keep this brief, because we need to get out there to find Maisie. You’ll all know by now that there have been threats received previously from who we believe is, the perpetrator or perpetrators. These are linked to this abduction by a series of paper shapes. Dolls. The rehearsal events communicated a message. The abduction was timed to coincide with nightfall. Abductor got in through a window and escaped through the same ground floor window with Maisie. Escape from the property most likely through a hedge. Petra can tell us more about the forensics when she arrives, but I must stress that there were visible forensics at the scene of crime, which usually means that this hasn’t been carried out by a professional. Someone has made mistakes, left a calling card.’
I glance behind me. Still no sign of Petra. I fill in.
‘So, operations wise, we’ve already got a forensics team up there sweeping the property and the surrounding area. Backed up with a search team scanning the moorland farther afield. There’ll be a break at noon for reports. Usual comms rules apply. Don’t take comments to the press, especially important in this case as DCI Ralston strongly suspects that this is industrial espionage. Kidnapping an influential man’s daughter. So we’re expecting a demand of some form anytime soon. But that doesn’t mean that we should hold off on the search. Any questions?’
There’s silence for a moment, then Lauren holds her hand up.
‘That’s what DCI Ralston thinks. But what do you think, Jan?’
I always think the best of people. I want to believe that Lauren is asking this for the best of reasons, but I suspect that she wants to put me on the spot. To unsettle me, to make the team see that I’m floundering a little. It’s not normal practice for a young DC with no portfolio to work directly on an operation with the Senior Investigation Officer, but Steve and I always work this way, for balance. She’s complained about this before and usually makes a point of raising it. But like Steve says, if it ain’t broken, don’t fix it. I sip my coffee and think.
What I Left Behind (The gripping prequel to the DS Jan Pearce Crime Fiction Series) Page 3
