‘Well. I agree with DCI Ralston. It does seem like Maisie’s abduction is linked to the industry her father works in. It just seems like whoever has given the command hasn’t hired someone very professional. This can work in our favour. It means they leave a lot of clues. But it can also work against us. As we all know, finding a perpetrator without a criminal record is never easy.’
She nods but she isn’t satisfied.
‘So is that what you think? The person who took Maisie is a first timer?’
Steve shoots me a look. Because we’ve worked together on so many cases sometimes we need no words.
‘I couldn’t possible comment until I’ve heard what Dr Jordan has to say about the forensics.’
I glance behind me and Petra’s car is there. I see her in the doorway looking unusually flustered, which makes me slightly anxious. She picks her way through the gathering to the front.
‘Sorry, sorry, everyone. I was waiting for result. You know how it is, wait one more minute and they might be ready. As it is, they were not. But hopefully I will receive a call during the meeting.’
She pulls her notes from her bag and pushes her reading glasses up her nose.
‘OK. Bedroom. Twenty-six complete fingerprints on bed and window frame. We’ve run a check on the national database and the prints are not registered. Fibres from denim material found on window catch and on the hedge on the perimeter of the property. No footprints. No hairs, turns out the one we found was from the nanny who’s employed Monday to Friday. She’s being interviewed today. We’ve gone over the property with a fine-tooth comb and the only other prints we found were on a picture in the bedroom.’
I think back to the room. The elephant light throwing shadows over a framed photograph of Marc, Amy and Maisie. Petra continues.
‘I get the impression that Maisie wasn’t snatched away quickly. The prints on the picture seem to indicate that the abductor had a look around the bedroom first.’
I step forward. Even though I have my own feelings about this case, I’ll tow Steve’s line. For now.
‘I would think that the perpetrator looked at the photograph to get a positive ID on Marc Lewis. To make sure that they had the right property and the right child. Was there anything to indicate the type of vehicle used, Petra?’
‘No. No tyre marks. No footprints at all. We’re still running tests on a soother found on the escape pathway.’ She pauses and swallows. It’s unusual for Petra. She’s usually as cool as a cucumber. It makes my heart rate increase and my alarm bells ring.
‘Also, the dolls. Jan noticed some imprints on the doll in Maisie’s bedroom. When we looked closer there were two sets of distinct writing. They will take a little longer to analyse, I’m afraid, but we did pick out some words. There were two words that matched with addresses that the other dolls were sent to. The less imprinted hand was more difficult. Nothing solid from that at the moment.’
Steve intervenes. He’s agitated, raring to go on the case.
‘OK. We need to wrap it up soon. Thanks Petra. Keith, Lauren. Could you let us have what you found on the CCTV please?’
Keith starts to get up but Lauren beats him to it. She’s got a PowerPoint slideshow prepared and a laser pointer. I want to shake her and tell her that it’s not business cards and PowerPoint that get you the big job, it’s results. Results she’s skimping on while she’s making pretty slides. She sees Steve looking at his watch and begins.
‘DCI Ralston asked us to look at the CCTV within the property boundaries and at two junctions nearby the property.’ She clicks the first slide. ‘So, the camera system inside the property is static so we viewed the still pictures from eight am until midnight. This allowed us to audit the efficiency of the system by monitoring DCI Ralston and Dr Jordan arrive at the property. Basically, there were no arrivals or departures in the allotted time period. No vehicles passed the gates during this time.’
She hasn’t mentioned the light. The CCTV is poor quality and grainy. It was nine o’clock when Maisie was taken. Dusk. The light would be fading fast.
‘Is the lane outside the property lit, Lauren? Would it be easy to see a car without headlights?’
Her expression doesn’t change. Lauren’s cool and collected.
‘No. The lane isn’t lit, save for an ornamental lamp post just outside the gate, which has a fairly dim electric lamp on a timer. So, on to the junctions.’ She clicks another slide over. ‘In the four-hour period two hundred and seventy-two vehicles passed over the junction nearest the lane. The CCTV is positioned in a manner so as we cannot see the turn off, or cars turning into the junction from Link Lane. The other junction was much busier. Seven hundred and twenty-six vehicles passed over the junction in the four-hour period.’
Steve snorts. He’s pacing now. For a quiet man his tone is loud.
‘Bloody hell, Jan, I thought you said it was quiet up there.’
I did say it was quiet. But Saddleworth can change from moment to moment. It’s an ancient thoroughfare between Lancashire and Yorkshire and is still used as the scenic route.
‘It is. But this was Saturday night. There could have been a big wedding in at one of the halls, or something on in town. That’s something we need to add to the enquiry list. What we need to remember here is that Maisie was is one of those cars. Lauren, can you go back and see if any of the cars had child seats? Or someone in the front or back seat holding a child? I’ve got a feeling that there was more than one perp. One to drive and one to hold Maisie.’
Lauren presses on.
‘Other possibilities we can consider are the CCTV options in Greenfield. If the road through the village is the preferred route, then there are shops and a supermarket that might have cameras. Also, there’s a railway station at the top of the Oldham Road junction. There will be cameras in place there.’
Steve’s patience has ended. He’s had enough now. He’s gesturing towards the door, trying to get everyone out.
‘Thanks Lauren. Good work. Right everyone. Back to it. You’ll find your tasks on your worksheets. If you’re in any doubt whatsoever, or have any bright ideas, let me or Jan know.’
It seems Lauren has a bright idea.
‘Will there be a press conference? An appeal? I’d be happy to conduct it?’
Steve considers this for a moment. Out of the corner of my eye I see Petra back out through the swing doors and answer her phone. I can see her through the clear glass nodding and speaking animatedly. As she ends the call she waits for a moment. I see her face clouded with what looks like fear and it makes my heart pound. She hurries back through the doors and makes her way to the front again. Steve’s answering Lauren.
‘Not just yet. I need to know for sure what this is first. Problem is, although Maisie is our priority and our first concern, we have to take into account the underlying reason for the abduction. If we draw attention to this we’re automatically drawing attention to whatever twisted reason the people who did this are giving for it and putting the sites in more danger. Once they have the right amount of publicity they have no reason to keep the child. That leaves them with two options. Before this gets to that point I want Maisie found and back with her parents.’
I return to the front.
‘Any questions? We need to get onto this now folks, and not stop until we’ve found Maisie Lewis.’
But Petra steps forwards. She hesitates and looks at Steve.
‘Apologies, but I’ve just had some new information. Jan has told you about the paper dolls that were posted through the doors of the threat victims. Can we get some pictures of them on the screen, Keith?’
Steve interrupts. He’s blazing now, ready for the road.
‘With all respect, Petra, we have to move on this. Everyone’s got the pictures on the intranet.’
She shakes her head. Normally she would defer. When she doesn’t, my heart is in my mouth and fear creeps up.
‘Please, Steve. Give me a moment.’
Steve’s pacing now
and Petra continues. Keith pulls up pictures of all the paper dolls and they appear on the huge screen in a montage, labelled in delivery order and ending with the one from Maisie’s bedroom.
‘There’s so much to look at here. We started by a shape and material comparison to make sure that they were from the same source. I’m content that they are from the same batch of paper. Then the handwriting imprints. We did a general surface analysis and came up with fingerprints. The same fingerprints that were found in Maisie’s nursery. On some of the dolls we found nicotine.’
She pauses now and I’m close enough to her to see her pupils dilate and her breathing alter. I silently urge her to get to the crux of the matter.
‘The other trace we found was ammonium nitrate.’
I feel my soul lurch and there is a collective murmur around the room. Petra takes a laser pen and turns to the pictures.
‘The ammonium nitrate traces are stronger on the first three dolls. Then, as the day wears on, they reduce to a scant trace. But on Maisie’s doll it’s strong again. Whoever has done this, the person who has taken Maisie has been in close contact with ammonium nitrate in the past twenty four hours.’
I look at Steve for a cue as to which one of us will explain this. He’s stopped pacing now and he’s standing, arms loosely at his side, staring out at the glassy eyed gathering of police officers. It’s as if a wave of terror has just washed over us and we’re waiting for it to subside. I’m stunned. Steve collects himself a little.
‘Explosives? How much? Enough to detonate?’
Petra shakes her head.
‘It’s perfectly safe for fertiliser use, this stuff, but this isn’t diluted over an area. It’s concentrated.’
The room is silent and I can hear my own pulse in my ears. Steve rallies and joins me again.
‘Thank you Petra, Jan. Right. So we’ve got a new angle now. Not only has this criminal abducted a child, but also potentially has the materials to make an explosive device. One thought though. Petra, there are farms around the scene of crime. Could the fertiliser be from a farm?’
I know this area well. I know that a person’s natural instinct is to disbelieve that someone will intentionally set out to hurt others and Steve’s looking for a reasonable explanation. There’s an air of panic around the officers and Steve’s trying to dumb it down.
‘Sheep farms. There are only sheep farms in Saddleworth now. No industrial crop farming.’
He’s struggling now, and I know a personal battle to keep it together is going on inside him, as it is with all of us. I take a long drink from a bottle of water to relieve my fear dried mouth. Steve finally speaks.
‘In short, the scenario is that we’re now looking for an abducted child, possibly being held near explosive materials. Potentially targeting a high security site. We need to find the vehicle and find Maisie. Extreme caution, folks. If you feel like you’re getting close call for backup. Understood? Let’s get to it. More information as soon as we have it.’
The police officers disperse and Steve turns to us.
‘So how much, Petra? How much explosives?’
Petra looks at us, her expression full of sadness.
‘I don’t know. But if it’s being repeatedly transferred onto someone’s hands it must be accessible. Not in a sealed container or suchlike. It’s in raw form. Maybe not made up yet. Maybe that’s their next move.’
Steve takes out his mobile. Before he dials he speaks in a low voice.
‘I’m going to alert national security. Just as a precaution. I’m going to close the roads and air space around all the nuclear plants. Because of Marc Lewis’s job, they could be a target. This has got all the markings of someone with a little bit of knowledge and a potential bomb. Whoever took Maisie isn’t some hardened criminal. No fingerprint match. If they were a professional there would have been no trace. No. This is some nutter with a grudge, which makes them more volatile and more dangerous.’
I think about Maisie. My hopes for her being treated kindly were fading into real fears. Who has her? It was certainly clear form what Marc Lewis said that he had enemies, and we know what their motives are to disrupt nuclear power plants. I can see where Steve’s thinking is leading. If they’ll take a child they’ll go farther. The problem is if they haven’t thought this through, or are inexperienced, what could be a professionally planned attack turns into an amateur fiasco with the potential for even more casualties and chaos.
I quickly check my lazy stereotyping of some hippie protest and tell myself that I’ve been watching too much TV. In the back of my consciousness I see the perpetrator as seething, and I conjure up the emotion from my wide repertoire of suffering. Seething and committed to their cause. So angry and desperate they’re out on a limb, reaching into an area that they’ve probably only ever dreamt of before. There are people out there who will do anything to get what they believe is the right outcome. I believe they are called extremists.
Steve dials a number and waits. I see his eyes flicker as he hears a voice.
‘Sir. DCI Stephen Ralston. 3246. I’m sorry, Sir, but I believe we have a Code Black.’
Chapter Five
Steve finishes his call and we hurry over to the forensics lab on the other side of headquarters, on the instruction of the Chief Constable of police. Petra drives. She always drives into the police compound, even the short distance for the lab as she can’t be bothered with the press. I join her this time so that I can avoid being recognised. She’s cool and collected, as she crosses the car park. She has to be ice cold, because her job demands clinical detachment. If she gets too close to the investigation with its heated emotions and human pain she can’t be objective. It would colour the evidence, make it lean towards the good. And she is completely detached.
The Chief Constable wants a full forensic report from Petra, signed off by Steve, so that he can make the necessary security arrangements. Both of us know that from now on, until we find the perpetrator, Steve will be answerable to John Miller. That reduces the amount of time he’ll have on the investigation. Up until now I’ve been in my comfort zone, working with Steve as my wing man, and although he still will be, I suddenly feel a little jolt of fear.
At the end of my time in London I had a lot of space to sit and think about what was important to me. I came to the conclusion that it was passion. Passion for my job, passion for my friends, the ones I grew up with, and passion for the place I love. The job and the people were easy, and It didn’t take long to work out what that place was. I was in love with Manchester.
I had grown up in Uppermill, a village in Saddleworth, and each week my mother had taken me to the city on an old rickety bus. She’d pointed out the gargoyles on the Cathedral and taught me how to notice everything around me. She’d been a dressmaker and she called it the fabric of life, the little things other people miss. Her Galway Irish voice echoes through me now, just as it always does at critical moments.
‘Sure, Janet, there’s more to life. More than people. More than talk. Life’s made up of colours and pictures too, they’re the real pointers. Problem with people, Janet, is that they put themselves ahead of what’s right in front of them. Can’t see the wood for the trees.’
Even as a child I was as mesmerised by the city, so rich in its hidden stories, as I am now crossing the police car park and seeing it in the distance. Is it possible to be in love with a place? I’d asked myself this question, because in my fractured state of mind I had to get it right. I had to find somewhere I felt was the safest place on earth, because now my life depends on it.
Petra and I have discussed this over cocktails between cases. She originates from Iran, from a picturesque valley between two mountain ranges. The daughter of a medical doctor, she was sent to London to train to be a pathologist. From there, she studied forensic science and excelled. But she left London for different reasons. The pollution, the hustle and bustle, the flatness. Like me she had the passion for the job, but she hated the surroundings. She l
onged for the hills, and after travelling North she chose Manchester. Like me, she lives outside, on the outskirts; nestled in the Pennine hills and valleys.
For me, I just followed my heart. This area is deeply imprinted into my psyche; land coming back was like a key in a lock, filling the gap where pain and heartache constantly lived. Once away from the Met, I was welcomed into the Greater Manchester Force with open arms. I had to work – it was my lifeline, my passion – but I had to be safe from the people who wanted me dead. The team were my safety net and the high level cases fed my adrenaline. Now this was a step higher. Back to national security and I wondered if the net would stay intact.
But I’m DC Janet Pearce. Like Petra, cool and collected, but in my case I’m both determined and broken. On the mend but still broken. I think about Maisie. And Marc and Amy. How they will take it when they get the news that this has gone national. I know this is my coping strategy, to focus on the victims, to put everything I have into a case. So I don’t have to think about my own pain.
We reach the forensics building. Steve doesn’t speak to me until we’re in the lift.
‘Right. This is going to be tricky from now on. We need to give this everything. We’ve got to find that vehicle. We’ve got to find that kid. Straight after this you need to go up to the scene of crime and do what you do. We need extra on this Jan. Extra.’
I nod. I know what he means by extra. He’s giving me permission to work on instinct, to look in the places his detectives might not think of. To ask the awkward questions. To point his officers in the right direction.
‘Roger that. What I said before, about things not being right.’
He waves his hand at me.
‘Yeah, yeah. That’s all part of it. This is a random, but acting in an organised way. I’d think it was just management on the part of the criminal organisation, getting the wrong person and all that. If it wasn’t for the chemical trace. No one’s that stupid. It doesn’t add up and I need you to make it add up and more.’
What I Left Behind (The gripping prequel to the DS Jan Pearce Crime Fiction Series) Page 4
