by Jake Cross
‘The DVLA checks gave up a name one of my DCs remembered. Beryl Jackson. He wasn’t sure why he remembered that name until we ran it and it popped up as grandmother of James Jackson. My DC arrested him for car theft a while back. He’s got quite the history of it. A couple of officers went to speak to the grandmother. Her husband had an 03 plate Passat and it’s been sitting in her garage for five years, since he died, gathering dust, kept as a reminder of him—’
Nick threw his hands up, impatient.
‘She opened the garage to show us, but it was gone. She thinks her grandson might have fixed it up and borrowed it.’
‘This guy? So it is him?’ Nick snatched the phone again, and used two fingers to zoom in on the man’s head, although the quality took a dive.
‘She must have informed him because he just called the station about the car. He’s on bail for car theft so he was quite helpful. He told us a friend of his wanted him to steal a vehicle. Last night. He didn’t want to, but didn’t want to say no. So he pretended he nicked an old VW Passat, only what he gave up was his grandmother’s car. We got a partial plate from another CCTV camera on the A61 near Brinsworth, and they match. It’s the car we’re after.’
That intrigued Anna enough to take the phone from Nick, who said, ‘Who’s the other guy, this friend? Are they both in on it? What else do you know?’
‘Well, the Jackson kid has an alibi. He was at a pub lock-in last night, till about four in the morning, which we’ve confirmed. The “friend” who wanted the car is someone he claims he met only recently and only knows as Dom.’
‘Bollocks. You believe that?’
‘We’re checking it out. According to Jackson, this Dom doesn’t live in South Yorkshire. He’s staying up here in a B&B.’
‘Which one? Did this Jackson idiot say which?’
‘Nick, just let him talk,’ Anna cut in, a hand on his arm. Bennet gave her a look of thanks.
‘He’s been calling Jackson from that B&B, so we know which one and we’re watching it. That’s where we got that CCTV image. He stayed out last night and hasn’t been back there so far today, according to the owner. But when he returns, we’ll have a chat with him. Jackson’s been warned not to tip Dom off if he calls again.’
‘Where’s the B&B?’ Nick said.
‘I can’t tell you that.’
‘Why? I want to talk to this guy. He might not talk to the cops. Let me wait there for him to return, no police presence. He’ll talk to me.’
‘A nice, friendly chat? Why do I doubt that, Mr Carter?’
‘I don’t want you going there, Nick.’
Nick said, ‘It’s probably a false name, being a B&B. Have you considered that I might know the guy? I need to speak to him. I’m no good with faces on photos.’
Anna remembered something: ‘Your boss, she’s good with faces. She might recognise him. Has she seen this photo?’
Bennet shook his head: ‘She doesn’t know him.’
And then the landline rang.
It was time.
‘There’s a phone on George Street, near Rotherham train station. Be there at 11. We’ll phone. Make sure you answer. Just you, alone. No dawdling. Pick up the receiver and answer immediately with “Hello, my master. I am so scared”. And make sure you hold it in both hands so I know one isn’t pressing record on a tape machine. Then I’ll tell you where to take the money. We’ll have people watching. You won’t like what happens if they spot police.’
Click.
Anna staggered to the sofa and fell on to it. Jane sat beside her.
‘No way she’s going on her own,’ Nick said, shrugging free of the hands holding him. Bennet and another officer had had to physically prevent him from answering the phone. He stood by the sofa, a hand on Anna’s shoulder.
‘We have to do this the way the kidnappers said,’ Miller announced. She had a map on her phone. ‘Six-mile journey. Busy areas. The car will pass a thousand people, and it only takes one of them, my friend, to make a call and report a breach of the rules.’
‘No way. Don’t you see something is up here? Why her? They want someone small and frail they can overpower. They’re going to try something. This sounds like bullshit. No way she’s going on her own.’
‘Someone has to bring the money, and, apologies, but the kidnappers and I share the same idea. We’d both prefer that someone not be a big, angry father. You’re staying here, Nick.’
‘No damn way.’
‘Please, Nick, think about the risk—’
‘And the risk to both of them if something happens? Are any of you people thinking about that?’
‘Stop it, Nick,’ Anna snapped. ‘They’re right. I’m going on my own. We’re not taking any risks that could hurt Josie, okay? We’re not. The police will be watching on camera. I’ll be fine.’
‘Cameras?’ he spat. ‘YouTube is full of proof that cameras don’t stop people getting murdered.’
‘Nicolas!’ Jane yelled. It silenced the room.
Anna slipped out, with her sister hot behind.
Nick found them seated at the kitchen table. Jane told him not to come in if he planned to continue the argument.
‘Just think of it like going to school to pick Josie up,’ he said. It was his way of admitting submission. He sat next to Jane, across from Anna, and flicked a salt pot. It skidded across the varnished wood and she caught it.
‘Believe me, I really don’t want to go there on my own. But don’t you see I have to?’ She flicked the pot right back at him. Jane moved her chair back, as if to remove herself from a private moment.
‘I do, yes,’ he said, which was a total lie. ‘I’m sorry. I just don’t like it.’
‘Neither do I. But we have to do it. And don’t try to follow me. We can’t do anything they might think is a trick. We do whatever they want to get Josie back home, okay?’ She flicked the pot back and he caught it.
‘Ace,’ he said.
It made her smile. Salt tennis was a game she played with Josie, who thought every unreturned shot she made constituted an ace. But she quickly lost her smile and he knew why: she’d never played this game with Nick. Because it was always Josie. And now it was Nick because there was no Josie.
He flicked the pot, but she ignored it and it crashed to the floor. ‘Stay here? Please.’
He nodded. It felt like condemning her. At that moment, Bennet appeared in the doorway, like an alarm call. She stood.
‘Time to collect Josie from school.’
George Street was bookended by two small public car parks. The phone box was just a few feet down, virtually where the street met College Road, which led into the city centre. From the box you could see a supermarket, and the train station, and the busy A630, and the College Road roundabout. Commuters, shoppers, drivers: a whole host of faces around, any of which could be a guy ready to report cop-like behaviour to who Anna had begun to call the Ogres. They chucked out ideas.
The cars were easy, because of the roundabouts at each end of the A630: nobody was going to notice the same bland vehicle, if it passed back and forth every minute, amongst the hundreds zipping by in that timeframe. George Street ran under the A630 by tunnel, and a cop could lurk in there, about fifty metres away, only grimy clothing and a bottle of white cider needed for a homeless drunk disguise. Someone could shop at the supermarket, with its nice big glass windows. Someone could lurk outside the train station, awaiting a pal’s arrival. Someone could wander past with shopping bags. There were a host of taller buildings in the background where guys could have binoculars. The openness of the area could hinder as much as aid the kidnappers. There was a council CCTV camera on a giant pole a hundred metres away and a guy was sent to the Control Centre.
She was aware that eyes watched, ears listened, and her own took in neighbours on the street, but against all of this she felt deathly alone. The route was in her head and Bennet, connected to a hidden speaker by radio, made her repeat it. She said it aloud, street for street, as if menta
lly flying along it like a superhero. And then she started the car.
Nick was at the bedroom window with Jane. Father was at the playroom window. All looked distraught, as if she was leaving for ever. She was reminded of the day she’d set out for university, for her new life in the London, except that Mother had been by Father’s side, and they’d been waving and smiling. A lifetime ago, it felt. Another universe. Back when her father had respected her. Back when she had deserved it.
She turned the car on to the street, which was step one – the easiest part – but making that small move, which she’d done a thousand times, was like leaping off a cliff with a homemade parachute.
‘Remember, do as they ask and Josie should be fine,’ Bennet’s crackly voice said.
Should be?
In the playroom was a little bubblegum pink safe that Josie had wanted for her secret items. As Nick was bending to tap in the code, he stopped and picked up one of the Batman comics laid atop. He had a terrible vision of putting these comics in the bin; of taking all of Josie’s clothes and toys to the charity shop. Of redecorating the room, because there would be no Josie to ever occupy it again.
Kids often thought of their dads as superheroes and Josie was always asking if Nick could beat up Batman. The answer was always yes, but it was a lie. Batman would kill him. Batman would have saved Josie from the kidnappers. Nick was far from a superhero.
It was a silly thought, so he tossed it. He put the comic back and opened the safe for what he’d come for.
He took the item into the living room. Despite their worry that he’d run out of the house again on a vigilante mission, nobody had watched him leave the room and only Miller saw him return. They were in the dining area and beyond the room divider he saw her head turn his way. The others, including Anna’s father, were too captivated by the six cameras displaying Anna’s journey on laptops, each split screen. Cameras #1 and #2 covered the view behind and ahead of the Corsa, #3 and #4 displayed the back seats, and the remaining two showed the empty passenger seat and Anna behind the wheel. At any time, if something worthy happened, a specific camera could be cast to full screen on all three computers. He stepped up to the room divider, staring past a goldfish bowl full of coins and at the image of his wife. Anna was driving as she had ever since the day of that horrible event that had propelled her to leave London: both hands tight on the wheel, leaning forward slightly, wide-eyed and deep in concentration, as if she was a learner on a lesson. And alone. Since that day so many years ago, she had always driven alone, except for when taking Josie to school. If ever he and she had gone out, he had always had to drive. And never at night, because night was when that horrible thing had happened.
‘It’s her birthday, by the way. Happy birthday, eh?’ he announced to the detectives. He waved a wrapped present. Nobody said anything, but Miller turned to smile at him.
He tore off the wrapping as he crossed to the TV stand. The gift was a CD. On the cover was Josie, standing in her room with a plastic microphone. It said: JOSIE CARTER LIVE AT THE APOLLO. He put the disk in the Xbox under the TV and fired up both devices.
‘Thank you, thank you. It’s good to be here.’
Every car behind her, every bike that pulled alongside, every van that raced past drew her eyes from the road ahead, so much so that she was surprised she hadn’t crashed. Now, hearing that voice, and a background of applause, she stared at the radio, which Miller’s ‘tech chap’ had wired his own speaker into. Her breath caught: was that?… couldn’t be…
‘Doctor, doctor, I get heartburning every time I eat birthday cake. Well, take the candles off.’
But it was. The realisation hit like a jolt of electricity and the car rocked as she accidentally stamped the accelerator. Josie. Josie’s voice. At first she didn’t understand.
‘When is birthday cake like a footballs?’
‘Golf ball,’ Nick whispered.
‘I know, I know. When is birthday cake like golfs ball? When it’s been sliced.’
She welled up instantly, realising she was listening to a recording being played from her home. Birthday jokes: a CD Josie and Nick must have made for her.
But the rush of pleasant shock rose and fell as quick as a heartbeat on an electrocardiogram. She shouldn’t be hearing Josie’s voice like this. Not here, and not now. Josie should have brought the CD into her room in the morning, but she hadn’t been able to. Josie should have watched her unwrap it, but she was gone. They should have listened to it together, but the worst of God’s creations had snatched her little lady away.
Nick had to get away.
He should have loved hearing his daughter’s voice, but it didn’t work that way. All he felt was despair. If Josie never came back, her birthday stand-up act would be the last thing she ever committed to eternity, and Nick would never forget this moment, when he played it for his wife and foolishly still believed his daughter would return. But onscreen he could see Anna wiping her eyes, face creased with emotion, and he couldn’t bring himself to stop the CD. So he quietly slipped out of the room. As he exited, he glanced back and saw Middleton watching him.
He had planned to sit in Josie’s room, but stopped at the doorway. Jane was in there, making his bed. Unable to see what the cameras captured, and told by Anna not to talk to her in case of distraction, she had opted not to be present at the doorway. Nick didn’t want to talk to anyone just now so sat at the kitchen table and put his head in his hands. Whiskey floated into his mind.
‘Nick.’
Middleton. Nick didn’t want to look up. Didn’t want a fight. He gave no response.
‘Thank you for that,’ Middleton said. ‘It will calm Anna. It was a nice touch.’
Now he looked up, but Middleton was gone.
But Jane was in the bedroom doorway. ‘That’s Josie’s voice. What is it? A recording.’
Her enhanced hearing hadn’t picked it up: Nick realised he could still hear Josie’s voice. Perhaps prompted by Anna, someone must have turned up the volume. Maybe Middleton.
‘What age is a caveman on his birthday? Stone age.’
Jane gave a laugh. Nick managed a smile. She held out her hand and he took it to lead her to the living room.
At one point, two miles out, there was a jam while a supermarket delivery truck backed out. A van in the next lane pulled alongside Anna and the passenger window came down. A plain-clothes policeman in a car three back saw it happen and told his base. Someone paused Josie’s stand-up routine and Bennet asked her what was going on.
‘Just a guy coming onto me,’ Anna answered. ‘Put Josie back on.’
A mile out from the destination, she saw a ginger girl Josie’s age with her father. She was riding a toy scooter, weaving in and out of pedestrians. Anna’s foot came off the accelerator. A van behind, with PHOENIX KNIFE AND SLICING BLADE SPECIALISTS and a mobile phone number on the bonnet, had to slow down. He blared his horn.
Child and father started to traverse a zebra crossing ahead. Anna hit the brake and watched them. The girl was looking the other way, so Anna jabbed the horn to get her to turn. An uncanny resemblance to Josie, combined with her daughter’s voice in the car, broke Anna out in goosepimples. The father was a few metres ahead of the girl, strangers between them, and she wanted to wind down her window and scream, Keep an eye on her, there’s animals out there!
Then they were across and the way was clear, but she didn’t move. She watched girl and father walk past her, so much closer now. She even had Josie’s blue eyes. She willed the girl to look at her again, but the child was too busy slaloming around shoppers’ legs.
The father was typing on his phone, ignoring his kid, which she found bizarre. All these people about, any one of whom could pick the girl up in a flash. If she ever took Josie out again somewhere busy, she was going to get one of those reins she’d seen on toddlers. No way was she going to go gallivanting off ahead.
She jumped as someone rapped on her window. A man was standing there, a snarl on his face.
‘Some guy’s shouting at her.’
That was the report from an officer in the car four spots behind Anna’s. Bennet ordered the CD shut off.
‘Anna, what’s going on? Who is that guy?’
Camera #6 showed her leaning away from the door, and the unseen man beyond it, in fear. But there was no fear in her voice when she said:
‘I don’t know him. Be quiet and put Josie back on.’
‘Looks like a road rage thing. He wants her to get moving.’
‘It was that girl,’ Nick said. ‘The camera showed a girl about Josie’s age go over the zebra crossing. Someone tell that dickhead to piss off.’
‘Can’t you help her?’ Jane pleaded.
‘We can’t, we don’t know if she’s being watched,’ Bennet said.
Camera #6 showed Anna’s door jerk open. She tried to grab it. A pointing finger stabbed into the screen. Now that the door was open, external sounds found the microphone.
‘Are you bloody stupid, woman? Why are you just sitting there? Move your fat arse out the way.’
‘Base, you want me to move in and stop this?’
‘Negative, Car 2. Keep reporting,’ Bennet said.
‘No, you’ve got to do something,’ Jane moaned. ‘What if he hits her?’
Miller nudged Nick’s arm and tapped the feed from camera #2. One of the detectives said, ‘Are we sure this guy’s for real and it’s not part of some test to see if she’s being followed?’
‘Get moving, or I’ll shift you, you silly bitch. What’s your problem? Don’t just sit there looking stupid.’
But onscreen, Anna was still cowering away, unable or unwilling to answer him. Now she looked terrified.
‘Let’s just think about this,’ Bennet said. ‘What are the chances this guy is part of it? Someone Google that firm.’ He pointed at camera #2, rear-view from a lens above the number plate, which clearly showed the van’s bonnet with the company name and mobile number.
