by Jake Cross
Nick said, ‘Maybe they made a little journey, as you say, but not for the ten call.’ He leaned between his wife and sister-in-law and jabbed the screen hard enough to rock the laptop. Bottom right corner of the Z. ‘This big housing estate here. Maybe they already got where they were going, but drove a mile west for the 7 a.m. call. This B600 here, it goes right under the M1 and just about connects the two pins. Maybe with the last call at ten they just couldn’t be bothered to move and made it right from where they’ve been holed up.’
Miller raised her eyebrows, clearly impressed with Nick’s theory. But Anna surprised everyone by saying, ‘Does it matter? They’re going to give Josie back. We just have to wait for the call.’
‘If there’s a chance to find her, Anna…’ Nick said. ‘We don’t know if they will give Josie back, not for sure.’
‘But the police can’t just storm into a housing estate and search all the places. What if they are there and they panic and run? And hurt her? I don’t like that idea.’
‘But if we can get her back for sure, why no—’
‘No, I don’t like it.’ She pushed back her chair and stood. ‘I don’t want that risk. They just want the money. They’re going to give her back.’
Nick couldn’t believe what he was hearing.
Miller put her hands up. ‘Hey, guys, just calm it down. Nobody is invading anywhere just yet. I’ll have this area looked at, but, apologies, we don’t know anything yet for sure.’
‘They just want the money, and they’ll give her back,’ Anna said, and hurried from the kitchen.
Annoyed to see her upset, and needing someone to blame, Nick glared at the detective.
‘That’s all we’ve heard from you people so far. You don’t know anything.’
Nick, taxi alone, join the Bongos.
This time the contact came to Anna’s mobile, by text, twenty minutes before midday. She jumped off the toilet and rushed out, calling for everyone.
Google faced an inquisition. Bongos: ‘nickname for members of Bongo Bingo, a bingo club on Corporation Street’ – again in Rotherham, just a few hundred metres from the George Street phone box.
Twice made for no coincidence and the detectives decided that the kidnappers had a big tie to that town. Databases got hit to cross-reference Bongo Bingo with Nuthall, then Nottingham, then Nottinghamshire. Someone offered to try to find someone with a criminal record as well as Bongo status. Someone else said they should check out the club’s staff. Another said becoming a member of a gambling establishment meant filling in a form and handing it to reception – under the glare of CCTV.
But they couldn’t contact the club yet, because that might alert the kidnappers, if they had a contact or a scout therein. And because there was no time: the text hadn’t said when, but nobody doubted the kidnappers had meant right now. A taxi was called. Nick kissed Anna’s cheek and told her everything would be fine.
‘Don’t worry about me. Good luck.’
Happy that she seemed confident, no longer a shivering wreck, he grabbed the shoebox and went out. Middleton even wished him luck.
Corporation Street was lined with commercial establishments on both sides, but partly open to the east with access to Minster Gardens and All Saints Church. It was also one-way. The taxi found a spot right outside the bingo club. Nick paid and got out. The shoebox was tucked under his arm with bear-hug strength. He had a horrible fear of being mugged.
Bongo Bingo’s ground floor glass frontage allowed him to see inside reception. One old lady sitting behind the desk in a pink shirt with a cartoon bingo balls motif. A couple of women, and a young man in a tracksuit and baseball cap playing fruit machines against one wall. If he’d seen a unicorn inside, this day wouldn’t have felt more surreal.
‘Yob on the fruit machine,’ he said, trying not to move his lips. He felt silly doing it. There was no reply: the transmission was one-way because an earpiece couldn’t be risked.
Nick watched the young man as he entered and approached the desk. He pretended to take in the reception, turning in a circle. It was so he could sweep his tiny collar camera over the young man.
In the Carters’ living room, Nick’s crackly voice was heard asking to join the club. The female receptionist told him to fill in a blue form. He thanked her and then there was silence, presumably as she got back to work, and Nick jotted down his details. Anna listened from her place by the patio door. She opened the blinds with two fingers and peered out, her face grim.
Nick’s camera had given the detectives a description of the receptionist, which was passed by Bennet down the phone to the bingo club’s general manager, who’d been contacted at home on his week off.
‘Negative on the receptionist,’ he said a few seconds later. ‘Sixty years old, wheelchair, only friend is her dog.’
Anna glanced out into the garden again, and shook her head in frustration.
On speaker, a phone rang. The room heard the receptionist say the call was for Nick. Someone asking to speak to the guy in the black T-shirt who just walked in. Whispers flowed around the room as everyone realised the kidnappers had called him at the club.
Nick’s camera shuffled forward and his arm lifted the phone out of shot. The picture vibrated, but not because of a technical fault. Nick’s whole body was shaking.
‘Hello?’ Nick said. But there was no response.
‘His mic can’t pick it up,’ Miller said. ‘Everyone, get ready to move. This is it.’
The room got tense, but Anna was looking out the window again. Unable to bear listening to the showdown, Jane had opted to sit out in the garden, in the sun, and the Family Liaison Officer, probably bored because her social skills had been sidelined, had joined her. They were out there now, chatting away, and Anna stared, and then checked her watch, and wished Jane would damn well get away from her.
‘How are you, Nick?’
His stomach lurched. This was the man who’d taken Josie. And a man it definitely was, even though a woman had called Anna using a voice disguised as male. He’d been warned of the danger of antagonising this person, who could react excessively and destroy his world. But stress and fear had short-circuited the part of his brain in control of logic.
‘What kind of man takes a young girl? You break into my house and do this? You’re not human, you’re a damn animal, and if you hurt her it’ll be the last damn thing you ever regret. Where is she?’
In the living room, Nick’s words hit like a concussion wave. Anna turned from the window and felt light-headed. Jane gasped. Middleton yelled, ‘What the hell is that idiot doing?’
Bennet called for quiet, and they waited. Onscreen, even the fruit machine players captured by Nick’s bodycam had turned at his outburst and were captivated.
‘Under the Crazy Ninjas,’ the voice said.
Someone in the room asked what that meant, but the answer came moments later. Nick’s camera bounced towards the young man in a tracksuit, who darted aside as if out of the path of an avalanche. Nick’s arms grabbed the fruit machine.
‘Mobile phone,’ Bennet said as everyone watched Nick bend to pick up something from the carpet where the Crazy Ninjas fruit machine had stood. On a separate radio feed, the tech guy, who was near Bongo Bingo, announced he’d need time to grab the signal.
The moment Nick picked the phone up, it rang. As before, they heard him say hello. As before, it was all they heard. They waited.
And then he ran.
‘Well, Nick, I suddenly believe you about killing me, which means I’m now scared. You got me worrying you’ll get here and hurt me. Better I run now, eh? Better I bury your girl so she can’t tell the police anything and just run away to another country and pray you don’t find me.’
Nick breathed hard while his heart raced. Outside Bongo Bingo, he turned left and jogged down the street. His clear distress and wild eyes cleared the crowded pavement before him. ‘I’m sorry,’ he said, the words like acid in his throat. ‘You got kids?’
‘D
id the negotiator teach you to go for “hooks”? So we can have something mutual to chat about and do the bonding thing? We could talk about your kid, so that soon I like her and can’t bring myself to hurt her. And then all that guilt makes me let her go and go throw myself under a bus. I’ve got one kid. Yours. Remember that. And one knife, and I really can’t think of much more I need to ruin the rest of your life. Are you at the estate agent’s yet?’
Nick pulled up outside a branch of Reeds Rains. ‘I’m here. Look, I just meant please understand my emotion. I want my little girl back.’
‘Then I can’t worry about you, can I? Promise you won’t hurt me?’
‘What?’
‘You need to promise, Nick. I want you to promise never to hurt me.’
He knew he had no choice but to go along with whatever game this animal was playing. So he said it: ‘I promise I won’t hurt you for taking my daughter.’
‘You didn’t say never. You might plan to come after me in ten years’ time. Do I have to cut and run?’
‘I promise I will never hurt you.’
The guy gave a giggle.
‘Good. Right, now, memorise the price and location of the house two across and one up on the latest properties. Then go inside and talk to the youngest one. She’s got your next instructions. Here’s the code for her…’
Nick had had the foresight to activate the mobile phone’s speaker, so the police could now hear the kidnapper. And he aimed his camera to perfectly capture the advertisement for a two hundred grand detached house in Doncaster. A detective offered to track it and got on his phone to do so. Someone was already trying to learn all about the Reeds Rains staff. Miller and Bennet were in radio contact with various players dotted around Rotherham city centre, who would mobilise depending on where Nick went. Others were on the Internet or their phones, or conferring with each other. So many people, so much activity. Like a military operation. Unwilling to listen, and unable to get near Jane, Anna went for the playroom.
As she passed the toilet, Detective Constable Ella Hicks came out. Anna tried to get past without acknowledging her, but noted the young woman looked pained and was rubbing her swollen belly. So she stopped and asked if everything was okay.
Ella nodded. ‘The boss ordered us all burgers. She doesn’t have kids, obviously. Now my baby’s telling me, heck no, Mum.’
Her eyes narrowed as she felt a twinge.
Anna took her arm. ‘You should go sit down. Don’t overdo things.’
The detective nodded and shuffled away, and Anna put her out of her mind and entered the playroom. She stopped right in the middle and stared at Josie’s toys. Some people created shrines for their lost children, left their rooms intact over the years, like time capsules, but that seemed wrong. That would be like clutching on to a lost dream. But the thought of loading up Josie’s clothing and toys for a charity shop, of casting all her drawings into the bin, seemed worse.
No. She was determined that wouldn’t happen: Josie would get rid of those things herself, as a young woman who’d grown out of them. She felt her clenched fists send sharp nails into her palms, but the pain gave her motivation.
She picked up one of Josie’s Paw Patrol colouring books, which had a page of stickers inside. Josie had half coloured in the dog called Rubble. She stared at the picture and felt a mix of anger and sorrow. Cartoon dog and grieving mother: both needed Josie to complete them. Well, she would be back soon to do it.
There were only two people in the estate agent’s, a middle-aged man and a young receptionist. Nick stopped just inside the doorway, trying to buckle down his roiling emotions. If this woman had his next instructions, she was part of this, and he would have to roll with the pantomime. She seemed to have her act nailed down, the way she smiled at him as he approached. No fear of attack, or arrest. A perfect act. She asked what she could do for him. He wondered if she was the kidnapper’s girlfriend. The male was typing away on a computer, oblivious. There was a real temptation to grab this girl, to take his own hostage and… what, swap prisoners? The bizarreness of this whole shebang was becoming dreamlike. He squeezed down on the phone in his hand, like an anchor to keep him in the nightmare lest he forgot what was at stake.
‘Sir?’
‘A chill wind takes the warmest leaves from the highest trees.’
Even before he heard laughter from the phone in his hand, the girl’s puzzled glare told him what he needed to know. He managed to hold back rage until he was clear of the branch and pacing the pavement.
‘You piece of shit. What the hell are you playing at? Where’s my girl?’
‘Okay, Nicky-boy. Calm down. I was testing to see if the cops would swoop if they thought they had one of us. You passed the test so let’s get down to the real deal, okay? Are you calm now? Do you want your girl or not?’
He stopped pacing and closed his eyes. It helped. ‘I want her back. I’ve got your money. It’s what you want. I’ll do what you want.’
‘Eight million men were conscripted into the fight against the Germans in the Second World War, as well as many unmarried women. Do you care, Nicky-boy?’
Behind the man’s voice, he heard a roaring noise, like a chainsaw. ‘What’s this got to do with my daughter? Look, please, can I speak to her before I do this? You’ll get your money, I promise. Just put my little girl on the line.’
The chainsaw noise continued.
‘Family strife, Nick. All those souls drafted into the war left a lot of old people without support, and the government’s poverty policies weren’t up to the job. We need our old people. They built this world, yet they get overlooked. The problem continues to this day. Do you remember six years ago when you were in the city centre and you walked right past someone collecting for the old? I swore vengeance that day. Now the dues will be paid.’
‘Are you listening? Do you want this money or not? Put my daughter on. Please.’
‘Go into the Age UK charity shop.’
It was right next door, just feet away. He stepped closer so he could look inside. An old lady was behind the counter and jabbering to the only other occupant, a similarly aged man scanning the cheap books. He didn’t approach the door.
‘What the hell are you talking about? Where’s my daughter?’
‘In you go. Let’s get serious now. Dues, Nick. Donate the £50,000 to a good cause.’
In the living room, puzzled glances were exchanged as Nick said:
‘Donate the ransom money to the Age UK shop? All of it?’
‘So the house he mentioned?’ Bennet said. ‘Is that still part of this?’
No one spoke up, which was answer enough. Nick’s camera pushed through the doors. Inside, an elderly pair turned to stare at him, and he just about yelled into his phone:
‘I’m inside. Look, let me talk to my daughter and I’ll do what you want.’
‘You’re very demanding and antagonistic. Didn’t the hostage negotiator warn you about that sort of behaviour? You’ll do what I want or you’ll have your kid’s funeral without a body. You can bury that shoebox as a token. Donate the money to the frail and helpless, right now. All of it.’
Nick went to the counter. His camera displayed a woman obviously spooked. She started to reach for a phone on the counter. Until he dumped a bunch of money before her.
‘There’s not a chance my money is going to charity,’ Middleton said, moving closer. Like Nick, he was shaking with fear. ‘It could be a trick. That story about swearing vengeance because Nick didn’t donate money? Six years ago? That’s surely a lie. Preposterous. No one would be that… You need to look at the people who work there.’
Bennet put up a hand to stop Middleton from crowding the laptops displaying Nick’s camera feed, Internet maps and other relevant details. ‘All in hand, Mr Middleton. Please, let us handle this.’
‘And you need to watch the shop today, to see who comes and goes. Could be that someone is coming later to pick up—’
‘Mr Middleton, I—’
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‘I’m sorry, I’m sorry. I just… do you think it could really be going to charity? What kind of madness is that?’
‘If it gets your granddaughter back, so what?’ Anna said. Heads turned to see her beyond the shelving room divider, watching. ‘You’d prefer it to go into the hands of criminals?’
‘I didn’t mean it like that, Anna. You’re upset, I understand.’
But she wasn’t. She was rearranging ornaments on the room divider, and looking no more stressed than someone awaiting news that her husband had deposited money into a bank.
‘Let’s focus on getting Josie back,’ she said.
Once burned, twice shy. Nick stood before the old lady at the counter and said, ‘Are you part of this?’ In a repeat, he saw a frown and heard digital laughter.
‘You twonk, Nick. What, you think she’s the mastermind?’ Then, another voice, slightly dulled, as if spoken by a guy further from the phone: ‘Stop wasting time, Lee.’
‘Whatever,’ the first guy said. ‘Nick, leave the shop now that you’ve done your good deed and let’s get you your daughter back.’
At first he couldn’t move. Another kidnapper. Two men. But he knew that already, didn’t he? Four people had been clocked in the van that came for Josie. ‘Okay. I’m going. You know, we were going to call our daughter Lee at one point. But we changed it to—’
