by Damien Boyd
‘Yes, but—’
‘Think about it. She’s never once asked for news of Alesha, then there’s the iPhone, the iPad, the food. And why is she keeping Tanya sedated?’
‘Is she keeping Tanya sedated?’
‘She must be. The poor bugger’s never awake. That’ll be because she knows what Sonia’s up to and Sonia doesn’t want her blurting it out. It’ll be why she doesn’t want Family Liaison in the flat too. And what about Kevin? I bet that’s what the row was about before he—’
‘There she is,’ said Jane, pointing at a Nissan Micra heading south towards the motorway roundabout.
‘You look worried,’ said Dixon, starting the engine.
‘I’ve never eaten hat before,’ muttered Jane.
‘She’s staying in this area according to the phone signal, so my guess is she’ll be going left at the roundabout,’ said Dixon, spinning his wheels on the grit in the lay-by as he accelerated towards the exit. ‘Right’ll take her out to the A38 and we know she’s not getting on the motorway. Yet, anyway.’
‘You’ve got it all worked out.’
Dixon raced up to the roundabout and screeched to a halt. ‘She’s not there, is she?’ he asked, glancing off towards the A38.
‘Nope.’
‘Huntworth it is then.’
Dixon raced across the roundabout, then slowed on the approach to a fork in the lane on the far side of the motorway.
‘There she is,’ said Jane, pointing to the back of a small silver car disappearing around a bend at the bottom.
‘It had to be left,’ said Dixon, accelerating again. ‘The right fork’s a dead end.’
‘So’s the left.’
‘No, it isn’t. You can follow the canal back through the industrial estate.’
Jane frowned. ‘You’d better get a bit closer then.’
Engine screaming, Dixon raced down through Huntworth in second gear with his foot down hard on the accelerator.
‘She’s put her lights on.’ Jane was pointing beyond the houses where the trees were overhanging, plunging the lane into darkness.
‘What’s round the back of the industrial estate?’ Dixon shook his head. ‘It’s either that or over the canal bridge to the Boat and Anchor.’
‘I know where she’s going.’ Jane nodded. ‘Stay back a bit,’ she said when Dixon raced around the corner, the canal bridge visible ahead. ‘You remember when we were down here for the pillbox? When was it, February?’
‘It was bloody cold, that’s for sure.’
‘Think about what’s under the M5 flyover.’
Dixon smiled. ‘Caravans.’
‘Must be fifty at least behind that bungalow,’ said Jane. ‘There she is, look.’
Dixon crept up to the small wooden canal bridge just in time to see Sonia opening a steel five bar gate. She unlocked the padlock, allowing the heavy chain to drop to the ground. Then she ran back to her car.
‘We can watch from over there.’ Dixon allowed the Land Rover to roll back off the bridge, then turned left and parked under the motorway on the opposite side of the canal, screened from the bungalow by dense undergrowth on the canal bank. ‘Is it a caravan store or a graveyard?’ he muttered.
‘Store, I think,’ replied Jane. ‘Some of them are motor homes down the far end.’
Dixon climbed out of the Land Rover and walked over to the bushes, crouching low as he crossed the road. ‘There she is,’ he said, when Sonia appeared from behind the bungalow, this time on foot.
‘She’s got the carrier bag,’ said Jane, peering over his shoulder.
‘Well, she sure as hell won’t hear us,’ said Dixon, glancing up at the underside of the M5, the drone of the traffic above their heads all but drowned out by the staccato roar of a motorcycle accelerating hard.
Beyond the towpath on the far side of the canal two lines of caravans and motor homes were parked in between huge concrete pillars on either side, sheltered from the elements by the motorway above. Some of the caravans were covered in tarpaulins, the rest taking their chances.
At the far end of the lines of caravans the railway embankment rose up behind a high steel fence, a train rumbling past under the motorway.
‘It goes on for miles, this bridge,’ said Jane. ‘It takes the M5 over the River Parrett further down as well.’
‘If she’s in one of the caravans she should be all right, but this end is more like a bloody scrapyard.’ Dixon watched Sonia weaving in and out of piles of rusting, tangled metal – old garage doors, gates, corrugated iron, cement mixers and ride on mowers – pallets, tyres, even rusting tractors and abandoned horse trailers, towards an old shipping container.
‘She can’t be in that,’ said Jane, ‘there’re no doors on it.’
‘Behind it,’ replied Dixon. ‘There’s a canal boat up on bricks.’
‘A canal boat?’
‘You can see it from here,’ he said, pulling her towards him by the elbow.
Jane peered through the bushes. ‘There are steps up to the back.’
Dixon nodded. ‘It’s only a small one, thirty foot maybe, but that’s enough, isn’t it?’
‘I suppose it is.’ Jane frowned.
‘That must be it,’ said Dixon, as Sonia reached the bottom of the steps. ‘Look, see that yellow cable on the ground? I bet it goes to the bungalow.’
‘That means whoever owns it knows about Alesha.’
‘It does.’
‘What happens now?’ asked Jane.
The back doors opened from the inside and Sonia disappeared. ‘We wait.’
Dixon had ignored three texts from Potter by the time Sonia emerged from the back of the canal boat, the doors locked behind her from the inside.
‘You’d better move the Land Rover,’ he said, handing Jane his car keys. ‘She may come this way and recognise it.’
‘Where shall I go?’
‘The lay-by, wait ten minutes, then come back.’
‘What are you going to do?’
‘Check we’ve found what we’re looking for.’
‘There might be someone in the bungalow.’
‘I’ll go through the scrapyard, don’t worry.’
Dixon watched Jane drive off and then ducked back into the bushes, careful to avoid falling in the canal. He peered through the undergrowth when he heard the rumble of wheels coming across the wooden bridge and watched Sonia’s car turn back towards Huntworth.
Then he ran across the bridge and along the towpath. Careful to avoid the barbed wire wrapped around the top of the gate, he climbed over into the scrapyard and weaved his way through the junk, crouching as low as he could until he was behind the shipping container, the canal boat on the far side.
An oil drum would do.
Seconds later he was on top of the container, looking down at the canal boat. All of the curtains were closed, but the skylight window gave him a clear view into the cabin below – and a clear view of Alesha wandering about with her headphones in, her left hand thrust deep into a bag of crisps.
Jane was back from the lay-by by the time he sprinted across the bridge.
‘Well?’ she asked, winding down the window.
‘The curtains are closed, but I got a look through the skylight. She’s in there.’
‘You saw her?’
‘Plain as day,’ said Dixon, grinning. ‘Hop out. I need to get back to Express Park.’
‘Out?’
‘You need to keep an eye on her while I get everything set up.’
‘You’re leaving me here? On my own?’
‘Good point.’ Dixon opened the back of the Land Rover and Monty jumped out. ‘He’ll look after you.’
One junction north on the M5, Dixon was back at Express Park in ten minutes. He left his Land Rover in the visitors’ car park and ran in to reception.
‘You’re supposed to use the staff car—’
No time for that, thought Dixon, the receptionist cut off mid-sentence by the security door slamming shut behind
him.
He was running along the landing on the first floor when he noticed meeting room 2 was full, the faces turning towards him as he ran past the glass partitioning. Potter was sitting nearest the door. She jumped up and wrenched it open.
‘Where’ve you been?’
‘Finding Alesha.’
‘In here. Now.’
Dixon closed the door behind him and glanced around the room. Assistant Chief Constable David Charlesworth was sitting at the far end of the table, next to Chief Inspector Bateman, both of them in uniform. Detective Superintendent Sally Guthrie was sitting to Bateman’s right and Bob somebody to Charlesworth’s left, all of them glaring at him. The press officer, Vicky Thomas, was glaring at him too, but the smirk on DCI Chard’s face was something to behold. He must have been working on it.
‘Inspector Dixon has some good news for us,’ said Potter, sitting down.
‘Progress, hopefully,’ said Charlesworth. ‘That’s what we’re here to talk about, after all.’
‘Detective Sergeant Winter and I have found Alesha.’
Dixon glanced at Chard. Smirk gone.
‘She’s in a canal boat under the M5,’ continued Dixon. ‘DS Winter is watching her now.’
‘Thank God for that,’ said Charlesworth.
The glares had been replaced by smiles all round, apart from Chard, who was now glaring at Dixon. He’d been working on that too.
‘You’ve seen her?’ asked Potter.
‘Yes. The boat’s out of the water on bricks. There’s a bungalow nearby.’
‘Who’s got her?’ asked Bateman. ‘D’you know?’
‘Her grandmother, Sonia.’
‘The fucking grandmother?’ Guthrie shook her head.
‘She’s gone back to her daughter’s flat in Burnham,’ said Dixon. ‘So we’ll need a unit to pick her up there. If I’m right, she’s been keeping Tanya sedated, so they’ll need an ambulance in attendance. At the same time another unit can search her canal boat in Bridgwater docks. Then there’s the bungalow and canal boat under the M5. It’s a caravan store so every one of them will need to be searched too.’
‘We can organise that easily enough, can’t we?’ asked Chard.
‘Yes, we can,’ replied Bateman.
‘When?’ asked Potter.
‘The sooner the better,’ said Dixon. ‘We’ll need the social worker too, but Jane’s met Alesha before so we don’t have to wait for her if—’
‘Hang on a minute; let’s think this through,’ interrupted Charlesworth. ‘If we know where she is and she’s safe, shouldn’t we leave her there and keep the narrowboat under surveillance? Does rescuing her jeopardise Hatty?’
‘We can’t risk it, Sir,’ said Potter. ‘If something happened—’
‘The press would crucify us,’ interrupted Vicky Thomas.
‘At the very least there needs to be an absolute press blackout then,’ said Charlesworth. ‘Whoever has Hatty can’t find out we’ve got Alesha.’
‘We can do that, Sir,’ said Vicky.
‘D’you know who’s got Hatty, Dixon?’
‘Not yet, Sir, but I’m hoping that Sonia may be able to help us with that. Or the owner of the bungalow.’
‘What the bloody hell’s the grandmother playing at, I wonder?’ Charlesworth shook his head. ‘Kidnapping your own granddaughter . . .’
‘My guess is it’s a diversion, Sir,’ said Dixon. ‘We’ve had one already.’
‘Buckler, you mean?’
Chard sneered.
‘Yes, Sir,’ continued Dixon. ‘Hatty is the target and Alesha was taken to make it look like a random child abduction.’
‘Why, though?’
‘I don’t know yet, Sir.’
‘And how the hell am I going to tell Roger Poland we’ve found Alesha but not Hatty?’
Dixon grimaced. ‘Leave that to me, Sir.’
Chapter Twenty
‘Two minutes to go.’ Dixon leaned back against the container and took a deep breath. He glanced across to the bungalow and watched several uniformed officers taking up position by the back door, the lead officer armed with a battering ram. The same would be happening around the front.
Dog handlers were getting into position amongst the caravans further along under the motorway bridge, moving silently from concrete pillar to concrete pillar. The trains had been stopped too. Charlesworth had authorised it.
‘Control to all units, sixty seconds.’
That was the roads sealed off – Bridgwater docks, Worston Lane and Huntworth.
Dixon glanced across at Jane. ‘How do I tell Roger we’ve got Alesha and not Hatty?’
‘It’s progress.’
Dixon nodded. ‘Remember, knock three times. It’s what Sonia did.’
‘Control to all units. Go!’
Jane ran around to the back of the canal boat and up the short step ladder to the rear cabin door, Dixon following close behind. She knocked three times and listened, crouching down with her ear to the door, the drone from the traffic overhead worse now, if anything.
‘She’s coming.’
Two bolts, one left, one right, then the door opened, just a crack. Dixon lurched forward, grabbed the leading edge and wrenched it open.
Alesha turned and ran towards the front of the boat, dialling a number on a mobile phone. Jane jumped down into the cabin and ran after her, reaching her just as she put the phone to her ear.
‘I don’t think so.’ Jane snatched the phone and disconnected the call. ‘And besides, your grandmother will be in custody by now,’ she said, looking at the number.
Alesha threw herself on the sofa, buried her face in the duvet and started to cry. ‘She made me do it,’ she gasped.
‘What is that?’ asked Dixon, pointing to an iPad on the arm of the sofa.
‘Candy Crush.’
He raised his eyebrows. ‘You’ve been here too long already,’ he said.
Alesha smiled, wiping the tears away with the palms of her hands.
‘Am I in trouble?’
‘No, you’re not.’
But your grandmother bloody well is.
‘There’s someone here to see you,’ continued Dixon, gesturing to the door at the back.
‘Dad!’ screamed Alesha, jumping up and running into Ryan’s arms.
Dixon stepped back out on to the stern deck, watching the sniffer dogs going from caravan to caravan, their handlers close behind them. Two Scientific Services vans had pulled up outside the bungalow and officers in white overalls were already carrying equipment inside. Another van was negotiating its way through the piles of junk to reach the canal boat.
Ryan was carrying Alesha, her arms and legs wrapped around him, to a waiting ambulance; hospital first for a medical examination, then to the Bridgwater Contact Centre for interview by two specially trained officers down from Bristol. They’d know what to ask by the time Dixon had finished with them.
‘Sonia’s on her way to Express Park and the ambulance took Tanya to Weston,’ said Jane, sliding her phone back into her pocket as she climbed out of the rear cabin on to the stern deck.
‘Anything from the docks?’
‘Sonia’s washing machine is full of Alesha’s clothes.’ Jane raised her eyebrows. ‘A Walking Dead T-shirt, amongst other things.’
Dixon shook his head.
‘I wonder what the hell Sonia hoped to gain from it?’
‘It has to be money,’ replied Dixon. ‘The only question going round in my head is who was paying her?’
‘Answer that and we find Hatty,’ said Jane.
‘We do.’
‘We’d better get back to Express Park.’ Jane climbed down the step ladder on to the bare earth and gravel under the motorway bridge. She picked up the yellow cable and pulled it, lifting it out from under the stones, flicking dirt and dust up as it revealed itself, heading directly towards the bungalow.
Dixon followed her, then held the step ladder for a Scientific Services officer carrying a metal
briefcase. He watched him drop down into the cabin and then close the doors.
He hesitated, then frowned.
‘What is it?’ asked Jane.
‘What did that clairvoyant say?’
‘A castle and flowers.’
Dixon climbed back up on to the stern deck of the canal boat and opened the doors. ‘Tell me what you see?’ he said, gesturing to the faded artwork on the inside of the door panels.
‘A castle and some flowers . . .’ Jane’s voice tailed off.
Dixon took out his iPhone and photographed the inside of both doors, each an elaborate painting of red, yellow and pink flowers – roses probably – set in a garland around a gothic castle with several towers, each flying a pennant from a red tiled roof.
‘Don’t tell anyone about this.’
‘But—’
‘Just don’t.’
Chapter Twenty-One
‘Where’s Jane?’
‘Gone home,’ replied Dixon. He ripped the corner off a small packet of sugar and emptied the contents into a mug of coffee on the desk in front of him.
‘I thought you were diabetic?’ asked Potter.
‘I haven’t eaten yet.’
‘D’you want to get something from the canteen?’
‘It’s closed.’
‘Have you briefed the team interviewing Alesha?’
Dixon nodded. ‘Jane gave them Alesha’s background too. They’re just waiting for the social worker to get there now.’
‘Are you going to watch it?’
‘I’ll watch the tape later.’ He took a swig of coffee. ‘I can tell you what she’s going to say, though: my gran told me to do it; offered me a new iPhone if I just stayed there for a few days watching DVDs and stuff; she brought me food and—’
‘I get the picture,’ interrupted Potter.
‘It’ll be useful to know if she saw anyone else while she was there, or if she can give a description of the man who took her.’
‘That wasn’t Sonia?’
‘Probably not. It had to look like the real thing, didn’t it?’
‘Are you ready to brief the team?’
‘I thought you were doing it.’
‘You need to be there,’ said Potter. ‘You are part of it, whether you like it or not.’
