by Iain Cameron
Over the years he’d helped himself to the laptop he used at home, paper for the printer and about six months ago, he’d pocketed a payment sent to the company in error for five thousand pounds. The copper’s face gave no indication if she was here to breathalyse him, arrest him for stealing or give him a medal for getting his teenage son home in one piece, albeit in an inebriated condition.
Jackson walked towards the house, the front door ajar to the vagaries of all four winds. Jamie could award himself ten marks for dexterity in the face of a severe impediment, but zero marks for energy conservation. The copper instructed him to sit in the lounge. He’d seen enough crime dramas to know what comes next. She was here to deliver some bad news.
‘I’m afraid to say, sir, we believe your ex-wife, Cindy Longhurst, has been kidnapped.’
‘Kidnapped? Why? How?’
‘We don’t know all the details as yet, sir. Can I get you anything to drink, a cup of tea maybe?’
‘No, no thank you, officer there’s no need to get me anything, I was just taken aback to hear you say she’s been kidnapped, is all.’
He’d almost burst out laughing, the relief at finding out the police weren’t here to arrest him.
He paused, searching for the right words. ‘How can I put this? Me and Cindy have been divorced for seven years and even though I don’t wish her any harm, she means nothing to me now. I’ve moved on.’
‘I understand sir.’
If Cindy had a current boyfriend, not that he would know as they didn’t speak often and when they did, it was usually about the kids, it was his responsibility now. Jackson made to get out of his chair, giving the cop her cue to leave.
‘One more thing.’
Oh no, here it comes, the handcuffs, Lewes Crown Court, Wandsworth Prison.
‘We’ve got your daughter, Molly, in the back of the car.’
Damn! He’d momentarily forgotten about her, preoccupied as he was about going to jail, or not.
‘She needs a place to stay.’
FOUR
On a Saturday, without a major case to investigate, DI Henderson could sometimes be found looking through the offerings in the furniture shops of Brighton with Rachel, but on every second Saturday, he would be at the Amex watching the football.
Henderson and a Sergeant from Brighton’s main police station in John Street had treated themselves to a season ticket to watch Brighton and Hove Albion play at the American Express Community Stadium. Alas, this Saturday Henderson was in the office as he did have a major case to investigate, but he wouldn’t miss a match as Albion were playing away this weekend.
He opened the thin file on Cindy Longhurst and flicked through the contents. It crossed the mind of all detectives investigating missing persons or kidnap claims, cases without a subject and no obvious motive, that it all could be a hoax or a tasteless birthday surprise. The information on this one was sketchy and the recall of two witnesses, one clear although she hadn’t seen much, and the other, a distance away on a dark night, variable.
However, just as the police response to a missing person case was based on its merits, for example, all the stops would be pulled out for a child or a vulnerable individual, he couldn’t see an innocent explanation for this one. The kidnappers had smacked Cindy in the presence of Maggie Hyatt and the blood on the office desk suggested further violence had taken place inside. Alternative scenarios proposed by DS Walters that she would be found wandering around the fields outside her studio, dazed following a rape or lying dead in the bushes, didn’t hold water. A walk around the extensive grounds last night, a search of the nearby house and the sightings of their two witnesses of Cindy being bundled into a car, discounted them all. He closed the file, left his office and walked towards the Detectives’ Room.
‘Quieten down,’ Henderson said to the assembled group of officers, a few annoyed to be working the weekend when their roster said they didn’t need to.
Henderson tapped the picture of the victim he put up on the whiteboard behind him. ‘This is Cindy Longhurst, a thirty-nine-year-old divorced mother of two and owner of Longhurst Studios in Hurstpierpoint. Two men kidnapped her at her photographic studio yesterday around seven in the evening. The men, according to one of our witnesses, Maggie Hyatt, who was having her picture taken by Cindy at the time, drove a black 4x4.’
‘That narrows it down a bit,’ Phil Bentley said.
A few laughed.
‘A forensic team will be attending the crime scene this morning as DS Walters and myself found evidence of a violent struggle. Afterwards, they’ll move on to the house. You’ve all got a copy of Maggie Hyatt’s statement. Phil, how did you get on with our other witness, Mrs Rathbone?’
‘She might be eighty-one,’ DC Phil Bentley said, ‘but she’s sprightly. She goes swimming twice a week and walks her dog every day. She confirmed that when she walked past Cindy’s driveway she saw Cindy being man-handled into the back of a car, the previously mentioned 4x4. Her dog Sandy, a small terrier, had taken a liking to some smell he detected and she was standing in sight of the house when she saw the incident.’
‘Didn’t all this activity make the dog bark?’
‘He’s an old thing, she says. Doesn’t see or hear too well.’
‘I presume she got out of the way before the kidnapper’s car drove out?’ Henderson said.
‘As soon as the car door shut, she hurried back to the road and stood in the shadow of a bush until they disappeared.’
‘Which direction did they take?’
‘Towards Hurstpierpoint.’
‘Sally, you picked Cindy’s daughter, Molly, up from her school?’
‘Yes, I did sir,’ DC Sally Graham said. ‘I took her to her father’s house in Burgess Hill.’
‘How did he respond to the news?’
‘He looked shocked at first and then said she was nothing to do with him as he’d moved on.’
‘Charming. No indication of any animosity?’
‘Quite the opposite I would say.’
‘Interesting. Okay, you’ve all heard what we know so far. Now, there are two ways to approach our search for the missing woman and we’ll cover them both with two teams. The first team will trawl through Cindy’s background. DCs Graham and Bentley will manage this. You’re not trying to write her biography,’ he said, eliciting a few weak smiles, ‘but to uncover a motive for her disappearance. Look through the financials of her business for debts, her customer correspondence for angry or aggressive emails and for any evidence that she might have upset someone during the numerous protests she attended.’
‘It could be a long list,’ Graham said. ‘I remember the fracking protest at Balcombe angered a lot of people.’
‘So did the demonstrations outside the Thales electronics company in Crawley about arms sales to Israel,’ Bentley said.
‘Cindy was involved in that one too?’
Bentley nodded. ‘This is according to our elderly witness, Mrs Lidia Rathbone. She says she knew Cindy well, and once camped out herself at Greenham Common to protest about the US siting nuclear-tipped cruise missiles in the UK.’
‘It looks like you’ll have your work cut out, but be careful not to get sidetracked. Members of those groups can be quite persuasive.’
‘Yes sir.’
‘The second group will be fronted by DS Wallop and DC Young and focus on the physical search for Cindy. I want her picture plastered up in all Sussex police stations, on the website, in newspapers and on television and in every patrol car going out in our region. Also, run a check by local hospitals, make sure she hasn’t been admitted.’
‘Will do boss,’ DS Harry Wallop said.
Henderson bent down and finished his coffee, now cold. ‘DS Walters and I will talk to Cindy’s assistant, Annie Heath, and Cindy’s ex-husband, Greg Jackson. We’ll meet again at six-thirty to review progress. I apologise for buggering up everyone’s weekend but if we find Cindy alive and unharmed, it will all be worth it.’
&nbs
p; **
Seeing the photographic studio again on a crisp January morning had no less effect on DI Henderson than it had the previous night. He still marvelled at the dramatic architectural touches, the way the large windows were positioned to maximise natural light from the south and west, and the way the colour of the wooden frame of the building blended with neighbouring woods.
In common with the previous night, Cindy’s Range Rover stood at the front of the house, the lights blazed inside the studio, but two new vehicles were now parked there: a van he assumed belonging to the SOCO team and a grey VW Polo.
‘There’s money in this photography lark,’ Walters said as she got out of the car. ‘Just look at the size of this house, the big car and the studio.’
‘She’s probably studied hard and worked the hours to achieve it.’
‘I’m not sure you need to study much to do photography,’ she said as they headed towards the studio. ‘I think it’s more about having a flair for the subject and a good eye for what will look great in a picture.’
‘Any students I know, like my daughter, are dismissive of anyone not studying for an academic degree. It just shows you looking at all this, what do they know?’
Henderson pushed open the door of the studio into the waiting room and headed in the direction of the office. Leaning against the doorframe with her back to them, they saw a young woman watching the activity going on inside and chatting with members of the SOCO team.
‘Morning,’ Henderson said quietly as he approached, hoping not to make her jump.
She turned slowly and Henderson could see why she had trouble moving. She was pregnant and, based on the size of the bump, wasn’t far away from the big day.
‘Hello there. Can I help you?’ she asked.
Henderson introduced Walters and himself.
She held out her hand. ‘I’m Annie Heath, Cindy’s assistant. I didn’t expect to see anyone this morning. I cancelled all of Cindy’s appointments as soon as I heard the news.’
‘Are you not able to take over in Cindy’s absence?’
‘I worked closely with Cindy until a few months ago, but ever since I’ve grown to this great size it’s been too difficult. I’m expecting twins you see, and the little buggers kick like blazes. I find it too awkward getting around the studio and I can’t lift all the equipment. Some of it is quite heavy.’
‘I’m sure.’
‘We should move to the waiting room,’ Walters said. ‘You can sit down there.’
‘Good idea.’
They walked back to the waiting room where Henderson dispensed water for Annie and made a coffee for himself and Walters before sitting down.
‘It’s terrible what’s happened to Cindy,’ Annie said. ‘I’m not sure it’s really sunk in yet.’
‘It is and we’re doing our best to find her,’ Henderson said. ‘Do you know or suspect who might be behind it?’
‘I’ve only just heard the story from your people in Cindy’s office. I’ve been racking my brain to think who could be behind it ever since.’ She sighed. ‘Despite being a sensible person before pregnancy, sometimes my head feels like mush and I can’t string two thoughts together.’
‘Let’s talk about her background, it might help you remember something.’
‘Okay.’
‘Tell me about this place? Did Cindy buy it like this or did she have it built?’
‘She bought the house and land about five years back and had the studio built to her own specifications.’
‘Did she finance it herself or borrow the money?’
‘Ah yes, I know this,’ she said, as she moved heavily in her seat in an effort to get comfortable. ‘Cindy’s ex-husband, Greg Jackson, used to work at Mathieson Transport in Newhaven as an accountant or something. They used to socialise with the company’s owner, Ted Mathieson, and his trophy wife Tamsin. A former Miss Lithuania, if you will. Over time, Cindy and Ted became friends, one of the reasons why she and Jackson split, as a matter of fact. When Cindy came up with plans to build this place, Ted lent her the money.’
‘All, or some?’ Henderson asked.
‘I think it was about half. It’s all above board. She pays him every month. I’m sure she gets a preferential rate, but hey, what are friends for?’
‘Were Cindy and Ted romantically involved?’ Walters asked.
‘For a spell, but I think he was a sympathetic ear for Cindy when she and Greg hit a rocky patch, and it was another notch on the bedpost for Ted. I think he fancies himself as a lady’s man.’
‘You mentioned her ex-husband, Greg Jackson,’ Henderson said. ‘What’s he like?’
‘I’ve always found him a bit wet, if you know what I mean. See, Cindy’s a real live wire, constantly busy doing something but as Greg got older, he couldn’t be bothered with protest marches and heckling politicians at party conferences. He’d rather sit at home watching telly and drinking beer. They sort of drifted apart as many couples do. It didn’t help that he never completed his accountancy qualification.’
‘Any particular reason?’
‘He said he couldn’t find the time to study because they were always away, taking part in demonstrations and sit-ins. The way he tells it, he can’t get the best jobs as they only go to qualified people, so he ends up working for people younger than him, and he hates it. Over the years it’s sort of ground him down.’
‘What about boyfriends? Is Cindy going out with anyone?’
With some effort, Annie got to her feet. ‘I must go to the loo, the little buggers in there are pressing down on my bladder. I’ll be back in a mo.’
‘Annie’s given us another name to add to our list,’ Walters said. ‘Ted Mathieson.’
‘Yes indeed. Money’s every bit a motivator as jealousy or envy. Phil and Sally are looking at the financials but I’ll make sure they catch sight of the agreement between Cindy and Ted Mathieson. See if they’re both keeping to their sides of the bargain.’
‘The name Mathieson rings a bell,’ Walters said. ‘How about you?’
‘Nope, can’t say it does.’
‘I think his name came up in an investigation about a year or so back, but I can’t remember in relation to what.’
‘Check it out when we get back to the office.’
‘Will do. Oh, hi Annie, how are you feeling?’
‘Much better, thanks but don’t worry, I’ll be doing it again in another twenty minutes.’
‘Would you like more water?’
‘No, I wouldn’t,’ she said as she slumped into the seat, ‘it would just make it worse.’
‘Before you went out,’ Henderson said, ‘we asked if Cindy had any boyfriends.’
‘You did, didn’t you?’ she said, the previous effort leaving her breathless. ‘Now wait a minute, what was his name? Yeah, she used to go out with this guy called Mike Harrison. He’s some sort of builder or handyman and they got on well together for a few months despite him being not her usual, shall we say, intellectual standard. In the end, she got shot of him for being too controlling.’
‘In what way controlling?’
‘Calling her up at all times of the day, not in a friendly way to see how she was, but to find out what she was doing and see who she was with. He got angry if she took photographs of men. She used to tell him they were old guys or just young boys or he’d go ape-shit. Oops, sorry I swore, it just comes out on its own. I swear it’s the hormones.’
‘Do many men come here?’ Henderson asked, his personal curiosity roused.
‘Sure, I’d say about thirty per cent of our clients are men. In the main they’re self-employed people, models, those with a big social media following, and singles on dating sites. All sorts. We also get a lot of people coming here to use our video services which can be accessed on the Apple Macs next door, the likes of pop bands, web bloggers and small-business owners.’
‘Interesting.’
‘I was saying about Mike Harrison. When they spilt, he wouldn’t leave Cindy
alone. He’d turn up here at all hours and bombard her with texts pleading with her to come back. He said he loved her and I think he did, but he had a weird way of showing it. In the end, it turned Cindy off. Now that I think of it, if you ask me who kidnapped her, my money’s on him.’
FIVE
The Scania 620 with the twenty-four-pallet trailer turned into the yard at Mathieson Transport in Newhaven. The brakes hissed as George McDuff, the driver, lined it up, before the big sixteen-litre engine roared into life once again and reversed into the loading bay. A few minutes later, the brakes hissed again and the engine sighed as it was switched off.
Managing Director, Ted Mathieson, watched the lorry arrive from his office on the first floor and terminated his phone call. He left the office and walked downstairs, headed in the direction of the loading bay. The lads working in there started to look busy whenever he appeared, not only because he paid their wages, but he could walk-the-talk as he’d driven an HGV as big as this one and over the same routes as McDuff had done.
He found his driver sitting on a ledge outside having a smoke.
‘Hello George.’
He turned. ‘Hullo there, Ted. Good to see you. Are you here to see me or cadge a smoke?’
‘If you’re offering, I’m cadging.’
‘I wasn’t but what the hell, you’re the boss,’ he said, holding out the packet. ‘Fill your lungs.’
‘Cheers,’ Mathieson said as he sat beside him.
He always made time for George McDuff. They were similar in age, forty-seven, they both liked Scotland, George as he came from there and Mathieson because he enjoyed shooting grouse. George had been his first employee. In a way he reminded Mathieson of what he might have become without the ambition, aggression and abilities he possessed. Still a driver, taking the big Scania out to Austria and back. Mathieson didn’t mind driving but he would miss his big house in Telscombe Cliffs with uninterrupted views of the Channel and the Ferrari parked out front.
‘Your missus still on her health kick?’ George asked.
