Blacklight (Dark Yorkshire Book 2)

by J M Dalgliesh

  Chapter 6

  Caslin left Hunter in the car to call a report through to John Inglis. Walking up the path he saw that the lights were on indoors, a flicker of movement past the front window told him his father was home. Ignoring the front door, he trotted around the side and entered through a gate to the rear. As usual, the back door was unlocked and he couldn’t help but think a retired copper ought to know better.

  “Hi Dad, it’s only me,” he called as he walked into the kitchen, wiping his feet at the threshold. There was no response but the sound of the television filtered through from the living room, football by the sound of it. Heading that way, he raised his voice even louder, “I’ve not heard from you in a while, so I thought I’d bet…”

  His words stopped when he realised his father had company, someone that he recognised but hadn’t seen for a while. The newcomer appeared gaunt in comparison to the last time they were together but even so, was still better than expected.

  “Hello, little brother,” Stefan said, with an easy smile.

  Caslin was left open-mouthed.

  “What’s the matter? Got nothing to say?” their father said, grinning from his armchair, nursing a can of beer in his lap.

  “I’m…just…,” Caslin stammered. “Hi, Stefan. Bit of a surprise.”

  His elder brother got up from his seat on the sofa, put his own beer on the coffee table and came over to greet him.

  “That’s okay, Nate,” he said, fiercely embracing the younger man. “I should’ve told you I was staying. Dad and I had some catching up to do, that’s all. Let me take a look at you.” Stefan stepped back, holding Caslin at arm’s length. The latter suddenly feeling like a child again. His father and brother having a cosy chat and him feeling awkward, out of place, as if he was intruding. Their father returned his attention to the match, one from a European or lower league, somewhere nondescript, judging by the limited crowd and state of the pitch.

  “How long have you been in town?” Caslin asked.

  “Oh, a few days,” Stefan replied. “Thought it about time I came up for a visit.”

  “Stopping long?”

  “For Pete’s sake, Nathaniel. Can’t you drop the warrant card for five minutes and just be pleased to see your brother?”

  “Dad,” Caslin began but his rebuttal was interrupted.

  “It’s alright, Dad. That’s Nate, always asking questions,” Stefan said, grinning and, for a fleeting moment, resembling the boy of their youth, once more. “You’re looking good, little brother. A bit of middle-age spread creeping up on you but apart from that, doing okay.”

  Caslin grunted, “I would say the same but you look like you need to eat something. Didn’t they teach you how to feed yourself in the infantry?”

  Stefan had served twelve years in the army, seeing tours of Iraq, Bosnia and Kosovo, in that time. The experiences left him struggling with the aftermath of military life and he had never fully adjusted. At least, not in Caslin’s view.

  “Below the belt, Nathaniel,” his father chastised him.

  Caslin ignored him. “Where are you living these days? Still in Maidstone?”

  Stefan shook his head, “It varies, you know. I’ve been working and it takes me all over.”

  Caslin was pleased that his elder brother had found employment. The last he’d heard, Stefan was still on benefits and looking likely to remain so.

  “You going to grab a beer and sit down?” their father asked, not breaking his gaze from the television. It was a giant screen that dwarfed everything else in the room.

  “No, can’t. I’m still on the clock, so to speak,” Caslin explained. “I’ve been meaning to stop by. I hadn’t heard from you-”

  “Well I am quite well, as you can see,” his father cut him off. “So, there was no need.”

  All was said without looking up and Caslin knew he’d already outstayed his welcome. Regretting the decision to come, he said goodbye. A farewell not acknowledged by his father. Caslin figured he was already a little drunk, eyeing several empties on the sideboard. Stefan followed him out into the hallway. The strong odour of alcohol also lingered. Some things didn’t change, Caslin thought to himself.

  “Ignore him, Nate. You know what he’s like.”

  “Only too well.”

  “Are you sure you can’t stay for a drink?” Stefan asked. Caslin shook his head, unlocking the front door.

  “I really am still on shift,” he said, stepping out onto the path and indicating Sarah Hunter, waiting in the car. She glanced over at the two men and then away.

  “Oh, fair dos,” Stefan said in understanding. “She your bit, is she?”

  Caslin frowned, “Colleague. Listen, we should catch up, while you’re around. We’ve not seen each other for ages.”

  “Three years, at least.”

  “Is it that long?” Caslin asked, shocked at the passage of time. Stefan nodded. “You got a car? Mine’s a bit knackered.”

  “I’ll borrow Dad’s.”

  Of course, you will, Caslin thought but didn’t say so. “He’ll give you the address. I’ll see you later.”

  Stefan watched as he walked to the car and got in. He had returned inside by the time Caslin looked back.

  “Who was that?” Hunter asked, curious.

  “Who, Golden Boy, back there?”

  Hunter laughed, “He looked a lot like you. Your brother?”

  “Aye, first born,” Caslin said with candour. “What followed was merely disappointment.”

  “Well, at least you’re not bitter,” Hunter said, engaging first gear and moving off. “DCI Inglis wants us back at Fulford Road.”

  “What’s he doing there?”

  “Broadfoot wants Fulford as the base of operations.”

  “Because he can’t be arsed to drive any further west, from his house.”

  “Probably,” Hunter said, humouring him. “Makes it easier for us, too.”

  Caslin didn’t comment. It would also make it harder for him to do what he did best. Watchful eyes were never too far from him, even having salvaged something of the downward spiral of his career, in recent times.

  The journey to Fulford Road only took fifteen minutes and then another ten to get through the press of waiting media, encamped at the entrance and setting up in the car park.

  “Do you think the word’s out?” Caslin asked sarcastically whilst Hunter negotiated the outside-broadcast vehicles.

  “We always knew there would be interest,” she replied, picking one of the few available spaces, some distance from the station. It was raining again and Caslin cursed.

  “They’ll get in our way, always do.”

  “Are you going to do the press conferences then, same as usual?” Hunter mimicked his sarcasm.

  Caslin didn’t reply as both got out. Pulling his coat tightly about him, he braced himself against the rain and briskly walked to the station. Choosing to bypass the melee, they entered via the yard, passing through custody into the station proper. Making their way up towards CID, they bumped into Inglis on the stairs.

  “Good follow-up on the girl,” he offered as a compliment. Caslin thought it standard procedure but accepted it with good grace. Hunter was sent on her way but he asked Caslin to remain behind. “The media have cottoned on to who is missing. It’ll be headlining the six o’clock news. Needless to say, people want answers.”

  “Don’t we all, Guv,” Caslin replied. He knew that Inglis was talking more about the senior ranks.

  “Robertson and his team are working the car but it’s not looking hopeful, from a forensic point of view. If anything happened, it most likely occurred outside of the vehicle.”

  “What about the surrounding area?”

  “He’s taken casts of those tyre impressions but other than that, we have little to go on.”

  “Little?” Caslin sensed there was more. “What do we have?”

  “Some sketchy witness accounts of a vehicle in the area, at roughly the right time. The boards are be
ing updated in the squad room, so you should familiarise yourself before the press conference.”

  “Sir?”

  “Didn’t I say? Sorry,” Inglis looked at him for a moment, making Caslin feel self-conscious. “Are you okay, Nathaniel?”

  Caslin was taken aback, “Yes, Guv. Why do you ask?”

  “You’re looking a bit peaky, if you don’t mind me saying? Journalists are nothing to be intimidated by. Press conference at five-thirty. I want you alongside me.”

  Caslin was about to protest but Inglis left him without the opportunity. Instead, the DCI resumed his course downstairs to oversee the setting up of the room, for the press briefing. Caslin silently cursed. He reached for his phone, to check the time, but stopped when he realised his hand was shaking slightly. Not for the first time. Heading upstairs, he went to the gents, grateful to find it empty.

  Taking in his appearance in the mirror, he realised Inglis was right. His eyes had a haunted look to them and his skin showed a tinge of grey, feeling clammy to the touch. Whilst considering that, he noticed his hands starting to sweat. Even though no-one had entered since he arrived, he glanced around anyway. Rifling through his pockets he located the blister strip. Running some water, he popped two pills through the foil and put them in his mouth. Washing them down with a mouthful of tap water, he rose up and took a deep breath.

  Returning his gaze to the reflection, he filled the basin with cold water. Leaning over and splashing his face, he sought to revitalise his appearance, rubbing at his cheeks to regain some colour. Picking up the blister strip, he turned them over in his hand before secreting them away. Pausing only long enough to stare at himself for another moment, he turned and left, making his way to the squad room.

  Most of those present were too busy to notice his arrival, phones pressed to ears and pens in hand. He slipped through the throng, acknowledging the odd greeting, making a beeline for the notice boards. The scene was documented with the key facts they had to hand, denoted on sticky notes. To one side a list of names had been compiled, known faces already familiar to the police. Caslin recognised two repeat sex offenders from the area. Officers had been allotted to some, no doubt tasked to ascertain their whereabouts. Lottie Gibbs had made another list, one of known associates. That list was frighteningly small. Alongside that were family members. Once again, names were allocated to investigate them. Caslin felt they were right to do so. Sadly, experience taught him that family members, or close associates, often perpetrated such crimes.

  Finding the witness evidence, he was frustrated. The vehicle spotted in the area that morning, was anything from a red Range Rover to a white Jeep Cherokee and between two and ten years old. The information had been supplied by three eye witnesses and the only corroborative point that he could see, was that the vehicle had been parked on Fountains Lane. That was the location where Natalie’s car had been found. The inconsistency was irritating but unsurprising. People would see something which was often apparently insignificant at the time. Therefore, when recollecting it, they would fail on the detail. The desire to help so strong, that their mind would fill in the gaps, hence the contradictions.

  A whistle from the other end of the room caught his attention and he turned. DS Hunter beckoned him over. Approaching, he frowned at her.

  “Not very ladylike, Sarah.”

  “I’m not much of a lady and besides,” she said with a wry smile, “I’ve been working with you lot, too long.”

  “What’s up?”

  “Timothy and Catherine Bermond are downstairs. I thought you’d want to know.”

  “What are they doing here? The press frenzy will chew them up for the morning copy!”

  “I think that’s what the DCS is hoping for,” Hunter said.

  “Chum the waters, for the publicity?”

  “Exactly.”

  “Christ,” he exclaimed. “Putting them through it, when we don’t know that she’s in danger yet-”

  “First twenty-four hours are the most important, you know that,” Hunter countered. Caslin could only nod his understanding. “And the papers will go to town on it anyway, so we may as well use them.”

  “I’ll go down, make sure they know what they’ll be facing.”

  With that, Caslin hot-footed it downstairs. Reaching the ground floor, he saw Linda and asked her where the Bermonds were being kept. He was with them a few moments later. Timothy rose up from his seat, behind a table in the family room, a recently arranged place for people to wait, away from the prying eyes of police and public alike. He took Caslin’s hand and thanked him for coming to see them. Catherine smiled momentarily but didn’t stand. Caslin returned the smile.

  “Have you spoken to my father?” Timothy asked.

  Caslin shook his head, “Not yet, Tim. We’re on the case, though. Has anyone spoken to you about the press conference? About what to expect?”

  “Yes, we’ve got a prepared statement to read,” he said, indicating a transcript on the table. “I’m told it’s especially formulated to reach out to her, or to…someone who might…”

  “I know,” Caslin reassured him. The message would be a standard one, asking for Natalie to get in touch or for anyone with information to come forward. The next stage would only be enacted if they suspected, or knew for certain, that she was being held against her will. That message would speak directly to the abductor. For now, the plan would be to generate as many leads as possible. At this moment in time, they had little to go on but Caslin kept that to himself. Thus far, he had chosen not to make Timothy’s accusation about Sebastian Bermond, a focal point of the investigation but if nothing turned up soon, he would have to pursue it. That would not go down well, not with anyone, except possibly with Natalie’s father.

  “Will you be there?” Catherine asked him.

  “At the press conference?” he clarified, she nodded. “Yes, I’ll be with you the whole time.”

  “Thank you,” she said. Her expression was one of relief. His presence would be under protest but she didn’t need to know that. Confident they were in good hands, Caslin excused himself, leaving the couple with a family liaison officer. Making his way back to CID, he bumped into Terry Holt on the stairs.

  “Sir, I heard you were back. I’ve been looking for you.”

  “What’s up, Terry?”

  “I’ve been looking into this missing Tom-”

  “Person,” Caslin corrected.

  “Yes, Sir…sorry,” Holt bumbled. “Anyway, I went home with the mother, like you asked, and got some more details. She gave me a photo and stuff, pretty girl, and her mobile number.”

  “Turn something up?”

  “I did, yeah,” Holt went on, gearing up to something. “I got her recent activity log from the supplier and she made a call around twelve-thirty a.m., the night she disappeared.”

  “Who to?”

  “Us,” Holt said, before quickly adding, “well, not us directly. She called 999.”

  “That’s interesting. Have you got the transcript?”

  “Better, I got the recording.”

  “And?”

  Holt paused and their eyes met, “She claimed someone was trying to kill her.”

  Chapter 7

  “999 emergency, what service do you require?” the operator’s voice was firm and efficient.

  “Please help, they’re trying to kill me!” an erratic, female voice pleaded.

  “Somebody is trying to kill you?”

  “Please help me.”

  “Where are you, madam?”

  “I…I…don’t know,” the voice was fearful, lowering in tone and becoming an almost inaudible whisper. A loud bang could be heard, followed by two more, in quick succession. They were accompanied by a male voice in the background, muffled but apparently raised. The words spoken were indistinguishable due to the quality of the recording. “They’re here…please,” the voice tailed off before the call abruptly ended.

  DC Holt clicked a button on the mouse and the playback c
eased. Caslin indicated for him to replay it and Holt did so, from the beginning.

  “That’s it, that’s all we have.”

  “Definitely from her mobile?”

  “Confirmed,” Holt replied. “The centre wasn’t able to get a location before she hung up. They logged the call for further investigation but it doesn’t appear to have been followed up.”

  “Any reason?”

  “Not officially but I reckon they chalked it off as a crank.”

  Caslin thought for a moment. “Can we get a ping from a tower, to give us a search area?”

  “Way ahead of you, Sir,” Holt answered with confidence. “The signal was picked up by two towers, which gave us a reference point. I plotted them on an Ordnance Survey map and I’m pretty sure I’ve narrowed it down.”

  Holt went over to his desk and picked up the map. Returning to the table he spread it out. Two blue circles were drawn, at their centres the transmitter relay towers, to mark the coverage of each.

  “What do we have then?” Caslin asked as he eyed the area, south of York.

  “Where the circles crossover is where we’ll find the origin of the call.”

  “Good work, Terry,” Caslin said genuinely. In a built-up area or city, such a search zone might prove to be far too problematic to mount anything but a cursory examination. However, in this case, they had a shot. “I think it’s safe to assume she was in a building, what with the banging and muffled shouting. Besides that, outside, even in the countryside you get a noticeable difference to the sound of a call.”

  “Agreed,” Holt said. Looking at the map, he asked, “So how do you want to play it?”

  Caslin pursed his lips. “Let’s round up a few bodies and start knocking on doors.”

  Terry Holt left to seek out the Duty Inspector, to arrange some extra resource. In the meantime, Caslin turned his focus back to the map. The crossover of Holt’s circles centred on a village that he knew well, being a little over four miles to the north-east of his father’s house. The village of Skipwith stood alone, surrounded by farmland. From memory, Caslin thought there were roughly a few hundred residents. The number of curtain twitchers that occupied those places was phenomenal. The likelihood that someone saw, or heard, something was a reasonable hypothesis at this stage. Tonight, was looking like a late one.