I could talk in more detail about the witness statements we’d heard, the CCTV camera footage we’d seen, but I didn’t want to overplay our hand at this point.
“Thanks for your time, Mr Porton,” I said to Jules’s father as I got abruptly to my feet, ignoring Jules entirely. I pulled out a business card and put it down on the coffee table. “Please call us if you have anything you want to speak about.”
Stephen got up too and shook Mr Porton’s hand, which was clammy and firm. He showed us to the door, Jules hanging back to watch us go much like a territorial animal that wanted to be sure we’d left the area.
It was a relief to be out of the house which had been just as hot as outside but felt warmer because of the dim light and Jules’s oppressive frowns.
“We’re not taking him in, then?” Stephen said, sounding irritable.
The kid’s attitude had wound him, I knew, particularly when Jules refused to answer questions on Alistair. As a parent himself, Stephen no doubt felt for the parents whose son had been missing for over a week now.
“I don’t think we can,” I sighed as we climbed into the car.
“Not enough evidence,” Stephen grumbled as we set off back to the station, and I wound the windows down.
It was drawing towards the end of the day, though the sun would be up for hours yet. I wished we could have put Jules in the back of the car, but I’d reluctantly decided that we didn’t have enough to hold him. This was why I hadn’t wanted to tell him too much about what we knew because I guessed that the moment we left, he’d feed it back to his friends and then they’d be one step ahead. Jules certainly hadn’t been willing to give us any information at all.
“We’ll get him,” I assured Stephen. “It might take time, but we’ll dig up enough solid proof to bury him.”
Lips pressed together, Stephen gave a curt nod.
“I just hope by that time, it won’t be too late for the missing kid,” he said lowly. “For Alistair.”
“So do I,” I said, turning away towards the window.
We didn’t know where Alistair was, nor what state he was in after going so long without being in touch with his parents. My fellow DCI, Sedgwick, would do all that he could to find the fourteen-year-old. In the meantime, the only way we could help was by thoroughly investigating what Jules and his gang were getting up to and gathering the evidence we needed to arrest them for good. They had some involvement with Alistair, I was sure of it, and we’d find out whatever it was once we had them well and truly pinned down.
Thirteen
“What do you mean, they’ve moved it?”
“I mean, they’ve moved messaging sites,” Keira said, giving me a flat look.
I swore quietly and rubbed a hand over my face. I’d wondered why the teens’ chat had gone so quiet suddenly, with barely a fraction of the messages that had been there before. The messages that were being posted were all asking the same thing that I’d wanted to know.
Where had everyone else gone?
Clearly, those had been the kids that no-one cared enough to invite to the new site, wherever that was. Like me, they’d been left behind, uninformed about what the teens would do next.
“They must have realised we were onto them, somehow,” I reasoned.
“Could it have been our visit to see Jules?” Stephen wondered aloud.
We were clustered around my desk, with Keira leaning her hip against the table and looking uncharacteristically tired. Work really had been putting her through the wringer recently with all the extra hours I knew she’d been clocking.
“We didn’t tell him we knew about it, did we?” I said, certain that we hadn’t. “Adams, you don’t think they could’ve seen you snooping? Realised that you’d found the site or something?”
“Please give me some credit.” She looked close to rolling her eyes at me. “I didn’t leave a digital trace that some teenager could pick up, Mitchell. If they found out about the site, it was from something you two did.”
“Jeez, thanks.”
“Mickey could’ve told them,” Stephen offered.
“We didn’t even know about the site when we spoke to him, though.”
“Yeah, but he knew we wanted to know about it, and badly. He could’ve made the connection when we turned up for this fire so fast.”
“We weren’t here when it was set alight. We could’ve just heard about the fire on the radio.”
“Sure, but we would’ve made the connection between the teens and the fire pretty fast, wouldn’t we?”
“You really think that they could’ve figured that out from that information alone?” I said, doubtful.
“I’ll leave you two to bicker- I mean, debate your opinions,” Keira said dryly.
“Wait, Adams. You’ll look for the new site they’re on, right? We really need-”
“Yes, I know. It’s absolutely crucial, urgent, top priority, cannot be delayed. Just like every other task I get sent.” She turned and left before I could respond, and I frowned after her.
“She’s not usually that blunt with me.”
“She’s stressed.” Stephen pulled a sympathetic face. “Her workload’s been heavy, and I think she’s got some issues with her brother. He’s struggling to get a job, and she wants him to move out, something like that.”
We’d dealt with Keira’s brother during a previous case relatively recently when he’d become embroiled in a blackmail scheme. Both of us had barely escaped being pulled to our deaths in the river when he tried to escape me running after him. It was safe to say that I wasn’t best fond of the guy, even though I had some sympathy for the impossible position he’d been put in.
“How d'you know that?”
“I have my sources for gossip,” he said, giving me a sideways grin.
“Of course you do.” I shook my head. “I hope she can find time to help us, though, because, without that site, we’re running around blind.”
“I don’t know about that. We found out plenty before Adams dug that up for us.”
“True,” I conceded. “It would still be hugely helpful.”
“If you’re still set on believing that Mickey’s on our side, try calling him?”
“He wouldn’t give us the site address last time,” I said. “He drew a line at that, for whatever reason.”
Stephen gave me a pointed look. “Because he knew it’d be too valuable information.”
“Alright, alright, so you don’t trust him, and I do, or I trust him enough to believe that he’s not playing both sides, anyway. I don’t think he’s the type to do that.”
“Try calling him, then.”
“And what’re you going to do?”
“What d’you want me to do?” he tossed back, raising an eyebrow at me in challenge. I couldn’t help but smile. I liked having a work partner who pushed back against me, even if he did drive me up the wall sometimes.
“Chase up that patch delivery. See when they’re gonna be delivered, so we can keep a watch, okay?”
“Will do.”
I fetched myself a fresh cup of coffee before I sat down again to call Mickey. Stephen had had to needle me into doing it because I didn’t want to pressure the kid. He was a big asset at this point, especially now we’d lost the messaging site, and I didn’t want to drive him away by chasing him for information. But Stephen was right that if the kid was on our side, he should be willing to help, or that’s what I was hoping for.
It was early enough in the day still that the station windows could still be open, the air outside cooler than it was inside. The breeze felt good as it passed by me, and I relished it while it lasted. The forecasts had predicted at least another couple of weeks of the heatwave, and whilst picnickers and families on their British summer holidays were relishing it, I was worried. With more fires popping up, no rain in sight was troubling, and I felt the pressure to get on top of this before one of these fires got out of control.
I put a call through to the mobile number we had l
inked to Mickey’s name. It rang and rang, and Stephen gave me an ‘I told you so’ look when I sighed and put the phone down for a second time.
“I’ll try his home phone,” I said, reading Stephen’s scepticism in his silence.
His mum picked up the landline after a few rings and told me that Mickey wasn’t home. She sounded upset and on edge and explained that she’d grounded him, but he’d snuck out the window and climbed down the garage roof.
“He’s never behaved like this before,” she said plaintively. “Am I a bad mother? Have I failed him?”
Trying to comfort a frightened parent really wasn’t what I needed to be doing this morning, but my heart hurt for her and I did my best.
“Please give us a call, or text my work number, when he’s home, okay?” I asked when she seemed to have calmed a little. “I’d like to know that he’s back safe, at the least, and it’d be good to have a word with him.”
She agreed to let me know, and I put the phone down, feeling worn out by the conversation. I could admit to myself, if not Mickey’s mum, that I was worried for the kid. He’d given us information, even though it was only a small amount, and I couldn’t help but be slightly concerned that one of the gang had found out about that. A group of volatile teens turning on a younger kid they consider a traitor would be a dangerous situation.
I reminded myself that we didn’t have reason to think that they knew, and most probably, Mickey was just ignoring my calls or had his phone off. He certainly wouldn’t pick up the phone to me when he was hanging out around the others, which he might very well be doing.
“No dice?” Stephen said, his tone gentle and not boastful. He’d heard my conversation with Mickey’s mother and that it hadn’t been an easy one.
“Nope. I guess we’ll have to try other routes.”
I was troubled that the deal I thought Mickey had agreed on with us had fallen through. He’d seemed reluctant to give us the information, that was true, but I thought we’d won him over with the promise of leniency for the incidents we’d linked him to. If he didn’t turn up soon, and prove that he was still cooperating with us, then he’d be facing the full consequences of his actions. And on top of that, we’d have lost him as a key source of intelligence on the gang.
“How’s it coming with the patches?” I asked, hoping for good news.
“They’re due tomorrow, apparently. They’ve been dispatched, and we’ve got the tracking number for the Post Office, so we can see when it’s due to be delivered at the address put into the website.”
“Alright, good. So we’ll need officers watching the house early tomorrow for when the post arrives.”
I was working on sending an email to some junior officers to see who could spare the time to give us a hand when a call came through from Rashford. She summoned us to her office, and Stephen and I shared a look.
“This needs to be handled,” she said almost the moment we’d sat down on the other side of her desk. “Getting the run-around from some teenagers is embarrassing for the force, Mitchell.”
“With due respect, ma’am, they’re a lot better organized than most teenagers. They’ve got leadership, they’ve got tech skills-”
“They’re still kids.” She put her palms on the table and lowered her voice. “I believe you, and I know from your reports that this isn’t easy. I do not doubt your work ethic or abilities, so don’t go getting a bruised ego.” She gave the pair of us a stern look. I raised my eyebrows but stayed quiet.
“But the public doesn’t know that they’re organised and there’s a lot of them, or whatever the problem is. They’re not going to have much faith in us, in me as superintendent, if a case like this is causing us issues. So get it sorted. That’s your top priority, the pair of you.”
It already was our top priority, but I suspected she knew that. She was as eager as we were to make sure that no-one else got hurt because of this teenage gang and, though I was admittedly offended by her accusation that we might not be taking this seriously enough, I knew that it came from a place of concern.
“We’re working on it, ma’am,” Stephen said when I didn’t immediately respond.
“The press has picked it up, now,” she said, driving her point home. “The latest victim of their- their actions, shall we say, is still in hospital. You were the first to see the pattern, Mitchell, so it’s you who’s been given the short straw of sorting it out. Unfortunately, now you’re not the only one who’s noticed it, and we’ve got the media clamouring for a press conference.”
“A conference, ma’am?” I repeated. Usually, those didn’t happen until we needed to ask the public for information, or a serious violent crime had been committed that we needed to release a statement on.
“Yes.” She gave me a look that told me she’d be very unimpressed if I argued with her. “Tomorrow morning, eleven o’clock. Be prompt.”
“Yes, ma’am.”
She dismissed us, and we spent the day doing research, chasing up the leads we had so far and digging up disappointingly little.
“I really hate press conferences,” Stephen muttered the following morning as we stood waiting outside the room.
“I know, mate.” I squeezed his shoulder. “But Rashford will do most of the talking, and I’ll pick up any questions that she can’t. You don’t have to say anything if you don’t want to.”
“Thanks, Mitch. I better try to manage a couple of words, though. Annie always thinks it’s neat that I get to be on television.” He grimaced. “Even if the subject is pretty grim.”
“You do what you’re comfortable with.” I gave him a pat on the back, and then it was time for us to go and face the cameras.
Rashford was already seated in place, and we went to join her, sitting down on either side. The press were arrayed in front, and I scanned briefly over the small gathering before looking away. I was good with public speaking normally, but I did find it helped not to focus on the crowd directly but on the wall at the back of the room or the camera itself.
The conference kicked off, and Rashford spoke eloquently and sternly about the seriousness of the teenagers’ attacks on York’s residents and property and how they were facing serious charges that shouldn’t be underestimated. She advised other young people to stay well away from this group and for parents to keep a good eye on their children to keep them from being pulled into joining this troubling movement.
I couldn’t honestly imagine that many teenagers watched the local news, nor that, if they did, they’d listen to a police superintendent telling them to stay out of trouble. But I hoped that parents who listened in would heed her message and try to keep their kids from getting involved in this. The gang was something that would be easy for a young person to be drawn into and then hard for them to leave behind.
Stephen managed a couple of sentences in response to a journalist’s question, and I answered some specific queries that Rashford didn’t know the answer to or preferred for me to respond to. It was all rounded up within half an hour or so, and we both released a breath as we left the room, Stephen because of the stress and me because the small room had been getting far too warm with so many people inside it.
“Time for a coffee,” I decided, heading for the break room.
“It’s too damn hot for coffee.”
“Not when you have a girlfriend who made about a gallon of iced coffee last night.” I gave him a grin as I took a bottle out of the fridge and tipped some into a mug.
Sam liked coffee almost as much as I did, though she preferred it with milk and sugar, and we’d spent an enjoyable couple of hours last night playing around with online recipes for iced coffee.
“C’mon, let me have a taste,” Stephen said plaintively, looking at me with puppy-dog eyes. The expression was more amusing than anything else since it was coming from a six-foot-tall, block-headed bloke who used to play rugby, and I laughed.
I gave him some to try, though, and grinned at the look of delight on his face.
&nbs
p; “Damn, that’s good. That’s better than Costa’s.”
“I know, right?”
We headed back to our desks while sipping the cold drink, and my mood grew sombre as I considered what had been said at the press conference and how Alistair was still missing.
I checked the time on my watch, but it was still relatively early. We’d had no word yet from the officers who were stationed outside the address where the patches were due to be delivered, so I figured that I had some time before we’d need to head over there.
“I’m going to hunt down Sedgwick, see if he’s around. We could do with an update on his investigation since it seems to tie in with ours.”
“He hasn’t sent us any new reports recently,” Stephen agreed. “Do you want me to come with you?” Even as he asked, he didn’t look very keen. He was still sipping his iced coffee and looked about as eager to get up and move as a hibernating bear.
“No,” I said with a slight smile. “You carry on with what you’re doing. Sedgwick’s probably out anyway, but I’ll just have a scout around.”
It turned out that Sedgwick was at his desk after all, though as usual, he didn’t look best pleased to see me.
“What do you want?”
“Any updates on the Alistair Pumphrey search?” I asked.
“Have I sent you an email with updates?” he said, giving me a flat look.
“No.”
“Then, no, Mitchell. We’ve hit a dead end. The boy’s disappeared.”
“Damn,” I muttered. “Well, we’ve got an ID on the teenager, Jules, who was in connection with Alistair-”
“I know. I read your write-up.” He gestured impatiently for me to get to the point.
“But we can’t bring him in. We haven’t enough against him,” I finished.
“Your problem to sort that out, then.”
I pressed my lips together briefly. “My problem, yes, but it’ll benefit you if we can get the kid to tell the truth about his connection with Alistair, hm?”
“Like I already said, what do you want?”
“Just keep an eye out for the blond kid, Jules, okay? We need evidence on him, and it’ll help you too.”
Heatwave Page 15
