Heatwave

by Oliver Davies

  “I’d ruddy hope so. They’re crooks if they don’t.”

  I made a noise of agreement as I looked up at the ruined house. The small front garden was neatly maintained, though much of it had wilted in the fire’s heat, and it seemed particularly poignant somehow to see how it’d gotten covered in ash and trodden on by the firefighters as they put the flames out.

  “We need to know why the headmaster and his wife were targeted specifically,” I said, leaning my hip tentatively against a nearby garden wall. “Do we know what she does for a living?”

  “No idea. I only heard about the fire ten minutes before I called you.”

  “Alright. We’ll find a firefighter to talk to and then head to the hospital to question the folks who live here.”

  Stephen nodded, getting on the radio to let everyone know that we were covering the fire investigation for now so that we wouldn’t be getting in any other officers’ way. It didn’t take too long to corner a firefighter who was taking a break, and she told us that the fire had been set on three sides, though only two of those had actually caught fire. The windows had been broken, and the fire set inside the house, showing clear malevolent intent.

  “They weren’t playing around,” I said darkly as we headed back to the car. “They wanted to kill those two.”

  “Or at least terrify them, yeah. It’s sick, doing something like that.”

  Stephen’s hands clenched around the steering wheel. We were taking my car, leaving the police car Stephen had driven over in at the scene which another police officer had agreed to ferry back to the station after Stephen asked him nicely.

  The hospital seemed busier than usual, and despite the air con clearly on full power, it felt distinctly warm and stuffy. The chemical smell of the place didn’t improve in the heat, and it seemed to get into even the cheap, acidic coffee that you bought from the dispensers. Despite craving a caffeine fix to give my energy levels a boost, I steered clear of the coffee machines as Stephen and I waited to be shown over to the headmaster and his wife’s room. We’d learned from the hospital staff that the couple were called Adrian and Diana Doode and that they were both on a low urgency ward, meaning that they were doing well.

  “I think you should handle this one,” I said quietly to Stephen as we approached the right place. The couple weren’t in beds but were resting up on chairs next to the hospital wall as they both drank cups of tea. They looked more fragile than I’d expected, both past sixty, wiry and short.

  “Mm.” Stephen glanced pointedly over my face. “You don’t look like a respectable police officer right now.”

  I lifted my eyebrow at him, unimpressed, and shooed him forwards to go and speak to the pair. I stayed a couple of steps back, but close enough that I could hear what was being said.

  “Mr and Mrs Doode?” I heard him say.

  “Yes?” Diana said, looking up. Her grey hair was curled but clearly out of place.

  Stephen introduced himself and asked if they were feeling well enough to speak to us. Diana looked at her husband, who’d so far remained quiet. He gave a tired shrug.

  “What do you want to know?” he asked, his tone gruff but not unfriendly. I wondered whether the raspiness to his voice was normal for him or if he’d breathed in more smoke today than his wife had. Diana seemed awake and on edge, whereas her husband looked desperately weary, his shoulders curled over into a concave shell.

  “Did you see who set the fire?”

  “Who-?” Diana started.

  Stephen realised his mistake when the couple stared at him wide-eyed, and I winced.

  “The fire was on purpose?” Adrian said, the shock of the revelation clearly startling him.

  “I’m afraid so. I’m sorry to break the news to you,” Stephen said apologetically. “Do you have any idea why someone might want to do that?”

  Diana and Adrian looked at each other, blank expressions on both their faces.

  “No, I don’t know…” Diana said weakly.

  “What work do you do?” Stephen asked her. “Or are you retired?”

  “I was a Maths teacher at Rowan Wood. I retired two years ago.” She reached up to touch her hair, petting the curls lightly in what looked like a nervous movement. Adrian sat stock-still, frowning ahead of him.

  “And you’re the headmaster?”

  “I am,” Adrian said with a solemn nod.

  “Could there be any parents, any students who-?”

  “I have been headmaster at that school for two decades, son. I’ve seen a lot in my time, but nothing like this. I’ve never been- been attacked, and at my own home!”

  “No, sir,” Stephen said gently. “And we’re trying to get to the bottom of it for you. Were there any threats beforehand? Anything in the post or by email?”

  “No, nothing.”

  “Had anyone approached you recently to threaten you or make you feel uncomfortable?”

  He considered that one for a moment. “No, I don’t think so.”

  Stephen cast a glance over to me to see if I had anything to add, but I waved my hand at him to indicate that he was doing fine and should carry on how he was. He turned back to the couple, pulling his phone from his pocket as he did so.

  “There’s a teenager we’re investigating,” he said, as he fiddled with his phone. I gave a nod of approval to myself. I wasn’t sure whether Stephen was showing them Alistair or Jules, but either was a good question. Stephen found the photo he wanted and showed the picture to the couple. “This boy. Do you recognise him?”

  Adrian patted his chest before realising that he didn’t have his reading glasses. His face fell briefly, and I felt for him acutely. I could see the thoughts crossing his mind as he realised that his glasses were at home and that they may have been completely melted in the fire.

  “Here, let me see,” Diana said, taking in her husband’s frozen state at a glance. “Oh, the Sharp boy, yes, we remember him, don’t we, Adrian?”

  “The Sharp boy?” he repeated, coming back to himself. “He was a bad egg. Why are you looking into him?”

  “If you knew him, might he have had something against you particularly?” Stephen pressed.

  “Oh, well, he was expelled, yes. A few years ago now. He put two other students in the hospital. And one of them was a girl.”

  He shook his head at that, making it clear that he thought far less of Jules for beating a girl than for harming the other student. If the girl had been weaker than him, I would likely agree.

  “He could have been holding a grudge against you, then.” Stephen looked over at me, and I gave a nod of agreement.

  “And Alistair?” I prompted him quietly. Diana and Adrian didn’t turn towards me, so I presumed that they hadn’t heard. Stephen went back to his phone and brought up a picture of the missing fourteen-year-old.

  “And this boy, do you recognise him?”

  “No, I- Oh no, I do,” Diana said thoughtfully. “He’s been on the news, hasn’t he?”

  “Yes. But before that, have you seen him anywhere else? Does he go to Rowan Wood, too?”

  “I don’t work there anymore, dear. I couldn’t say.”

  Adrian made an effort to squint at the picture, borrowing his wife’s glasses to see if they’d help.

  “I don’t believe I know him, but there are many children at the school. If he’s an average student and stayed out of trouble, I might well not recognise him.”

  “Okay, thank you,” Stephen said, putting his phone away. “We really appreciate you speaking to us. Have you got someone you can stay with after you leave the hospital?”

  “Yes, one of my nieces is coming to pick us up,” Diana said, giving Stephen a small, warm smile. “Thank you for asking, detective.”

  “I hope you both recover quickly,” he said, accepting Adrian’s handshake when he offered. He gave them a business card in case they recalled anything that could help us before he bid them goodbye, and we walked away.

  “Revenge motivated then,” I said as
we moved down the corridor. Stephen had shortened his stride to accommodate for me walking slower than usual, and I appreciated it.

  “Presumably,” he agreed.

  My phone rang in my pocket as we were leaving the hospital, and I picked up the call as we walked over towards the car. I didn’t recognise the number.

  “DCI Mitchell speaking.” There was a long pause, and I frowned. “Hello?”

  “It’s Mickey.”

  I blinked, startled enough that I came to a stop, and Stephen sent me a curious look.

  “Mickey, hi,” I said cautiously. “Are you alright?”

  “I was gonna ask you that,” Mickey said with a tight laugh. “I heard that they beat you up. I didn’t know, I swear.”

  It hadn’t occurred to me to consider that Mickey might’ve known about the attack, although perhaps it should have. I tentatively hoped that him being in touch, and wanting to reassure himself that I was fine, was a good sign that he was still on our side.

  “I believe you. How come you haven’t been in touch recently?” I had to ask.

  “I guess- I guess I got worried they’d find out, y’know…”

  “Aye, I understand. Can we rely on you in the future, though?”

  “Yeah,” he said, somewhat hesitant, but it was agreement all the same. “Yeah, I’ll answer next time if I can.”

  “Thank you.”

  He mumbled a goodbye and hung up just as I was getting into the car. The whole conversation had taken moments, but it left me feeling renewed, despite my lingering aches and pains.

  “Mickey’s back on,” I told Stephen. “He says he’ll report back to us next time.”

  “Hm.” Stephen looked unconvinced, and I knew he doubted how much we could trust the lad. “I just hope the reports he gives us are worth it.”

  I turned to look out the window as Stephen started the car up.

  “Aye, so do I.”

  The fire set at the Doodes’ house had been a significantly more serious crime than previously, as had the attack on me that had been so planned and choreographed.

  Whatever help we could get at this point, I would take. We needed to find these teenagers before they cost someone their life.

  Sixteen

  Despite Mickey’s promise to keep us informed, he didn’t get in touch the following day, when I was resting up at home, nor on the Friday.

  “You should not be at work,” Stephen grumbled at me when I turned up.

  “I’m absolutely fine to sit in a chair and look at a computer screen,” I told him firmly. “Have we got any news?”

  “Nope, exactly zilch.”

  I’d clicked open my emails as he was speaking and snapped my fingers.

  “That’s where you’re wrong. Keira wants to talk to us.”

  “You think she’s found something?”

  “We can only hope.”

  I’d brought more of the iced coffee Sam had made into work and carried a mug over to see Keira. Walking around was still sore on my ribs and shoulder, but it was getting better, and the bruising on my face no longer looked quite so scarily dramatic.

  Keira was sitting at her desk when we went over to her and barely glanced up before she started talking, still typing on her computer.

  “I’ve located the new messaging site where they’re talking. It was under a level of encryption again, honestly quite impressive.” She spared us a glance. “Do any of the teens have a tech background?”

  “Not that we know of.” I shrugged. “We’ll look into it.”

  “I’ve sent you a link to it. The same usernames seem to be on there, with the same VPNs, so it’s a good bet to guess that it’s the right one.”

  “You’re not a hundred per cent?”

  Keira gave me an unimpressed look. “No. Contrary to popular belief, I can’t hack their webcams and look into their rooms. But it’s correct to the point of reasonable doubt. Is that good enough for you, Mitchell?”

  “More than good enough,” I said, apologetic for doubting her. “Thanks, we appreci-”

  “I know. Where would you be without me? Now scoot.” She flicked us away.

  I shook my head with a smile, and Stephen and I left her to her work. We scoured over the message board she’d found, scrolling through the messages that’d been posted.

  “It seems like the same teenagers,” Stephen concluded. “Some of them have the same phrases, writing style.”

  “Aye, and the usernames are in the same vein.”

  “There’s nothing new here, though.” He pulled a face, and I made a noise of agreement.

  “Right. They’re talking trouble, but there're no plans, nothing to put into action.”

  My swollen nose was aching, and I prodded the bruising under my eyes tentatively. It was certainly better, but my voice was still slightly nasal and accidentally bumping my nose on my coffee mug this morning had been painful.

  “At least you look less like a panda,” Stephen said, glancing sideways and seeing what I was doing.

  “Sam offered me some make-up. Might try it out tomorrow, now that the swelling’s down.”

  “Yeah, you don’t want to put foundation over big, puffy bruises.”

  “Sounds like you’re saying that from experience,” I noted, raising my eyebrows.

  “Well, I do play rugby, mate.” He grinned. “It’s a contact sport, y’know.”

  “Alright, alright, point taken.” I shook my head. “I thought you’d be proud to show off your war wounds, as a teenager anyway.”

  “Oh sure, but my mum wasn’t too keen on me looking like a bruiser at school. So she’d make me look a bit less purple.” He shook his head with a laugh. “The boys took the mickey, I’m telling you, but it’s come in handy when I need to come to work not looking like I face-planted a pole.”

  “Do that often, do you?” I teased.

  “Hey, I used to be pretty hands-on when I was a rookie. Big bloke like me, I was always getting the short straw to grapple with the drunks.”

  “I bet,” I laughed. “That’s why I aimed higher. Can’t go wrestling with lairy folks all the time when you’re a skinny runner like me, aye?”

  “I don’t know. You seem to throw yourself into trouble, anyway.” He gave my face and ribs a pointed look.

  “Trouble comes after me,” I grumbled.

  “So that time you jumped in the river? Was that an accident?” He raised his eyebrows, his mouth curled up into a smile, though he hadn’t found the incident very funny at the time. “Did you actually slip in, and you’ve been pretending it was some heroic action this whole time?”

  I snorted. “Sure, Huxley, whatever you wanna tell yourself.”

  “And the time you ambushed that enormous bloke in the dark, on your own, and got your head bashed in-”

  “He ambushed me, and you know it.” I pointed at him and shook my head, even as I was smiling wryly. “Get your facts straight.”

  “You know, you’re right.” He rolled his eyes. “You’re just a ruddy trouble magnet. If we wanna catch the teenagers, we should just plonk you out on the street, and they’ll come to you.”

  “Aye,” I said, sobering up at the mention of the teens. “That was pretty much what happened on my run, yeah.”

  “Ach, sorry.” Stephen winced. “We will get them, mate, for sure.”

  “I know,” I said, with more confidence than I felt.

  He swivelled his chair to face me. “What’s our next step, d’you reckon?”

  “You know what Adams was saying? About the tech?” I said slowly, thinking aloud as I went.

  “Yeah?”

  “It’d be good to find out which teen is responsible for that, don’t you think? I reckon we should do some phone calls to the parents of the teens we do know of and see if any of those kids has a history of computer knowledge.”

  “Sounds good to me.” Stephen gave a nod. “Have you got a guess about who it is?”

  “Not yet. I don’t reckon it’s Mickey, ‘cus I hope he w
ould’ve told us if it was him. And Jules doesn’t strike me as the type. So maybe one of the lackeys? We can try to find out, anyway.”

  I gave Mickey a call anyway, just to ask the question, while Stephen phoned Jules’ house to speak to the teenager’s parents.

  “I don’t know much about tech, sorry,” Mickey told me.

  “It wasn’t you who set up the messaging site then?”

  “No.”

  “So who did?” I pressed.

  There was a long silence, and I could picture Mickey’s troubled expression. Despite saying he’d help us, he seemed to find it difficult to commit to giving us information when the time came. I gave him a moment and let him work it through in his head. Finally, he sighed.

  “Look, I’m not a hundred per cent sure, but I’d guess that it’s the short kid. The one who talks back to Jules and gets away with it, whatever his name is.”

  “Alistair Pumphrey? Or, I think you guys call him Ali?”

  “Yeah, that’s him. That one.”

  “Huh,” I said, surprised. I wasn’t sure why I should be surprised, though. The kid had seemed smart when I’d spoken to him, and it definitely seemed clear to me that Alistair wasn’t a kidnap victim but a willing participant in the gang’s aims.

  “Alright, thanks,” I said to Mickey. “Has there been any other news?”

  “Not that I’ve heard, sorry.”

  I thanked him again and hung up the phone, waiting for Stephen to finish his call to Jules’ parents.

  “You got something?” he asked once he put the phone down.

  “You go first.”

  “Not much to say, unfortunately.” He gave a shrug. “Jules wasn’t there, apparently, and his mum didn’t think he had any particular interest in computers. Well, she said he loved video games, but that’s not exactly a sign of tech genius; loads of teenage boys like those shoot ‘em up games, or whatever.” He shook his head. “Probably encourages their violence, all that killing things for hours on a screen.”

  “Nah,” I countered, “there are studies saying that video game players have no increased likelihood of committing violence compared to people who don’t play and that video games can actually help mental health. It’s a myth that it gears kids up to be violent. They’re perfectly capable of differentiating between fantasy and reality.”