by Damien Boyd
He couldn’t sleep knowing that Hatty was still out there, somewhere, but taking his dog for a walk seemed almost as crass. Or at least it would to someone who didn’t know him. Poland would understand. He knew.
‘Poland’s got a lot to answer for and is going to suffer.’
Roger was certainly suffering. Dixon didn’t doubt that for a minute. But, as for a reason . . .
He kicked Monty’s ball along the sand and tried to follow it in the moonlight as it rolled towards a pile of seaweed.
It was definitely rehearsed. Both Sonia and Alesha had used the identical phrase. ‘Going to suffer’ was unusual wording to use too. Most people would say ‘going to pay’, surely? And what does ‘has a lot to answer for’ mean? Poland had been through his files and identified everyone who might have borne a grudge against him, anyone who’d suffered as a result of his findings and might wish him to suffer too.
Potter had asked him to go through his files again. Clutching at straws, thought Dixon, as he fumbled in his pockets for a dog bag.
‘I thought Jane had let you out?’ he muttered, flicking on the torch on his phone.
At least she had been able to spend some time with her sister, and they seemed to be getting on. Dixon frowned. What was it with girls and The Walking Dead?
Detective Sergeant Jane Dixon. It had a certain ring to it. He smiled. The ring was still in the top pocket of his rucksack and it would have to stay there for the time being. Poland had even agreed to be his best man before all this had kicked off, despite protesting that he was old enough to be Dixon’s father.
‘I’ve got one of them, thanks.’
And he had reminded him that he perhaps ought to consider asking Jane first. It had been a good idea, but the moment had been lost.
Random thoughts were popping into and out of his head as he walked along the beach. At night was best too. Then he didn’t have to worry about avoiding other dogs in case they went for Monty.
Find Hatty first, then ask Jane, and make sure it was before another case came along.
He noticed a light down at the tide line, some distance off to his right. A fisherman, probably, after flatfish on the incoming tide. Then the lighthouse silhouetted against the seafront beyond and the lights of Hinkley Point power station on the other side of the estuary.
He wondered whether Jane would stick with her maiden name when they got married. Some people did.
Oh, fuck it.
Chapter Twenty-Seven
It was just before midnight when Dixon burst into the cottage, startling Jane and Lucy sitting on the sofa.
‘You still watching Dr Zhivago?’
‘I was asleep,’ mumbled Lucy.
‘It’s a long film,’ replied Jane. ‘And we keep getting interrupted. How far did you get?’
‘Far enough.’
Jane knew the signs. ‘Well?’ she asked.
‘Poland’s going to suffer . . .’
Jane nodded. ‘And?’
‘What’s Adele’s maiden name?’
Jane frowned. ‘Oh, shit,’ she muttered, her eyes widening. ‘What made you think of that?’
‘You did.’
‘Really?’
‘Don’t ask.’
‘Yeah, but if someone had kidnapped Hatty to get at Adele, wouldn’t she say something?’
‘Would you?’ Dixon was pacing up and down in front of the television. ‘Someone takes your child and tells you they’ll kill her if you talk to the police. What’re you going to do?’
‘Say nothin’,’ said Lucy.
‘Exactly. You’d leave us following the dead ends.’
‘And you could be forgiven for that,’ said Jane. She switched off the television. ‘So, what happens now?’
‘I need to speak to Sonia and Alesha again before I say anything,’ replied Dixon. ‘Then we need to have a close look at Adele and Jeremy Renner.’
‘Without telling Roger.’
Dixon had managed five hours’ sleep, at Jane’s insistence. ‘You’re no good to Hatty if you’re like a bloody zombie,’ had been her exact words, and she had a point. The first seventy-two hours after Hatty’s disappearance had come and gone, but he never had believed that crap anyway. Every case was different. Either way, the next twenty-four hours would be critical and he needed to be able to stay awake. For Hatty’s sake, and for Roger’s.
Now he was sitting at a workstation in the Incident Room on the second floor of the police centre at Express Park. Everyone was drinking coffee: those officers who had been on duty all night, and those who had just arrived, including Potter and Chard.
‘We need to interview Sonia again, Ma’am,’ said Dixon, standing by her workstation.
‘You’re too late,’ Chard sneered. ‘She’s being charged now and it’s not a terrorism offence so you won’t get leave from a judge.’
‘The Chief Crown Prosecutor approved it overnight, Nick,’ said Potter, frowning. ‘Why? She’s refused to give us anything else. Says she can’t.’
‘I need to ask her about something she’s already said.’
Potter shrugged her shoulders.
Dixon ran down to the Safeguarding Unit on the first floor and wrenched open the door. ‘You got a minute?’ he said, looking at Jane with his eyes wide.
‘Er, yes.’
She followed him down to the custody suite.
‘Sonia’s being charged now, so it’s my last chance to speak to her,’ he said, running down the stairs.
‘You’re too late already, by the sounds of things.’
‘Bollocks.’
Once through the door, Dixon and Jane blinked furiously in the glare from the bright strip lights and spot lamps on the ceiling. Everything was white or light grey, which didn’t help – the floor, the ceiling and the desks, arranged in a circle in the middle of the room and each separated from the next by a curved soundproofed partition. The only colour in the entire room came from an illuminated red strip on the wall at waist height that looked much like a dado rail.
‘She’s in the next bay,’ said Jane, peering around the soundproof partition at the custody desk to their right. ‘I can’t tell whether she’s already been charged or not.’
‘I need you to go over to that far wall and lean against the red strip. All right?’
‘What does that do?’
‘D’you remember when I gave our local MP a guided tour of this place?’
Jane nodded.
‘I found out that it’s a panic strip. If you hit that all the cameras in the whole suite turn to that spot.’ Dixon grinned. ‘And I get a chance to speak to Sonia.’
‘What about the custody sergeant?’
‘I’ll take my chances with her.’
‘We could get in deep shit for this.’
‘Deeper than Hatty?’
Jane sighed. ‘Over there, you mean?’
‘That’ll do.’
Dixon watched Jane walk over to the far wall and lean back against it. Then she hit the red strip with the palm of her hand, triggering the alarm. He sprinted around to the custody desk in the next bay, pushed past the custody officer and appeared next to Sonia.
The custody sergeant’s eyes narrowed.
‘Remember me, Sonia?’ asked Dixon.
‘Yes.’
‘Hatty’s still out there.’
Sonia turned at the sound of footsteps as two more custody officers ran past behind them.
‘And she doesn’t have her grandmother to look after her,’ continued Dixon.
‘Sixty seconds,’ said the custody sergeant, glancing up at the camera above her head.
‘“Poland’s got a lot to answer for.” You were told to say that, weren’t you?’
Sonia nodded.
‘Who by?’
‘Jeff.’
‘Those exact words?’
‘He made me learn them and I had to teach them to Alesha too. She was to say them if we got caught.’
‘And it was “is going to suffer”?’
‘That’s it.’
‘Not he or she?’
‘No, just “is going to suffer”.’
‘Who is Poland?’
‘I told you, I don’t know.’
‘Thank you, Sonia.’
Dixon stepped back from behind the soundproof partition to find Jane being helped to the door by two custody officers.
‘I felt faint,’ she said, ‘and must’ve leaned against the alarm by mistake.’
‘I’ll take her,’ said Dixon. ‘Too much gin last night, I reckon.’
Jane waited until the door closed behind her. ‘Too much bloody gin,’ she said, hitting Dixon on the arm. ‘Did you get what you needed?’
‘Yes.’
‘What about the custody sergeant?’
‘She’ll be fine.’
Jane puffed out her cheeks as she followed Dixon up the stairs, two at a time. ‘What happens now?’
‘I need to persuade Potter to let us investigate Adele and Jeremy. Hopefully, she’ll give us some help too.’
‘And if she says no?’
‘We do it anyway.’
‘You did what?’ Potter threw her pen on to the table in meeting room 2.
‘I spoke to Sonia and she confirmed it,’ said Dixon.
‘You spoke to Sonia?’
‘I bumped into her down in the custody suite.’
‘So, let me make sure I understand this correctly, you’re saying Roger Poland has nothing to do with this?’
‘Sonia and Alesha were both schooled to say it if they were caught. “Poland’s going to suffer.” Think about it. As soon as we find Alesha we know Hatty’s kidnap is anything but random and we start looking at the family. This sends us in the wrong direction. Again. It was another smokescreen. It’s not about Roger at all.’
‘Yes, but it would hardly throw us off the scent for long.’
‘Maybe it doesn’t have to. Look, it’s about Adele and Jeremy.’
‘Someone has a grudge against them now?’
‘Or wants them to do something. Don’t forget, he works for a bank.’
‘They would’ve said something, surely?’
‘Would they?’ asked Dixon. ‘Would you, if someone had your daughter and was—’
‘I get it.’ Potter folded her arms.
‘Jane put in a request for their mobile phone records.’
‘I cancelled it.’ Potter sighed. ‘Which maybe I shouldn’t have done. What else d’you need?’
‘Some help. Louise, Dave and Mark will do.’
‘What about Roger Poland?’
‘I’ll deal with Roger.’
‘All right. I’ll arrange it.’ Potter sighed. ‘What if you’re wrong?’
‘Then you haven’t lost much. You’re not committing any real resources to it, are you? And if I’m right . . .’
Potter nodded. ‘Fuck it up and you’re on your own,’ she said, raising her eyebrows.
‘I never doubted it for a minute.’
Chapter Twenty-Eight
‘This is more like it,’ said Louise.
‘Putting the band back together.’ Pearce grinned.
‘Shut up, Mark.’
‘Yes, Sir.’
It was more like it, though. Dixon smiled as he looked around meeting room 2 at people he knew and trusted: Jane, Louise, Dave Harding and Mark Pearce. ‘Right then,’ he said, ‘we’re going to be working on the assumption that the reference to Poland in what Sonia said is Adele’s maiden name. It’s not Roger at all.’
‘Adele’s maiden name?’
‘Yes, Dave.’
‘For fuck’s sake . . .’ His voice tailed off.
‘I want full mobile phone records and I want to know where their cars have been since Tuesday morning. Include Roger’s ex-wife’s in that.’
‘I’ll do it,’ said Harding.
‘Er, thanks, Dave.’
‘That’s a first,’ said Pearce. ‘I’ve never known you volunteer for anything.’
Harding frowned. ‘It’s Roger’s grandkid.’
‘Mark, can you concentrate on their internet profiles, social media, anything like that. Usual drill.’
‘Yes, Sir.’
‘Louise, you take their finances. I want bank statements, past and present directorships, anything like that. Check the Land Registry too.’
‘Will do.’
‘Jane, you’re with me.’
‘Where are we going?’
‘Catcott. Walking on thin ice, treading on eggshells, and any other clichés I can think of.’
‘No Roger?’ asked Dixon as he stepped in through the front door of Old School House.
Geraldine sneered. ‘He’s down at the hospital going through his records again.’
Dixon and Jane followed her into the living room, where Adele was sitting alone in front of the wood burner, watching the flames flickering behind the glass. The television was on in the background, BBC News, with the sound switched to ‘Mute’.
‘Hello Adele,’ said Dixon, employing his best disarming smile.
She stood up, snatched a packet of cigarettes off the sideboard and walked out into the garden through the open French windows.
Dixon looked at Jane and raised his eyebrows.
‘They had a row, as far as I can gather,’ said Geraldine. ‘We left them alone last night, which was probably not a good idea. Jeremy wasn’t here when I arrived this morning and Adele’s not said a word.’
‘What about the Family Liaison officer?’ asked Jane.
‘She sent them home. Adele wouldn’t let Ros in either. I bumped into her in the lane when I arrived.’
Dixon hoped no one else could hear the alarm bells going off in his head. ‘Where’s Jeremy gone, do we know?’
Geraldine shrugged her shoulders. ‘His car’s gone; that’s all I can tell you.’
‘D’you know what time he left?’
‘No.’
Dixon walked towards the French windows, noticing out of the corner of his eye Geraldine following him. ‘Did you say tea?’ he asked, spinning round.
‘No.’
‘Oh, that’s a shame.’
‘Would you like tea?’
‘Coffee for me, please,’ said Jane, walking towards the kitchen. Geraldine followed, her sigh as loud as humanly possible.
Once out in the garden Dixon sat down on the low wall next to Adele. She reached behind her and flicked her ash into the pond. Two small fish surfaced to investigate, but soon turned away.
‘Poland’s got a lot to answer for,’ said Dixon, nodding.
Adele looked at him, her eyes narrowing.
‘Is there anything you want to tell me?’ he asked.
She took a long, slow drag on her cigarette, then dropped it into the pond behind her as she blew the smoke out through her nose. ‘Why, should there be?’
‘You tell me.’
‘There’s nothing,’ she said, lighting another cigarette.
‘How did they make contact with you?’
Adele frowned. ‘Who?’ The end of her cigarette bounced in the flame of the lighter as she spoke, the orange glow reflecting in her already bloodshot eyes.
‘Whoever’s got Hatty,’ said Dixon, matter of fact.
Silence.
He waited while Adele puffed on her cigarette.
‘What do they want?’ he asked.
‘No one’s contacted us.’ She flicked her ash on the patio this time.
‘Yes, they have. And they’ve told you not to tell me or they’ll harm Hatty.’
‘That’s not true.’ She shook her head. ‘You’ve got that wrong.’
She was staring at the broken paving stones in front of her, watching a small spider walking towards her bare feet. That’s if she was focusing on anything at all, thought Dixon. Her eyes looked glazed over, although it was difficult to tell with all the lost sleep and pills.
‘Where’s Jeremy?’
‘We had a row.’
‘What about?’
‘And where’s he gone?’
‘He said he had to go to work.’
‘What time did he leave?’
‘Who fucking cares?’ Adele sighed. ‘He’s gone. I have no idea what time he left. And no idea what bloody time it is now.’
‘What time will he be back?’
‘God knows.’
‘Hatty’s an only child?’ asked Dixon, changing the subject.
‘It just turned out that way,’ replied Adele. ‘We tried and I miscarried a couple of times. It just never happened.’
‘Did you try IVF?’
‘No. I wanted to, but Jeremy wouldn’t. He said it wasn’t meant to be.’ Another cigarette butt behind her in the pond. ‘So, how come you get on so well with Dad?’
‘Not sure, really. We just do,’ replied Dixon.
‘He said you’re the best he’s ever known in thirty years on the job.’
Dixon smiled. ‘He’s prone to exaggeration, is Roger.’
‘You and Jane are getting married too?’
‘I haven’t asked her yet.’
‘He’s really cut up about Hatty. Blames himself, but I keep telling him it’s not his fault.’ A tear appeared in the corner of Adele’s eye. ‘He was only doing his job, wasn’t he?’
‘It’s nobody’s fault, Adele. And certainly not Roger’s.’ Dixon spotted the sideways glance. ‘Tell me this,’ he said. ‘When you’ve done whatever it is they want, or paid them whatever it is they want, how d’you know they’re going to give you Hatty back?’
Adele took a deep breath, watching the flame on her lighter as she flicked it on and off again. ‘We . . . look, we don’t . . .’
‘Did they prove to you she’s still alive somehow?’
‘I . . . I don’t . . .’
‘Your tea’s here,’ shouted Geraldine, her head appearing around the patio door.
Dixon grimaced.
‘I don’t know what you’re talking about,’ snapped Adele, standing up.
‘I’m sorry, we don’t have time for tea, after all,’ said Dixon, following her back indoors. ‘Please ask Mr Renner to contact me when he gets back from the office.’
‘He’s gone to work?’ asked Geraldine, spinning round to glare at Adele.
‘May I?’ Dixon took a biscuit off the side plate on the dining table. ‘In the meantime, I’ll arrange for a Family Liaison officer to come back.’
