‘Is the threat credible?’ Morton asked.
Silverman stared intently at the note. ‘Yes. It is. The writer has gone to great lengths to avoid errors. Writing a note like this during or after a kidnap is difficult. It’s a high-pressure situation, and every second counts.’
‘Could the kidnappers have written the note beforehand?’ Morton asked.
‘Certainly. If they did, then it suggests planning, forethought, and premeditation. That would add to the credibility of the threat.’
‘So, what do we do? The victim’s girlfriend is adamant that she wants to avoid police involvement,’ Ayala said.
‘What choice does she have? Presumably, she doesn’t have a hundred grand.’ Silverman looked over to Morton for confirmation.
‘She hasn’t got ten pounds.’
‘Interesting.’ Silverman pulled her iPhone from her pocket and began to peck away.
‘I’m s-sorry,’ Mayberry said, ‘but w-what’s interesting?’
‘The demand is outrageous. It’s a huge amount of money. Either it’s serious, in which case our kidnappers are woefully misinformed, or the kidnappers never expected anyone to come through with the money.’
‘T-then w-why the ruse?’
Silverman smirked. ‘Why, indeed. There’s only one course of action. Somebody has to appear to make the drop. And, unless we can find Faye’s doppelgänger in the next few hours, Faye’s going to have to be it.’
‘You can’t be serious!’ Morton protested. ‘She’s barely a child. She’s had no training. If we send her in unprepared, she could be facing a violent murderer in the dark. There’s no way we can provide adequate cover in Hampstead Heath. That place is huge!’
‘Then we had better prepare her. You’ve got one of your officers with her now, don’t you?’ Silverman said. ‘She’s going to have to do what she can with the time we’ve got.’
Chapter 13: Money, Money, Money
Saturday 18th June, 12:00
The logistics of sending Faye in were complicated. They couldn’t be seen to whisk her away for a briefing at Scotland Yard lest the kidnappers notice and kill Mark in revenge.
After a heated debate, Silverman assumed control while Morton ran interference with the chief. If the brass caught wind of them using a civilian as a lure in a kidnapping case, there would be hell to pay.
It was down to Rafferty to brief Faye on what needed to be done. Rafferty was already on-scene. That damage had been done. If Rafferty had been made, then it was all over before it began.
The team needed help to make sure the kidnappers didn’t escape. The drop-off point at the Duelling Ground in Hampstead Heath was an odd choice. The Duelling Ground itself was totally flat and exactly forty paces wide. It had been designed that way so that gentlemen in the eighteenth century could duel fairly.
It also meant there was nowhere to hide immediately before the drop-off point.
There were several approach pathways. To the south was the South Meadow, thick with trees and lots of places to hide. If the kidnapper was lying in wait, this treeline was the most likely place for them.
To the north, water cut off the entrances, with the Stone and Sham bridges acting as chokepoints which the police could fence in. To the east was Highgate, and to the west was the rest of the heath.
With so many ways in and out, Hampstead Heath was an excellent choice for the kidnappers. Morton knew they’d need to haul in the local constabulary. Without on-the-ground local knowledge, it would be much too easy for the kidnapper to slip away in the dark.
Air Support was a given. The latest Eurocopter EC145 would be tasked to be in the area, but not directly over Hampstead until it was time. They needed to be near enough to respond, but not near enough for the kidnapper to notice.
Everything was a balancing act. If the kidnappers were spooked, they’d flee, and Mark Sanders would die.
If Morton didn’t have enough units in the area, then the kidnapper would get away with a bag of fake money. And Mark Sanders would die.
The only acceptable outcome would be to capture the kidnappers in the act and leverage their arrests to get Mark home safe.
Chapter 14: The Duelling Grounds
Saturday 18th June, 23:45
Faye had been extensively briefed. She had gone, with Rafferty following her at a distance, to the local branch of her own bank. It was there that Silverman had passed her a briefcase full of prop money. Faye’s eyes had widened at the sight of what appeared to be one hundred thousand pounds in unmarked, non-sequential, twenty-pound notes. It was obvious that Faye had assumed the banknotes were real, and Silverman had no cause to correct her misunderstanding.
The case itself had a GPS tracker within it as a fall-back, though Silverman didn’t share this with anyone. Not even Morton. Especially not Morton.
Silverman still didn’t trust his instincts. The last time they’d worked together might have been twenty years ago, and she knew he was competent enough, but leopards rarely changed their spots. As far as Silverman was concerned, Morton was damaged goods. His conduct back then had irrevocably destroyed her trust. But he was the ranking officer, and it was his sergeant who had become the go-between, so she had no choice but to work alongside the man. It was down to Silverman to make sure that Faye did exactly as she had been instructed and that nothing went wrong. If something did go awry, it would be her neck in a vice, and it would be small comfort that Morton would be right there alongside her.
***
At a quarter to midnight, Rafferty left Faye on Merton Lane to the east of Hampstead Heath. Silverman wanted plenty of space between Faye and the police so they wouldn’t spook the kidnapper.
The Air Support Unit was on standby. Morton had asked them to keep far enough away to be out of earshot, but close enough to respond in less than five minutes. They had a chopper in the air circling nearby Golders Green, ready to swoop in when they were called.
Hampstead Heath Constabulary were on hand, too. They had six men and two dogs on the ground. Four were wearing plain clothes, and two uniforms were on their regular beat circling the main pathways.
Faye knew they were out there. She’d been reassured that the police would be all around her. But she couldn’t see any of them, and she assumed in turn that they could not see her. The trees loomed overhead, cutting out what little moonlight there was, and a chill ran through the summer air. Faye felt the hairs on her arms stand on end.
‘I’m scared,’ she whispered into the tiny microphone pinned to her lapel.
‘Just keep going,’ Rafferty’s voice said comfortingly in her ear. ‘We’ve got you covered. Just keep on the path going around the outside of the park until you’re past the bathing pond, and then take a sharp left.’
Faye did as she was told. She clutched the briefcase she had been given close to her, her knuckles turning white, so tight was her grip. The money was the only way to get Mark back, and there was no way she was going to lose it.
The foliage overhead grew thicker as she approached the Highgate Gate. ‘Do I turn here?’
‘No,’ Rafferty replied. ‘Straight ahead, and right at the next gate.’
Faye could hear her own breathing looping through the microphone to her earpiece. Her heart thundered in her chest. For a fleeting moment, she thought she saw movement ahead of her.
‘Is... is that you?’ she asked.
‘Keep going, Faye. You’re only a few hundred feet out. You’ll be there in a few minutes. We’ve got eyes on you. Just trust us.’
***
Morton and Ayala were wearing plain clothes, each spaced a few hundred feet from Faye. Ayala was to her right, near Sham Bridge, while Morton was by Hampstead Gate. The night seemed unnaturally still. Morton had caught no sight of anyone but Faye since she had entered the park.
‘Air Support,’ Morton whispered into his microphone. ‘How far out are you?’
‘Ninety seconds.’
‘Good. Get us thermal imaging,’ Morton said. ’Co-ord
inate it with Silverman, but loop me in on any audio. We’ve got boots on the ground, but if there are any heat signatures that don’t belong to one of us, I want to be the first to know.’
***
The next two minutes were the longest of Faye’s short life. She struggled to maintain her composure. There, again, in the bushes – something, or someone, was moving.
The shadow appeared to be keeping pace with her as she headed north on the short path towards the Duelling Ground. It appeared to be a man. Tall, dark, and imposing. She couldn’t see his face.
‘It’s him,’ she whispered. ‘He’s watching me.’
‘Where?’ Rafferty said.
‘To my left, in the bushes.’
Rafferty flicked a button on her microphone. ‘Have we got anyone in the bushes to the west of Faye’s location?’ When nobody responded, indicating it wasn’t one of them, she switched to an open all-units broadcast. ‘All units are GO!’
***
Morton was closest. He legged it through the bushes towards Faye’s location. As he closed in on the location where Faye had seen the man, the roar of the helicopter’s engine grew louder and louder. Twenty feet out, the helicopter floodlights switched on. Three beams jolted from the sky. One fixed on the man Faye had seen, static and unmoving. The other two roamed around, seeking out Faye and Morton.
The lights were blindingly bright. Morton squinted through half-closed eyes. Not one man. Two men. One was standing and the other was... on his knees. The man standing up looked at Morton in astonishment.
‘Have you got him?’ Rafferty asked over the radio.
‘Negative,’ Morton said. ‘All units, fall back. They’re not our kidnappers.’
***
The two men were arrested, not for kidnapping, but for public indecency. Operation Rabbit was dead in the water. Any kidnappers would have long since been scared off by the lights and the roar of the helicopter’s blades.
The officers descended on the Duelling Ground. Faye was seated on one of the two benches, a silver thermal blanket wrapped around her.
Morton gave her a half-smile as he approached. ‘Take her home, Rafferty. There’s nothing more she can do tonight. And stay with her, if you don’t mind.’
Silverman was livid. ‘Wait a minute, Inspector Rafferty. Where do you think you’re going? How dare you give the order to go?’
Morton glared. ‘She’s taking Faye home. The last time I checked, DI Rafferty was under my command, not yours. And she was acting on my orders. If you’ve got a problem, you can take it up with me. Privately.’
Rafferty arched an eyebrow, silently asking Morton if he wanted her to stay, to back him up. He gave her a slight shake of the head as if to say ‘get out of here’, then watched her scarper with Faye under her arm.
Chapter 15: Sofa
Sunday 19th June, 02:00
Rafferty had agreed to sleep aboard The Guilty Pleasure “just this once” in order to reassure Faye. The poor girl hadn’t heard the blackmailers come and go, and feared they could return without her knowing.
‘I’m dreadfully sorry the sofa is so tiny,’ Faye said. She stretched and stifled a yawn.
The sofa, while small, was just about enough to envelop Rafferty’s petite frame.
‘It’s okay. Go get some sleep. I promise nobody is going to come aboard while I’m here, and in the morning, I’ll fit new locks to the front door that only you have the keys to. How does that sound?’
Faye smiled wearily, as if she thought she could finally let her guard down long enough to go to sleep. She disappeared into the bedroom with a small wave. Snoring soon echoed from the bedroom, nasal and squeaky.
Rafferty felt her own eyes beginning to close, despite the guilt. It’d been gone one o’clock by the time they escaped the fiasco at the Duelling Ground, and Silverman’s voice had echoed in her brain the entire way. It was Rafferty’s fault the kidnappers had escaped. She should have known there’d be civilians in the park.
Rafferty let those thoughts slip away as she pulled an old blanket up over her. As she was falling asleep, she felt the cat jump up on her legs and find a space in the crook behind her knees. The warmth and weight of the cat was somehow homely and comforting, and soon, Rafferty drifted off to sleep.
***
Rafferty slept like a log. The sun was streaming through the window by the time she awoke a little after eight o’clock. Faye was still snoring loudly, and it took Rafferty a moment to catch her bearings.
She glanced down to make sure the cat was not still sleeping on her legs, stood, and stretched languidly.
From the corner of her eye, she saw a small piece of paper fluttering in the breeze underneath the door. It was half-in and half-out of the boat. Rafferty knelt to retrieve it and saw that it was a clipping from The Impartial newspaper, like the ransom note. It was crumpled and wet, and once she had laid it out flat on the dining table, Rafferty gave a gasp. In the same bold black penmanship was a second message from the kidnappers:
I SAW THE POLICE. SAME TIME TONIGHT, BURNHAM BEECHES. DROP THE MONEY AND LEAVE. THIS IS YOUR LAST CHANCE.
***
‘There’s got to be something, boss!’ Ayala cried.
It was Sunday morning in the Incident Room and Mayberry was operating the projector screen to show the stills from the CCTV cameras around Hampstead Heath.
‘I wouldn’t count on it,’ Morton said darkly. His face was ashen, his eyes sunken. He had not slept. ‘The Heath is just too porous. The kidnappers could have entered and exited in virtually any direction. We don’t know when or how they made us. They could have been watching from a distance, using innocent third parties to recce the area, or even have flown a drone over us. We wouldn’t have noticed in the dark, especially with the helicopter noise in the background.’
‘So, w-what do we do?’ Mayberry said.
‘We assume he’s dead and treat this as a murder inquiry. That lets us assume jurisdiction. I can’t work while I’m under Silverman’s feet.’
Ayala smirked. ‘What’s with you and her, boss?’
‘Never you mind, Bertram.’ Morton took a sip from his coffee and then continued as if he had never been interrupted. ‘We’ve got no corpse to work with. What do we know?’
‘We know he’s a continuous cruiser. He’s in IT, but he pretends he’s in finance. His brother, also a narrowboat man, thinks he’s a womaniser. That’s it,’ Ayala said.
‘That’s not everything. What’s changed in his life? Her. She’s out of prison–’
‘For a drugs offence! A non-violent one, at that.’
Morton shrugged. ‘I’m not accusing her. Yet. But it’s awfully suspicious that she comes back into his life, and he disappears.’
‘Why?’
‘Another w-woman?’ Mayberry suggested.
‘Another woman killed him? Or he was killed because he was seeing another woman?’ Morton asked. ‘Interesting theory. If he was cheating, it would give both the girlfriend and the mistress reason to be upset with him.’
Morton’s phone rang as he spoke. He glanced at the caller ID. ‘It’s Rafferty,’ he said to the others.
He set the phone down on the table, cleared his throat, and then said, ‘Hello, Ashley. You’re on speaker.’
‘David, there’s another note.’
Chapter 16: Here We Go Again
Much like the first, the second note was quickly photographed, and the picture was displayed on the big screen for Morton, Ayala, and Mayberry to analyse.
Morton read it aloud: ‘I saw the police. Same time tonight, Burnham Beeches. Drop the money and leave. This is your last chance.’
‘Nothing about Mark this time. But they’ve let slip that it’s just one person,’ Ayala said.
‘Or they w-want us to t-think that,’ Mayberry said.
‘Why Burnham Beeches?’ Morton wondered aloud. Burnham Beeches was a small woodland, way out in Slough, twenty-seven miles along the M40.
‘They could be a local,’ Ay
ala suggested.
‘Maybe. It does suggest they’ve got their own transport. Burnham Beeches is miles away from any tube stations. How much land does it cover?’
Mayberry tapped away at his laptop. ‘Three h-hundred and seventy-five hectares, b-boss.’
‘And yet, our kidnappers haven’t actually suggested a spot to drop the money. What are they expecting to happen? Faye can’t just wander around looking for any old spot to throw a hundred thousand pounds on the ground. Something isn’t right here,’ Morton said.
‘You think they’re not serious about the hundred grand?’ Ayala said.
‘I thought it was fishy the first time. Nobody has seen any evidence that Mark would be worth that much. He’s a poor guy with an even poorer girlfriend. Everything about this seems mixed up. The neat penmanship, the careful preparation, the lack of any forensic clues, all of which points to a professional. The inept note without a specific drop location points to an amateur,’ Morton said.
‘Two kidnappers, then.’
‘I don’t know. The note says “I”. Everything about this is inconsistent.’
Chapter 17: The Frogwoman
Sunday 19th June, 09:45
Amber Baldwin prided herself on her little business card. It announced that she was a Police Diver, a member of the Met’s Underwater & Confined Space Search Team, but she preferred to call herself “The Frogwoman”. They wouldn’t let her print that nickname on her card no matter how nicely she asked.
And she was the only woman on the team. The other divers were all men.
Usually, she was assigned to work on the Thames. The variety of things she’d found in the river was astounding. There’d been baggies that had once been filled with drugs. There’d been guns, knives, and stolen goods. Anything and everything could be dumped in the river’s murky depths.
Today, she was on the Paddington arm of the Grand Union Canal. In many ways, the canals were the easiest part of the job. They were shallow enough to stand up in, for the most part. They were a lot warmer than the Thames, and cleaner, too. The biggest challenge was the algae. Every summer, it bloomed thick and furry across the surface of the canal. The combination of warmer water and direct sunlight seemed to help it thrive. There was duckweed, too, oodles of it. It clung to the propellers of the narrowboats and tied itself around the divers and their equipment. Finally, there were the overhanging branches. Trees lined many of the canals. Pretty, yes, but for Amber, they were another hazard to work around.
Missing Persons (A DCI Morton Crime Novel Book 5) Page 5
