by Ellis, Tim
The woman had seen her, watched where she went. She had to keep going, but she had the advantage. She knew this area, had the overabundance of labyrinthine alleys, imprinted on her memory. She bolted across the road to a gap between two houses, stopped, shrugged off her rucksack and withdrew the short serrated sheath knife from a side pocket.
It was all right knowing the alleys, but she also knew what was down those alleys. This particular one contained a drug dealer called Nomad, who’d kill you as soon as look at you for a bag of candy.
With luck he might not be there, but she knew he would be – and he was.
‘Well, lookee what we got ourselves here, boys,’ Nomad said to three other teenagers sitting on fruit boxes or leaning against the wall. ‘I think we gonna have ourselves a good time – grab her.’
Two of them came at her.
She kicked one in the bollocks and stabbed the other one in the eye.
They crumpled to the ground squealing like gutted pigs.
Nomad was slow to react.
She leapt onto the back of the blinded boy moaning on all fours and launched herself at Nomad.
‘What the . . . ?’ He put his hands up to protect his face, but she stabbed the knife between them, it entered his throat and she dragged the serrated edge sideways.
‘Fucker,’ she screamed. She was scared, hadn’t realised how scared until that word came out of her mouth like an alien parasite that had been waiting patiently to be unleashed on the world. Anyway, it was about time Nomad got some payback. The bastard had terrorised people around the area for long enough. Drug dealers were dragging the neighbourhood down.
The last boy pinned himself against the wall and held up his hands in surrender.
She growled at him like a wild animal.
He ran and disappeared through a back gate.
It was dark now.
She ran.
How much time had passed? Were they following her?
For answer she heard the metallic rattle and pop of a silenced weapon. Her ordeal in Bunker 7 came rushing back. Shit! They were catching up to her.
She burst out of the alleyway into another street.
Now what?
She could go straight across and into another alley, but that’s what they’d expect her to do. She could turn left or right and run along the pavement – staying in the open where people could see her. But these bastards didn’t give a shit. They’d blow her away in the blink of an eye, or just grab her and take her somewhere nice and quiet where they could torture her to their hearts’ content.
There was a battered old Volvo 300 three cars to her right. She ran to it, used the knife to pop the nearside back door open and slid inside – sitting on the floor behind the driver’s seat.
Just in time!
The snarling woman came running out of the alleyway, looked left and right, and carried on across the road to the alleyway opposite.
She had a burning desire to jump out of the car and run down the road while she had the chance, but her instincts were transmitting another message. She locked the door, used an old moth-eaten blanket from the back seat to cover herself and waited.
Then she saw two men with weapons burst from the alley. Christ! It was like a fucking police state.
Her phone began vibrating in the pocket of her jeans. Thank God it was set to vibrate and didn’t start playing her latest ringtone – No Woman No Cry by Bob Marley.
The woman came back. ‘I lost the fucking bitch.’
She felt the car bounce up and down and her stomach jumped into her mouth.
‘Brightmore’s gonna love you,’ one of the men said.
‘Me? At least I fucking saw her. You bastards were too busy playing with yourselves.’
‘Hey,’ another male voice shouted. ‘You wanna get the fuck off my car.’
She heard two muffled pops.
‘Are you fucking crazy?’ a man said.
‘Do you really want me to answer that?’ the woman replied. ‘We’d better get back and tell Brightmore how you two fucked up his operation.’
The car bounced again. She heard them arguing as they retraced their steps along the alley.
She waited a good five minutes, and then stuck her head out from under the blanket. There was nobody about, so she opened the door.
A young man and a woman were lying dead in a large pool of blood on the pavement.
She felt overwhelmed by a surge of anger. Who the fuck were these bastards that they could just kill two innocent people and walk away without any fear of retribution?
The keys to the car were lying in the pool of blood. Carefully, she picked them up and wiped them on the blanket from the back seat. She climbed in the car and started the engine.
Enough was enough.
Retribution was now at hand.
***
He’d completely forgotten about calling Lily at three-thirty, so he rang her number as he went into the toilet.
‘Sorry,’ he said. ‘I got tied up.’
‘Why can I hear water running?’
‘I’m in the toilet.’
‘You’re not talking to me and . . . ?’
‘Needs must, I’m afraid. I’ve got a briefing with the Chief in seven minutes. What have you found out?’
‘Was the Kidz Agency telephone number checked?’
‘Pay-as-you-go – untraceable.’
‘It’s a scam. I’ve visited the parents of Chelsea King, Helen Merriman and Josh Adams, and I’m just pulling into Burnham-on-Crouch to see Jane Wilson’s parents. There was no point in going back to Norwich because Sally Bowker’s parents are dead. These people have used the same method in each location with slightly different names – Kidz R Us, ModelKidz and TeamKidz. I acquired two numbers, which have been disconnected. They must have a massive database of children that the paedophiles are choosing from by now.’
‘What concerns me is that the media frenzy over Sally Bowker might drive them underground.’
‘It’s a possibility. Anyway, I expect you want to wash your hands now, so I’m going to see Mr and Mrs Wilson and then I’m calling it a day. Burnham-on-Crouch looks like a nice quiet place, so I’ll book into a hotel here and get an early night.’
‘Stay out of the bar,’ he advised her.
‘Don’t worry, I’ve learnt my lesson. I’ll see you late tomorrow afternoon.’
The call ended.
He washed his hands and then headed towards the incident room.
The Chief was already there.
He rang Richards.
‘Hello.’
‘Where are you?’
‘In a taxi.’
‘ETA?’
‘Is that a new swear word?’
‘Estimated time of arrival.’
‘Oh! Five minutes.’
‘Okay.’
He ended the call.
‘She’ll be here in a couple of minutes. Would you like a coffee, Sir?’
‘No, I’m fine.’
He stood at the whiteboard. ‘I’ll begin then. Richards already knows what I’m going to tell you anyway. Someone is a student of human nature. They’re using the parents’ desire to turn their children into celebrities by advertising in free papers for child models. Thousands of parents and children turn up to rented locations, queue for hours on end, give the people all their details, let a photographer take pictures of their children and then go home to wait for a modelling contract. Instead, a paedophile looks through a database of child photographs, chooses one of them and then the removal man arrives to take their child away.’
‘The price of fame.’
‘Exactly. I’ve just spoken to DI Gold and she’s found the same MO involving three of the other abducted children.’
The Chief rubbed his chin between thumb and forefinger. ‘The next step must be to warn the editors of all the free newspapers and tell them to contact us if they’re approached by these people.’
‘Yes, that’s one course of action we can t
ake. Also, the pathologist – Doc Riley – discovered mud between Sally Bowker’s toes that she traced to Tilbury Power Station.’
‘A solid lead?’
‘Except, there are upwards of three thousand people working there, and that’s not counting others that might have had contact with the mud – such as fishermen. So, tomorrow we’ll begin narrowing down the suspect list by cross-referencing the employees with the other leads we’ve collected such as the X-registration Green Range Rover, the rope and knots, the plastercasts of the size 11 trainer and the tyre track, and the type of house the killer lives in. Richards still needs to run the database search for other possible abductions in the southeast matching the criteria we’ve identified. It’s been a bit hectic today, but she’ll have the search running overnight.’
The door opened and an out-of-breath Richards came in. ‘Sorry I’m a bit late, Chief.’
‘That’s all right, Constable.’
‘Have you checked your desk?’ Parish asked her.
‘What for?’
‘Didn’t you tell me that the results of a search for the green Range Rover would be . . . ?’
‘Oh yes.’ She disappeared again.
‘You just can’t get the staff anymore,’ he said to the Chief. ‘Richards also rang Vice about the eternity symbol and they redirected her to CEOP. They’ve connected the symbol to an online paedophile ring that operates in cells of ten like terrorists. Apparently, they’re having trouble infiltrating the ring because of the sophisticated computer security the paedophiles are using and the fact that there are only ten in the ring. Also, we’ve been warned to contact them before we take any action. Then, of course, we became embroiled in the murder of Henry Rattinger.’ He moved to another whiteboard and began writing . . .
Richards returned carrying a stack of paper.
‘Well?’
‘There are fifty-five green Range Rovers, and I have a list of Henry Rattinger’s cases.’
‘If it’s all the same to you, Chief, we’ll go through everything tonight and see what we’ve got tomorrow morning?’
‘That seems logical. I certainly have other important things to be getting on with.’
‘We can spare the Chief five minutes in the morning, can’t we, Richards?’
‘But . . .’
‘Good.’
The Chief left.
Richards flopped down in a chair. ‘You made me rush for nothing.’
‘Don’t sit there contemplating your navel, you have work to do. While I’m looking through those lists, you make me a coffee and then input the database query for other abductions in the southeast, which – I might add – should have been done this morning. Your sloppiness seriously embarrassed me in front of the new Chief.’
‘But . . .’
‘Are you still here?’
She dropped the lists in front of him and hobbled out without another word.
***
He knocked on a few more doors along Old Ferry Road once he’d escaped from Sharon Williams’ house, but no one had seen or heard anything.
He knew that if he didn’t drive up to Stoke-By-Nayland tonight to check out the address he wouldn’t get another opportunity before he had to hand everything over to CO19. There was no way he could go in alone, knock on the door and ask to see the person in charge. He’d just drive up there, park outside the address and see what was what. If it was a big house surrounded by a metal fence . . . Well, then he’d pass it over to CO19, but if it was something else – he’d have to decide what to do.
First though, he needed to go and visit Xena. If he didn’t go and see her she’d want to know why, and he was useless at telling lies.
He set off towards King George Hospital. As soon as he joined the A12 he phoned Jennifer to tell her what he was doing.
‘Monsieur! I’ll be all alone.’
‘I know, but it can’t be helped. Hopefully, I’ll solve the riddle of the children soon, and then . . . we could go away on holiday.’
‘We could?’
‘I don’t see why not. If you want to?’
‘I do. Where?’
‘You choose.’
‘Anywhere?’
‘Wherever your heart desires.’
‘You could have said earlier. Now, it’s too late to get any holiday brochures.’
‘They have holidays on the internet.’
‘They do! You’re not going to wake me up when you get home, are you?’
’Do you want me to?’
‘Monsieur!’
It took him an hour to reach the hospital. He was slightly early for visiting hours, so he called in at the hospital restaurant and had a shrivelled lasagne with garlic bread that wouldn’t have been out of place in a child’s rock collection, a lukewarm mug of tea and a piece of ginger cake that was as dry as the Sahara desert.
Xena was pretending to be asleep when he crept into her room.
‘You can’t fool a fool,’ he said as he sat down in the chair next to the bed.
She burst out laughing. ‘That’s the wrong saying, numpty.’
‘Where have you hidden the whiteboard then?’
‘Now I know how innocent people feel who have been accused of a crime.’
Staff Nurse James was standing in the doorway. ‘Innocent! You? Now, I’ve heard everything.’
‘This is a private room,’ Xena said. ‘For private patients, who are having private conversations.’
‘You live in a dream world, Xena Blake. This is an NHS hospital that doesn’t have private rooms.’ She glanced at Stick. ‘You might want to wander into the ladies toilet if you’re looking for a whiteboard.’
‘You’re a filthy snitch, James,’ Xena said to her. ‘I’m going to fit you up when I get out of here.’ Her voice rose to a crescendo as James wandered off along the corridor laughing. ‘You’ll be spending the rest of your life in Belmarsh Prison as someone’s bitch.’
‘You’ve made lots of friends in here, I see.’
‘The sooner I get out of here the better.’
‘Have you heard when that might be yet?’
‘They won’t even consider letting me out for another two weeks. They’ll be able to transfer me straight to the psychiatric ward by that time.’
Jennifer and me are going to go on holiday as soon as I’ve solved this case.’
‘You’re going to leave me barely hanging onto life while you go on holiday?’
‘You want to make up your mind. You’ve got DI Dougall now – you don’t need me.’
‘Tom Dougall! I’d rather get in bed with a snake.’
‘Are my ears burning?’
Dougall stood grinning in the doorway.
‘Your whole head should be engulfed in flames.’
‘I thought so. Well, if I’m a snake then you won’t want this wifi-enabled laptop then.’
‘A live snake is better than a dead snake, Dougall.’
He passed her the black nylon rucksack he’d been carrying.
‘Call a nurse,’ Stick said. ‘Have them bring in the whiteboard.’
Xena’s eyes narrowed. ‘Why?’
‘We all know you’ve got one, so it may as well be in here.’
She pressed the buzzer and a Health Care Assistant (HCA) appeared.
‘Can you bring my whiteboard back?’
‘. . . Please,’ Stick added.
Xena thrust the laptop lead at him. ‘Plug that in, numpty.’
He found a socket and plugged it in.
‘Okay, let’s see what the DVD shows us.’
The three of them watched as five men wearing balaclavas and waving guns about in the faces of staff took the three blond-haired children from the secure unit. At first glance, there didn’t appear to be anything that might help them.
‘I’ll have to watch it a couple more times,’ Xena said.
‘You have time to do that,’ Stick agreed.
‘What do you mean by that?’
The HCA wheeled the whiteboard
in.
‘Thank you,’ Stick said to her.
Xena grunted. ‘She doesn’t speak a word of English, so you’re wasting your breath. The place is riddled with immigrants.’
‘It’s the sentiment that counts.’
‘Rubbish. You could have told her to run down to the shop and get you a bar of chocolate for all the good it’d do. Do you know, they have to employ an army of interpreters?’
Stick smiled. ‘You’re making it up.’
‘Did you hear that, Dougall? What would you do with a subordinate who accused you of telling pork pies?’
‘Flogging always works for me.’
Stick stood up and moved round the bed to examine the whiteboard more closely. ‘You’ve been busy,’ he said. ‘It’s a work of art.’
She pulled a face. ‘I had a bit of time on my hands.’
‘Well, here’s something else you can add to the board. An old woman – who lives next door to Pitt – saw a black van arrive at one o’clock one morning with two men, a woman and a blond-haired child inside. They spoke Russian or one of the other Slavic languages, and the woman took the child inside Pitt’s house.’
‘Then what?’ Xena asked.
‘She went back to bed.’
‘Bloody hell.’
‘She did get the number plate of the black van though.’
‘It’s a good job I made you go back there, isn’t it?’
‘I was planning on going back anyway.’
‘Did I tell you I was looking round for another partner?’
Stick grinned. ‘Do you need any help?’
‘So, now what?’
‘Now, I have an address on the other side of Colchester in a little village called Stoke-By-Nayland. The vehicle is owned by a man called Dragan Milić. I’m going to stake the place out after I leave here.’
‘Stake the place out? Are you crazy? Get CO19 to raid it.’
‘I need to make sure it’s the right place first. If I call in CO19 and it’s the wrong place, I’m going to look like an idiot.’
‘More of an idiot, you mean?’
He looked at Tom Dougall. ‘What about Koll?’
