The Follow

by Paul Grzegorzek

  ‘Shite. You?’

  He settled back into the chair, looking tired and worn. ‘About the same. A nationwide bulletin has gone out and they’ve called an Aftan, so it’s just a waiting game now.’

  An Aftan is a rule buried deep in some regulation book somewhere that forcibly prevents any officer on division from leaving work until it’s called off. Needless to say they were extremely unpopular, although in this case I suspected that people wouldn’t mind. I drank my tea in silence, staring at the screen in front of me as I tried not to think about Jimmy. Kev startled me yet again by suddenly speaking; I’d almost forgotten he was there.

  ‘How are the checks on that partial index from the van going?’

  ‘One thousand, two hundred and twelve possible matches on PNC, none stolen in the force for over a year and the PNC bureau is working to narrow the list down. Hopefully they’ll have something by morning prayers.’

  ‘Morning prayers’ was the nickname for the meeting that the command team had every morning to discuss what had happened on the division over the last twenty-four hours, just after our daily intelligence meeting. By then the trail would be colder than my marriage and we would be into ‘slow-time’, which meant that we would be wallowing further and further behind as we used reactive instead of proactive methods to try and find Jimmy.

  ‘Okay, well I’m going to check in with Gold but I suspect that we’ll be stood down shortly. CID are providing someone to do any more intel stuff.’ He glanced at the clock on the wall; the red LEDs showing that it was some time after 2.00 a.m. ‘Can you make it in for seven-thirty?’

  I nodded, suspecting that I would struggle to sleep anyway. ‘Yeah, no problem. In fact I don’t mind staying for the duration if you need me to?’

  ‘No, I want you to get some sleep at least. I’m going upstairs to speak to Gold; I’ll let you know as soon as we get the stand-down.’

  He squeezed my shoulder as he left and walked out of the office while I idly scanned through the other logs to see what was happening on division. My attention was starting to waver now and I couldn’t concentrate properly, so I stared into space until I was jolted back to wakefulness by Kev coming back in. ‘Go home, I’ll see you in a few hours,’ he called, and I waved as he left again.

  I called comms to let them know I was logging off and closed everything down before leaving myself, trudging down to the car park through deserted corridors that felt more like home than my house did.

  29

  TWO HOURS sleep, two Pro-Plus and one large coffee later, I was sat in the briefing room on the fourth floor of the police station with about fifty other officers, all of whom had the look on their faces that we tended to reserve for when someone had done something to one of our own. The whole force had been mobilised for this, unsurprisingly, and this briefing was one of many that was going on across Sussex as they prepared to turn over every stone in the county looking for Jimmy.

  I still hadn’t been contacted by Davey and I was growing more concerned by the minute. What if this was purely revenge and not an attempt to get the drugs back? If that were the case it wouldn’t make any difference if I told the whole story, but I couldn’t rely on that in case Davey was just letting me sweat a little before making his demands. I was so tired that my brain refused to think in a straight line and I kept going round in circles trying to work out what to do. I began to get frustrated with just sitting and waiting and shifted impatiently.

  Rudd was sitting next to me, staring into his own coffee and ignoring the world in general but as I began squirming he looked up at me. ‘You all right Gareth?’

  I shook my head, feeling my brain rattle as I did so. ‘Not really. I want to be out there and looking for him, not waiting for the command team to pull their finger out and get this briefing started.’

  He smiled sympathetically at me. ‘I know mate, I feel the same, but if we all go haring off in different directions we’ll never find Jimmy.’

  ‘I know; I just don’t like the waiting.’

  Whatever Rudd was going to say next was lost as a Superintendent John Decker, came into the room and walked to the podium at the far end, leaving a trail of silence in his wake as officers shut up and prepared to listen.

  ‘Good morning everyone, I’ll keep this as brief as possible. I’m Superintendent Decker from Brighton division. Most of you know me already but for those of you who don’t, let me just tell you that we are committing every resource to finding PC Holdsworth as quickly as possible, and I will get this done.’

  He paused to look out over the sea of faces staring up at him. ‘This has now been named Operation Hunt. Just after 2000 hours last night, PC Holdsworth was abducted from the Royal Sussex by four men, all with balaclavas, and one was carrying a handgun which was not discharged. They assaulted a senior nurse and took PC Holdsworth from his bed, despite the fact he’s suffering from pneumonia after a stab wound that collapsed one of his lungs.’

  He pulled up a map on the large computer screen attached to the wall behind him and used a laser pointer to indicate several red circles superimposed on the map. ‘These are the areas we have searched already, doing complete house-to-house enquiries on the route that they took, then areas where someone might have seen the vehicle they used after they burned the van out at the top of Wilson Avenue. Although we have nothing forensics-wise, we are working on the assumption that Quentin Davey, the drug dealer who stabbed PC Holdsworth, is responsible for the abduction until something else presents itself. We don’t know a lot more at this stage but we will be working around the clock until our colleague is found. You will be given assignments by your supervisors, can sergeants and inspectors stay behind please; the rest of you get ready to deploy. Thank you.’

  I filed out with the others. Another typical Sussex briefing: they drag everyone in to tell them how we’ll get the job done, then kick us all out so that only the supervisors know the ins and outs, wasting precious time that we could be using to find Jimmy. I thundered down the stairs, not wanting to talk to anybody despite my name being called a few times as I ran past people. I made it back to the office in record time, ignoring Sally as I switched on my terminal and waited impatiently for it to wake up.

  ‘Gareth?’ Sally asked tentatively, looking as though she’d just been slapped.

  ‘I’m sorry, what?’

  ‘Um, nothing, I just wanted to know if you’re okay? Kev called me last night and told me what happened, so I know why you didn’t call me.’

  I sighed. I had totally forgotten that we’d arranged a dinner date and, despite what had happened, the least I could have done was call her and let her know.

  ‘I’m sorry Sally, I’ve only had a couple of hours sleep and I’m exhausted. I couldn’t stop thinking about Jimmy last night; I just want to find him safe and well.’

  ‘I know, we all do. Everyone in the Nick is doing everything they can to help.’

  I nodded and turned back to my computer, which as usual was taking forever to wake up. The office was muted this morning, the usual buzz absent as people went about their work in near silence. The lack of noise immediately got on my nerves. It was as if they already thought that Jimmy was dead.

  As soon as my system chugged into slow and painful life, I booted up OIS and checked Jimmy’s log, skimming through the hundred and fifty plus pages, years of experience allowing me to skip the information that wasn’t relevant, such as which call signs had been assigned and requests for PNC checks.

  Nothing vital had been added so I began to search the rest of the serials. Initially I just searched central Brighton, then moved on to include Hove as well and was about to go back to the kidnapping log when something caught my eye.

  An elderly woman had phoned in to complain that the people downstairs were having a party and that one of the men going into the flat was wearing a dress. She claimed that it wasn’t right and that not only were they banging and crashing all the time, but now the ‘gays’ were invading Hove and we should do
something.

  The woman had been given advice by the operator to call Environmental Health about the noise and the log had been closed off without police attendance. It wouldn’t have meant anything to me, either, had I not tailed a dealer back to that block of flats a couple of weeks ago during a follow, and although I hadn’t recognised him, he had been selling to Davey’s customers.

  It was probably nothing, but a hospital gown could look a little like a dress and I couldn’t discount the possibility that it could be where they had taken Jimmy. The time on the log said that it had come in at 2210, which was about two hours after Jimmy had been taken.

  ‘Sal, come and look at this!’ I said, excitedly. ‘I think I might have found something.’

  Sally leaned over, reading the log, and when she had finished our eyes met.

  ‘Do you think the dress could be a hospital gown?’ she asked, looking animated.

  I nodded. ‘That’s what I reckon. Where’s Kev?’

  ‘I think he’s still in the briefing,’ she replied, checking over the divider.

  As if summoned by her look, Kev appeared at the door, seeming remarkably awake considering the time he left last night.

  ‘Kev, I think I’ve got something!’ I called, as he approached then came into the pod at my call. I pointed to the computer screen and he read the serial.

  ‘It’s a bit of a long shot,’ he said, rubbing his chin the way he always did when thinking.

  ‘I’m pretty sure that I saw one of Davey’s boys going into that flat the other day.’

  He looked at me sharply. ‘Did you put an intel log in?’

  ‘I thought I did, maybe not. I’ll check and see.’

  He nodded. ‘Right. You do that; I’ll go see the super.’

  I immediately checked through my CIMS outbox and cursed when I couldn’t find the intel log. ‘I must have forgotten,’ I said to Sally who was still watching over my shoulder.

  ‘Well write it now and get them to put it on the system,’ she suggested, which I did immediately before pinging it off to Kate at the centre desk who would then sanitise it (take out any information that would show the source of the log) and place it on the system.

  Rudd and Eddie came back from getting coffee, placing a large one on the desk in front of me. I showed them the serial and told them my little snippet about having seen a dealer there recently. As soon as I mentioned it Rudd got excited.

  ‘I lost Davey there a couple of weeks ago. I saw him go into the estate but I lost him when I parked up. I’ll bet that’s where they’re keeping Jimmy!’ He pushed me out of the way and used my CIMS login to dig up the report which he then printed along with mine.

  Kev came back through the door with Superintendent Decker and we had a brief powwow, which rapidly turned into a plan for a strike on the flat. Decker then took Kev away with instructions to Rudd to go over to the magistrate’s court and swear out a warrant, something which he was particularly good at, and for the rest of us to stand by for further instructions.

  A tense twenty minutes later we’d pulled up all the intelligence we had on the flat, which sadly wasn’t much, but we had managed to find a floor plan from a previous warrant buried in the filing cabinet where they were all kept, which made the job a lot easier.

  Eddie and I discussed possible avenues of approach, settling for using the alleyway that led into the estate from the street next to it and approaching the target flat from behind. This would be the safest way to get into position without alerting the occupants to our presence.

  We had just finished making maps and plans from Google Earth, drawing over the top in thick black pen, when Kev came back into the office.

  ‘Eddie, Gareth, you two with me. Rudd is going straight to the plot to watch the front; he’s got the warrant with him. We’re briefing a firearms team in five minutes so get everything you’ve got and see you on the fourth floor.’

  Now that the plans were made, everything seemed to be happening all at once and I could only pray that I wasn’t mistaken and that we would find Jimmy alive and well.

  30

  AN HOUR later, I was sitting in the driver’s seat of a beaten-up old panel van parked up on Bolsover Road, just east of the target flat. Only the occasional jostle gave away the fact that eight heavily armed officers were hidden in the back. I felt sorry for them, all loaded up with tactical vests and rifles, then crammed into the rear of the van as the temperature hit the low twenties, but they were used to it and not one of them made a noise in complaint.

  I had my covert set on and was to give the go as firearms officers use a different channel on their radios for tactical reasons. Rudd hadn’t seen any movement from the flat and ideally Kev wanted to see something before we went in, even if it was just the curtains twitching so that we could get an idea of what we might be facing. Finally, as the clock on the dash ticked over to 1103, my radio crackled into life and Kev’s voice whispered in my ear. ‘Ding, we’re good to go. Confirm strike, strike, strike.’

  I turned to the small hole cut in the wooden panel that blocked the rear of the van from view and said, ‘Sarge, we’re good to go.’ I heard a double tap on the panel and the door slid open to spill armed officers into the bright sunlight, their black helmets and tactical vests dusty from the time spent in the van. They filed out in silence, running for the alleyway that led to the flat. In moments the street was empty and I clicked my radio.

  ‘They’re away Kev,’ I said, and heard a click in response.

  My job now was to wait in the van and cover the alleyway in case anyone managed to run out this way, not that I was allowed to do anything as they may be armed, but at least I could call up and follow at a safe distance. The seconds ticked by and I chewed my lip nervously as I waited, hoping that I wouldn’t hear shots. That’s always the worst thing about a firearms job; you pray the officers never have to use their weapons as they’ll instantly get suspended and investigated even if they were clearly in danger. It’s one of the reasons that I never went the firearms route; that and the psychological trauma of having to shoot someone.

  My fears were groundless and after an agonising wait the firearms sergeant called up on our channel. ‘Hotel Foxtrot 96, premises is clear.’

  I was out of the van and running before he had finished speaking, wanting to know if there was any sign of Jimmy. I was a little breathless when I got to the flat, which was up two flights of concrete stairs. I was allowed in by the officer guarding the now broken shards of the front door, mute testament to the speed at which they had entered.

  Inside the flat stank of damp, blood and piss, and the bare chipboard floor was littered with needles, most of which were uncapped. The sergeant, a stocky man in his late forties with a shock of curly brown hair that was currently plastered to his head with sweat, came out of the front room to meet me. ‘Sorry mate, your friend isn’t here. There is a hospital gown in the second bedroom though and it’s got blood on it, so it’s safe to assume that we just missed him.’

  I cursed and entered the room he had indicated. It was bare apart from yet more needles, a filthy mattress on the floor and a hospital gown with blood all over one side. It looked fairly fresh too. I swore again and walked out of the flat, almost knocking Kev over on the stairs.

  ‘Well?’ he asked, putting a hand on my shoulder to stop me from walking away.

  ‘Sorry Kev, it looks like he was there, there’s a gown with blood on it but no sign of him or anyone else. I’ll get SOCO rolling.’

  He nodded and let me continue, and I fiddled about until I could reach my radio and call for scenes of crime officers to attend while Kev went into the flat.

  Outside, Eddie and Rudd were sharing a rare cigarette which I immediately stole from them, almost draining it in one puff. I explained what had been found and I could tell by the looks on their faces that they weren’t particularly happy about it either.

  ‘So what do we do now, just sit back and wait?’ Rudd asked, his face sombre.

 
; ‘I don’t know, mate. There’s not a lot we can do until SOCO have been, except maybe get a name for the tenant from the housing association.’

  We had tried that this morning by phone, trying to explain the need for expediency as well as confidentiality but, as usual, the housing trust in question had to go through the proper channels, which meant waiting hours until the right person came into the office. God forbid they should actually carry a mobile phone.

  Eddie took back the cigarette, teasing a last puff out of it. ‘I’ll go back and do that, I’ve got a few other calls to make anyway.’

  Kev came out and joined us. ‘Rudd, I’ve got a few more things to check out, you okay to drive?’

  Rudd nodded and Kev turned to me. ‘Gareth, can you take their van back?’

  ‘Will do.’

  Now that they were in plain sight, the firearms boys wouldn’t go near the unmarked van until next time they needed it. They had a marked carrier waiting nearby for pickup. If they all climbed back into the unmarked one, some enterprising git would write down the index and it would be on the web by lunchtime.

  I threw a wave at the others and walked back to the van, deciding that I would stop in at home on the way back just in case there was anything waiting for me. It didn’t make sense that Davey would go to all this trouble and then not contact me. He didn’t have anything to gain by having Jimmy if he didn’t make demands and the silence was making me nervous.

  The drive back to my house took minutes, and for once I was blessed with a parking space only a few doors down. I opened the door, pushing a flood of mail out of the way, and then stopped as one in particular flipped over. It was a plain brown envelope with just my first name printed in biro on the front.

  I closed the door and took the letter into the front room, my hands shaking as I sat on the sofa and tore the envelope open. Inside was a piece of plain A4 paper, written with the same neat hand. It just said, ‘Rikitiks, 7.00 p.m. Don’t be late.’ Rikitiks is a bar in the centre of town on Bond Street, and as far as I was aware it had no criminal connections whatsoever. Probably why they wanted to meet there, it was unlikely to be under any form of surveillance.