Captor

by Anita Waller

  ‘What about these?’ He pointed to the papers on the coffee table.

  ‘I’ll think of something.’

  The two police officers moved into the lounge and Brent asked Dan to give them half an hour.

  ‘Mum?’

  ‘It’s okay, Dan, if I need you, I’ll call. I make decisions about our lives, not DI Brent.’

  Ouch. Brent felt the pierce of the barbed comment. She really had taken against him.

  ‘Liz, drop the antagonism. We’re here with news.’

  ‘Jake?’ Her eyes lit up briefly, then dimmed again when Brent shook his head.

  ‘Only partly. We believe him to still be alive, as is Philip Latimer. However, we don’t know where they are. I have something I would like you to read, but I will be taking it back after you’ve read it.’

  She felt afraid, truly, darkly afraid. She took the photocopied letter from him, and began to read.

  As she reached the end, she was reading it through tears. Lynda passed her a tissue, and squeezed her hand.

  ‘No. He had this so wrong. I had finished the affair with Phil, given him back to Rosie. It was Phil who told Rosie, she didn’t find out by accident. We were discreet always. And I spent the best part of a year listening to Julia pour her heart out about the restrictions on her life, how he wouldn’t let her go to work, drive her own car, have any say in the home… and still I encouraged her to think twice before walking away. Just one time I told her she had to decide, whether to go or stay. And really, I only said that because I was hormonal, feeling sick all the time, and fed up with her problems at home. I can’t believe that these terrible happenings are because Oliver had me all wrong! He was so good to me.’

  ‘He clearly wasn’t good to you, Liz. It was all an act. The entire team now has something to work with, and they’re following different leads. We’re hopeful we’ll get them both free before much longer.’

  Liz felt anger bubble up inside her. ‘And I was beginning to think Julia was behind it all. I even got this,’ she indicated the papers on the coffee table, ‘to see if she could be holding them at her house.’

  ‘House plans? Can I look?’

  She nodded. ‘Of course. Look at the basement. It’s split into two halves. Plus there’s an attic. And she had moved into this before I went back to work, before Jake was taken. She moved in round about the time Phil disappeared. But this is all no longer relevant following Oliver’s confession, is it?’

  ‘We can’t ignore it, Liz. Does she own this house?’

  ‘No, that’s the strange thing. Oliver does, but I’m pretty sure she doesn’t know that. She obtained it for rent through an estate agent. An estate agent who is probably a friend of Oliver’s.’

  Brent took out his phone. ‘Tanya? I need a search warrant.’ He read out the address, and she promised to ring him back as soon as it was done.

  ‘Come on, Lynda, let’s get over there. We may be clutching at straws, but let’s clutch sooner rather than later. Can I take these?’ He bent to pick up the plans.

  She sighed. ‘Yes. Provided you ring me immediately if he’s there.’

  ‘That’s a promise.’ He sounded grim. He was going out of the door when he stopped. He looked back and winked. ‘Just for the record, where did you get these plans?’

  ‘I found them on the mat this morning,’ she said drily.

  ‘Thank Dan, will you?’

  ---

  Julia felt bewildered. Her house was full of police officers, searching everywhere. DI Brent was with her, having shown her the same copy of the letter he had taken back from Liz, and she knew her world was about to implode.

  Oliver had murdered. She had been married to a murderer. And the police were searching her house, her house that she had been told Oliver owned. It seemed that Oliver’s house, their marital home, had already been searched following the discovery of his body, but another group of officers had been despatched to do a second search. They were taking no chances. Time was against them.

  ‘Does your husband have any other properties?’ Julia shook her head to bring everything back into focus. ‘I have no idea. I didn’t know this one belonged to us!’ She gave a short, sharp laugh. ‘It appears I’m paying rent to myself, DI Brent. How crazy is that?’

  He could hear the hysteria in her voice. Time to inject a note of calm. ‘Okay, we have two missing people who are going to die if we don’t find them soon. I need you to think. Have you ever driven by any properties he’s taken an interest in, noticed any unusual payments into the bank account…?’

  ‘Bank account? We have one, do we? I simply get an allowance. I know nothing of how much money we have, any properties we may own, and do you think he will have made it easy for me to find out? Try asking Tom Banton. Maybe he’ll know. Don’t forget my husband would be more than capable of doing his own conveyancing on any properties he bought, so they could be well hidden in his files.’

  ‘We have our tech guys going through his computer. We found a desktop and a laptop at his home. Do you know of any others?’

  ‘He had an iPad as well. But there’s also his work computer. Liz would know more about that than me.’

  Brent nodded. ‘Thank you. I’ll check we’ve found the iPad. We already have his work computer.’ He could see she was beginning to be marginally more amenable, and he asked Lynda to get them a pot of tea. He needed to have her thinking clearly, if she was to help them. He knew they wouldn’t find anything here, Oliver wouldn’t have been able to hide Phil and Jake in this house, not and keep Julia in the dark.

  ‘Okay, Julia. I need you to go back to when you first met Oliver. Where was he living?’

  ‘With his father. His mother had died recently, and he put off moving into a place of his own while his dad was still grieving. Six months later his dad died, and he remained in the house, buying his brother out of his half share.’

  ‘Brother? Can you give me more information, please?’

  ‘Not really.’ She looked unhappy. ‘I know little about him. I knew at the time that Oliver was buying him out, but I never met him, and I’ve never heard of him since. He was older than Oliver by about ten years, and they simply drifted apart. I don’t really think they fell out or anything, they didn’t move in the same circles, and I never heard Oliver speak of him again. His name was Jared, but that was his second name. I can’t remember his first name, but I know it begins with O. It’s why he insisted on using Jared, so that mail didn’t get directed to the wrong O. Hardwick. Oscar? Owen? Otto? I really can’t remember, I’m so sorry.’

  Julia was babbling about trivialities, embarrassed that she knew so little of her husband, a man she had been married to for over fifteen years. ‘I’m sorry,’ she apologised once again, looking down at her hands. ‘I’m not much help, am I. How is Liz? I assume she knows about this new development?’

  ‘Yes, she does. She’s hurting, she’s in panic mode, she probably needs a friend. That’s if anybody can get past bodyguard Dan. That boy is amazing. If I ever have a son, I’d want him to be like Dan. But it’s her other son we need to concentrate on. And I believe your husband stashed them in a property he owns, hidden away where nobody is likely to visit it. He may have owned it for years, and now found a use for it. We must find it. We’ll be out of your hair shortly, Mrs Hardwick, but if you think of anything…’

  ‘Of course. The only thing I can add to what I’ve said is that I understood his brother was in construction, in case you need to find him to tell him about Oliver. That could be a starting point.’

  ‘When this news breaks, it’s quite possible he will contact us.’

  Brent made a note on his pad. O. Jared Hardwick. Construction. He stared at it for a moment, wondering if the elusive brother was still in construction. And did he too have properties? Properties that Oliver Hardwick had done conveyancing on… after all, with the excessive costs relating to buying bricks and mortar, it would make sense to contact a long-lost brother if he was a successful solicitor with
his own practice. His mind was racing with the possibilities opening, following that simple statement from Julia, that Oliver had bought his brother’s half share in the family home.

  Two members of Brent’s team appeared at the door and shook their heads, indicating that nothing had been found.

  Brent and Lynda finished their drinks and stood. ‘Thank you, Julia. I know how you must be feeling, and this will come to an end.’

  She nodded, and followed them to the door. ‘Just as a matter of interest, how did you find out Oliver owned this house?’

  ‘Oh, we have our ways,’ he said with a smile. ‘I need to know of any others now, so keep thinking, please, Julia, let’s get Jake back with his mummy, and Phil Latimer back to his family.’

  Julia stood at the door until every officer had left, then closed it firmly, locking it behind them. She sank to the floor, and sobbed. Oliver was gone, and despite the evidence in the letter, she could never have seen him as a murderer. She had loved him for so long, waited patiently for his controlling side to ease as he became more confident that she wasn’t wanting to go off with other men, and now she had truly lost him.

  She sat there for a while, letting the tears flow, then stood. She picked up the phone, and dialled the estate agents. The lovely Mr Bloomfield could get ready. He might have been Oliver’s friend, but he was about to find out just what it meant to make an enemy of a woman.

  47

  Phil stepped back after taking stock of the baby food. He would have to limit both himself and Jake to one pouch each per day, once his own meagre rations had gone. He still had half a sandwich, six ginger biscuits, half the bar of chocolate, one packet of crisps and unlimited water, thanks to the small hand basin.

  He had a box full of baby food pouches, and after counting them was relieved to see thirty-seven assorted foods, some savoury, giving more vital nutrients to them, and some sweet. He knew he wouldn’t be choosy one day, it would be a case of keeping alive to keep Jake alive. He also had seven cartons of long life milk, maybe not the most nutritious in the world, but it would fill Jake’s stomach, settling any hunger pangs. Nappies wouldn’t be an issue either; by the time the last nappy was to be used, they would both be dead. He could no longer dispose of them, but he had hundreds of carrier bags he could utilise, and he could stash the bags in the dumb waiter while they waited for rescue.

  Rescue. What an awesome word. He now had no doubt that Captor had disappeared for good, abandoning them to whatever fate had in store for them.

  He knew the whole country would be looking for the two of them, but he had no way of knowing how far on the journey of discovery the police had travelled. He had realised long ago that maybe Rosie had assumed he had walked away from her and Melissa, and therefore hadn’t reported him as a missing person, but that would not have been the case with Jake. That would have been instant news. He had no idea how long Jake had been with him, but surely every day was a day nearer being found.

  He would do his bit to buy the police time, by keeping the two of them alive.

  Jake stirred, and Phil waited for that first delicious after-sleep smile from his son. The blue eyes, so like his own, flickered open, then closed, then opened once more.

  The smile came. The arms raised, and Phil lifted him out of the cot.

  ‘Okay… you hungry, little man?

  He handed him a bottle of cold milk, having decided to limit his use of the gas to once a day, for warming milk. It didn’t seem to bother Jake, and he drank it with relish.

  Phil decided to do without anything, and after Jake had finished his milk, they settled down under a blanket to read.

  Please, dear God, send us some rescuers soon, Phil thought, even if it’s so we can get some new books. Peppa Pig is such a spoilt brat.

  ‘Peppa,’ Jake said.

  48

  There was an air of hope in the briefing room; Brent had updated them all on the morning’s activities, and had told them he wanted information on O Jared Hardwick, possibly, but not necessarily, in the construction business. He also wanted reports on the computers, including the iPad recovered from Oliver’s house, and he wanted them fast.

  For the first time, he read through the pathology report on Oliver Hardwick, and knew that no matter how bad things got, he would never have the balls to climb on to a tree branch, loop a rope around the branch, the other end around his neck, and jump.

  The man’s mental state must have been slowly deteriorating for months, and yet not one of his acquaintances appeared to have noticed it. There was no suggestion it could have been anything but suicide; the facts, combined with the letter left by him, cleared that up.

  Brent typed up his own report: two murders solved, one perpetrator dead, two victims still missing.

  Brent closed down his computer and went into the briefing room. Nobody held up a hand indicating they had something to tell him, so he walked amongst them. Everybody seemed to be on the phone. The noise was at a level he hadn’t seen since the beginning of this investigation, and it gave him a considerable buzz.

  He leaned over the computer of the young constable he could never remember the name of, and asked him what he was working on.

  ‘O Jared Hardwick, boss.’

  ‘And?’

  ‘There’s a construction company called Hardwick, but it doesn’t list an O J, or even a J, as one of the directors. I’m running a search through Companies House to see who the directors are, because the business is Chesterfield based, close enough to be a consideration.’

  ‘Thanks, er…’

  ‘DC Peters, boss, Steve.’

  ‘Oh, right. Thanks, Steve, and welcome to the team.’ Brent wandered over to the next desk where Lynda was reading through notes. ‘Anything new?’

  She shook her head. ‘No, but I’ll keep going till I’ve read everything. We have to find this little one, sir. Do we need to re-interview Rosie Latimer and Tom Banton, in view of the letter?’

  ‘Tom Banton’s in court till three. I’m going down to see him after that. I’m going up to see Rosie Latimer from there, and then Christian Fremantle. That’s everybody seen then, who’s on the need-to-know list.’

  ‘We’ve not found OJ then?’

  Will smiled. He knew the team had taken to calling Oliver Hardwick’s brother OJ; he hoped he wouldn’t use it, if and when he eventually got to meet the man.

  ‘Not so far. We don’t really know where to start, he might not even still live in the country. Fingers crossed we get a lead soon.’

  Brent headed back to his own office, and poured himself a coffee. Thinking time. He could do nothing else for an hour, when he would have to leave for his appointment with Tom Banton. He had liked Tom the first time they had met, and Brent wondered how he would react when he saw the letter. He not only had to take the facts on board, he also had to tell their not inconsiderable staff. In addition, he had the business to sort out, distance himself from the evil that was Oliver Hardwick. He hoped the practice would survive.

  His thoughts drifted to Gareth Chambers, and the upcoming funeral. Even though they had found the murderer, he would still be at the service, watching, looking for strangers, doing the policeman sort of things everyone expected at a not quite normal funeral service. And supporting Liz and Dan.

  He took a sip of the coffee, and watched through the window separating his office from the main room. This case had dragged on for some time now, and he felt they were no nearer getting their missing persons back. Phil must be really bonding with the little boy, and Will wondered what the future would hold for the child, once they reunited him with his mother. Phil would most likely insist on being a part of his life, but would Liz be able to handle that? Would Rosie and Melissa?

  The whole thing was such a mess; convoluted lives, insecurities – everything that could go wrong, had already done so. Could it ever be put right?

  He pulled the letter towards him once again, and read it through in its entirety. If he hoped for enlightenment that hadn’t
been there earlier, he was disappointed. It still wasn’t there. The worst thing was that he could hear Oliver’s voice reading it aloud. The phrases, the overall tone, it was all Oliver. Slightly pompous, not too friendly, the one in charge.

  He rolled the letter in its plastic cover and put it in his jacket pocket, ready for showing to Tom Banton. He looked through the inner window, caught Lynda’s eye and pointed to the outside. She nodded, closed her computer and joined him.

  ‘Tom Banton?’ she asked.

  ‘Yes. Let’s go and get it over with. This poor chap doesn’t know what’s coming his way.’

  Tom was already waiting for them. They walked into his office, and he offered them a drink. Both declined, and he wasn’t impressed. He’d deliberately waited for them before getting himself a drink, thinking they would join him, and he had to miss out by being polite.

  ‘You have some progress?’

  Brent nodded. ‘Yes, sir, we do. I have something I want you to read. It’s your partner’s suicide letter.’

  ‘So, it was definitely suicide? Shit. I’ve known him all these years, and never saw anything that would lead me to think he was falling apart.’

  ‘There’s a lot more to this letter than simply falling apart, Mr Banton. Be prepared. It’s not pleasant reading.’

  Tom took it from him, and smoothed it on to his desk top.

  He said nothing until he got to the end, then went back to the beginning and read it again.

  ‘How did I miss this, DI Brent?’ he said eventually. ‘How can I have known this man for all these years, almost loved him as a brother, and not known he was capable of this? How can we possibly carry on as a business which deals with the law, after this? He’s not only killed two people, kidnapped two more, and killed himself, he’s potentially put twenty people out of work, with all the problems that will cause.’

  Brent didn’t know what to say. Lynda did.