Tightrope

by Andrea Frazer

  ‘Right!’ he began, slapping the palms of his hands together to get their attention. ‘I’ve already consulted with Devenish and there’s been a request to EIS to see if they have any ID on our chummies.’ Westbrook mumbled something under his breath just as Olivia broke in.

  ‘I don’t usually address my officers like some extra from The Sweeney,’ she informed him. ‘I usually find plain English suffices.’

  The man’s brow clouded, his eyebrows drawn into a furious frown, as he replied to this confrontational response. ‘Thank you very much for your input, Inspector. I shall bear in mind that I have to use a kindergarten vocabulary to deal with your officers.’ This was clearly a warning shot across her bows.

  ‘Now, to couch it in more simple terms for the simple minds involved, there has been a request put in to the Europol Information Service, to see if they can identify our dead man and injured woman. They don’t look British to me, so we might have to get Immigration involved.’

  He was interrupted again by Leo, who asked him if he would identify him as British. ‘Because I’m third generation, tha knows.’ Broadening his accent, he continued, ‘Yorkshire born and Yorkshire bred …’

  ‘Strong in th’arm and thick in th’ead,’ his colleagues concluded for him, in unison.

  ‘Settle down now and pay attention.’ Buller had raised his voice, ignoring the obvious challenge. He had not expected this sort of disruption to his words of wisdom. ‘HMRC came at four o’clock this morning, and removed the contraband via the back entrance so as not to draw attention to their activities –’

  ‘And someone called in at four oh-five to report a burglary,’ interrupted Desai, just by way of information. They were clearly showing respect for their erstwhile guv’nor.

  ‘I will not have this level of insubordination!’ Buller shouted, thoroughly irritated that he wasn’t being taken seriously or treated with sufficient respect.

  ‘What level would you like?’ asked some wag in an undertone, as Olivia stepped in to defuse the situation, the flames of which she had originally fanned, with her Sweeney reference.

  ‘Settle down, now, settle down and let the man do his job,’ she called above the sniggers that had broken out, secretly pleased that she had caused such disruption to what he must have considered would be a straight team talk.

  ‘And the cannabis plants are being, as we speak, taken away to be destroyed,’ he continued, trying to look unruffled, although he had been surprised by this mutinous start to the meeting. His hostile, in-your-face attitude normally cowed junior officers into submission.

  ‘Both victims had tattoos, which have been photographed and sent off in an attempt to put a name to their owners, and I have information from the hospital that the woman is going to be allowed to wake up, in her own time, today, so I want somebody to be ready to go over there and interview her.’

  ‘And if she doesn’t speak English?’ asked Lauren, a little of the anger she still felt about the news report the evening before still remaining.

  ‘Then we work out what language she speaks and bring in an interpreter.’

  ‘What about that news bulletin that said cocaine and heroin had been found at the property?’ Lenny Franklin wanted to get in his two penn’orth.

  ‘We let the media think what they want to think. They’ll have to wait for an official statement if they want accuracy.’

  ‘What about the reported arrests?’

  ‘Pure fiction. Now, I have various bodies that I want interviewed today, and I want you to work in pairs …’ The phone on Olivia’s desk trilled at that moment, and she went straight to answer it. Buller stood in silence while she conducted a curt conversation.

  ‘Sorry. I’ve got to go,’ she informed him. ‘It’s really rather lucky that we have such a senior officer to head up this case, so that we can be spared. Come along, Groves.’ She knew she was pushing her luck, but she really did have to go, and the timing couldn’t have been better, in her opinion.

  The young woman in jeans and T-shirt went into the small shop and walked around its shelves for a couple of minutes, before approaching the counter and asking for forty cigarettes, and putting a packet of biscuits beside the till. The cigarettes were the cheapest on sale, and the biscuits were the own brand of the small supermarket chain that had recently bought out the shop. She handed over a twenty-pound note and waited somewhat distractedly for her change, before leaving at a snail’s pace.

  The shop was on the very edge of the town and the manager – who was also the previous owner of the premises – had felt himself lucky to be made an offer by a nationwide chain, as the footfall wasn’t great. He had another customer in for a newspaper and some rolling tobacco when he heard yells from outside. It was quite early but it was warm, so he had his door slightly ajar, and he easily heard the calls of distress.

  The customer immediately abandoned his newspaper and baccy and rushed off without paying, whilst the manager stood scratching his head about what could be happening. He was no have-a-go hero and, if he lost a sale over the yelling, so be it: it wasn’t his loss any more now.

  After a couple more minutes a well-built middle-aged woman entered the shop, slightly out of breath. ‘There’s a woman round the corner who’s had her baby pinched out of the car,’ she puffed, planting her elbows on the counter to support her while she recovered from the unaccustomed exercise. ‘There’s a bloke who says he’s been in here with her a few moments ago, and he’s just phoned the police.’

  ‘And you are here because …?’ he asked, slightly at a loss.

  ‘They might want to bring her in somewhere near the scene of the crime, and the bloke’s sent me to warn you, in case they want to use a back room or something.’

  The man’s eyes rolled and he sighed in disbelief. Police in his shop wouldn’t do anything good for what trade there still was.

  As Lauren clattered down the stairs before the retreating figure of Olivia, she hissed, ‘I don’t know how you had the nerve to do that.’

  The inspector turned her head slightly and said, ‘There’s a young baby been taken from a car. We need to move quickly. Terry Friend and Liam Shuttleworth are already on their way.’ This was a reference to two of the uniformed branch based at the station, the former very skilled at getting information out of distressed people and generally calming them down. She was often used to break bad news and deal with the recipient’s reaction.

  On the short drive, Olivia said bluntly, ‘You’re looking rather wan today. Do you feel OK?’

  ‘I didn’t get the chance to put any make-up on this morning. I slept in a bit,’ Lauren replied, looking pointedly out of the window instead of at the driver.

  ‘No. There’s something more than that. Is there something troubling you, or are you coming down with something?’

  ‘Look, I’m fine. Stop fussing,’ the sergeant insisted in a peeved voice.

  ‘You know you can confide in me, and it won’t go any further. I’m very good at keeping a confidence.’

  ‘Will you just stop badgering me?’ Lauren now turned her head and almost spat the words at the inspector.

  Olivia gave her a quick, surprised glance, and said, ‘Sorry I asked. I was just showing friendly concern,’ in a conciliatory voice.

  ‘When I want someone to confide in, I’ll tell you,’ Lauren replied, whipping her head round to stare out of the passenger window again, as they passed their goal.

  Olivia had been directed to Shah’s Minimart on Beach Road, a route that joined the shops of the town with the sea, but was in a sort of no-man’s-land where tourists and locals usually passed in cars on their way to somewhere else. It was at the other end of the town from the railway station and, although it sold buckets and spades and other plastic beach paraphernalia, picked up none of the foot traffic that streamed off the trains in summer. The day-trip market definitely took the shortest route to the sea and the sand, and didn’t usually go exploring off this well-beaten track.

  It did
n’t help that, within the last few years, double yellow lines had been painted along this road, and the locals who used to pop in for a paper or some run-out-of essential, now went to the supermarket as being, not only cheaper, but easier to park, especially as a couple of the bigger supermarkets were offering twenty-four hour opening. The long opening hours of Mr Shah’s establishment were now no longer the only choice.

  The closest parking was along Jubilee Road, which was always fairly full of residents’ cars. A car just pulling out halfway along would do, although there was a bit of a hike back to the shop. The marked car that Friend and Shuttleworth had arrived in was visible much nearer to the corner.

  As they left the car, both of them slamming their doors in ill temper, they became aware of a man standing on the pavement a few cars up from them, looking rather lost. Lauren plastered a rather wan smile across her face and approached him, saying, ‘Can I be of any assistance, sir?’

  Without hesitation, he explained his dilemma. ‘I’m waiting for someone from the police to come and look at this car here.’ He indicated a badly parked and rather battered model beside him. ‘There’s been a kiddie snatched from it, and they’ll need to test for fingerprints and suchlike.’

  ‘We’re the police,’ the sergeant explained as Olivia stood sullenly beside her. ‘You probably noticed our colleagues parking just up the road.’

  ‘They were the ones that told me to wait here, until someone else could get to it.’

  ‘And you are?’

  ‘Eric White. I was just picking up my paper and baccy from the shop when there was this almighty scream, and I dropped what I was buying and just rushed round here. This woman come along and she took the lass back to the shop to have a sit down.’

  ‘If you’ll just wait a few more minutes, Mr White, I’ll send back one of the uniformed officers to lock and put police tape round the car, and he can summon forensic assistance. Perhaps, then, you could come round to the shop and make a statement?’

  ‘Fine by me. I need my paper and baccy, and I was just keeping guard as requested.’

  Olivia and Lauren walked round the corner to a shop that had a new sign for that of a nationwide ‘local’ supermarket, another sign languishing against the wall for ‘Shah’s Minimart – Newsagent and Tobacconist’.

  ‘God, he was lucky to get out,’ commented Olivia, indicating the discarded sign. ‘This has all the looks of a coal mine rather than a gold mine.’

  ‘What do you mean by that?’ asked Lauren, thawing slightly.

  ‘All the signs of imminent closure,’ replied Olivia, pushing wide the door.

  Inside, Mr Shah was back behind his counter, a sickly smile on his face as he eyed up PC Shuttleworth, who was standing just outside a door that must lead to a back room, not happy at all at this obvious police presence; not that any of his customers were shifty, but because a lot of them just didn’t like the police.

  ‘Morning, ma’am, Sergeant,’ he greeted them. ‘PC Friend is in what Mr Shah refers to as his “stockroom”, just through here.’ He indicated the door and then stood almost to attention.

  ‘Can you slip off round the corner and speak to Mr White who is very patiently waiting there to give you a statement, please, Constable? And radio for someone to come and take photographs and fingerprints? Usual procedure,’ Olivia said while making for the entrance to the rear of the premises. ‘If you don’t mind, sir?’ she asked in a perfunctory manner as the shopkeeper nodded for her to go through, and Shuttleworth informed him that that was the DI and a DS going through.

  On the other side of the door Olivia and Lauren found a young woman and a large middle-aged woman, both seated on plastic chairs amidst all the boxes and packets of stock. The older woman had her arm around the younger woman’s shoulders, and was trying to soothe her while she cried. Terry Friend was crowded against a unit piled high with boxes of biscuits.

  ‘Can I have your names, please?’ the inspector asked, trying to look comfortable in the little space left for the two new arrivals.

  ‘I’m Rosemary Kent, and this is Carole Shillington. Her little baby’s been nicked from her car,’ she added, self-importantly. ‘I’m looking after her.’

  ‘And a very fine job you’ve done, love,’ commented Friend, with a slightly exasperated expression. ‘I’ve got your statement, so I think you can get back home now. I have your contact details.’

  ‘Are you sure you wouldn’t like me to stay?’ the large woman asked wistfully.

  ‘We’ll get in touch if we need any more information from you,’ said Lauren, in a no-nonsense voice. The last thing they needed was this nosebag hanging around filling her gossip tanks through the distress of the mother.

  When she’d gone, Lauren had managed to find other plastic chairs from a stack at the back of the storeroom, and brought them forward so that all four of them could sit, although it was a tight squeeze, and all their knees were touching. Terry Friend took a seat gratefully, rolling her eyes dramatically.

  ‘Right, Carole, is it?’ began Olivia. ‘Can you tell us exactly what happened?’

  Lauren handed the young woman a tissue so that she could blow her nose and wipe her eyes before starting. ‘I only came in here to get ciggies and biccies for me boyfriend,’ she began. ‘I left Stacey – that’s me little baby – in the car seat. I was only gone for a couple of minutes, but when I went back, she’d gone.’ At this point she burst into fresh tears, and they had to wait for her to pull herself together, Terry Friend patting her shoulder to comfort her.

  ‘She’s only six weeks old. Who’d want to take such a little baby? She doesn’t know anyone but me, her mum.’

  ‘What did she have on?’

  ‘A little pink towelling romper, and I put a shawl over her to keep the sun off of her. Her skin is so delicate. And the shawl’s gone as well.’

  ‘Anything else?’

  ‘A tiny mob cap with frills round the edges. It made her look so pretty.’ The memory silenced her, and she sat, just staring at her hands.

  ‘How old are you, love?’ asked PC Friend.

  ‘I’m seventeen; eighteen next month.’

  ‘Let’s get you home. The other constable will take care of any evidence in the car, and we’ll get someone to go door-to-door to see if anybody saw someone either at the car or hanging around just before you arrived. It’s not beyond the bounds of possibility that someone from a nearby house took her in, in case she got too hot. Did you lock the car?’

  ‘The lock don’t work,’ she informed them in a sniffling voice.

  ‘We’ll get you down to the station where you can make a proper signed statement, and we’ll probably want you to make an appeal on local television if we haven’t found your baby before the end of the afternoon,’ Lauren told her in a no-nonsense, practical voice.

  ‘But what about me boyfriend?’ she asked, suddenly looking more worried than upset.

  ‘He’ll not mind when you’ve told him what’s happened. It is his baby, isn’t it?’

  ‘’Course it is. What do you think I am?’

  ‘Calm down, and I’ll get DS Groves here to bring round the car.’

  ‘What about my car?’

  ‘We’ll get someone to return it to you when we’ve finished with it. Constable Friend here will go in the back with you.’

  Lauren took the keys and went back to Beach Road where she asked Liam Shuttleworth to get in touch with Social Services, just in case they were needed.

  After a cup of tea, the sober atmosphere of the police station seemed to calm the young mother and, as she drank cup after cup of tea, she told her story and then, when it was prepared as an official statement, signed it placidly.

  ‘We’ll get all available officers out on the street looking for her,’ Olivia assured her, ‘and I’ll have someone go through the relevant CCTV footage to see if anyone can be seen carrying her. There wasn’t a pushchair in the car, was there?’

  ‘No, I use a sling when I take her out. We’re savi
ng for a second-hand pram at the moment but she hardly weighs anything, and I like the feel of her next to my body,’ explained the young woman.

  ‘That might just make our job that much easier. Now, shall we get you back home, so that you can have a bit of privacy?’

  Carole Shillington looked slightly deflated at this suggestion and it crossed Olivia’s mind that she could have been enjoying the attention she had received as an almost pleasant interlude in an otherwise drab and lonely life. ‘Now, you wait a minute while I get things moving here, then come with my sergeant and me and we’ll get you into a car and off home.’ This would afford a good opportunity to have a look around.

  When they had originally arrived back at the station, Olivia had made sure that Devenish knew about the abduction and awaited his accurately predicted reply. He had, of course, ordered that all available personnel should be dispatched to the network of streets from where the child had reportedly been taken, then announced that he would be making a television appeal for the safe return of little Stacey that very evening and would much appreciate it if the parents could be present too for this.

  When this request was passed on to Carole Shillington, a frown of doubt crossed her face and she said she didn’t reckon that Baz would be up for having his face plastered all over the TV screens of the region, but agreed that she would be there if someone could pick her up and take her to wherever it was being filmed.

  ‘I mean, I don’t need a babysitter any more,’ she said in a half-hearted attempt at jest.

  Carole’s flat proved to be little more than a bedsit, on the ground floor of the grim, concrete sixties block situated near the council estate where many of the properties had now been sold off. The grey block, however, had few owner-occupiers, and most held a transient population who lived off benefits, drugs and alcohol.