‘Certainly.’
Shirley took the number and hung up.
‘We’ve wasted a lot of time,’ said Dave. ‘Mrs Mckinckley was not killed by her family.’
‘Can we call the station and put them on alert?’ said Shirley.
‘Done,’ said Dave.
In the car, Dave put the lights on and they sped to the hospital.
‘We need CCTV,’ said Dave.
The receptionist sniffed.
‘Can we speak to security?’ said Dave.
‘Yes, alright, I’m phoning through now. Take a seat and wait.’
Shirley walked off and Dave followed. They looked around the entrance area. It was wide and open. Shirley counted the ratio of staff to patients. Staff came in and out in uniform. A cleaner pulled along a yellow mop bucket.
‘Excuse me,’ said Shirley.
He turned and stopped, surprised.
Shirley got out her phone with the picture of Mr Thompson.
‘Have you seen this man?’ she said.
He looked at it closely.
‘Don’t think so. But I see hundreds of men in here. I don’t pay much attention.’ He waved a hand at the many people walking through to appointments.
Shirley nodded. ‘Thanks anyway,’ she said.
She watched a man with a hospital gown show his boxer shorts as he walked. The cleaner seemed not to notice. Anyone could walk in here.
‘Shirley,’ said Dave.
He beckoned her. She saw a man in security uniform shake hands with him.
‘Hi,’ she said as she walked over.
‘You’ll have to ask at reception for appointments,’ said the security guard.
‘I’m a police officer,’ she said. She smiled politely and held out her hand.
‘Oh,’ he said. He shook her hand. ‘CCTV you want? Well, we’ve got a lot of cameras here. It’ll keep you busy.’
He took them to a room of screens showing many angles of the hospital.
‘Which do you want?’
‘Reception first,’ said Dave.
They went through footage of the hospital entrance. They looked for elderly men arriving alone. There were a few.
‘I’m thinking white van,’ said Shirley.
Dave nodded. He requested the car park CCTV.
‘Look,’ said Dave.
They fast forwarded a white van arrive at 7am, and they saw it leave an hour later.
Shirley took the footage and zoomed in.
‘Let’s take this back to the station and see if we can get the number plate,’ she said.
She felt adrenaline run through her. She’d never been on a case like this before. She wondered if Dave had.
‘Oh my God,’ she said. ‘I think the white van driver might have got to Mr Thompson in the hospital before he got to his appointment. How did no one see?’
Her mobile rang. She answered it without looking.
‘Sergeant Palmer,’ she said.
‘Shirley, it’s your father here. Are you at work still?’
‘We’re on a big case, Dad. I might be working late for a while.’
‘Well maybe now isn’t the time.’
‘Why? What’s wrong?’
Shirley forgot the missing people.
‘Is Mum OK?’
‘It’s your Granny. She’s been diagnosed with cancer.’
‘What!’
‘It doesn’t look good I’m afraid.’
‘Is she there? Can I speak to her?’
‘She’s sleeping. I think she’s in shock.’
‘I’ll come and see her as soon as I can,’ she said.
She hung up and sat staring into space.
‘Bad news?’ asked Dave.
‘My Granny. She’s got cancer.’
‘I’m sorry,’ said Dave. ‘Are you OK? You’re shaking.’
‘She practically brought me up. I can’t believe it.’
‘If you need to go to your family, go. You can take time off.’
Shirley looked at the CCTV on the computer screen.
‘No,’ she said. ‘I’ll visit at the weekend. Come on. Let’s find this bastard.’
They scrolled through the footage.
‘How did he know where to park? He parked outside of the CCTV area.’ said Dave.
‘I think this guy is our guy,’ said Shirley.
She pointed to a man in a green hoody.
‘Can we get his face?’ asked Dave.
They scrolled through as he walked to the cafe.
‘No,’ said Shirley.
‘So he’s turned his face away from every camera. Interesting,’ said Dave.
‘Look at him,’ said Shirley. ‘Here he is, sitting in the cafe, behind a newspaper. And look – here we have an elderly man sitting on his own.’
She got out her phone and checked the picture sent by the daughter. She held it up next to the screen.
‘Looks like a match to me,’ said Dave.
‘Shit,’ said Shirley. ‘If he was in the cafe, why didn’t he make his appointment?’
‘Because this man,’ said Dave, pointed at the screen. ‘Got to him first.’
Shirley scrolled forward.
‘And here they are together. Mr Thompson and our green hoody guy are walking together,’ she said.
‘Cut to the entrance.’
The man held Mr Thompson’s arm. They set off towards the car park.
‘Where’s the last sighting?’ said Dave.
‘In the car park,’ said Shirley. ‘Before the white van drives off. As far as I can see, Mr Thompson doesn’t return from the car park.’
‘Motive?’ said Dave.
‘I really don’t know,’ said Shirley. ‘It seems quite random, except that Mrs Mckinckley and Mr Thompson are elderly. That’s the only connection.’
Shirley’s mind flitted to her Granny for a second. She took a deep breath. She tried not to imagine her not being there anymore.
‘We need to tell elderly people to be careful. How do we do it without scaring people?’ said Shirley.
‘I’ll phone press relations,’ said Dave. ‘Let them deal with it. We should talk to the staff now, at reception and the cafe. They might have seen something.’
‘I’ll request a list of staff on shift this morning,’ said Shirley.
‘Ah yes,’ said Dave.
Shirley left him calling the station to update them and went to speak to the receptionist.
‘What time did you come on shift today?’ she asked.
‘Eleven.’
‘Do you know who was here between 7am and 8am this morning?’
‘Sam.’
‘How can I get hold of Sam?’
‘Here.’
The receptionist passed over a list of names and numbers.
Shirley took it and walked off.
‘I need that back,’ said the receptionist.
‘OK,’ said Shirley.
She put the number into her phone and dialled. There was no answer. She left a message asking him to call urgently.
‘He’ll be asleep,’ said the receptionist as she took the sheet of paper. ‘He was on a night shift.’
Shirley nodded and walked away. She walked down the corridor to the cafe. It smelt of coffee. There was a warmer, friendlier atmosphere with loved ones and patients laughing together. She went to the till and asked who was working earlier.
‘I was,’ said the young man serving.
‘Long shift,’ said Shirley.
‘I’m jacked up on coffee all day so I get by.’
‘I know the feeling,’ said Shirley. ‘Do you remember this man?’
She showed him the photograph. He took the phone from her hand and looked carefully. He grimaced and looked to the side.
Shirley waited, hoping for a positive.
‘Maybe,’ he said. ‘I’m trying to think. Was he the guy with the stick?’
‘Yes he did have a stick,’ said Shirley.
‘Yeah, I remember. He had tea. He
was a pleasure to serve. Little joke, little smile. Looked quite frail.’
‘Was there another man with him?’ asked Shirley. ‘A younger man, in a green hoody?’
He put his hand under his chin. Shirley could see the other staff member looking over as the queue for coffee grew.
‘He was on his own. He sat there. On his own. I’m trying to think. Was he talking to someone? On another table? Oh, I’m not sure. We weren’t that busy but I might be mixing things up. Every day is the same in here. I do have a good memory for customers. I might remember his face. Do you have a picture?’
‘Not yet,’ said Shirley.
She took his number and ordered two coffees. Then she made her way back to the CCTV room. She took strong strides, lost in thought about nasty little men who steal grandparents from their families. She felt pressure build up as she walked along.
‘OK,’ she said to Dave. She handed him a coffee. ‘We’ve got a white male, wears a hoody – a green hoody and jeans. Surely we can get his face somehow.’
Dave sat down and took the lid off his coffee looking into it then taking a gulp.
‘We’ve looked through all the footage of him. He has scoped the CCTV out. It’s totally premeditated.’
Shirley sucked her teeth.
‘I need to see my Granny some time this week,’ she said.
‘Go,’ said Dave. ‘What more can we do here?’
‘These people were grandparents. These poor elderly people are in danger. Dave, there might be more.’
Shirley turned away. She felt tears starting and looked at the ceiling concentrating on her breath.
‘Every victim has a family,’ said Dave.
‘I know,’ said Shirley, still staring at the ceiling.
‘It’s good to care,’ said Dave.
Shirley sniffed as she came back to herself. She smiled.
‘We’ll find him,’ she said. ‘London’s a small place.’
Dave nodded.
‘If he’s hurt these two,’ he said.
‘We’ll bust his balls,’ said Shirley.
She high-fived him.
‘Oh, my phone,’ said Dave. He looked at the number. ‘Please be a lead,’ he said.
Shirley watched as he nodded and wrote down an address. She looked up the postcode. Elephant and Castle area. Not far from Camberwell.
‘Shall we go?’ asked Shirley.
‘It’s the address of the car registration. I can’t imagine it is the man’s real address.’
‘We should check it out,’ said Shirley.
‘I don’t fancy a wild goose chase. We’ve got a lot to do.’
Shirley drank down her coffee. As much as she respected Dave, she wished he’d stick to procedure. Just now and then.
He looked over with puppy dog eyes. She shook herself out of her annoyance. He was the boss.
‘Come on Shirley,’ he said. ‘I’m going to need your help here. If the man scoped out the hospital beforehand, then he’ll be on the CCTV beforehand. I’ve requested the history as far as one week so far.’
Shirley could see the sense in that.
‘We do need his face,’ she said. ‘Let’s go back to the car park footage. It’ll be easier to spot the van.’
‘You’re right,’ said Dave. ‘That reception area is like an airport.’
‘Car park’s pretty busy too.’
They sped through the day before.
‘He wasn’t here when Mrs Mckinckley went missing,’ said Dave. ‘I’m certain of that.’
They went slower through the day before but found nothing.
‘Shall we have a break for something to eat?’ said Dave.
‘Bring me back a sandwich or something. I want to continue,’ said Shirley.
‘OK.’
Shirley flicked through the camera.
‘Got it,’ she said. ‘Dave!’
She got up and ran down the corridor.
‘Got it!’ she called.
He turned and smiled. She could see he was tired.
‘Hey,’ she said. ‘Go get food and when you come back, I’ll have his face for you.’
‘Sure,’ he said.
She went back to the security room, a bounce to her step now.
‘Come on loser,’ she said to the screen. ‘Show yourself.’
And there he was, tall and well built. He parked his van. He looked left and right. And there we go, he looked up at the camera.
‘Ha,’ said Shirley. ‘Think you can get the better of me.’
She zoomed in on his face. It was definitely him. There was the green hoody, the same as he wore with Mr Thompson. She couldn’t see his hair but there were his blue eyes, there were his acne scars and there was a round face. She put him at late 20s.
Then she sat back with the face on the screen and waited for Dave.
He came back with a BLT sandwich for her. It looked like it had been made a long time ago but she didn’t care. It was food.
‘Is this him?’ said Dave, sitting down next to her.
‘Yep. That’s our kidnapper. Or elder-napper if you want to call him that.’
‘I’d rather not thanks. I’d be more likely to call him a dangerous sociopath.’
‘We don’t know that yet.’
Dave raised an eyebrow. Shirley knew he was right. There was little chance his victims were still alive.
‘I think we need to get this picture to the media,’ said Dave. ‘Not to be approached under any circumstances.’
‘I was waiting for you to make the call,’ said Shirley.
‘I’ll do it,’ he said.
When he put down the phone, Shirley looked over at him.
‘What?’ he said.
‘Check out the white van address? It is kind of procedure,’ Shirley felt bad saying it.
‘Oh OK, seeing as you found the man’s face, let’s see who really owns this van,’ he said.
‘Cool,’ said Shirley.
It was cold as they stepped out of the hospital. Shirley hadn’t taken a warm enough jacket. She wrapped her suit jacket around her and folded her arms.
‘Cold,’ she said.
‘I’m just glad to get some air,’ said Dave.
‘Yes,’ said Shirley. ‘It was stuffy in there.’
They got back in the car. Shirley leaned back on the passenger seat and felt like she could go to sleep. The lights from the streetlights seemed too bright and she closed her eyes.
She awoke to her name being called and stirred from dreams of her grandmother.
‘We’re here,’ said Dave.
‘Where?’ said Shirley, rubbing her eyes.
‘Hey, tell you what, you wait here,’ said Dave. ‘I’m just going to that house there.’
He pointed to a house with paint peeling off the front door.
‘Don’t go alone,’ she said.
‘If I’m not back in ten, come get me,’ he said.
‘OK,’ she said.
It wasn’t procedure but he was probably right. She watched him walk to the house and bang on the door. She saw the front door open. And she saw the man from the CCTV open the door.
‘Shit,’ she said.
She went to open the car door, to run over and help, but it was too late.
Chapter 4
I’m on the Internet looking up old people’s homes. There’s loads of them. Pissing old biddies, London is full of them. I’ve got to be careful. I know the old ones control the Net because as much as I search, there’s nothing to be found on the conspiracy. If I hadn’t seen what they did to Mum, I’d be living in sweet innocence like everyone else.
The doorbell rings. Shit. My doorbell never rings. I don’t know no one. I look out the window. It’s some official looking geezer. They can’t have found me already. Those old people are forgotten, surely.
I pick up my hammer. Just shows that they’ve got links to the government.
I walk down the hallway and open the door. The man standing there is about forty. They must hav
e a new wave of workers. He’ll want to open my skull, drug me, send me mad. Just like they did to Mum.
He holds up a police badge.
Before he can get me, I swing the hammer.
Yes! Got him! He falls to the ground. Whacked him right round the head. I’d better take him to the lock up before someone sees.
I crouch down to pick him up. I look right and left. Fuck, there’s some black woman getting out of her car. She’s coming this way. Fast. I’m going to get caught. They’ll lock me up, they’ll make me go mad. They’ll make me kill myself. She’s talking on a radio. Fuck, she’s police.
I throw the hammer at her. It flies through the air and she ducks but no good for her. It hits her in the chest. She falls, she screams down the radio.
‘Get here now!’
She’s going to get up, I know she is. I drag the policeman into my house. I’ve got shitloads of bolts but no time. I pull five of them over. I pull the French dresser in front of the door. Only one thing for it.
I drag Mr Policeman along the lino hallway. He’s fucking heavy. Thank God I haven’t got carpets. I drag him through the kitchen. His arms open up, he gets caught on the table leg. I get his arms and cross them. Ha, like he’s the corpse that he’s going to be. I kick in the back door. No time for the bolts. There’s my van, parked in the backyard. I must have known. I open the back. He’s heavy. I take a breath.
‘Huupph,’ I say.
I’m ready. I pick him up like he’s a baby. I throw him in the van. He rolls to the side. He might be awake. I shut the doors quickly. I run to the front. Get my key in the ignition. I shitting rev that engine and off we go, down the narrow lane at the back of the house and away, for good.
The roads are completely jammed. I turn off down the back roads but every bastard is doing that. I’ve got the window open, the radio off. I can’t hear sirens yet.
Shit. There’s a helicopter. I can hear it. I’ve got to lose the van. I head back to the main road, into the bus lane. I speed my way up to Peckham. I don’t think the helicopter has seen me. It’s on the main road. I’ve got to keep ahead. Got to get to the car.
I race up the one way streets. I’m going the wrong way. A car is ahead, coming my way. He beeps his horn. I keep going. Fast. He moves to the side. I get past.. The police cars won’t be far behind.
Here’s the car. I stop in the middle of the road. I open the back of the car. I open the door to the van. The policeman is still out for the count. Most likely I’ve killed him. But I take him anyway. I load him into the car. He’s breathing.
Only the Good Die Young Page 3
