The backyard was securely fenced, with a large sandpit area, a tree with a low-slung tyre attached to a rope, and a few ride-on toy tractors and cars. Behind the yard was a private lane opening into the gardens of adjacent sandstone houses. While the fence was too high for small children to climb out, a reasonably tall adult could see into the yard and see the children playing when walking by.
‘Do you think he’s been watching us for a while?’ she asked, eyes darting everywhere.
‘Very possibly,’ answered Farrell. ‘I must get going now but, if anything else occurs to you in the meantime, here’s my card. Someone will be in touch to arrange for you to come into the station shortly to work with an identikit sketch artist.’
‘Wait, there’s one more thing,’ Janet McDougall said. ‘He left in a grey Primera car. I noticed the make because I’ve fancied one myself for ages.’
‘I don’t suppose you happened to notice any of the registration plate?’ asked Farrell.
‘No, sorry,’ she whispered.
After obtaining a rough description of what the two little boys had been wearing that morning, Farrell sped back to Loreburn Street with Mhairi to deposit the photograph and descriptions with DI Moore. As expected the two nursery assistants hadn’t had anything material to add.
DI Moore was sitting in a large room. Information was being fed to her from all directions. Calm and serene, she projected a quiet authority that was bringing out the best in the officers under her command.
‘Have you any objections to appointing DC McLeod as Family Liaison Officer, Kate?’ asked Farrell.
DI Moore turned to Mhairi.
‘Have you been a FLO before, Mhairi?’
‘No, Ma’am, but I am fully aware of all the duties and responsibilities that go with the position. I would like to be there for the family to help them through this.’
‘You must guard against getting too emotionally involved though; don’t lose your objectivity. Either or both parents could potentially be implicated.’
‘No, Ma’am.’
‘Even though I’m SIO on this one, Frank, I’d welcome your input as the case progresses. We’re lucky to have an officer with your experience. Child abduction not linked to marital breakdown is a rarity down here.’
Her phone rang as three young constables marched into the room bearing documents and files.
Farrell told Mhairi to wait for him at the car and swung by Lind’s office on the way out. He was worried about how his friend would be coping given his own recent tragedy. However, when he walked in to Lind’s spacious office he came face to face with a wall of people to whom Lind was competently issuing orders. As the last officer ran out the door with Lind’s instructions ringing in his ears Farrell updated him, each of them conscious of the clock ticking.
‘I don’t like it,’ Lind said. ‘Bastard has done his homework. Probably been planning this for some time.’
‘Did the super sign off on the firearms team?’ asked Farrell.
‘Yes, we’re going in at 12.30. I want you there, Farrell. There’s just enough time for you and DC McLeod to get round to the parents first. The father should be back home by now. He’d been on the way to Glasgow when the kids were taken.’
CHAPTER ELEVEN
Farrell and McLeod drew up outside a detached redbrick house on the Lomax Estate out on the Edinburgh Road. There was a large grassy recreation area to one side with a sign saying ‘NO BALL GAMES’.
‘Must have a few bob,’ said McLeod, taking in the gleaming red 4x4 in the driveway.
Farrell wondered what drove people to live in these fancy little boxes with their upwardly mobile neighbours breathing enviously down their necks. He didn’t fancy it, that’s for sure.
Two little bikes with round chubby wheels and stabilizers were propped up against the side of the house. Farrell glimpsed a state-of-the art climbing frame in the back garden, despite the fact they had passed a swing park not two hundred metres away.
They were ushered into the house by PC Thomson, who had been waiting with the parents until Farrell could get there. The first thing that met their eyes on going into the hall was a studio portrait of the family. Farrell paused to study it, allowing Mhairi to precede him into the lounge. An attractive woman with honey blonde hair and dimples had her arms resting on the shoulders of two mischievous-looking toddlers, who were dressed alike and had an identical smattering of freckles across upturned noses. Their eyes were sparkling with merriment as though the photographer had just made them laugh. Positioned slightly self-consciously to the rear was a short thickset man whose eyes rested on his family rather than on the camera.
Farrell walked into the lounge feeling a weight settle on his chest. Mhairi was sitting with her arm round a shaking woman, who Farrell took to be the mother. Despite the fact that she still had her work suit on she bore little resemblance to the confident immaculately groomed woman in the photograph. Her hair was straggly and unkempt and mascara ran down channels gouged by tears.
PC Thomson looked ill at ease and as if he wished he were someplace else. Tough, thought Farrell; there was more to being a copper than running around in panda cars, chasing baddies, and the sooner the lad realized it the better.
He walked over to the woman and sat beside her on the large couch, folding both her manicured hands inside his own.
‘DI Farrell. I’m so sorry that this has happened to your family. You have my assurance that we will not rest until your little boys have been returned to you.’
Dead or alive, added Farrell grimly in his own head.
‘Elspeth Summers,’ she said, raising her eyes to meet his.
‘Can you tell me exactly what each of the boys was wearing today? The nursery teacher wasn’t completely sure.’ He signalled to PC Thomson, who took out his notebook, pen at the ready.
‘Mark had on red joggers, a white T-shirt, and navy cardigan with Thomas the Tank Engine on the pocket, and white trainers. Jamie had green joggers, a yellow T-shirt, and a cream knitted jumper. My mother knitted it. Oh God, my mother! She doesn’t know yet.’
‘All in good time,’ soothed Farrell. ‘Jamie’s shoes?’
‘Black trainers.’
‘Are they identical twins or fraternal?’
‘Identical.’
Farrell heard the sound of a car pulling into the driveway with a spurt of gravel and turned his head to see a man running to the front door. Gently, he disengaged himself from Elspeth and stood up.
A red-faced man burst into the room, causing the door to slam against the wall. His eyes were frantic with anxiety and flecks of spittle sprayed out when he spoke.
‘Who’s in charge here?’
‘That would be me, DI Farrell.’
‘Why are you here? Why aren’t you out looking for my sons? Anything could be happening to them while you’re here … anything.’
The man started to sway, and Farrell quickly grabbed an upright chair and caught him as his legs buckled, pushing his head down between his knees until the light-headedness went.
‘Barry!’ remonstrated his wife from the settee, getting to her feet unsteadily. ‘My husband doesn’t mean it, Inspector; he’s just worried sick. We both are.’
Farrell looked them both in the eyes and spoke with quiet urgency.
‘Be assured that right now we’ve got every available officer on the streets searching high and low for Mark and Jamie. Our press officer is liaising with the media to ensure as wide coverage as possible. By lunchtime today every library, post office, school, and the town centre will be plastered with pictures of your sons and offering a reward for any information leading to their safe return. We have experts in social media sending out alerts on every possible site. We know our business and we will stop at nothing to ensure a good outcome for you and your family. The reason I’ve come is to try and ascertain whether you can give us any additional information that might narrow the search.’
‘Like what?’ asked the father, quietly this time.
‘Have you noticed anyone hanging around, looking suspicious?’
‘No, no one,’ they said in unison.
‘Have you had any cold callers? Anyone on the doorstep trying to sell you anything? Any unfamiliar cars parked nearby, particularly grey Primera cars?’
They shook their heads helplessly.
‘Have you had any contact with the social work department?’
The man bristled.
‘No, of course not! What are you implying?’
‘The man who took your sons produced a social work ID. Does the name David Nolan mean anything to you?’
‘No, should it?’ asked Elspeth, anxiously.
‘Is he the bastard who did this? When I get my hands on him I’ll—’
‘Barry! Shut up, you’re not helping. While you’re shouting the odds, some nutter could be harming our children.’
‘You’re right. I’m sorry. It’s just …’ He tailed off into silence.
Farrell had seen this type of bluster a number of times in similar situations. The ungovernable frustration and rage of a man who feels he has failed to protect his family. He shot a sympathetic glance at the man, who had again simmered down.
‘Have you had any unusual telephone calls?’
‘A couple of wrong numbers, nothing out of the ordinary,’ Elspeth answered.
‘Anyone threatened you recently; anyone have a grudge against you?’
‘I’m a car salesman, for God’s sake …’ Barry said. ‘Just a regular bloke …’
Farrell put a finger under his collar, which suddenly felt too tight. He paused, reluctant to clobber them with more unpalatable information.
‘It’s possible there may be a ransom demand in a while.’
‘Is that what this is about, money?’ asked Barry, eyes wide with terror.
‘It’s a possibility,’ replied Farrell.
‘But we have no money. We’re in debt up to our eyeballs,’ said Elspeth in a low voice.
‘It’s the recession. Things haven’t been so good of late …’ said her husband.
So it wasn’t about money, thought Farrell. That didn’t bode well.
‘They haven’t got their comforters with them,’ said Elspeth, on the verge of losing it.
‘Someone will be round shortly to modify your phone so that we can try and trace the call should the abductor try and contact you for any reason. Try not to give up hope. It’s early days yet.’
Farrell stood up, ready to leave.
‘I’ve appointed DC McLeod here as your Family Liaison Officer. She’ll stay here with you for a while in case the man makes contact and also fill you in on any developments. She can also deal with any members of the press that decide to make a nuisance of themselves. I’m taking the other officer with me to help with the search.’
‘Can I come?’ blurted out Barry. ‘Anything’s better than just sitting here … wondering.’
Farrell looked at him. If anything had happened to those two little boys this guy wasn’t going to make it.
‘I’m sorry, Sir,’ he said. ‘It’s just not possible. In any event, I think your wife needs you here.’
He gestured to Mhairi to walk him out and when they were out of earshot he said to her, ‘keep your eye on him. He’s not thinking straight.’
‘Don’t worry, Sir. I’ll keep on top of the situation,’ McLeod answered, her determination belied just slightly by the worry lines snaking across her forehead.
CHAPTER TWELVE
Farrell’s leg jiggled with impatience as he sat in the carpeted reception area of police headquarters at Cornwall Mount. Situated well out of the town centre the light-filled atrium and tasteful foliage creeping unobtrusively around it would not look amiss in a posh hotel. Gloria, the immaculately groomed civilian receptionist, suddenly turned a full-voltage smile on him and told him to go straight on down to the armoury in the basement.
As he rounded the corner, walking past the twenty-five metre firing range, Farrell saw the firearms sergeant briefing his men in quiet emphatic tones. The atmosphere was tense with none of the usual banter. The doors to both the weapons armoury and, across the corridor, the ammunitions armoury, were still open. As his men began to file out to their waiting vehicles Sergeant Forsythe turned his measured gaze on Farrell.
‘Well, Sir, what can I do you for? You’ll need a bulletproof vest for starters.’
‘I’d like the bog standard one, not the heavy-duty version,’ requested Farrell.
The vests that the firearms team wore were damn heavy and he wanted to be able to give chase if necessary. It was well known that the members of the firearms team were among the fittest on the force. They had to be.
‘I believe you’re authorized to carry a firearm, Sir?’
‘Just give me a Taser,’ said Farrell decisively. ‘That’ll do me. Has DS Stirling been down to get equipped?’
‘He’s waiting for you in the car park, Sir.’
By the time Farrell and Stirling had driven over to Hardacre Road, Sergeant Forsythe already had his men in place. A number of uniforms were dispersed around the perimeter of the property awaiting further instructions. A cordon had been set up to keep back members of the public in case things turned nasty. The bungalow looked uncared for, as did the small rectangular garden, which was choked with weeds. There was no sign of movement from within.
Farrell and Stirling approached through the rusty gate that screeched out a warning of their approach. Farrell noticed that Stirling was trembling and chalky white. He’d selected him because of his age and experience, but looking at him now Farrell suspected his backup wouldn’t amount to much. Two of the firearms team took up position behind them on either side of the front door. Farrell knocked briskly, adrenalin flooding his system, causing his heart to pound. There was no response from inside the house.
After a few seconds, he was about to give the order to bust the door down when there was a sound of a bolt sliding back on the other side. A man put his head round the door then promptly ducked back in, trying to slam it shut. Farrell was having none of it. He blocked the door with his shoulder and flashed his warrant card.
‘David Nolan, we are investigating the abduction of two boys and believe that you might have information pertinent to our inquiry.’
The man silently let go of the door and trudged into the interior of the house, followed by Stirling and Farrell. As he turned to face them they could see beads of sweat gathered on his forehead. His sweat gave off a sour odour that Farrell had encountered many times: the smell of fear.
At a nod from Farrell, Stirling proceeded to methodically search the house. Farrell plonked himself down in an armchair and crossed his legs as though this were a social call. Nolan dithered for a few seconds, unsure of how to react, then sank into the chair opposite.
‘You’ll find nothing here,’ he said. ‘Them kiddies going missing has nothing to do with me.’
Farrell was inclined to agree. David Nolan was a sorry specimen of manhood. About five feet seven inches, his hair was sparse and speckled with grey. Flaccid and pale, he had on an old pair of baggy joggers and a khaki sweatshirt that bore traces of previous meals. Hardly credible that a man like him would have the balls to carry off a crime like this. So why did he look so nervous then? What did he have to hide? There was a computer in the corner of the room with a screensaver on and Farrell noticed that Nolan’s eyes periodically slithered towards it and then flicked back to him. Interesting.
Stirling came back in looking disappointed.
‘Nothing, Sir. No sign the boys have ever been here.’
Nolan looked smug. Farrell gave him a hard stare then walked purposefully towards the computer.
Nolan jumped to his feet and shouted, ‘stay away from that, you’ve got no right. Leave it alone.’
‘Oops,’ said Farrell theatrically and stumbled.
As he put out his hands, ostensibly to save himself, he pressed the mouse on the computer and the screensaver vanished. Fa
rrell blanched. Behind him he heard Stirling curse. Hardened as he’d had to become to the darker side of human nature, Farrell had rarely seen anything as horrific as the images of child pornography that dominated the screen. The suffering in the eyes of that small child would haunt him for a long time to come.
‘It’s not mine. Someone’s trying to set me up,’ whined Nolan as Farrell roughly snapped the handcuffs on and read him his rights, barely able to contain his fury.
Farrell left Stirling to supervise the seizure of the computer and search for further evidence then made his way back to the station. If it wasn’t this creep was it possible that the abductor of the twins had flagged him deliberately? Or was it simply a convenient theft of identity? At any rate it would give the vice boys something to chew on and, with a bit of luck, Nolan would give up some other low-lives into the bargain. He didn’t strike Farrell as the stoical type.
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
Back at the station, Farrell dodged into the washroom and soaped his face and arms up to the elbows then did it again for good measure. Sometimes this job made him feel so polluted he imagined the grime seeped right into his soul. As he rinsed off he caught a glimpse of his enraged face in the mirror and slammed his fist into the wall beside it, wishing it was Nolan’s face. The pain would help to calm him. He didn’t often lose his self-control, which had been hard won over the years, but right now he was spoiling for a fight. Anything to get those images elbowed out of his mind. Struggling for composure, he took a few deep breaths and gradually regained mastery over his emotions. Checking in the mirror that his face was once more cool and impassive, giving nothing away, he strode back out into the corridor.
As he passed the conference suite, he glanced through the glass door and saw Border TV setting up for a televised appeal. Mhairi was inside with DI Moore and the family. He caught her eye and beckoned to her and she excused herself and hurried over.
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