HE WILL FIND YOU an absolutely gripping crime thriller with a massive twist

by Charlie Gallagher

  ‘I understand, yeah. No worries.’

  The man licked his lips. ‘No worries?’ The lips curled at the edges; it was a long way from a smile. He took a phone from his pocket and Jack could see the Apple logo on the back. The phone made a sound like a camera shutter, then a few seconds later a sound like someone had blown into the top of a bottle — a message had been sent. ‘I will not fail again.’ He stood up and Jack leaned back to look up at him.

  ‘Okay then.’

  ‘Our journey starts tomorrow.’ He strode to the door. The white noise of rainfall pushed its way in for the moment it took for him to step through. Jack watched as he lingered for a few seconds outside. When he moved away Jack strained to follow his direction and found himself rising to his feet.

  ‘Are you leaving already?’ The woman who had served him was back and standing close enough to block his view.

  ‘Yes . . . it’s . . . er . . . it’s getting late.’

  ‘You don’t like my pancakes?’

  He looked down. He hadn’t touched them. ‘Eyes bigger than my belly. Sorry. I’ll try and do better tomorrow!’

  ‘Tomorrow?’

  ‘Yes, so it seems. Oh! I didn’t pay!’ He scrabbled in his pockets but she was shaking her head.

  ‘Tomorrow’s fine.’ She walked away across the floor and through a door behind the counter. Jack looked around. None of the other occupants were paying him any attention. He shrugged and gathered up his car keys. When he pushed open the main door it looked like the rain had worsened if anything. He bent his head and made for his car.

  Chapter 5

  Monday

  ‘Why are you just telling me this now?’ Maddie had been in full flow but she was stopped abruptly by the question. Detective Inspector Harry Blaker always growled when he spoke but she was learning to differentiate — and this was a more upset growl than standard. It was first thing Monday morning and she was bringing him up to date on the weekend. She was just a few points in.

  ‘Do you want me to tell you the rest?’

  ‘Does it get any better?’

  ‘Depends what you mean by better.’

  ‘So far it can only get better. You’ve got a boy covered in enough blood for you to think somebody came to some serious harm in front of him, who can’t communicate, and was walking through a town centre barefoot. Why am I only hearing about this now?’

  ‘Give me some credit, Harry. You were off-duty. I appreciate you were on-call for emergencies and major incidents, but this didn’t fit with either. The kid’s safe. He was when I got to him. It was basically processing a crime scene and we did that. I was just going to explain the rest, calling you out would have achieved nothing more. I did everything you would have done.’

  ‘No, you didn’t. I would have called my inspector.’

  ‘I made sure the FCR inspector was fully aware.’

  ‘He doesn’t run the Major Crime department for your area.’

  ‘I take it your weekend off was not a restful one?’ Maddie huffed. ‘Whatever your problem is, you don’t need to be taking it out on me.’

  Harry’s lips flickered. Whatever his reaction was going to be, he had stifled it. ‘This thing you have . . . where you don’t ask — where you don’t want to ask. I can’t work out if it’s because you still feel that you’ve got something to prove or if it’s just plain arrogance.’

  ‘I’ve got nothing to prove. Not to you, not to anyone,’ Maddie spat.

  ‘So it’s plain arrogance then?’ Harry said.

  ‘I don’t like being micro-managed.’

  ‘There’s a rank structure. It’s been around for a hundred years or more, so it’s pretty well tested. You report upwards, that’s just how it works.’

  ‘And don’t you like to remind me? I’ve sent you a full report from the weekend, there’s nothing more I can tell you anyway.’ Maddie made for the door that would take her out of Harry’s office. She left it swinging open. She threw her daybook onto her desk as she passed and continued on. She needed some fresh air. Maybe some fresh coffee too.

  * * *

  When Harry found her, Maddie was a little calmer. The red mist had cleared enough for her to see the situation with a little more clarity. Harry might even have had a point, but it was the way he had got it across that had upset her. When they had first started working together he had made her feel like that a lot, but she felt like they had moved past that now. Most of the time if he was upset with her these days it would be a conversation rather than a one-way rant. She was pretty sure that the difference today was not the circumstances, but his mood. He had to be carefully managed. If there was any suggestion that she was actually in the wrong then she would need to be the one to apologise. Digging her heels in would be pointless.

  Maddie was aware of movement in her peripheral vision. She lifted her head enough to see Harry’s midriff as he sat down at her table. He was directly opposite. She kept her eyes down and could just see his hands. They were interlocked and resting on the scuffed, wooden surface of the table, almost touching the two coffees she had purchased a few minutes earlier. She pushed one towards him.

  ‘Black, no sugar, extra strong,’ she said. Harry didn’t react. She lifted her head. No one had ever had the ability to make her feel like this. She was desperate for him to talk, to give her a sign that she wasn’t in trouble. She hated that he could make her feel like that. ‘It’s a sort of apology.’

  ‘No, it isn’t. It’s a hot drink.’

  ‘You want me to say it? You want me to feel like some scolded child?’

  ‘That’s how you’re acting.’

  ‘So well done, job done, then.’

  ‘What does that tell you?’

  Maddie huffed. She took a moment. ‘I’m sorry, okay?’

  ‘For what?’

  ‘You don’t have to make this more difficult for me. Point taken.’

  ‘This is important. For what?’

  Maddie huffed again. ‘You were right, okay? I should have called the Major Crime inspector. It fit the criteria. But I didn’t.’ She finally made eye contact. Harry was still fixed on her with his back straight. He wanted more. ‘And I shouldn’t talk to you like I did, even when you are being a miserable old git!’ She chanced a smile; it got no reaction. ‘I’m still not great with working with people. I was working covert for a long time and spent long periods not really reporting to anyone, having to make my own decisions, decisions that ultimately kept me alive. I had to manage myself and I learnt to trust my own instincts. I know I’m struggling a little to adapt, but I will. When I was working CID I was told more than once that I needed to get over myself. Maybe they had a point.’ Maddie had a second go at a chuckle. Harry finally reached for his coffee, a sign that she had said enough perhaps. He pushed the lid off.

  ‘You’re a fine detective — sharp and brave. But it doesn’t matter how good you are, we’re all better when we bounce ideas off other people. The rank thing, that is important, but I’m more upset that you didn’t call me to get my opinion, not my instruction. We work together or we don’t work. I wouldn’t have come out and taken it over — I know you’re capable — but there’s more to it than that. It’s about knowing that you respect my opinion, that you want a discussion at all. I would have called you.’

  Maddie felt a little stung. She hadn’t considered that angle at all. He was upset that he didn’t think she trusted him enough to call.

  ‘Point taken. I guess I saw you as the next rank up and I can have problems admitting that I might need some support. Everything got done, that’s the important thing.’

  ‘We’ll see about that.’

  ‘I’m sorry. I respect your opinion — more than I care to admit. And in the future I will look for it. As long as I can get over myself, that is!’

  She still didn’t get a smile from him but he sat back and seemed to relax a little. She took a sip of her coffee; it was still scalding hot. ‘How was your weekend? I assume you didn’t do anythin
g you wouldn’t want to be disturbed from?’

  ‘No.’

  ‘Okay then. So what made your weekend so terrible?’

  ‘It was my birthday.’

  ‘Your birthday! I had no idea. You know, for most people that’s a good thing. Some people even celebrate it.’

  ‘Some do.’

  ‘But not you.

  ‘Not me. What were your fast-track actions?’ Harry snapped back into work mode. Maddie huffed to show her frustration at the closing down of small talk. She’d raised the point before: it was a basic courtesy among colleagues. She knew she was wasting her time.

  ‘I asked for the FCR to review all the calls that had come on the box up to twenty-four hours before. Anything with blood in it. I looked at assaults, night-time economy, domestics and RTC’s. There was nothing that matched. I had DC’s reviewing for any missing children, just in case I wasn’t aware — I know it’s unlikely. I also asked the FCR to put news out to bordering forces in case there was something that matched from further afield. I had resources out doing house-to-house and CCTV reviews, commercial and private. I was hoping to see where he came from but nothing yet. The boy had a full forensic examination. The only thing we couldn’t get was the scrape from his mouth, but Charley’s happy she can get DNA from his hair. Oh and I had a search team do the park and area as a whole — there wasn’t a blood dog in the whole county on a Sunday.’

  ‘Anything else?’

  ‘What did I miss?’

  ‘He was barefoot, right?’

  ‘Yeah.’

  ‘So he hasn’t come from far. We could start with the theory that he lives in the area. Your report says he looks thin, malnourished even, and his clothes were cheap. He sounds like he might be known to Social Services. No harm in circulating his image among all the children’s services that cover Canterbury. See if anyone recognises him. All police officers too, for the same reason. And hotels . . . is anyone checking in Canterbury hotels for disturbances they didn’t report, or asking the question as to whether they have anyone in with a boy around ten to twelve years old. We might get lucky.’

  ‘Okay . . . No, I haven’t had anyone at hotels and I didn’t consider Social Services. So maybe I didn’t think of everything. We wouldn’t have got through to Social on a Sunday anyway.’

  ‘You might not,’ Harry conceded. But Maddie knew what he was really saying.

  ‘Like I said . . . point taken.’

  ‘I’m not trying to make a point, Maddie. Not anymore. We are where we are. The ports, too. The ferry port and the Channel Tunnel . . . they have their own system for recording calls. It’s worth checking with them what calls they’ve had, also finding out if any kids missed their boat or train.’

  ‘Okay. I’ll make sure that happens.’

  ‘When is Charley expecting results from her assessment?’

  ‘She’s going to try and fast-track the DNA. She said three to five days. We were able to ascertain that the blood wasn’t his at least — and it is human. The boy seemed to indicate that it was his dad’s, but we can’t be sure. He had a few bruises, but nothing more than you might expect on a ten-year-old boy. He was in good health. Just thin.’

  ‘The boy’s still the key, then. What did he have on him?’

  ‘Nothing. Empty pockets. And I mean completely — not even pocket litter.’

  ‘Okay. It’s all very odd.’

  ‘It is. I’m heading out to see him this morning. We put him in an emergency foster home. Somewhere Rhiannon Davies knew. The local police have used it as an emergency provision in the past. I think she’s retired now — we were lucky Rhiannon had a relationship there. I made sure there was a patrol there all night. They took a plain car. We can’t be sure if he’s in danger.’ Rhiannon Davies, a detective working in CID, was someone Maddie trusted implicitly and Harry knew it. She didn’t expect him to question her faith in her. He didn’t.

  ‘It’s right to be cautious.’ Harry said. He sipped at his own drink. ‘I read the report. Not a word said, but he reacted okay to the forensic examination?’

  ‘That’s right. He just sat still and looked terrified. He understands well enough, though. He was definitely responding to my questions.’

  ‘And you got yes and no answers only?’

  ‘In a fashion. It certainly wouldn’t be evidential. We came up with a way of communicating between us. The kid touched a plastic bottle for yes or pushed it over for a no. It was the best I could manage.’

  ‘That’s where the dad ID came from?’

  ‘Yes. His reaction seemed to back it up, too. He got very upset.’

  ‘What are we doing around psyche assessments? Maybe getting him some help with the talking?’

  ‘I have a forensic psychiatrist meeting me at the home. She’s also an expert in trauma in children, which includes those that present as mute. They go hand in hand it would seem. I didn’t have a choice about that . . . the Control Room inspector called her direct. Apparently he’s used her before when he worked counter-terrorism. He spoke with her and then had me call her to give a summary.’

  ‘Do you think she can help?’

  ‘She didn’t give me much on the phone. Struck me as the sort who wasn’t going to commit to anything until she had more of the facts. Makes sense, I suppose. I sent her a sanitised version of the report I sent you.’

  ‘Sanitised?’

  ‘Yeah, I redacted the address details. I wasn’t sure I should give it to her to be honest. The fewer people that know where this kid is, the better for me.’

  ‘Okay, makes sense.’

  ‘It does and it doesn’t. Turns out she’s vetted to a higher level than you or me. She’s one of the few people in the country with her specialist skills. She’s based in the West Midlands and a lot of forces use her for migrant children. I guess they get a lot that have seen some pretty nasty stuff. You hear about it . . . kids fleeing the Taliban or the war in Syria. She must be trusted, to work in counter-terrorism at all.’

  ‘So we can trust her, that’s what you’re saying?’

  Maddie shrugged. ‘Her vetting level says so. And she’s based a long way from here. If we can trust anyone . . .’

  ‘But you didn’t trust her enough to give her the kid’s address.’

  ‘I was being over-cautious. I don’t like not knowing anything about what happened here. I’ll send her the address details and have her meet us there. Best we don’t unsettle the kid any more than we have to.’

  ‘Okay then, I agree with you.’ Harry’s face softened. It might have been the beginning of a grin. ‘And it’s so nice to be given the chance.’

  * * *

  The elderly man counted out the last of his pocket change to match the bill exactly. Jack puffed his cheeks out. The man lifted his head and pushed back his thick-lensed glasses. His nose scrunched up like he was worried about losing them again.

  ‘I think that’s about right lad.’

  It was Jack’s turn to count it, to make sure that it married up with the seventeen pounds, twenty-seven pence that showed on his screen. He was due a break; it was two hours into a shift that had started at 7 a.m. and he hadn’t stopped yet. There were several people queuing for his checkout behind the old man. He took his time counting it all out. Then he broke the news that his till was closing down for fifteen minutes. Inwardly, he beamed at their upset. He ignored the tutting and eye rolling as he walked across the floor and thumped through the double doors at the back of the supermarket that led to the break area. He needed a cigarette. His shoes scuffed and caught on the brown-edged floor tiles as he walked through the staff area. On the shop floor the same tiles would squeak under his sole where they were polished to within an inch of their life. Not back here. The staff, it seemed, were not as important as the customers.

  His coat was on a hanger in the locker room that doubled as the boiler room. It smelt musty and close. He didn’t stay in there long. He pulled on his coat and moved through a fire door that took him out to
the rear of the shop. They were supposed to leave the site completely for a smoke. Nobody did. A small patch of grey concrete greeted him, it overlooked the loading area and was raised enough to meet with the back of a lorry. The floor underneath was littered with cigarette ends. A lot of them would be his. He sat on the edge, his legs dangling against the cold concrete. The nip in the air though, was pleasant and fresh. The rain clouds of the night before had scarpered to leave a clear sky and a ground frost in the parts that still lay in the shade. The door thumped again. Alyssa followed him out.

  He had liked Alyssa Mills immediately. Not necessarily for her looks. He thought her rather plain looking, especially when she came in some mornings and you could tell that she was running late and hadn’t had time to do much with her hair. He liked her attitude more. She was a lot like him. The job was a pain in the arse, a way to get some cash for the weekend. It didn’t mean shit to him and it didn’t mean shit to her either. She smiled and sat next to him. He lifted his carton of cigarettes. She had her own in her hand but she took up the offer.

  ‘Am I seeing you tonight?’ she said. It seemed she had been up in plenty of time that morning; her black hair was straight and the blonde roots that had started to show were gone. Her eyebrows were dark and lengthened onto her cheek with a flourish, her lipstick and nails bright red against her pale skin. This despite warnings at work that she needed to tone down the goth. Jack had been there when one of the bosses had used that expression to her and they had shared a rolling of eyes and a humoured smile. No one said goth anymore — no one relevant at least.

  Jack sucked on his cigarette, narrowed his eyes and shaped his mouth to blow the smoke out as a thick clump. ‘Sure. We can do something early on if you like. I gotta get an early night, though. I’ve got an early start tomorrow.’

  She reached out for his thigh and slid her hand up it. ‘I was thinking the same thing!’ She giggled. That was another reason why Jack liked her. She was an easy lay. ‘And since when did you care about a late night and early starts?’