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

by Charlie Gallagher

  Still he hesitated. The handle was cold enough to make his hand ache. Finally he pushed it open. Maidstone’s Probation Office opened up immediately into a waiting room. The chairs were empty but added to the same worn impression overall. He walked through the reception area and his leg was brushed by stuffing that burst out from one of the chair backs. The reception was really just a small glass window cut into a brick wall. Harry had been to a few Probation Offices in his time and the look and atmosphere was always the same. A lad stood behind the window with his shirt sufficiently open to show off a rack of beads resting against a bony chest. His hair was floppy, his face littered with the onset of stubble.

  The lad looked him up and down. ‘Hey, can I help you?’

  Harry lifted his warrant card. ‘I’m Detective Inspector Harry Blaker. I’m dealing with an offender who attends Probation here. I spoke to his Probation Officer a few times on the phone but I’ve come down to speak with him in person . . .’

  ‘Okay, who’s your offender?’

  Harry hesitated. This was the moment when he needed to overstep the mark, when his tale became a lie and with no plausible denial. ‘Wootan, Daniel Wootan,’ he said firmly.

  ‘Yeah, I know him. He was in here not long ago.’

  ‘Great, I was speaking with his officer . . .’ Harry tutted and he shook his head. ‘His name escapes me? I have it written down somewhere . . .’ He made a show of starting to rummage his jacket pockets.

  ‘Rob Aitkins, right?’

  ‘Rob! I feel bad. I’ve been speaking to him a lot! Is he here? He did say he would be.’ Another lie. Harry had discovered that Wootan had been summoned to Probation for a meeting after his arrest and subsequent release. Harry had timed his visit for an hour after. Late enough for Wootan to be well clear; soon enough for his officer to be still typing up his notes.

  ‘Yeah. I’ll let him know you’re here.’ The boy turned to move away from the serving window.

  ‘Actually . . .’ Harry called out. The lad stopped in his tracks. ‘I’ll go through and speak to him in there. Some of the people that come through that door might not like me very much. I’ve had a bad experience or two in these places!’

  The boy eyed him. He smiled, but it took a few seconds to appear. ‘I bet. I’ll buzz you through.’

  The door was to the side of the office. It led to a corridor, which Harry walked down until he reached a gap in the wall opening to a bigger room at the back of the building. There were three L-shaped desks and a round meeting table with an array of chairs pushed against it, a box of overflowing paperwork on its surface. Two of the desks were occupied. At the one closest to him was a larger man who leant back in his chair to look up at Harry. He wore a white short-sleeved shirt and the material was tight around his upper arms. His elbow was dug into his belly to hold up the thing he was chewing on while crumbs cascaded down his front. The only description Harry had of Wootan’s Probation Officer was a mention of him on an intelligence report where Wootan had become abusive in his presence and referred to him as a ‘fat shit’. This was his man.

  ‘Afternoon, Rob,’ Harry said.

  The man cocked his head to one side and his chewing became a lot more pronounced. ‘Have we met?’

  ‘Some time ago,’ Harry lied.

  ‘Once met, never forgotten, eh Rob?’ The slimmer, older man at the other desk laughed too hard and too loud. Harry screwed up his face while Aitkins pulled his shirt taut to help the crumbs to the floor.

  ‘You’re managing Daniel Wootan, right?’ Harry said.

  ‘That is my dubious pleasure, yeah.’ Aitkins still peered down his body, completing a final sweep. His chin wobbled with the movement.

  ‘We got him in recently for theft,’ Harry said. ‘I was expecting him to be back inside by now, serving out the rest of his time. What happened?’

  ‘I don’t think you said who you were.’ Aitkins looked past Harry to where he’d come in. ‘Or how you got back here?’

  ‘Detective Inspector Harry Blaker.’

  ‘Ah! So that makes a bit more sense! Look, I get it, okay? I get this all the time . . . senior police officers calling me up or whatever about some petty shit we’ve got on our books and who’s been out of jail for like a week and they’ve already seen their crime stats go through the roof. I know Daniel’s a shit. I know he’s back on the steal again. But I have to do this right. I’ve got my own pressures and we don’t work for the police.’

  ‘I would prefer it if you didn’t swear in my presence. And I won’t in yours — a respect thing.’ Harry noticed the skin on Aitkins’s neck and face flush. His face bunched up into a sneer.

  ‘I tell you what . . . I promise I won’t swear at you, how’s that? But this is my office, this is where I work and sometimes I swear. Like I said, whether you’re a police inspector or a wooden top makes no odds to me. Daniel Wootan is for me to manage and how I do that is not up for conversation. Not with you.’ Aitkins got to his feet. He was even taller than he was wide. It was rare for Harry to lift his head to make eye contact with anyone but he didn’t step back. Aitkins threw his wrapper into a bin.

  ‘Shoplifting isn’t enough to breach his licence conditions?’ Harry persisted.

  ‘Well, it might have been, but he wasn’t charged with shoplifting as far as I know. Your lot never proved it.’ The proved was accompanied by a morsel of food that narrowly missed Harry.

  ‘He was seen on CCTV going in and out of that shop at a time when there was no one else in there. When he leaves, the alarm goes off and a bottle of whisky is missing. He made off when he heard the alarm. And that’s not enough?’ Harry’s tone was still flat.

  Aitkins shrugged. ‘I agree. You people need to pull your fingers out of your arses!’

  ‘I don’t mean for a charge. Your threshold is much lower. That’s enough for you to send him back to prison — no question. Theft is a dishonesty offence, it’s all you need.’

  ‘What I need is to get on with it. What I don’t need are police officers telling me what I should be doing and how. Happens all the time and it isn’t as simple as that. There’s this whole bigger picture out there, where the prisons are full to the rafters and there’s just about room for only the most horrible. So, a nicked bottle of whisky? Let’s just say he might not be a priority to push back into the mix.’

  ‘Daniel Wootan went to prison because he killed someone.’ Harry shuffled on the spot. He pushed his hands behind his back and dug nails into his palm until it hurt. For the first time he was aware of emotion leaking out in his words and he didn’t want his big fists hanging loose.

  Aitkins huffed. ‘Killed someone! Come on! He was out on the rob and he crashed his car. Yeah someone died but that ain’t a murder now, is it? That’s a petty thief who can’t drive for shit!’ Aitkins chuckled and it shook his whole belly. Harry fixed him in a glare and stepped in a little closer, close enough to make him uncomfortable.

  Aitkins leaned back, his expression only somewhat contrite. ‘The swearing thing, yeah? It’s habit is all—’

  ‘He’s dangerous. Part of his conditions include a ban on driving. This shoplifting took place at a garage and was committed by the occupant of a car. The only occupant. So he’s driving, too.’

  Aitkins started moving some papers around on his desk. ‘Look, it’s done, okay? He stays out so the rapists, the paedos and the murderers get to stay in. It’s the way of the world these days.’

  ‘He won’t stop driving — you know that. He was high when he crashed the last time and he’s back on the gear. What if he kills someone else?’

  Aitkins grimaced. He stopped what he was doing to lean forward. He had started to look rattled, now he seemed angry. His face and neck flushed brighter. ‘Well, I promise I’ll recall him then. How’s that?’

  Harry’s nails dug so far into his own hand that he almost yelped. He broke away first, though — he knew he had to. It was time to leave. He walked back along the corridor and out into the waiting area. He was b
ack to his car when he finally pulled his fingers apart. The last few paces he made were slower and more deliberate. He shoved out at his car, both his hands slapped against the driver’s window and the car shook on the spot. He stopped to look around. He was parked on a busy road with traffic passing in both directions. No one seemed to be taking any notice of him, but they might. He could already have caused himself problems; he didn’t need to be making them worse. He turned his hands so they were palm up. He could see the deep marks pressed into his flesh and pulsing white. They were still painful when he turned the key to start the engine.

  Chapter 14

  ‘What have you got, then?’ Maddie was at her desk and had started to make some headway with her case file when Rhiannon’s name had flashed up on her desk phone. She had been largely ignoring calls, but her hand had shot out to pick it up. She hadn’t heard anything since the media appeal had gone out. Maybe there was an update.

  ‘Can you come over?’ Maddie thought that Rhiannon’s voice was tinged with excitement.

  ‘Now?’

  ‘If you can. There’s something I want to show you.’

  CID was in a separate building from the main police station at Canterbury. The building was known as ‘the range’ as it had once been exactly that: a big, open-plan building used for firearms training. Firearms had moved away, leaving the facilities team scratching their heads, trying to work out how to make a long, slim building with barely any windows and soundproofed walls into a comfortable, functional and not-at-all-oppressive building for detectives to work in. They had largely failed on all counts. Rhiannon’s desk was down the far end on the top floor, close to the DCI’s office. It had been Maddie’s first desk when she had moved down from Manchester and it always made her smile to see it. Not because of happy memories, but because she was happy she didn’t have to sit there anymore. Rhiannon and another DC lent over the desk.

  ‘We’ve had a good response,’ Rhiannon said. She straightened up and shook her hair with her fingers. She looked a little tired and blinked like someone who’d broken away from a computer monitor after a long stint.

  ‘I thought you might. Anything that stands out?’

  ‘Mainly offers to foster the boy. So . . . no — until this came in.’ Rhiannon brought up her email screen. She clicked on an attachment which took a second to open. It was a bright white screen with writing in a font that made it instantly recognisable as a CAD. This is how a call from the public was recorded. It showed the initial typed notes of the call-taker. Maddie skimmed over it. The top part usually gave the caller details: name, address, and the phone number they were calling from. This one was blanked out. The name box was the only one with an entry: anon.

  ‘What’s the summary?’ Maddie said. CAD’s were not laid out very well. There were lots of lines of jargon before you got to the meat of the call.

  ‘It was in the pile for a follow-up. It started off like someone who was a bit of a crackpot. This sort of thing always attracts their interest.’

  Maddie made a listening ‘Umm’ while fighting the urge to just tell Rhiannon to get to the point.

  ‘But this bit here . . . was anything put out about the boy’s dad?’

  Maddie leant back and followed Rhiannon’s slender finger to a line of text: CALLER STATES THAT THE BOY IS KNOWN TO HIM. THAT HE WAS THERE WHEN HIS DAD WAS HRT. WILL NT SAY WHO BOY IS OVER PHONE, OR DAD. SAYS DAD WAS HURT BAD. HE MAY NOT BE OK. WILL ONLY SPEAK TO THE SIO. VRY INSISTENT.’

  ‘No!’ Maddie said. She bit down on her lip. ‘I mean I could double-check nothing went out on anything official, but—’

  ‘It didn’t. I checked those already.’

  ‘Okay, what about the press?’

  ‘We’ve not made mention of anyone else, the release as a whole was pretty bland. A young boy with staining on his clothing that suggests he was present when an assault took place. That was about it.’

  ‘So this caller might actually know something?’

  ‘He might. Or it’s a lucky guess?’

  ‘He?’

  ‘The description gives the voice as adult, male. That’s all we have, though.’

  ‘Have you had the caller details run?’ Maddie said. Anonymous calls to the police were rarely actually anonymous. The details could be retrieved if they put the right justification on the right form.

  ‘A phone box on Stone Street. The Canterbury end.’

  Maddie stepped back. ‘So it’s the right sort of area. Seems too specific for a crank just getting lucky. But he’ll only speak to the SIO. How does he want to do that?’

  ‘There’s a time and an address.’ Rhiannon’s finger ran down the screen until she found it.

  ‘The Ports Café,’ Maddie read. ‘I know it. It’s just off the A20. It’s not exactly the most police-friendly place. We’ll need to try and blend in.’

  ‘We?’ Rhiannon said.

  ‘Sure. I’m still the Senior Investigating Officer as far as DCI Lowe is concerned. I told him as much! We can’t have you going on your own.’

  ‘Okay . . . I just thought you and DI Blaker would go out?’

  ‘The whole idea of you running this is for your development, Rhiannon. You’re just as capable. Besides, Harry’s busy talking to our CPS overlords this afternoon. And, like you said, this may well be just some crackpot who got lucky with one of our buzzwords. Have you seen this bit?’ Maddie was back to scanning the CAD. ‘The more I read it, the more I think it is a crackpot.’

  ‘What do you mean?’

  ‘This bit here? The bit about how he wants to meet?’ Maddie pointed at a line of text.

  ‘Oh yeah, I was hoping you wouldn’t see that!’ Rhiannon chuckled. ‘I think we still have to go.’

  Maddie read from the screen, ‘When the SIO enters, he or she will need to order a black coffee and the pancakes. What does he think this is, some spy film?’

  ‘It would appear so. It still could be something, though.’

  ‘We definitely need to go and bottom out his comments. I’m just not as interested as I was. At least he should be easy to spot.’

  ‘Easy?’

  ‘Yeah, he’ll be the one sat in the corner holding a newspaper up with eye-holes cut in it!’

  Both of them laughed, then Maddie was suddenly thoughtful.

  ‘What?’ Rhiannon prompted.

  ‘That dad comment . . . Harry had oversight of everything that went out. It’s worth a check with him. He’d know if it was released anywhere.’ She lifted her phone. It was already ringing.

  ‘Maddie . . .’ Harry’s voice was loud against background noise. Maddie could tell he was on handsfree and in a moving car.

  ‘Harry, quick question . . . We’ve got a lead in relation to our blood-soaked boy. He wants to meet to give us information. I just wanted to run something past—’

  ‘Meet? Who does?’

  ‘The informant.’

  ‘Which is who?’

  We don’t know. It’s anonymous.’

  ‘You meeting him at the nick, then?’

  ‘No. He’s given instructions to meet at a café. I can’t exactly get back to him and confirm either way.’

  ‘A café? All sounds a bit odd. When?’

  Maddie glanced her watch. ‘Not long, actually. We need to get going.’

  ‘What café? I can head there and meet you.’

  ‘No need, Harry. Rhiannon’s leading this. I’m heading out with her. She’s very capable.’

  ‘I get that. But I don’t like someone setting a time and place to meet you. Not when we don’t have a clue why.’

  ‘We’ll handle it. I didn’t call for you to attend, I just wanted to know if you were aware of any release of information about the boy’s dad — that we suspect the blood to be from him?’

  There was slight pause. ‘No. We actively avoided giving any details, didn’t we?’

  ‘That’s what I thought. I was just checking. I know you have oversight of everything that goes out.’

  ‘T
o my knowledge that was never mentioned.’

  ‘Okay then, thanks.’

  ‘Make sure you take a cover car, someone to have your back. And get a CAD created so the control room knows you’re there. Are you both in kit?’

  Maddie rolled her eyes at Rhiannon. ‘It’s all under control. Don’t worry. I’ll let you know how it goes.’ The call ended.

  ‘Has he got a problem with us going out?’ Rhiannon said.

  ‘Not with us going out, just with us being competent! I think it’s a man thing. They see us as something they need to protect. I should be glad, really.’

  ‘You should.’

  Maddie smiled. ‘But I’m not! Let’s get this done. We don’t want to be late for our crackpot, now, do we?’

  * * *

  The Ports Café wasn’t far from the M20. It was somewhere Maddie knew by reputation rather than it being somewhere she’d ever been to, a reputation that told her the word café was a little misleading. It might have started its life as a humble café but it was now more of a lorry park with round-the-clock services for the drivers. The building had been extended a number of times in response to an ever-increasing footfall. The car park had been extended, too, and seemed to wrap around the main building like a horseshoe thrown over it. ‘You bring me to the nicest places!’ she said to Rhiannon.

  As they turned across the road and onto the hard standing, the going got bumpy. Rhiannon was in the driver’s seat and she slowed right down to a crawl to negotiate the ruts and bumps in the stony surface. They pulled up on the left side of the building. The car park here had a few parked cars and a neat row of motorbikes close to the door. The windows had a layer of condensation that prevented Maddie seeing anything more than blurred shapes inside. It was just before 2 p.m., and she considered that any lunch rush should be just about over. She’d passed this place at night before and often seen the car park end-to-end with lorries.

  Maddie walked in first. She narrowed her eyes to a ceiling heater that seemed to be angled to beat her in the face with a blast as she entered. There was a clump of empty tables in the middle; people seemed to prefer to sit around the edges. From a quick survey of the punters, she reckoned there were a couple of families, a few tradesmen, and a lot of bikers still dressed in half-leathers. They occupied the full length of a wall where a number of tables had been pulled together. Their group was in high spirits and laughter broke out. A man in the centre of them all was hanging his head, seemingly the butt of the joke.