by Jack Probyn
Jake wasn’t sure whether his internal reaction made its way onto his face, but he was stunned. He’d just been on the high street – they all had. A series of what ifs raced through his mind. What if they’d left later? What if Jake had asked to stay to finish his coffee? And then an image slapped him across the face. The van. The driver. The passenger. Had there been another one in the back too?
Jake stepped back slightly and allowed his mind to work while Pemberton and Bridger started organising the team into their necessary actions. He recalled the image in his memory again, this time willing it to focus more clearly. The van. The driver. What he’d been wearing. Was it red? Or orange? Or was he imagining it all, hoping that it was red? The face. He remembered that face now.
No, he told himself. Stop it. It couldn’t be.
The next thing he felt was a hand on his shoulder. It was Danika. She looked at him, concerned.
‘Are you OK?’ she asked, lowering her arm.
Jake shook himself back to reality, cast his gaze around the room. ‘I’m fine,’ he told her. ‘I just can’t believe it, that’s all.’
‘What a start to our first day, eh!’ Danika said with notable excitement in her voice.
The feeling in his stomach had subsided and the ravages of adrenaline were finally beginning to take hold of him. Bridger hurried over to them with an elderly officer – Jake remembered his name was Carl – in tow.
‘Grab your things, you two,’ Bridger said. ‘It’s time to go.’
CHAPTER 8
PROMISES
Bridger and Carl had ventured down to the bottom of the high street in their own cars while Jake was riding shotgun in Danika’s Ford Escort. They arrived thirty seconds later at the road that bent round the bottom of the high street. An outer cordon had been set up a few feet short of the gate where, only minutes ago, Jake had nearly been knocked down by a one-ton vehicle. Sitting in front of the cordon were four police cars and two ambulances positioned awkwardly at different angles on the road. In front of the white and blue police tape stood a uniformed officer, his hands folded in front of him, his police cap pulled low over his eyes, his high-visibility jacket reflecting the early morning sun beating down on him.
After exiting Danika’s car, Jake shuffled to the boot. Inside she had two forensic scene suits consisting of mask, hood, gloves and overshoes. Jake hated wearing them – they always rubbed and chafed his hands and neck – but he also knew their importance at the vital early stages of an investigation. Once they were all suited and booted, they made their way towards the uniformed officer where they flashed their warrant cards, signed in on the attendance log and ducked beneath the tape.
Jake paused a moment to look up and down the high street, to absorb his surroundings. Rows of shops and other businesses ran up the length of it on either side. Overhead was a string of bunting advertising a farmers’ market due to take place in a few days’ time. And, just beneath it on the left-hand side, was the Guildford Clock, one of the few landmarks that Jake had researched after a quick online search in preparation for his stint here. At either end of the high street, a small army of uniformed police officers and police community support officers were in the middle of herding the streets’ employees – replete in their multicoloured uniforms – and shoppers out of the shops and on the right side of the cordon. Human curiosity prevailed however, and the sound of gossip and buzz and excitable conversation permeated the air like a dense fog.
Bridgewater Jewellers was situated halfway up the street, a few shops away from another small alleyway that led to North Street, the main road that ran parallel and dissected Guildford. The company’s logo was emblazoned on the front of the store, in golden serif font that melted into the cream paint surrounding it. The main fascia of the jeweller’s consisted of a series of window displays that had once been home to hundreds of pieces of luxury, waiting to create as many romantic moments as possible, but had now been decimated.
As the four of them arrived outside the jeweller’s, Bridger turned to face them and said, ‘SOCO have confirmed it’s OK for us to have a look. But we’ve got to be brief.’
Entering the store, treading lightly across the stepping plates that the scenes of crime officers had placed on the ground, glass crunched underfoot, and the sound sent shivers up Jake’s spine which branched out to the rest of his body like the splintered window displays around him. Three more scenes of crime officers were huddled together in the centre of the shop, hovering over a body, snapping photographs of the gunshot wound to her neck. One of them moved closer to Jake and set an evidence marker down by the shell casing in front of him. Jake averted his gaze from the body and chose to observe his surroundings instead. Until this moment, it had seemed like a normal armed robbery: guns, jewels, a getaway vehicle. But now there was another dynamic to it that Jake hadn’t expected.
The shop was no larger than his living room at home. On the left was a desk. Resting atop it a computer, a cash register and a telephone. Behind that, a cabinet. And, on the right-hand side, a small booth with a desk in between the seats. Spread across the back wall was blood, dripping, forming streaks down the faces of the cabinets – reminding Jake of a scene from Carrie. A few sparkling rings and bracelets and necklaces that had been dropped and abandoned on the floor shimmered as Jake and the rest of his party distorted the ambient and artificial light above, although it was difficult to discern high-end jewellery from the mess of shards on the floor.
‘Doesn’t look like they were being too careful,’ Bridger remarked, looking at the debris on the floor. ‘Looks like they’ve thrown half of it about the place.’
A voice came from behind them, startling Jake. He spun on the spot and searched for the owner. On the other side of the door, standing on the pavement, was a uniformed officer. The four of them headed for the exit, shuffling past the investigators in the doorway, and moved over to the officer.
‘Good morning,’ he said, introducing himself. His voice was gruff and raspy, like it was carrying the weight of a thousand cigarettes behind it. ‘I’m PS Byrd. Some of my team were the first responders.’
‘Excellent,’ Bridger said, brushing past Jake to get closer to Byrd. ‘What have you got for us, Sergeant?’
‘Armed robbery. Witnesses report a group of armed robbers stormed the building just after nine, looted the contents and opened fire on one of the employees. The witnesses’ clothes have been taken for further examination. Paramedics announced extinction of life as soon as they were on the scene. SOCO are securing the body and preserving as much evidence surrounding the body, as you can see. And the witnesses are currently being seen to by a paramedic. Reports suggest the robbers evacuated the scene in a black van and their exit route was at the top of the high street.’
‘Very concise, Sergeant,’ Bridger replied. ‘Have you got scene logs for both of the cordons?’
Byrd nodded.
‘House-to-house enquiries conducted and collated from the shops on the high street?’
Another nod. ‘Conducting those as we speak, sir.’
‘What about first accounts – have you obtained those yet?’
This time Byrd shook his head. He’d made it two for three, and from the discouraged look on his face, Jake assumed the officer had been hoping he’d be able to make it a full house by the time the plainclothes officers arrived.
‘Where are they?’ Carl asked, his deep, monotonous voice booming from a set of big lungs.
Byrd stepped to the side and gestured at a man and woman sitting on the back of an ambulance at the bottom of the high street.
‘Thank you, Officer. We’ll take it from here.’ Bridger turned his attention to Jake and Danika after Byrd had wandered back up the high street. ‘I want you two to go with Carl. Speak to the key witnesses and take their first accounts. Nothing like learning on the job.’
Jake replied with a nod. So far he was happy to sit back, watch and learn, step in only where absolutely necessary. He hadn’t earned the resp
ect nor the right to tread on anyone’s toes just yet. Even though he and Carl were the same rank, it was evident from Carl’s age that he’d experienced more than himself, Danika and Bridger combined.
The key witnesses were dressed in matching tracksuit bottoms and jumpers, their faces ashen, their arms folded across their chest. The woman shuddered, and she rubbed her arms as if she were cold despite the oppressive heat radiating from the sun.
Carl was first to approach them. He held his warrant card in his hands. ‘My name is DC Jenkins, and these are my colleagues. We’re here to help you and make sure that you’re OK and safe. I know this is a very stressful time for you both, but I’m going to need you to tell me what happened here.’
For a long while neither of them said anything.
‘Anything you can remember now will be greatly appreciated.’
‘It all happened so fast…’ the woman replied slowly, keeping her head low. Two black snakes ran down her cheeks, and red rivers warmed her eyes. ‘We… We opened at nine. Just like every morning. This gentleman wanted to buy a ring, so I offered to help him. Just as we sat down, a black van pulled up outside. Three men came in with guns. They screamed at us. Told us to put our hands up. And that… if we didn’t, then they would…’ She paused; there was a catch in her throat, and she coughed, clearing it. ‘They shot Rachel. They took everything. All the money. All the watches, rings… everything. And then… And then…’
‘Go on…’ Carl urged gently.
‘They took our manager. Candice Strachan. They drove off with her in the back of the van.’ A tear slid down her face, and she wiped her cheek with the back of her hand.
‘Took her?’ Danika repeated, stepping into the conversation. ‘What do you mean?’
‘They kidnapped her. They put her in the back of the van and then drove off.’
‘Did you see which way they went?’ Danika asked again. She seemed to be getting a feel for it now. What surprised Jake was that Carl didn’t object to her intrusion.
Both witnesses shook their head.
‘How many of them were there?’
‘Three,’ the witnesses replied simultaneously.
Shit.
‘What were they wearing?’
‘They were dressed in these big red overalls. Like prison outfits.’
Double shit.
‘Did you get a clear look at their faces?’ Danika continued with the onslaught of questions. ‘Any defining features? Characteristics?’
The woman replied with another shake of the head. ‘Sorry, I wish I could be more helpful.’
Danika took a step forward and placed a comforting hand on her shoulder. Woman to woman. ‘There’s no need to apologise,’ she said.
Carl stepped to the side and moved in front of the witnesses’ vision, taking control of the situation. ‘What can you tell us about Candice? Anything you know about her? Any friends? Family? Someone who might know where they could have taken her?’
The woman nodded. ‘We have employee files. She made us have one as part of our personal development. They’re inside the office.’
At once, Carl called a SOCO over and instructed them to go inside the office, retrieve the folder and submit it as evidence as soon as possible.
‘There’s a lot of weird information in there,’ the woman continued. ‘But she never really mentioned anything about any friends to us.’
‘Family?’ Carl asked.
‘I think she had some a long time ago. She didn’t like talking about them that much. She spent most of the time telling stories about her past, business strategies and that sort of stuff. I think she said she was writing a book on it.’
‘Have you got an address?’
‘Yes. Manor’s Keep. It’s in Farnham. I pick her up on my way to work every morning.’
Jake pulled out his pocketbook and scribbled the address down.
‘Thanks,’ Carl replied, reaching into his pocket. ‘Listen.’ He produced a contact card which had his mobile number and email address on it. ‘You’ve been incredibly helpful. Really, you have. These are my details. Please call me if you need anything. Or if you think of anything else. Soon I’ll be getting some members of my team to come and bring you into the station for a full witness statement. They’re going to make sure you’re well looked after. And you’ll have your parents or other family members notified about what’s happened. Does that sound OK?’
Both witnesses nodded.
With that, Carl turned his back on them and, as he brushed past Jake, told him to collect their personal details. Jake nodded and smiled ebulliently, but it felt like it was the shitty job he didn’t want to do himself or palm off on Danika.
‘Head back to the station once you’re done,’ Carl finished before heading up the street to find Bridger.
Instead of staying with him, like he’d expected, Danika wandered off with Carl, leaving him to do it alone, as if he was the runt of the litter.
Jake feigned a smile as he noted down the man and woman’s contact details, addresses and next of kin.
‘Thank you, both,’ he said before heading towards the car.
‘Detective…’
Jake stopped and spun on the spot.
‘You’ll find her, won’t you?’ Fresh tears filled the employee’s eyes, and another lump caught in her throat. The man beside her placed his arm around her in a feeble attempt to comfort her. ‘You’ll find her, won’t you?’
Jake swallowed before responding. ‘Yes, we’ll find her. We’ll do everything we can.’
CHAPTER 9
THE DEVICE
Danny killed the engine.
‘Nobody move,’ he told them.
He slid himself out of the driver’s seat, rounded the van and opened the back doors. The light poured in, forcing Candice and the Good Samaritan to shield their eyes with their arms. He leant in, reached for Candice, hooked his hand in the nook of her armpit and pulled her out of the van. As Danny hefted her to her feet, she stopped squirming, and he gazed out upon the mansion in front of them. They were outside Candice’s house; for the next phase in their operation, they had forced her to give them directions. They had driven down winding, narrow country lanes, past large fields of green, and through a security gate to get there. The mansion before him was magnificent. Georgian. Elizabethan. Victorian. He didn’t care. It was from one of those periods, and it was one of the most elegant properties he’d seen. Almost as large as the estate that he and his brothers had grown up on.
‘Looks like we hit the jackpot here, lads,’ Danny said, pulling Candice forward until she was in front of him, making them look as though they were new homeowners gazing out at their latest purchase.
Behind him, Luke shuffled out of the back of the van and grabbed the Good Samaritan by the collar. Luke groaned as he heaved the man out and up onto his feet.
‘Please,’ the man whimpered. ‘Please, I… I don’t want— You can’t—’
Danny stopped and turned to face him, squinting behind the mask. Dressed in a pink Barbour polo shirt and cream shorts that painfully highlighted the fact he’d pissed himself during their journey, the man clasped his hands together and shook uncontrollably.
‘What are we going to do about him?’ Luke asked, pointing the gun at the babbling mess.
‘I don’t know,’ Danny replied. ‘Kill him.’
‘No! Please! Please! No!’ The man fell onto his knees and begged.
‘You were the one who wanted to be the hero, mate. You’ve done this to yourself.’
‘I didn’t mean to. I’m sorry. Please don’t hurt me.’
Michael rounded the back of the vehicle, sidestepped over the man and pulled out the device, wrapping it tightly in the tarpaulin. He clutched it in his arms and held it as though it were a cushion bearing wedding rings. Priceless. Delicate.
‘Just carry on as planned, Dan. We’ll leave him behind,’ Michael added as he joined Luke’s side.
‘Names, you fucking idiot,’ Danny snapped
. ‘What did I say about using names?’
Danny shut his mouth and exhaled deeply through his nose, feeling the tension in his body release. Sometimes he wondered whether he needed his brothers at all or whether he could do it alone. But there was still a long way to go – especially if he wanted to continue with the next phase of his plan, and so he reckoned he could keep them for now.
He turned his attention to the house, bathing in its grandeur.
‘How’d someone like you afford a place like this?’ he asked, only then realising that Candice was still locked in his grip.
‘Husband,’ she said. ‘He was an art dealer. Somehow managed to sell art to Russians and other wealthy Eastern Europeans. Then he left it all to me in the will.’
Danny led Candice to the house where she let them inside using a spare key hidden behind a brick in the wall.
The interior of the mansion was just as luxurious and opulent as the outside. Marble floors. Grand staircases. Glistening chandeliers dangling from thirty-foot-high ceilings. Mahogany cabinets housing glasses and plates and cutlery. The majority of the interior was old-school, old-fashioned, collectible. Something, Danny felt, that was out of the Middle Ages. Nothing too high-tech. No seventy-inch plasmas, million-pound fish tanks, self-flushing toilets, pool tables, indoor swimming pools, or Lamborghinis or Ferraris hidden in an underground garage. Nothing that would be worth stealing and selling on afterward.
‘What the fuck is all this? Can’t take anything in here,’ Michael said as he adjusted his grip on the device.
‘Shut up,’ Danny snapped. He stopped paying attention to the opulence of the house and the paintings that hung on the wall. There was a job to do, and time was running out. He didn’t know how long they had left until the police arrived. And he wasn’t going to start pissing about to find out. He pointed to a spot in the middle of the foyer.
