The Death of Me

by Natalie Hames

  A young police man, no more than nineteen was sat at the reception with his feet up on the desk and Phil noted him jump and stuff his magazine under the counter when the lift doors slid open. Newbie’s always got the boring jobs. It was almost like a form of initiation which every young wannabe whose face didn’t quite fit had to go through.

  “Can I help you, Sir?”

  “Detective Constable Harris,” he replied, showing his ID which the officer dutifully scanned. “I’m filing a case away.”

  Not waiting for the young officer to ask any further questions, he strode off with a confident step into the large dimly lit room filled with rows upon rows of grey metal shelving. It didn’t take him long to find Grace’s file. All the cases were alphabetised and in date order, and it was only eight boxes away from where he needed to file away the case he had brought with him. One swift glance to the bottom of the aisle to check for the officer and seeing the coast was clear, he opened up the box and started to read the reports. Most were his, their contents still as fresh in his mind as the day he had written them, but then his eye caught one which had been written by Jason. He checked to see if the officer was watching for a second time, then concentrated on reading. At first it was bland and factual, nothing he didn’t already know but as he scanned down to the bottom of the statement he noticed something unusual. Tom Dalton had mentioned being approached by a man in an underground train station who offered him a bag of money in exchange for planning permission. He continued to read Jason’s update and he had concluded the incident to be coincidental as no ransom note from the alleged kidnappers had been received and how Mr Dalton had often been offered bribes in the past.

  Footsteps echoed, getting closer, and Phil stuffed the reports back into their box and made his way back up to the top of the aisle where he met the officer.

  “Is everything alright, Sir? Only you’ve been quite a long time and I wondered if you—“

  “Everything’s fine, thank you,” Phil interrupted. “I was just making sure it was filed correctly.”

  The young officer nodded and stepped aside, overwhelmed by Phil’s assertiveness and unwilling to challenge a detective. Phil signed himself out and made his way back to the office, the information rattling around his mind. If he had read the report a couple of weeks ago he would have thought nothing of it but since his own abduction it had now set off an alarm in his head. From his own experience he knew it had their signature all over it. Bribe with money, using persuasion to get their own way then if their target doesn’t comply they forcibly ruin their life. The picture of Katherine laying in a hospital bed flashed to the forefront of his mind.

  ‘We have the power to grant you everything your heart desires, Phil. Our people are everywhere. They’re in the police, the hospitals, even in the courts.’

  The memory of the words made him shudder as an icy chill ran down his spine. He knew this organisation was big and well beyond his role as a low ranking detective to bring them to justice. The familiar feeling of helplessness crashed over him and he sat at his desk chewing the top of his pen as he weighed up his options. If he went in too deep his family would be at risk and Father Michael’s body would reappear covered in his DNA.

  “Damn!” he exclaimed loudly, slamming his pen onto his desk and causing eyes to appear over the tops of their partitions.

  He gave an awkward smile and put his head back down as if carrying on with his work. Only an hour left and he would be out of this place, he had to hold his nerve. Hindsight mocked him. If only he had made a copy of Grace’s file as he had done with Anthony Fletcher, he would be able to study it at his own pace in the privacy of his home office. Nothing in the Fletcher case gave him any hint of a connection to Grace’s kidnapping and he wondered if there were things about Anthony Fletcher’s private life which would reveal more.

  His shift ended at four o’clock and the second the clock reached it he grabbed his coat from the back of his chair and left the office. But as he entered the car park and walked over to his car an idea hit him. Maybe it was beyond him to tackle this network alone, but he might still be able to find Grace. He jumped into his car and drove off, weaving his way speedily through the traffic in the direction of home, then pulled over onto a quiet side street at the side of a restaurant. If they found out what he was about to do the consequences would be dire and his paranoia prompted him to run his hand under his car. Starting at the front nearside tyre, his fingers swept around the wheel arch and followed the panels until he arrived back at the starting point.

  “Nothing.”

  He paused for thought, deciding whether he should take the risk, then he dropped onto his hands and knees and shone his pocket torch underneath. Once again, nothing seemed irregular and he questioned if it was just his imagination running away with him and playing tricks. He got back up and brushed the loose tarmac chippings from his knees then strolled around to the back of the car. Dropping down to his knees, he shone the torch along the underside and this time something caught his eye. Wedged a third the way up the centre of the car, half way up the exhaust a small round silver disc twinkled back against the beam.

  “Gotcha.”

  He scrabbled around to the side of the car and stretched his arm underneath but it was just out of reach.

  “Damn it!”

  He looked around to see if anyone was watching and to his relief, he was alone. Laying down on the damp tarmac, he shuffled underneath until he was directly beneath the disc and only his legs were visible as they stuck out onto the road. He had to be quick. If a car turned into the side street there was a high chance it would drive straight over his legs and he didn’t relish the prospect of spending the next few months on crutches. The disc popped off the exhaust pipe quite easily as he prised at it with his fingers and he shuffled his way out from the car without delay.

  “I knew it,” he muttered, holding the silver metal disc up to the orange glow of a street light.

  He had disposed of the previous tracker as it had seemed pointless in continuing to play dumb after his forced meeting with Yasin and Montague but he had suspected they were still keeping tabs on him. If they discovered he had removed the tracker then he would land himself in trouble. Likewise, if they tracked him on the journey he was about to embark on it would undoubtedly trigger the full consequences. He looked around his surroundings, the smell of food cooking in the air.

  What’s to say I haven’t gone for a meal with an old friend? A meal would easily take a couple of hours by which time I’d be back and the tracker put back on.

  He clipped the disc to the back of an old metal drainpipe and checked to make sure it wasn’t visible, then jumped back in his car, turned around and headed back in the opposite direction.

  It was dark by the time he reached Florence Street on the outskirts of Peckham and he managed to park a couple of streets away as an extra precaution. Anthony Fletcher’s old house had another family living there now and he heard the sound of children laughing through the single pane glazing when he drew level. Mrs Headland’s curtains were closed tight for the evening, only a faint chink of dim light glowed from the top of the rail, flickering slightly as the television played. The street was quiet which was unusual for the area. Too early for the local youth to be kicking cans along the path. He scoped the street, looking up and down, checking cars for any signs someone may be watching.

  Maybe this isn’t such a good idea.

  Doubt filled his mind. His actions might bring old Mrs Headland harm and he remembered her to be a sweet, rather nervy and frail lady. He had promised her grandson he would keep her safe and as he stood on the path in front of her house he wondered if he might be about to break his word. He checked the time. It had taken him forty-five minutes to travel from the restaurant to parking up and he knew the traffic would be heavier on the return journey. Time was ticking, he had to decide. He walked up the small pathway and knocked on her door not giving himself another chance to back out. The curtains opened a chin
k and the outline of Eunice Headland’s snowy white, set hair, outlined against the background light.

  “It’s ok Mrs Headland, it’s Detective Harris.”

  The curtain closed and he waited for several minutes with no sign of her coming to the door. He raised his hand and was about to give one last knock when he heard the sound of the chain rattle as it slid across the lock. The door opened a couple of inches and Eunice peered through, squinting through the darkness at him, then the door closed. Another minute elapsed and Phil wondered if she had decided not to let him inside or worse still, call the police. An anxious feeling gripped him and he turned to leave but as he reached the foot of the path the door opened and Mrs Headland appeared.

  “Hello?” her small voice called out.

  “Hello, Mrs Headland, do you remember me, Philip Harris?”

  “Of course I do, I’ve not gone gaga yet,” she replied with a chuckle then opened the door wider and gestured for him to step inside.

  Chapter Thirty Four

  The house was quiet. Only the faint snuffles of Molly’s breathing as she lay in her crib beside the bed broke the silence of the room. Barely a month old, yet she had already fallen into a routine and Phil knew she would be asleep for the next three hours. Katherine slept soundly and he knew the chances of her waking were low. He weighed up the risks as he lay wide awake in the darkness mulling over the conversation with Mrs Headland. The urge to re-read every word of Anthony Fletcher’s case burned at his soul but he knew it wouldn’t reveal anything about what she had told him.

  He gently lifted back the quilt and slid out of bed, placing it back to avoid any cool drafts rousing Katherine, then made his way out of the bedroom and downstairs to his office. Since starting back to work, his night time prowling had resumed, pacing the house in darkness most nights unable to settle his mind. He unlocked his filing cabinet and pulled out the photocopies he had made of Anthony Fletcher’s file. It was strictly against the rules to take confidential files out of the building but the case had broken his career, reputation and life. It had become his nemesis. The file was several inches thick and he searched it meticulously for any mention of the information Mrs Headland had told him, although he already knew it wouldn’t be found within its worn pages.

  A movement from the floorboards above snapped him back from reliving the case and he checked his watch to discover nearly three hours had elapsed. He quickly closed the file and locked it away in the cabinet. Turning off his desk light, he left his office as Katherine was just starting to make her way down the stairs and he shot into the living room so she didn’t know where he had been. Since starting back at work, he had promised her the nights of investigations would stop and he knew she would be upset if she discovered he had broken his word. He appeared at the living room door as she reached the foot of the stairs with Molly in her arms.

  “You’re up early,” she said, a glint of suspicion in her eyes.

  “Yeah, I woke up early so thought I’d watch a bit of TV downstairs so I didn’t disturb you,” he replied, smiling and planting a kiss on her cheek. “I’d have to be up soon anyway so didn’t bother coming back to bed.”

  He took Molly from her arms and returned to the living room, sitting himself down on the reclining chair.

  “I’ll have a few minutes cuddle time with her while you grab a shower. I’ll hop in when you’ve finished.”

  Katherine yawned and ran her fingers through her messy dark brown lengths of hair then slipped away to run herself a shower, leaving him alone with Molly and his thoughts. She smelt milky as she chewed on her tiny fist after her feed and he wiped the corners of her mouth gently with the muslin square placed carefully on her chest. His eyes welled up as a sudden wave of emotion crashed over him. Once again, Grace Dalton filtered into his mind. Now a parent himself, he empathised how frantic and desperate her parents must be feeling.

  “I’d tear this city apart to find you,” he whispered as he stroked her soft, tiny cheek.

  The morning passed quickly. Even the sight of Jason a few feet away didn’t faze him as he concentrated on ploughing through the paperwork on his desk. Since their liaison the other day, Jason had ceased his constant provoking, behaving with aloof courtesy which he found bearable. He had a clear directive – make it to lunch time then head over to the planning department in Lewisham. He felt sure the visit would eventually bind the pieces together and maybe give him an insight into where they were keeping Grace. Not wanting to find the staff at Lewisham council on their lunch, he had arranged to take a late lunch and had already told Mick he would be late back, making up a bogus dental appointment. Travelling by car was out of the question so he planned to travel by underground to avoid them tracking his movements.

  As soon as two o’clock came around, he locked his computer and headed out the door, taking a brisk walk to the station at Westminster. The place was filled with tourists, all mingling around trying to figure out London’s underground system and he negotiated his way through and hopped straight onto a train as it pulled in. He grabbed a seat at the back of a carriage so no one would be able to watch him from behind and slunk down to keep out of sight.

  Half an hour later and the train pulled into Lewisham. He stepped off and hurried out of the station, keeping up a brisk two minute walk until he reached the planning offices. Conscious he was taking a massive risk and with thoughts of Molly and Katherine in the forefront of his mind, he checked around to ensure he wasn’t being watched. The surroundings seemed normal. People milled around weaving in and out of shops, all unconcerned as they went about their daily lives. Realising his own hovering was causing him to be the one looking suspicious, he climbed the steps of the offices and went inside, following the directions for planning on the top floor.

  “Can I help you?”

  A timid young woman greeted him when he arrived and Phil assessed her personality within seconds. Her plain yet pretty face devoid of make-up along with her muted clothing and absence of ring on her wedding finger awoke the charmer within his nature and he greeted her with a wide, dazzling smile. She blushed.

  “I wonder if you could help me?” he said, immediately appealing to her need for validation.

  “I can try,” she said, softly.

  “Do you have a list of developments in the area which have had planning permission approved this year and a list of those which were rejected the year before? I need to compare the two.”

  She gave him a sideways look and fidgeted as she struggled for a reply to such an unusual request.

  “I…I’m not sure…”

  “Relax,” Phil assured her, still smiling. “I’m a detective, you’ll not get into any trouble and the records are all published in the local papers so there’s nothing confidential.”

  She paused and thought about what he had said, then looked over to an office a few doors behind her.

  “I think I should just check with the manager.”

  Phil followed her line of vision to a closed door with a small reinforced window. Through it, he was able to see a man sat with his back to them busily talking on the phone.

  “Is that Tom?”

  “No, it’s Mr Walker. He replaced Tom after he…”

  Her sentence trailed off and she lowered her eyes.

  “After he what?”

  She took a deep breath and lifted her eyes to meet with his.

  “I’m afraid Mr Dalton died soon after his release,” she said in a sympathetic voice. “It was dreadful. He had a heart attack and wasn’t found for nearly a week. They only found him when the neighbours reported…”

  She paused and Phil noticed her eyes were glistening.

  “It’s ok,” he said, reaching over and touching her hand as he handed her a tissue from his jacket. “Let’s not bother your boss, eh? He looks busy and it won’t take me long.”

  She sniffed as she dabbed her eyes and nodded.

  “Just give me a minute and I’ll print off a list. Take a seat over at one of the ta
bles and I’ll bring it over.”

  Phil sat, making sure he was out of the new manager’s sight in case he turned around and question why he was searching the records. A few moments later the woman stepped out from behind her desk, her flat sensible shoes making no noise as she walked over to him with several sheets of paper in her hand.

  “You’re a star,” he said, noting how his praise seemed to lift her features. “I promise you’ll have them back in just a few minutes.”

  He scanned the list noting the date of the applications and it didn’t take him long for one of the listings to catch his attention.

  “Luxury apartments in Deptford.”

  The entry had been marked as declined due to their construction and refusal to reach an agreement on the percentage of social housing within the development. It was dated October 2007 and permission had been refused by Tom Dalton. He flicked through the next two pages until he came to the list of developments which had been recently passed, dated for the current year. There, right at the bottom of the print out was the same development, now authorised despite there being no changes to the proposal and signed off by Tom’s successor. He jotted down the address and handed the list back to the secretary, thanking her before turning to leave.

  “Oh, by the way,” she called after him. “What’s your name?”

  She looked embarrassed, as if her question sounded like a proposition.

  “I…I mean, if my boss asks. What name shall I give him?”

  Phil hesitated. There was a strong chance Mr Walker was part of the criminal network and he remembered the threat they had given him if he continued to poke around.

  “It’s Jason,” he smiled. “DS Jason Cook.”

  He hurried out of the building back to the underground station and his arrival timed perfectly with a return train pulling up to the platform. The journey back would take half an hour and so he spent the time jotting down the facts he knew so far in his personal notepad. The developments in Deptford had now cropped up several times and he recalled his meeting with Guy where he mentioned his new investment. Tom Dalton refusing the planning permission would be a motive to kidnap Grace but now it had been passed why would they keep her alive? The network was organised and ruthless. She would be viewed as nothing more than collateral damage, her body dumped for some poor unsuspecting jogger to find. It made no sense. These people didn’t have emotion, there was no empathy or remorse. Maybe Jason had lied to test his reaction and Grace’s body would someday be discovered.