Righteous Anger: A frantic hunt for a child killer (DCI Rob Miller Book 3)

by BL Pearce

  Mallory shrugged and sauntered off to his desk.

  Rob’s phone beeped as a text came in.

  He glanced at the screen and a surge of adrenalin shot through him. “The dog unit have picked up Katie’s scent.”

  A pause hung over the squad room.

  Rob called the officer in charge. The team hung onto his every word.

  “Yeah, great. Okay, thanks. I’m on my way.”

  Finally, some good news.

  “They tracked her to the river towpath.” He grinned. “She wasn’t in the pond, after all.”

  A collective sigh of relief.

  “What about the divers?” asked Jenny. “Did they find anything?”

  “Only her mobile phone,” said Rob. “She’s definitely not there.”

  The Chief Superintendent had left for the day, so Rob had a quiet word with Mallory. “I’ll pay Sergio Wojcik a visit on my way back.”

  Mallory nodded. “See you later.”

  They both knew no one was getting any rest tonight. Not while she was still out there.

  The bloody press was still camped outside.

  As he drove out of the underground parking lot, they swarmed in to have a closer look, but Rob put his foot down and screeched up Church Road, not even bothering to look in his rear-view mirror.

  He was almost at the nature reserve when his phone rang. He converted it to hands-free.

  “Jenny. What’s up?”

  DS Jenny Bird’s voice was breathy with excitement. “Sir, it turns out Sergio Wojcik has a criminal record in Poland. He served six months for burglary back in 2006.”

  10

  Rob slammed his foot on the break, just stopping himself from careening into the delivery van in front of him.

  “Burglary, did you say?”

  “Yes, apparently he robbed his girlfriend’s house.”

  Hmm… Rob turned down the radio. “His girlfriend?”

  “Well, his ex. She laid a charge against him and got a restraining order.”

  That was interesting. Burglary was a very different crime to kidnapping and required a different mindset.

  “Were there any cases of domestic abuse?”

  “Not that I can find, guv.”

  “So why’d she take out a restraining order?”

  “The order states that he wouldn’t stop pestering her.”

  “But he never assaulted her?”

  “It doesn’t look like it.”

  “Jenny, contact the ex and get the full story. In the meantime, I’ll be sure to ask him about it when I see him.”

  The river Thames was grey and foreboding. It was like a bipolar person, Rob reflected, as he marched along the darkening path towards the officers assembled further down, changing moods on a daily basis.

  The overcast sky added a shadowy tinge while white crests danced on the surface on account of the surging current. There were no rowers this evening. They preferred still water. The Thames on a pushing tide was not something to be fought against.

  It was still hot and humid, made worse by the oppressive cloud cover, and sweat dripped down his back between his shoulder blades. He took off his jacket and swung it over his shoulder.

  “Thanks for waiting,” he said to the dog handler, who nodded in response. “What you got?”

  “The trail was pretty strong from the reservoir down to the river path,” he told Rob. “But we lost her round about here.”

  The German Shepherd on the leash barked in confirmation. His handler patted his head. “Harley tried his best, but there are just too many people on the path. The smell was diluted.”

  “At least we know she came this way,” said Rob. “Lonsdale Road is a hundred meters away. That gives us something to go on.”

  The dog handler nodded.

  Rob was about to walk away when his colleagues said, “Glad she wasn’t at the bottom of that reservoir, sir. That’s a relief.”

  Rob patted him on the shoulder. “Thanks guys, great job.”

  A relief was an understatement. Katie Wells might still be alive.

  Sergio Wojcik lived in a brown-brick multi-storey housing estate on Mortlake High Street opposite the old brewery, a sad, derelict building scheduled for redevelopment. It was also one road back from the river, which meant if you followed the towpath from Barnes, you’d eventually get here. It was a solid two-mile walk, a bit far for an eleven-year-old, but not impossible.

  The Polish builder’s apartment was on the third floor, at the back of the block. He didn’t have a river view. Instead, he looked out onto a small, concrete play area and a narrow alleyway that ran between two blocks of houses.

  Not bad, thought Rob as he walked along the external corridor to flat number 27. The playground was clean, the alleyway free of graffiti, and in the distance, he could hear church bells ringing.

  He rang the buzzer. It was after eight o’clock in the evening, so Sergio should be home from work.

  Katie had been missing for twelve hours.

  The beginnings of a headache throbbed at his temples, but that was probably due to lack of caffeine as much as the strain of the investigation. Every minute that past, the chances of finding Katie alive diminished.

  The door swung open.

  “Hello?” The stocky Pole stood there in tracksuit bottoms and a sleeveless vest, holding a cigarette between his thumb and forefinger.

  Was that Pink Floyd playing in the background? Rob recognised the laid-back melancholic music and was hit by a wave of nostalgia – no, not nostalgia, but something. His father used to play it while he worked on his motorbike in the garage and ignored his wife and son.

  “DCI Miller. I need to ask you a few questions. Can I come in?”

  “I remember.” Sergio stood back to allow the detective entry.

  Rob stepped into a cloud of smoke, but instead of swatting it away, he inhaled. Old habits died hard. As the smoke filled his lungs, he felt the niggles of a craving. How long had it been?

  Since Yvette left. He’d thrown away his last pack the day she’d walked out the door. A fresh start in more ways than one. He eyed the burning fag between Sergio’s fingers and longed for the relaxation a good drag afforded him.

  “You want one?” Sergio pulled the tattered Stuyvesant box out of his tracksuit pocket and held it out.

  Was he that obvious?

  He shook his head. “No, thank you.”

  They went into the living room, a decent-sized area with an adjoining kitchen. The flat was frugally decorated with a corner sofa, standard issue carpeting and gauze curtains over the Juliet-style balcony windows, which let in ample sunlight. The air was heavy with smoke.

  Rob took a seat on the sofa while Sergio turned down the music and sat opposite him on a well-used armchair. The television was positioned in front of the chair on a purpose-built cabinet. Rob admired the craftsmanship. It was the perfect height, with two lower shelves and smooth wooden surfaces polished a dark mahogany. He bet that was Sergio’s handiwork.

  “How is the search coming on?” the construction worker asked between drags. The ashtray on the side table was overflowing.

  “We’re pursuing several lines of enquiry,” Rob replied automatically.

  Sergio nodded, as if this was to be expected. “What can I do to help you, Detective?”

  Apart from the cigarette smoke, the flat was surprisingly clean. The carpet was crumb-free, which was more than he could say for his own, and the kitchen countertops were clear. There wasn’t so much as a beer can in sight. He couldn’t see any evidence of a young girl having been here.

  “I wanted to talk to you about your misdemeanour charge in Poland back in 2006.”

  Sergio’s gaze hardened. He didn’t reply for a long moment, just took a deep drag of his cigarette and exhaled. A wispy plume stretched upwards towards the ceiling. Eventually, he said, “That was a long time ago.”

  “What happened?” asked Rob. Everyone made mistakes, he knew that. He sat back, prepared to listen to Sergio�
��s.

  “I was twenty-one,” Sergio began in his deep, accented voice. The cigarette between his fingers had burned down almost to the filter. “I had this girlfriend, Aggie, her name was. She was beautiful, but what a pain. She used to make me crazy, you know. But I loved her, so I put up with it.”

  This was sounding creepily familiar. Rob tensed, but nodded for him to continue.

  “One day we had an argument. We were always arguing about something, I don’t even know what.” He shrugged and looked perplexed. “She threw all my clothes out of the window onto the street below.”

  Rob raised an eyebrow. At least Yvette had never done that to him.

  “She told me if I ever came back, she’d destroy my CD collection.” He scowled at the memory.

  “CD Collection?” reiterated Rob.

  Sergio nodded. “I have a large rock collection. You like rock ‘n roll?”

  Rob nodded. “Yes, I like it.” When he got round to listening to it. Suddenly, Pink Floyd made sense.

  “So, when she was at work, I broke into her flat to get it. She knew I wanted it back, that’s why she kept it.”

  Rob sighed. Relationships.

  “That’s when you were caught?”

  “Yeah. A neighbour saw me and called the police. I spent six months in jail.” He inhaled viciously. “For trying to get something back that was mine to start with.”

  There was nothing left to smoke, so he stabbed the butt out on the corner of the ashtray and dropped it in.

  Rob believed him. Sergio didn’t strike him as the kidnapping type. He wasn’t even a burglar. Not really. The man wore his heart on his sleeve, he wasn’t sophisticated or secretive enough to pull off an abduction.

  Rob stood up. This was a dead end. “Thanks for talking with me.”

  Sergio seemed surprised the interview was over so quickly, but he didn’t question it. He got to his feet and saw Rob out.

  His house had been searched too, and they hadn’t found anything relating to Katie.

  “When can I see Lisa?” Sergio asked, as Rob walked out of the front door.

  “Whenever she’s ready,” he replied. “Give her a call.”

  Sergio nodded.

  Lisa could use her lover’s support right now, especially since she wouldn’t be able to leave without being swamped by reporters. As he walked away, he heard the rustle of the cigarette box, followed by the inciting hiss of a lighter, before the door shut.

  11

  Rob stared into his double espresso and tried to make sense of what they knew. He’d go back to the squad room in a minute, but right now, he needed to think.

  The Evening Standard lay beside him on the table, Katie’s serious face stared back at him. She was front page news, and on every radio and television station in the country. His name was listed at the end of the article as the Senior Investigating Officer in charge, along with a reminder that it was his team who’d apprehended the notorious Surrey Stalker and the spate of revenge killings earlier in the year.

  So much for managing expectations.

  Katie had been intercepted on her way to school and lured into the nature reserve where the kidnapper had dumped her rucksack in the pond, then taken her to a vehicle via the river path.

  Brian Wells had been planning to take Katie on holiday to France. In light of the custody battle, he was getting ready to run. But so far, there was no actual evidence that he’d abducted his daughter. He’d arrived at Lisa’s house as soon as she’d called him at nine-thirty this morning, which meant he couldn't have been far away. If he had hidden Katie, it had to have been close by.

  After flying through to Lisa’s house that morning, Brian had been escorted home. His apartment had been searched, and the Euro tickets found. He hadn’t had time to move his victim.

  Rob scratched his head. Where the hell could he have hidden her?

  Brian Wells was a local, he knew the area, and would have been aware of the reservoir in the reserve. He could easily have convinced his daughter to go with him. All the evidence, circumstantial though it may be, pointed to Katie’s father, and yet they had nothing on him.

  Rob glanced at his wristwatch. Nearly nine.

  Should they have another crack at him, or let him go and see where he went? If he had secreted Katie away somewhere, the little girl would be hungry and thirsty by now.

  Unless he’d had help.

  He rang Mallory. “Was Brian Wells seeing anyone?”

  The DI’s tired voice replied. “I don’t think so. He didn’t mention a girlfriend.”

  “Have we checked his call records?”

  “Got them from the service provider an hour ago. Will is going through them now.”

  “Look for anyone he may have contacted this morning around the time of Katie’s disappearance, as well as anyone he was in contact with regularly.”

  “You think he had an accomplice?” Mallory asked.

  Rob nodded at Katie’s photograph. “Maybe. I don’t see how he could have hidden Katie, otherwise. There wasn’t enough time. He must have dropped her off somewhere and raced back to Lisa’s house after she called him.”

  “I’ll ring you back.” Mallory hung up.

  As the caffeine hit his blood stream, Rob began to perk up. There was still a lot to do, leads to chase up on. This was by no means over.

  It was going to be a long night.

  He texted Jo, the woman he was sort of seeing. She worked for the National Crime Agency and they’d met on a previous case and become friends. It was only recently that they’d got together.

  Where Yvette had been clingy and demanding, Jo was independent and non-committal, which suited him fine. He couldn’t deny he had feelings for Jo, but after the mess he’d made of his marriage, he wasn’t ready to jump into another long-term relationship.

  Working late on the Katie Wells case. Talk tomorrow.

  He hadn’t reached the point where he put kisses after his text messages yet. Neither had she.

  His phone buzzed almost immediately.

  OK. Good luck!

  He downed the rest of his coffee, bought a sandwich to go and crossed the road, back to the station. The press vans were still outside. Didn’t they have homes to go to?

  He put his head down and tried to dodge around them to the back entrance, but a wily-eyed journalist spotted him. In an instant, he was besieged.

  DCI Miller, do you have any idea where Katie is?

  Do you have any suspects?

  What leads are you following up?

  Are you any closer to finding her?

  Do you have someone in custody?

  Microphones and tape recorders were shoved in his face. He ignored them and fought his way through the pack to the front entrance. They didn’t know Brian Wells had been arrested yet.

  The duty sergeant saw him coming and unlocked the revolving door. He slipped through the glass panel and heaved a sigh of relief.

  “Can’t we do anything about them?” he muttered.

  The officer shrugged. “Not really, sir.”

  He checked on Brian before going upstairs, but their main suspect was lying on the bench in the holding cell, staring up at the ceiling. He wasn’t agitated or anxious, like Rob would have expected if he needed to get back to a young girl he’d stashed away somewhere.

  Perhaps they’d got it wrong.

  “Will, where are we on those phone records,” he barked, as he entered the squad room.

  The tech whiz glanced up. “Nothing stands out, guv. Mr Wells called his solicitor several times yesterday, but not this morning.”

  That tied in with his statement. Shit.

  He marched over to Mallory’s desk. “Let’s hold him until midnight, then release him. See where he goes.”

  Mallory gave a curt nod.

  Back at square bloody one.

  “Lawrence wants to issue a Crimewatch Appeal.”

  Rob stared at Mallory. “Seriously? So soon?”

  “He’s got the Commissioner
breathing down his neck.”

  Didn’t they all?

  “Okay, I suppose it can’t hurt.”

  “They want to do a re-enactment,” Mallory told him.

  “That’s a new one.” While they’d used the media in the past, he’d never experienced a re-enactment shoot before.

  “Vicky said to contact her first thing.”

  “Okay, although someone else can brief them. Put Harry on it, with his looks he was made for television.” Rob wasn’t in it for the limelight and he had better things to do than pander to the press.

  Harry raised his head. “Sir?”

  “Brush up on the specifics, Harry. You’ve got an appointment with the Crimewatch team tomorrow.”

  The young constable blinked, then grinned. “If you say so, guv.”

  Mallory masked a smile, then his phone rang. He answered it, listened for a moment, and the smile vanished from his lips.

  “Can you bring it in?” he barked.

  Must be serious. Mallory never snapped at anyone. “What?” he mouthed.

  “Yep, now would be good,” Mallory replied.

  Rob stared at him. It was very late to be asking someone to come into the station. “You got something?”

  Mallory hung up. “That was Candice Dalling’s mother. She’s just listened to her daughter’s mobile phone messages and found one from Katie Wells. The time stamp is eight-forty-three this morning.”

  12

  Rob, Mallory and Will stared at Candy’s iPhone in its sparkly pink plastic case. “Play it again,” said Rob.

  There was no direct message, it must have been a false dial, but there was the sound of cars going by, a dog barking and a woman’s voice.

  A woman’s voice.

  They couldn’t hear what was being said, but by the cadence, it sounded like a question.

  Katie’s reply: “I’m waiting for my friend.”

  The woman spoke again, indeterminate, and then there was just rustling until the phone cut off.

  All three men stared at each other, then back at the phone. Eventually Mallory said, “We can rule out Brian Wells, then.”

  Rob wasn’t so sure.