by OMJ Ryan
She spotted Jones staring at his screen, eyes narrow, a thick frown on his face. Her interest piqued, she approached his desk, nodding to Bov and Entwistle as they looked up from their own screens. Jones still hadn’t noticed her as she stood next to his desk.
‘Everything all right, Jonesy?’ she asked.
Jones jerked his head up. ‘Huh?’
‘You look like you’re in pain,’ said Phillips.
‘He’s constipated, Guv,’ joked Bovalino, eliciting a chuckle from Entwistle.
‘Shut it, you bell-end!’ was Jones’s indignant reply.
Phillips grinned. ‘Seriously, though. What’s up?’
Jones sat back and pointed at his computer screen. ‘It’s this CCTV footage from the club.’
‘What about it?’ asked Phillips.
‘I’ve been watching it over and over, and there’s something about the gang that’s bothering me.’
‘Go on,’ urged Phillips.
Jones folded his arms across his stomach. ‘It’s the way they move when the van arrives. I’m not sure how best to describe it, but it’s…it’s…er…how can I put it?’
‘Just spit it out, man,’ teased Bovalino.
‘Ok. Well, this is going to sound weird, but it’s almost hypnotic.’
Bovalino guffawed. ‘You’ve been awake too long, Jonesy. You’re bloody hallucinating.’
Jones shot Bovalino an agitated look. ‘I’m serious, Bov. I’ve never seen anything like it. It’s as if they move as one. Like each of them knows what the other is going to do next. See, look here.’ Jones beckoned them to watch.
Bovalino and Entwistle stood and moved to join Phillips. Jones pressed play, and they watched the footage of Hollie being placed into the van as it unfolded on the screen.
‘Do you see what I mean?’ asked Jones. ‘They’re in and out in a matter of seconds, each of them knows their job, and there’s not a movement, or second, wasted.’
‘Play it again,’ said Phillips.
Jones obliged, and for the next few minutes the team watched the footage on repeat.
‘I can kind of see what you mean,’ said Phillips.
‘And look at this,’ said Jones, touching his pen against the screen, ‘When the driver opens the gate, watch his fist.’
‘He shakes it,’ said Bovalino. ‘What’s odd about that?’
‘It’s the way he shakes it, Bov. It looks so deliberate. Then, a split second later, the rest of the gang appears with Hollie.’
‘So they used hand signals. It’s not uncommon. Saves being heard,’ said Phillips.
Jones ran his hand through his thinning hair. ‘I know, but this just seems different.’
Entwistle moved back to his PC. ‘I’ve seen something like that before.’ He began typing. A moment later, he shouted, ‘Got it!’
‘Got what?’ asked Phillips.
Entwistle began reading aloud from the screen. ‘“All military recruits from all forces are taught basic silent commands…a shake of the fist is used as the command – to run.”’
‘They’re ex-military,’ whispered Phillips.
Jones clapped his hands. ‘I knew there was something special about these boys. See, I told you, Bov!’
Bovalino patted his heavy hand on Jones’s shoulder. ‘Well done, mate. You’re not as daft as you look after all.’
Phillips nodded. ‘Indeed you’re not, Jonesy. And who do we know at the club who are both ex-military?’
Jones’s eyes widened, and a grin spread across his face. ‘Robbins and Cartwright!’
‘Robbins and Cartwright,’ repeated Phillips. ‘I think it’s time we made another trip to Marstons, don’t you?’
5
As Phillips and Jones entered the clubhouse, it felt like a totally different building. The Halloween decorations had been removed, and the atmosphere was tranquil. After signing in at reception, they made their way towards Robbins’s office, but were intercepted by Mr Green. Like his clubhouse, he too appeared different: more in control, less panicked.
‘Chief Inspector. To what do we owe the privilege of another visit?’ he said, offering an outstretched hand, which Phillips and Jones shook in turn.
‘Just a few more questions for your security team.’
Green raised his eyebrows. ‘My, they are popular today. One of your team is already in with Mr Robbins.’
Phillips recoiled. ‘One of my team? I think you must be mistaken.’
Green’s chest puffed. ‘No mistake. He showed me his credentials when he arrived.’
Phillips glanced at Jones, who was frowning, before turning back to Green. ‘Would you excuse us?’ she said. Without waiting for his reply, she headed for Robbins’s office with Jones at her heel.
Knocking once, Phillips opened the door and walked inside.
Robbins, who was behind his desk facing a man Phillips did not know, shot her a look of surprise. ‘Chief Inspector Phillips? I wasn’t expecting you.’
Phillips ignored him and turned her attention to the stranger. ‘Would you mind telling me who you are, sir?’
The man stood, straightened his blazer, and held his hands together behind his back to amplify his tall, slim frame. ‘The name’s Harry Saxby,’ he said in a confident public-school accent.
Phillips forced a thin smile. ‘And can I ask why the club manager seems to think you’re part of my team?’
Saxby chuckled, exposing crooked, nicotine-stained teeth. ‘Oh, I’m certainly not part of your team. Far from it, Inspector.’
‘Well, who the fuck are you with, then? The press?’
‘Hardly,’ Saxby sneered. He reached inside an overcoat pocket to retrieve his official ID. ‘Chief Inspector Harry Saxby, kidnapping and negotiation expert with the Metropolitan Police. I’m here to advise you on how to handle the kidnapping of Hollie Hawkins. Don’t you read memos in the north?’ His tone was sarcastic.
Phillips pursed her lips as Jones shot her a furtive look she had seen many times before. His wide eyes urged her to keep her cool. ‘I must have missed that one,’ she said, just about holding her temper.
Saxby smiled, appearing pleased with himself. ‘Well, it seems Mr Hawkins has friends in very high places in Whitehall who are super-keen to see his daughter returned to him, unharmed, and as soon as possible. So they asked for me.’
Hawkins’s words now made total sense. Saxby was the ‘big bearing on the case’ he had threatened. Phillips was in no doubt Chief Superintendent Fox had been fully aware of his involvement at the time of her phone call. No wonder she had been so keen to end it. In true Fox style, she had taken the easy option of letting Phillips find out for herself.
Phillips needed time to process. ‘I need to verify this with Chief Superintendent Fox.’
Saxby pulled his phone from his pocket. ‘Would you like to use my phone to call her?’ he said, half smiling.
‘That won’t be necessary. I’ll speak to her when I get back to Ashton House.’
‘Well, if it’s ok with you, Chief Inspector, I’ll just finish up here with Mr Robbins.’
‘No, it’s not all right with me,’ said Phillips. ‘This is my investigation and I don’t care who sent you – or how well connected you are. Until I verify your involvement with Chief Superintendent Fox, you have no business speaking to anyone involved in this investigation. Do I make myself clear?’
Saxby shrugged his shoulders and sucked air through his teeth. ‘Very well, Inspector, if that’s how you want to play it. But I can assure you, delaying my involvement won’t change anything. I’ve been instructed to insert myself into the middle of this investigation – whether you like it or not.’
‘I think you’ll find it’s Chief Inspector, and I don’t give a flying fuck what you’ve been instructed to do. I’m the SIO on this case and you have no place in this investigation. Now, if you don’t mind, DS Jones and I would like to speak with Mr Robbins, in private.’
Saxby released a heavy sigh. ‘As you wish, but you’re simpl
y delaying the inevitable, Chief Inspector.’ He turned to face Robbins and smiled. ‘Thank you for your time, Mr Robbins. You’ve been most helpful.’ And with that, he left the room.
Shortly after Saxby’s exit, Phillips excused herself and made her way to the ladies’ to try and recalibrate her head. As she stared at her reflection in the mirror, anger burned in the pit of her stomach. Based on Hawkins’s threats, plus Fox’s furtive responses, she had no doubt that major politics was now in play. Saxby was here to stay, and there was likely very little she could do to keep him out of her investigation. Outside involvement was the last thing she needed. With the pressure to get a result mounting by the minute, some arrogant arsehole from London constantly second-guessing her every move would only make matters ten times worse.
Splashing her face with water, she took a deep breath and steadied herself. She pulled her hair back and reset her ponytail before replacing her spectacles. Regardless of whatever was going on, she still had a missing girl to find, and that had to be her priority. Everything else could wait.
When she returned to Robbins’s office, a large tray carrying filter coffee and fresh cakes had arrived.
‘Well, this is a little nicer than we’re used to,’ she said, attempting to lighten the mood as Robbins poured the steaming hot liquid into three cups.
Jones, as ever, was ready, notepad and pen in hand.
Phillips waited until they each had a drink. ‘Mr Robbins—’
‘Please, call me John.’
Phillips nodded. ‘Ok. John. Can you tell us a bit more about your background before you began working here?’
Robbins’s brow furrowed. ‘What do you want to know?’
‘You were in the military. Is that correct?’
‘I was. Twenty years in the Royal Marines.’
‘And did you see active combat?’
‘Three tours of Afghanistan and two of Iraq.’
‘That must have been pretty hairy at times,’ said Phillips.
Robbins took a drink of his coffee before cradling the cup in both hands, his heavily tattooed wrist once more on show. ‘It was. I lost a lot of good friends out there.’
‘Are you still in touch with anyone from your regiment?’
‘Through Facebook and social media, but not much else. A lot of the guys stayed down near the base in Plymouth, but I decided to move back north. I’m from Leeds and my wife’s a Manc. She missed her family, and after dragging her around the world for so many years, I thought it was only fair we lived where she wanted to, for a change.’
‘You’re still married?’
‘Yes, to Liz, and we have two grown-up kids too – Sally and Mark.’
‘And how old are they?’
‘Sally’s seventeen. She’s just started at college. Mark is nineteen, and followed his old man into the Marines. He’s doing his commando training at the moment.’ Robbins’s wide grin oozed pride.
Jones scribbled in his pad as Phillips took a sip of coffee. ‘So when did you leave the military?’ she asked.
‘March 2015.’
‘What rank were you at that point?’
‘Warrant Officer, Class 1,’ said Robbins.
Phillips nodded. ‘Pretty senior, then?’
‘Yeah, and I was sorry to leave. I’d have stayed if they’d let me, but I’d done my time.’
‘So I’m assuming you receive a decent military pension, then, on top of your salary here?’
‘I do ok, yeah.’ Robbins placed his cup on the desk and leaned forwards. ‘Look, I don’t mean to be rude, but what do my family and finances have to do with all this?’
Phillips flashed a smile. ‘Just standard background stuff, John.’
‘Ok. In that case, why is the GMP interested in my background?’
‘Well. We have reason to believe that the men who took Hollie had military training—’
‘What? And you think I was involved?’
‘That’s not what I’m saying—’
‘No, but it’s what you’re thinking, isn’t it?’
Phillips paused for a moment as Robbins’s face reddened.
‘I’m a decorated war veteran with kids of my own. I could never do anything to endanger a child.’
Robbins seemed genuine enough, but Phillips had been in this game long enough to reserve judgement at this stage of an investigation. ‘Look, John, we’re not saying you were involved in Hollie’s kidnapping, but as I mentioned the other night, we have to check every angle in order to eliminate people from our enquiries.’
Robbins nodded, but appeared unconvinced.
Phillips changed tack. ‘What can you tell us about Sam Cartwright?’
‘What do you want to know?’
‘When we spoke on the night Hollie was taken, you told us she was an ex-combat medic.’
‘That’s right.’
‘Did you know her before she came to work at Marstons?’
Robbins shook his head. ‘No. I’d never met her until she came for the interview.’
‘Have you ever had any issues with her work?’
‘None whatsoever. She’s a first-rate operative.’
‘I see,’ said Phillips. ‘Do you know if she stayed in touch with anyone from her regiment?’
‘I don’t. To be honest, I’ve never asked her. Keeps herself to herself. She comes to work, does her shift and goes home. Aside from a quick “Hello” when she comes in to pick up her radio and keys, I rarely speak to her.’
‘Have you noticed anything different in her behaviour since the night Hollie was taken?’
‘Nothing,’ said Robbins.
‘We’ll need to talk to her, of course. When is she next on shift?’
‘She’s in now.’
Phillips raised her eyebrows. ‘I thought she worked nights?’
‘It varies. We move them around the rota. Stops them getting complacent, and means we can get a better quality of operative. Security people who only work nights tend to be a little less qualified, shall we say.’
‘Can we speak to her?’ asked Phillips.
Robbins nodded, and radioed Cartwright.
Cartwright appeared anxious, and agitated, as she took her seat opposite Phillips and Jones. Robbins had left to give them privacy.
Phillips got straight to the point. ‘Do you keep in touch with your ex-military mates?’
Cartwright jerked her head back a little, clearly not expecting the question. ‘Er…sometimes. We have the odd night out when I’m not working here.’
‘What regiment were you in?’
‘The Yorkshire Regiment. Used to be the Duke of Wellington’s.’
‘And you were a combat medic, weren’t you?’
‘That’s right. I served in Afghanistan and Iraq.’
‘And when did you leave the military?’
‘June 2010.’
‘Why did you leave?’
Cartwright shifted in her seat and swallowed hard. ‘I was diagnosed with PTSD.’ She stared at the floor.
‘Do you mind me asking what caused it?’
Cartwright looked Phillips dead in the eye now. ‘I watched a good mate get blown to pieces in front of me. He stepped on an IED.’
Phillips’s tone softened. ‘I’m sorry to hear that.’
Cartwright nodded.
‘What happened after you left the military?’
‘I did a few jobs and eventually ended up here.’
‘Those jobs, were they all in security?’
‘Pretty much, yeah. I had a couple of driving gigs on and off for a while, but I didn’t fancy the long journeys. I’m not a fan of having too much time with my own thoughts. If you know what I mean?’
Phillips could indeed sympathise, having fought her own mental health battles over the last few years. It was usually when she was alone that her thoughts were at their darkest.
‘Sam, have any of your ex-military mates been in touch unexpectedly in the last few months?’
‘Not that I can thi
nk of…just the usual crew.’
‘We’ll need their names and contact details, if that’s ok?’
Cartwright shrugged her shoulders. ‘Sure, but what for?’
Phillips smiled. ‘Oh, just standard procedure. Nothing to worry about.’
As Cartwright dictated the list of her ex-colleagues, Jones scribbled the names down in his pad whilst Phillips drained her remaining coffee. ‘Well, thank you for your time, Sam. I think that’s all we need for now. We’ll be in touch if we require anything else.’
Cartwright nodded silently as Phillips and Jones stood.
‘We’ll see ourselves out,’ said Phillips, and they headed for the door.
6
November 2nd
The next morning, as ever, Jones, Bovalino and Entwistle were in early. Phillips gathered them in her office to debrief on the visit to Marstons. Bovalino had made the short trip to the canteen on the ground floor, returning with hot bacon rolls and tea for each of the team. As he handed them out, Phillips took a couple of minutes to bring them up to date on the previous afternoon’s events.
‘So we’re no further forward then, Guv?’ Bovalino asked as he took a seat opposite Phillips, followed by a large bite of his own roll.
‘No, but I’d like a full background check on both Robbins and Cartwright. It’s just too much of a coincidence that they both have military backgrounds.’
‘And you don’t believe in coincidences do you, Guv?’ Entwistle quipped with a knowing smile.
Phillips feigned surprise. ‘Have I said that before, then?’
‘Once or twice,’ said Jones.
Entwistle made a note in his pad. ‘I’ll look into them both this morning.’
‘There’s something else you guys need to be aware of.’ Phillips tapped the desk with her finger.
Bovalino stopped chewing and raised his eyebrows. ‘Oh?’
‘It looks like Hawkins has followed up on his threat to involve Whitehall. They’ve sent us a special advisor from the Met.’