by OMJ Ryan
‘No worries. We’ll be back there in half an hour,’ said Jones.
Phillips checked her watch; it was 11.00 a.m. ‘Right. I reckon I’ll be there about the same time. I’ll see you in my office at 11.30.’ She ended the call.
17
Hollie lay huddled under the blanket in an attempt to fend off the cold. She stared at the cracked ceiling, wondering where in the world she was. She had no idea what day it was, and with no windows in her tiny room, she had lost all sense of time. She was hungry, though, and her stomach growled for food. What was going to happen next? she wondered.
Without warning, she heard the lock in the door being released. She scrambled to sit up, back against the wall, knees bent to her chest and the blanket covering her up to her neck. She had taken to sitting like that whenever one of the gang entered the room. She wasn’t so certain it made her any safer, but it was something.
Which of her captors would be visiting this time? The first thing to appear from behind the door was a tray containing a plate of food, followed by a pair of black gloved hands, and finally one of the gang members, wearing an Army of Two mask. This mask had a blue stripe fixed across the nose-plate, and the man wearing it was short and thickset. Hollie had not seen him before.
He said nothing as he placed the tray on the table in the middle of the room.
‘What is it this time? Roast beef?’ she said, her tone sarcastic.
He didn’t respond.
Hollie continued. ‘Well, whatever it is, you’re wasting your time. There’s no way I’d ever eat anything you lot made.’
‘Blue’ stared at her for a long moment, silent.
Hollie felt a shiver run down her spine. ‘You don’t say much do you?’
Blue moved a few steps closer and folded his thick arms across his chest. Then he leant forwards so that the mesh that covered his eyes was level with Hollie’s eyes. He remained creepily silent as he stared at her.
Hollie swallowed hard as she tried to control the fear that rose in her chest.
Blue continued to stare, and she could hear him breathing heavily through the mask. She wanted desperately to hold his gaze, but it was too uncomfortable and she finally looked away. Then without warning, Blue turned on his heels and moved back to the door. He knocked three times, then opened it without looking back. The heavy door closed behind him with a thud, and a second later, she could hear the lock as it was reinstated.
Hollie let out a loud breath of relief as she attempted to fight back her tears, trying desperately to remain calm. It was no use, and a moment later her tears erupted and her shoulders began to shake.
After a few minutes, she regained some level of control and, as she wiped her face, her eyes fell on the steam rising from the plate of hot food. Intrigued, she threw off the blanket and placed her sock feet on the icy concrete floor, then walked over to the table. She stared down at the plate of food. She wasn’t sure exactly what it was, but it appeared to be vegetarian. She looked back towards the door and wondered if someone was watching her from the other side.
She was determined to follow through on her threat not to eat, but as the delicious aromas hit her nose, her mouth watered and her stomach rumbled, begging her to eat. It was no use.
Resistance was futile, and in one rapid movement, she took a seat and began to devour the hot food with haste.
18
Back at Ashton House, Phillips was already in her office when Jones and Bovalino strode through the incident room. She signalled for them to join her, along with Entwistle, for a debrief.
Entwistle was last to share his update. ‘I don’t know if this is anything, Guv, but I took a look into Hawkins’s extended family. I found this.’ He passed over a set of papers, stapled together. ‘These are the latest accounts for Gerry Donald, Sandra Hawkins’s brother – Richard's brother-in-law.’
Phillips began flicking through the pages as the rest of the team looked on.
‘Gerry is a former business partner of Hawkins,’ Entwistle narrated. ‘They invested in some future tech that had come out of Cambridge University.’ He passed across a printout of a Financial Times newspaper article dated from the previous year. ‘At the time of this article, Gerry had bragged they were on the cusp of creating something as game-changing as Facebook, or the iPhone.’
Phillips scanned the article briefly. ‘This is Donald in the picture?’
‘Yes. That’s him.’
‘So, why no Hawkins in the article?’ asked Phillips.
‘I thought that was strange, too. So I checked him out, and found there’s almost nothing on him in print – particularly around his business dealings. There’s the odd bit about his charity donations and occasional bouts of philanthropy, but nothing else.’
Jones chimed in. ‘I’ve heard that about Hawkins before. He’s supposed to be fiercely protective of his privacy.’
‘Most arms dealers are,’ said Bovalino, sardonically.
‘So, what does all this have to do with Hollie’s kidnapping?’ asked Phillips.
Entwistle continued, ‘Well, in the end, the deal went south. Turns out the PhD students from Cambridge, who they claimed came up with the concept, had copied someone else’s idea. When Donald talked to the press, it alerted the guy who had created the technology, and he sued Donald and Hawkins for breach of copyright. They eventually settled out of court for an undisclosed sum – rumoured to be in the millions – and Hawkins abandoned the project.’
‘Jesus. He wouldn’t have liked that, would he?’ said Jones.
Phillips found herself smiling again. ‘Can you imagine his temper tantrum when he found out the students had lied to him?’
‘The things is,’ said Entwistle, ‘Hawkins had the money to walk away. His net worth is in the region of a hundred million. But Donald? Well, before this deal, he ran his own estate agency. He borrowed heavily – where from, I’m not sure yet. And when it all went pear-shaped, he lost everything. Came out of it with £750,000 of debt, according to his accounts.’
‘Which makes for a very compelling motive to kidnap Hollie Hawkins,’ said Phillips, as she sat forwards and placed the files on her desk, ‘and then demand four million quid to give her back!’
‘Exactly,’ said Entwistle.
‘Excellent work. Well done,’ said Phillips.
‘Bloody teacher’s pet,’ joked Bovalino under his breath, drawing a smile from Jones and Entwistle.
Phillips picked up the newspaper article from the desk once more and stared at the picture of Donald. ‘He looks like an estate agent, doesn’t he? Proper smarmy in this picture,’ she observed, feeling her face screw up as she turned the article round to show the team. ‘Jonesy and Bov, I want you to pay Mr Donald a visit. Let’s see where he was on the night of Halloween.’
Bovalino nodded, and Jones smiled. ‘It’ll be our pleasure, Guv,’ he said.
Phillips continued. ‘Entwistle, find out who financed the deal for Donald. Did the money come from a bank, or somewhere else? That information could be very important to this case.’
‘Consider it done.’
‘And see what else you can find on him. Known associates, criminal records, you know the drill. I don’t need to tell you, time’s ticking, guys. If you find anything of interest, anything at all, let me know immediately.’
A chorus of ‘Yes Guv’ filled the room.
‘Right. Let’s crack on,’ said Phillips. She dismissed them to their duties.
19
If he was short on money, Gerry Donald didn’t show it. His home address was a penthouse apartment in the exclusive NV Building in Salford Quays, overlooking the water, and complete with a concierge to announce visitors.
After explaining who they were and who they wished to speak to, the concierge rang Donald, who gave his approval to let them up to his apartment. The concierge stepped out from behind the desk, ushered them into the elevator and used his security pass to select the correct floor. A moment later, as the doors started to clos
e, he wished them well.
Jones and Bovalino found themselves surrounded by mirrors as the elevator moved upwards at speed. They watched in silence as the digital display above their heads counted up with each floor that passed, until they reached their destination – the penthouse.
The doors opened smoothly, and they stepped out into in a small, brightly lit hallway that contained only one door. Jones knocked on it, and they waited. A moment later, the door opened, and they came face to face with the man they had seen in the newspaper article, Gerry Donald.
Jones introduced them as they presented their credentials, which Donald scrutinised for a long moment.
‘Officers. Please come in,’ said Donald, clearly satisfied, as he stepped aside and held out his arm.
As Jones moved into the apartment, he was struck by the sheer size and opulence of the place. The open-plan design encompassed an enormous lounge area, complete with a flat-screen TV that filled most of the wall, and a designer kitchen built around a large black cooking island. Polished wood covered every inch of the floor and a grand, sweeping staircase at the opposite end of the apartment led up to a mezzanine floor where, Jones assumed, the bedrooms were located. Three of the four double-height walls were made of glass, and one led onto a large balcony that offered almost 360-degree views of Manchester.
A strong aroma of brewing coffee hung in the air, and it smelt expensive.
‘This is some place you have here, Mr Donald,’ said Jones.
Donald flashed a wide grin. ‘I like it.’
‘It’s a bit bigger than my gaff,’ added Bovalino.
Donald’s grin remained. ‘Can I get you gentlemen a coffee? I’m just about to have one myself. It’s fresh.’
Jones and Bovalino nodded, and Donald moved into the kitchen.
Whilst he prepared the coffee, Jones and Bovalino moved to stand next to one of the windows, taking a moment to enjoy the spectacular views in silence. With the autumnal sun shining brightly in the clear blue sky, the water of the Quays sparkled like precious gems. They watched as a plane landed at Manchester Airport to the south. The cities of Salford and Manchester were sprawled out below them, giving way to hills in the distance, leading towards the Peak District beyond. It was quite breath-taking.
Donald returned with their coffees on a tray, which he placed on the enormous glass and chrome coffee table in the centre of the lounge area. He motioned for them to take a seat on the large designer cream sofa, whilst he chose the matching armchair.
‘I’m assuming you’re here about my niece?’ Donald said as he passed out the steaming mugs, complete with coasters.
‘Yes, Mr Donald. I’m afraid so,’ said Jones.
‘My sister called and told me. She’s very upset, as you can imagine,’ said Donald.
Bovalino took a polite sip from his coffee mug before replacing it on the coaster on the table. Then he retrieved his notepad and pen.
Jones started in. ‘Could you tell us when you last saw Hollie?’
Donald sat back in the armchair, cradling his mug, and his eyes moved up towards the ceiling. He said nothing for a moment. ‘I’m guessing it would be about eighteen months ago. Maybe even two years.’
‘Really? That seems a long time,’ said Jones.
Donald took a drink of coffee. ‘Yes, I suppose it does.’
‘Is there a reason for the long absence? I mean, living in the same city, I would have thought you might have seen her more regularly.’
Donald produced a thin smile. ‘I’ve never been a kid person, Sergeant. They’re just not my thing. Plus, it’s no secret my brother-in-law and I don’t get on.’
‘You’re talking about Sir Richard Hawkins?’
‘Yes, I am. Wherever possible, I try not to say his name. And I certainly never use his bloody title.’
‘We understand you were in business together. Can you tell us about that?’ said Jones.
Donald shrugged. ‘What’s to tell you? I asked him to invest in a project that would have made us millions – if not billions – and at the first sign of trouble, he bailed out.’
‘And did you lose money on that deal?’ asked Jones, feigning ignorance of the man’s financial affairs.
Donald drained the remainder of his coffee and set the mug down on the table. ‘Yes I did. A lot of money.’
‘Can you tell us how much?’
Donald fixed Jones with an icy glare. ‘A lot, Sergeant. A lot.’
‘Did Hawkins lose on the deal too?’
‘Hardly,’ scoffed Donald. ‘It was bloody pocket change to him.’
Jones moved forwards to the edge of his seat. ‘Is it true you were sued for breach of copyright on the idea?’
‘Yes we were. But if he’d held his nerve, instead of panicking, they’d have backed down in the end. Even his flash lawyer told him to fight it, and that bitch – Johnson – rarely loses.’
Jones raised an eyebrow and glanced at Bovalino, who had stopped writing. ‘Johnson? As in Nicolette Johnson?’
‘Oh, you know her?’ said Donald.
‘You could say we’re familiar with her, yes,’ said Jones, nodding.
‘Well, in that case, you’ll know that if Nic Johnson thinks a case is worth fighting, you fight it. But Richard wouldn’t. Said he didn’t need the publicity and just wanted it to go away. So he paid the guy off, and that was that. No more investment, no more money.’
‘I’m guessing that upset you?’ said Jones.
‘Yes it bloody did! If he’d shown some balls, instead of acting like a total pussy, I’d be a very rich man right now.’
Jones made a point of scanning the apartment around them. ‘By the looks of things, you seem to be doing ok, Mr Donald.’
Donald’s eyes narrowed. ‘I don’t want to be “doing ok”, Sergeant. I want to be filthy rich! And that prick ruined everything.’
‘You sound pretty angry about it all.’
‘Well, wouldn’t you be? Imagine it, Sergeant. If you were just a few months away from sealing the deal of a lifetime, with enough money at the end of it all to buy an island. And then your partner here, Constable Bovalino, walked away and it collapsed.’ He pointed at the big Italian. ‘How would you feel about him?’
Jones looked at Bovalino, who grinned back at him. ‘Well, I guess if you put it like that—’
‘Exactly!’ said Donald. ‘So, in answer to your question, yes, I am angry. Very bloody angry, in fact.’
Jones locked eyes with Donald. ‘Angry enough to kidnap your niece?’
Donald guffawed. ‘Are you being serious?’
‘Very,’ said Jones.
‘Me? A kidnapper? Don’t be ridiculous. There’s no love lost between me and my brother-in-law – and he still owes me a lot of money – but I wouldn’t have the first clue how to kidnap anyone. Nor would I want to. That kind of thing is far too dangerous for me. I’m a businessman, Sergeant. Not a criminal.’
‘When you say businessman, do you mean estate agent?’ said Jones, deliberately trying to dent his ego in order to provoke a reaction.
Donald was barely able to hide the snarl that appeared on his lips. ‘I’m a property developer these days, Sergeant. There’s a difference.’
Jones glanced at Bovalino, and suppressed the grin that threatened to spread across his face. ‘Can you tell us where you were on the night of Halloween?’
‘The night Hollie was taken?’
‘Yes.’
Donald’s brow furrowed. ‘You can’t seriously think I had anything to do with it?’
‘We’re asking everyone who’s close to the family, Mr Donald, for the purpose of elimination. That’s all.’
‘Well, if you must know, I was here with my girlfriend, Shelley.’
‘And she can vouch for you, can she?’
‘Of course.’
Jones looked around the apartment once more, noting the overtly masculine decor. ‘Does she live with you?’
‘Pah! Good God, no. I’m not the settling-down type,
Sergeant. She has her own place in the city, but stays here from time to time. Has her own toiletries in the bathroom, but that’s about the extent of my commitment.’
‘And did Shelley stay over on Halloween?
Donald nodded. ‘Yes, she did. She came over straight from work at about seven. I cooked a Thai meal, we had a few glasses of Chardonnay, and watched Scream on the TV. We went to bed about midnight.’
Bovalino scribbled the details in his notepad.
‘Can we have her contact details, please?’
‘Of course,’ said Donald, as he got up from the chair. He walked over to a large office desk positioned against the wall just beyond the lounge. After rummaging through a couple of drawers for a moment, he found what he was looking for. ‘Here it is.’
As he returned, Jones and Bovalino stood up from the sofa.
‘Her business card,’ said Donald, handing it over to Jones, who read the details aloud.
‘Shelley Hamilton – Corporate Insurance Broker, HM Parsons Ltd.’
‘That’s her. Their offices are on Portland Street, up near Piccadilly.’
Jones tapped the card against his fingers. ‘Thank you for this, Mr Donald.’
Donald checked his watch, then folded his arms against his chest. ‘Are we done, gentlemen? I’m afraid I must be getting on.’
‘Yes,’ said Jones, ‘I think we have everything we need.’
‘I’ll show you out, then.’
Donald ushered them to the door and bade them farewell.
Back in the safety of the descending lift, Jones and Bovalino debriefed.
‘Well, he was a bit of a wanker, wasn’t he?’ said Bovalino, with a chuckle.
‘Grade A, Bov. Grade A.’
‘Do you think he’s involved?’
Jones rubbed his chin. ‘I dunno. There’s something not right about him, but is he a kidnapper? I’m not so sure.’
‘Time to check out his alibi,’ said Bovalino.