by Alex Carver
Grey tried to think of a way to respond to that without giving away the purpose of their investigation, before he could, however, Reid spoke, “We suspect,” he began, choosing his words carefully, “that Mr Rice has gotten himself mixed up in something he would have been better off avoiding; we’re trying to determine if that is the case, and if so to get him out of the situation before it becomes too serious. I’m sorry, we can’t say anything more than that right now; we really need to find Mr Rice, though, the sooner the better.”
The two detectives endured the pensioner’s scrutiny, as well as that of Buster, who had left his cushion to settle at his master’s feet. Finally, Penfold decided to respond, “Jackie might know where he is,” he told them. “If anyone does, it’ll be her; she might also know if he’s gotten himself mixed up in something he shouldn’t have.”
“Thank you, Mr Penfold. Please, there’s no need for you to get up,” Grey said when their host reached for his walking stick to help himself up out of his chair. “We can see ourselves out.”
“What do you think?” Grey asked of Reid as the two made their way down the path.
“He definitely bears further investigation, if what Mr Penfold said is right. What Mr Collins told me made Rice a possible suspect, now it seems his motive may have been confirmed.” Doubt crossed his face then. “We still need to find out where he was yesterday afternoon; we have a possible motive, but that’s no good if we can’t come up with means and opportunity as well.”
Grey nodded his agreement; as much as he wanted to nail down one of the kidnappers, it would be a major feather in his and Reid’s caps, he didn’t want to jump the gun. If Lewis Rice was one of the people they were looking for, they needed to make certain and gather as much evidence as they could before they took it to DI Stone.
38
Leaving Lewis to put away the shopping he had bought, Crash flicked the kettle on so he could make himself a drink.
It was as he was leaving the kitchen, mug of coffee in one hand, that he noticed the first aid kit on the side near the fridge. He wasn’t sure where the kit could normally be found, but he did know that it hadn’t been next to the fridge when he left earlier.
“What’s that doing out?” Crash wanted to know, gesturing to the small, green case, adorned with a white cross.
Lewis’ eyes darted to the first aid kit guiltily, wishing he had had the sense to put it away in the cupboard under the sink where he got it from, rather than leaving it out where his partner could spot it. “Alice had a cut on her hand, I had to clean it up and put a plaster on it,” he said, deciding that there was little point in dissembling; he didn’t doubt that his, somewhat scary, partner would figure out the truth soon enough.
“How did you know about her cut?” Crash asked in a dangerous voice, though he didn’t actually give Lewis a chance to answer. “Jesus Christ, but you’re an idiot, d’you know that, a goddamned bloody idiot. You went in the room again, didn’t you.” He glared at Lewis accusingly, an edge of anger in his voice. “Didn’t you learn anything this morning?”
“I had to check on her,” Lewis said defensively. “We can’t let her go without food and water, and I couldn’t leave her with a used bucket, that’s neither pleasant nor hygienic.”
“What if she’d tried to escape again? If she’d made a break for it and managed to lock you in that room again, she’d have had all the time in the world to get away.” There was a dark look on his face and his eyes flashed dangerously.
“She didn’t, though, she didn’t even try,” Lewis told his accomplice. “She’s so scared after you caught her this morning that she barely moved.” It disturbed him to see how much that comment pleased Crash, who seemed to take a horrid kind of delight in having frightened their teen captive into immobility.
“You’re bloody lucky,” Crash declared. “When Jim hears how stupid you’ve been, he ain’t gonna be happy.”
39
“Mrs Hawkins?” Stone queried when the door opened.
The middle-aged lady who stood in the doorway nodded. “Yes, that’s me. Can I help you?”
“DI Stone,” he introduced himself. “This is my partner, DS Burke, may we speak to you?”
“Of course, please come in.” Mrs Hawkins guided them to the living room. “If you’ll excuse me for a moment, I must see to something in the kitchen.” Leaving them to seat themselves, she slipped away.
“So, how can I help you, gentlemen?” Sharon Hawkins asked when she returned to the living room, a smudge of flour now decorating her left cheek.
“We’d like to speak to you about your car, if that’s alright,” Stone told her.
Puzzled, Sharon Hawkins looked at the inspector for a couple of seconds before she responded. “Of course it’s alright, inspector, but why do you want to talk to me about my car? I don’t even have one at the moment.”
It was Stone’s turn to look puzzled. His opinion of the DVLA and the police national database, was not exactly positive, but he didn’t think it possible that they could have come across two sets of errors in two cases so close together; it stretched the realms of coincidence too far for him. “According to our records, you’re the owner of a Renault Clio, registration…” He had to look it up in his notepad. “Y715 CLH. Is that not right?”
“I was,” Sharon Hawkins said. “It was stolen about two months ago.”
“What happened after that? Was it found?”
“Yes, but it was a write-off; it had been smashed up and set fire to. Fortunately, I have a good insurance company, and the person I dealt with there was very helpful - he took care of everything. The car was taken away and disposed of, and I was offered a hire car until I receive a pay-out and can get myself a new car.”
“How was the car disposed of?”
“The insurance company arranged for a scrapyard to take it.”
“I don’t suppose you know the name of the scrapyard?” Mentally, Stone crossed his fingers.
Sharon Hawkins nodded. “Yes, the insurance company sent me a letter with the details; it didn’t really matter to me who the car had gone to, though, so I just put the letter away. Would you like me to get it for you?”
“Thank you.”
Sharon Hawkins disappeared from the room, returning barely a minute later with the letter from the insurance company in an envelope that had been neatly sliced open. “Do you mind if I ask why you are interested in my former car?”
Stone nodded as he took the envelope. “The license number of your ‘former’ car was found on a vehicle that was recently used in a crime. I’m afraid I can’t go into details, but I’m sure you understand that we need to investigate how the license number of your car came to be used.” He saw the worried look on her face, and spoke quickly to reassure her. “We don’t think you were involved in any way - there are a number of ways your license number could have come to be involved, especially with your car having been written off and scrapped.”
Sharon Hawkin’s relief at learning she was not being considered as a possible suspect was obvious
“Which scrapyard?” Burke asked as his partner read the letter.
“Tredegar’s,” Stone told him. “I’m guessing someone there has the answer we’re after. If we’re lucky we might even be able to get there before they close for the day. Thank you, Mrs Hawkins, you’ve been very helpful.”
40
“Jackie?” Grey asked when the front door of the house on the left of Lewis Rice’s opened. He couldn’t help thinking that he should have asked Mr Penfold what Jackie’s last name was; it didn’t seem right to simply use her first name.
“Uh huh,” Jackie grunted, shifting the baby on her hip into a more comfortable position. “You’re cops ain’t ya, what d’ya want?”
Grey nodded, sure that Jackie’s reaction was prompted by irritation, rather than by concern. “Yes, we’re cops, Miss; sorry to trouble you, but we’d like to speak to you about your neighbour, Lewis Rice, may we come in?”
“Is he in trouble?” Jackie shifted the baby again and turned at the sound of rapid footsteps. “Back in the living room,” She ordered the young boy who was approaching her at a run, without waiting to see what it was he wanted. “Now,” she said sharply, emphasising her command with a pointed finger and a stern look.
“He might be,” Reid answered. “We’re uncertain at this time; we need to speak to Mr Rice urgently, but he isn’t home, and we haven’t been able to discover where he is. Mr Penfold, the gentleman who lives on the other side of Mr Rice, said that you and Mr Rice get on fairly well, and that you might be able to help us.”
“Him! He’s an old fool,” Jackie said disparagingly. “He thinks because Lewis has…” Whatever she was about to say was cut off by a crashing sound that seemed to echo down the passage behind her, closely followed by the wail of a young child, one who was either hurt or upset. With an annoyed look on her face, Jackie glanced over her shoulder, sighed eloquently, and said, “You’d better come in while I deal with them. Close the door behind you.”
It took Jackie several minutes to get the two boys in the living room calmed down, and that happened only after both had received a quick smack on the bottom for misbehaving, followed by hugs to reassure them that mummy wasn’t really mad.
“Sorry about that,” she apologised once she had dealt with her children. “What were we talking about?”
“We were talking about your neighbour, Mr Rice,” Reid said. “Mr Penfold, on the other side of Mr Rice, believes you might be able to help us find him.”
Jackie threw an annoyed and unhappy look in the direction of Mr Penfold’s house. “That Penfold, he’s a meddling old bugger; he thinks because Lewis has helped me out a few times, we should get married.” It was plain to see that she was appalled by the idea. “He keeps saying that Lewis needs a good woman in his life, so he’s not alone so much, and that I could do with having a man like Lewis to help me raise my kids.” She shook her head. “It’s a ridiculous idea. Even if I wanted to get married again, I wouldn’t pick Lewis; he’s a nice enough guy, but he’s hopeless at most practical things, and he’s definitely not my type.”
She realised after a moment that she was rambling, and quickly apologised, with an embarrassed smile. “Sorry, I don’t get to speak to many grownups.”
“That’s quite alright, Miss…I’m sorry, Mr Penfold didn’t tell us your last name,” Grey said.
“Just call me Jackie, I don’t go much on formality, it makes me feel old.”
“Okay, Jackie; can you tell us where we can find Lewis? He doesn’t seem to be at home, and we really need to speak to him.”
“Sorry, no, I’ve got no idea where he is. What d’you think he’s done?”
“We can’t tell you that, sorry,” Reid said, though he didn’t sound all that sorry. “At this time we’re merely trying to speak to him, so we can eliminate him from our enquiries, or determine if we need to investigate him more closely. You say you don’t know where he is, have you seen him at all over the last couple of days?”
“Not today – I was hoping he’d give me a hand with something this morning, but he wasn’t home. I haven’t seen him since yesterday morning.”
“Have you noticed anything different about Mr Rice recently?” Reid asked.
“Such as?”
“A change in his behaviour or attitude, spending time with new people, especially those he might seem out of place with,” Grey explained.
“He was with someone I’ve never seen before yesterday,” Jackie said straightaway. “They were heading out.”
“What can you tell us about this stranger?” Grey asked, perking up a little.
“He was on a motorbike; I didn’t get a good look at it, and I probably wouldn’t have been able to tell you the make if I had,” Jackie said, anticipating the next question. “I know almost nothing about bikes, it was noisy, I know that much, ‘cause it woke Laura,” she indicated the baby now in a cot in the corner of the room, “and I looked out the window to see what was going on while I tried to settle her down. I got there in time to see the guy walk up the path to Lewis’ house, he was wearing motorcycle leathers and carrying a helmet; he had brown hair, not short, but not all that long either, and he looked mean, the sort I’d’ve been interested in when I was younger – I’ve made that mistake often enough not to want to make it again.”
“Did you notice anything else about him?” Grey asked; he liked the sound of Lewis Rice being involved with a rough-looking motorcyclist; it was only a very basic description, probably useless in locating the man, but it did increase the likelihood that they were on the right track in chasing down Rice as a possible suspect.
41
Stone was back at the Keating house, listening to Inspector Evans explain what he and his assistant were going to do to track the ransom, when his phone rang. He was relieved to hear the sudden burst of music from his pocket, it gave him an excuse to stop pretending he understood what was being said, most of which was going straight over his head; he could only hope that his partner was following it better, though he realised that it didn’t matter whether he was, so long as the two specialists knew what they were going to be doing, and did it well enough to enable them to arrest Alice’s kidnappers.
“Stone,” he answered, keeping half an ear on Evans’ explanation, in case something was said that he needed to hear.
“Sir, it’s Detective Grey.”
“Yes, Christian, what’ve you got for me?” Stone asked, almost, but not quite, desperate for something that would advance his investigations; he and Burke had been out of luck when they got to the scrapyard where Sheila Hawkins’ car was supposed to have ended up – the gates were locked and, apart from a couple of security lights, it was all in darkness.
“Nothing definite,” Grey admitted, “but we have come up with something interesting. Lewis Rice, the last of the former Griffin Games’ employees we were checking, seems to be missing, he hasn’t been seen since yesterday morning, when his neighbour saw him leave his house with a stranger, a motorcycle-riding stranger with a mean face.”
“Anything else?” Stone asked, not quite as interested by Grey’s news as the young detective seemed to be.
“According to his neighbours, Lewis Rice has changed since he lost his job; he’s become more surly, bitter and unfriendly, and has expressed a dislike for the man responsible for him getting the sack. It’s possible that sentiment extends to Mr Keating, which would give him a motive for being involved with Alice Keating’s kidnapping,” Grey said.
“Follow up on it,” Stone instructed. He wasn’t convinced, but it was a lead and couldn’t be ignored. “Find Rice if you can, and see what you can find out about the guy on the motorbike; if Rice has an alibi then we need to look elsewhere.”
“Yes, sir. Oh, I’ve heard back from the DVLA about the Vauxhall,” Grey said, the message had been waiting for him when he and Reid got back to the station. “According to their records, a Mr Jeffrey Rodgers attempted to transfer title of the Vauxhall into his name; the paperwork wasn’t filled out correctly, though, so they returned it to him.”
“What’s his address?” Stone asked as he pressed his mobile to his ear with his shoulder and fumbled in his pocket for pad and pen to write down the information Grey provided. “Okay, get Reid to make a start on tracking Rice down, and whatever else there is to do – I want to know everything he can find out about Tredegar scrapyard. I want you to meet me at Mr Rodgers’,” he said changing his mind about what he wanted Grey to do. He hoped that Mr Rodgers would lead them to the Vauxhall, which he now believed would firm up the case against Jerry Logan, and enable them to charge Ben Logan.
42
Lewis ignored the look directed at him by Crash as he headed up the stairs with water and a sandwich for Alice. He knew his partner didn’t approve of what he was doing, and could feel his eyes boring into him, like drills searching for oil, but Lewis didn’t let that deter him as he ascended.
It surp
rised him when he made it to the door of Alice’s cell without Crash stopping him, either verbally or physically. Hurriedly he opened the door, so he could enter the room before Crash could decide to do something, and then nudged it shut with his foot once he was through. It banged shut loudly. He hadn’t expected it to make so much noise and he gave a little jump; he recovered quickly and moved further into the room.
“How are you?” he asked as he approached Alice, who was sitting against the wall by the lamp. She was not as tense as she had been, but her eyes were red, suggesting she had been crying, and he felt a twinge of guilt.
Crash waited until Lewis had closed the bedroom door, then he turned away from the stairs and strode into the living room. He snatched up his mobile phone from the coffee table, and ground his teeth in frustration when the number he had dialled rang and rang without being answered. Disconnecting the call with an unnecessarily hard jab of one finger, he rang the number again, while keeping one ear pricked for any sign that Lewis was on his way back down; he didn’t want his partner overhearing his phone call.
“Jim, it’s Crash,” he said, when the call was finally answered.
“I know who it is,” Jim said irritably, resisting the urge to point out that the screen had shown him who was calling. “What d’you want? You’re not supposed to call me unless there’s an emergency.” He was glad there was no-one around to overhear the call, it meant he didn’t have to be careful about what he said.
“We’ve got a problem?” Crash told Jim. He knew his partner wasn’t happy he was calling, but didn’t care; if he had been allowed to do things his way, the problem wouldn’t have arisen.
“What sort of problem?” Jim wanted to know. He comforted himself with the thought that he knew it couldn’t be that the police were onto either Crash or Alice’s location, he would almost certainly have heard about that before his partner.
“You mean aside from the one I warned you about right from the start?” Crashed hissed in a sharp voice, wanting to ensure his voice didn’t carry up the stairs. “How about the fact that the little bitch made a break for it this morning; it’s just as well I’m not a heavier sleeper, or she’d have got away, then we’d all be screwed, you most of all.”