‘Suppose. Better than going back to the station anyway.’
She came up to a fork in the road and took a right, back towards the town. It was busy with tourists, and students going between lectures. As she passed the Byre Theatre her eye was caught by a group of toddlers in yellow fluorescent tabards. They were ambling along, hand-in-hand under the watchful eye of half a dozen uniformed adults. She thought they were about two or three years older than Abi Mitchell and it occurred to her that the group might be from Wee Tots.
Wee Tots, where Abi would have been this afternoon if she hadn’t been snatched from her pram just yesterday. Was it only yesterday? It seemed so much longer.
At the top of Abbey Street Clare swung the car to the right, past St Rule’s Tower. ‘Miss out all these damn zebra crossings,’ she muttered. She continued down North Street, past the West Sands and the iconic Old Course Hotel until the town was behind them and the countryside ahead.
As they approached a narrow road to the left, Clare slowed down and took the turning.
After a short distance, Chris said, ‘Just in here.’
Clare pulled the car into the side of the road beside a farm gate.
They climbed out of the car and leaned against the gate which was padlocked shut. A collection of campervans was parked towards the far end of the field in a semi-circle. Closer to the gate, a few protesters were gathered around a brazier, clutching coffee mugs. One of them recognised Clare and gave her a cheery wave. An elderly lady, wrapped up in a knee-length padded jacket and a Barbour hat, stood painting in front of an easel.
‘It’s not your typical protest camp,’ Clare said.
‘Want a look?’
‘Might as well.’
Chris examined the padlock and stout chain, both considerably newer than the gate. ‘Okay to climb over?’ he said.
Before Clare could answer, a familiar figure began walking towards them.
‘Good afternoon, officers,’ Nicholas Stewart called.
‘Hello again, Mr Stewart. Would you open the gate, please, so we can have a look round?’ Clare asked.
Nicholas Stewart fished in his pocket for a key and released the padlock, pulling the chain away from the post. The gate swung open and Clare and Chris walked into the field.
‘Mind your feet,’ he told them. ‘It’s muddy. If you’d like to follow me.’ As they approached the brazier he turned and said, ‘Coffee?’
‘No thanks,’ Clare said. ‘We’ll just check the vans then be on our way.’
‘Of course. But your colleagues have already been here today. Uniformed officers.’
‘I know,’ Clare said. ‘But I’d like to see for myself. All the vans, please.’
He stared at her for a minute then said, ‘I presume you’re still looking for that poor child.’
Clare made no response and, after a moment’s hesitation, he led her to the first of the campervans.
‘Wait outside, Chris,’ she said. ‘Keep an eye on things while I’m in the van.’
The campervans were surprisingly well appointed. She lifted bench cushions, opened doors and checked the overhead storage. No sign of a baby. The next van was the same. By the time she approached the sixth van she was starting to think it was an exercise in futility. And then she heard it. A baby crying. Following the sound, Clare wrenched open the van door and stepped inside. A woman with long dark wavy hair glared back at her but Clare’s eyes were fixed on the baby at her breast.
‘Most people knock,’ the woman said, detaching the baby and lifting it up. She began gently rubbing the infant’s back as it nuzzled against her shoulder.
Clare whipped out her warrant card but the woman waved it away.
‘This isn’t her, you know,’ she said. ‘Abigail. This is my son. You can check in his nappy if you don’t believe me.’
Clare looked at the baby. ‘Would you mind turning him please, so I can see his face?’
The woman lifted the baby under his arms and settled him on her lap, facing Clare. He was nothing like Abi, his round, moon-like face a contrast to her tiny features. Clare checked anyway for the birthmark that was on Abi’s neck but she knew it wouldn’t be there. The baby, alarmed by seeing this stranger, opened his mouth to bawl, showing only gums. No teeth.
‘Sorry to have troubled you,’ Clare said.
‘Was that a baby?’ Chris asked when she emerged from the van.
‘Yep, but not Abi. Come on. Let’s get the rest of them checked out then we’ll get back to the station.’
As Clare emerged from the last of the vans, she saw Nicholas Stewart approaching her again. ‘All fine, I presume, Inspector?’
‘Yes, thank you, Mr Stewart.’ She looked round at the camp. ‘How long are you planning to stay here?’
‘Until they bring the bulldozers,’ he said. ‘We will do what we can and then, I know, we’ll be forced to withdraw. But I still hope that sense will prevail. Scotland does not need another bottled water plant.’
Clare thanked him. ‘We’ll just have a walk round the field, then we’ll be out of your way.’
As soon as they were out of earshot, Clare said, ‘Those trees – at the far end. Behind the fence.’
Chris looked to where she indicated. ‘Yeah – what you thinking?’
‘Just wondering how deep they are.’
‘Not very. Couple of hundred yards at the most.’
‘And on the other side?’
‘Open farmland.’
‘So, no cottages or other places a baby could be hidden from the road then?’
‘I doubt it.’
Clare stood looking over at the trees for a minute then said, ‘Sorry, Chris. Waste of time. I just thought there might be something.’ She saw that Nicholas was still watching them and she waved to indicate they were leaving. ‘Come on. Let’s get back to the station.’
As she closed the gate behind them Clare saw Nicholas striding across to replace the padlock. She started the engine and pulled away. Her phone began to ring and Chris picked it up. Sara. He switched it to speaker. ‘Go ahead Sara. Clare’s driving but you’re on speaker.’
‘Boss, there’s a journalist here asking for you.’
‘Direct him to the press officer. We won’t be giving another statement today unless things change.’
‘No,’ Sara said, ‘he’s not here for that. He says it’s some scheme the Assistant Chief Constable came up with. He said something about shadowing you.’
‘What?’ Clare swerved to avoid a dog walker and her collie. ‘Sara, I’ve honestly no idea what you’re talking about. Can he come back tomorrow?’ But, in the back of her mind, she was remembering an email. Something to do with fostering good relationships between police and press.
‘He says he’s happy to wait.’
They had reached a farm steading now and Clare executed a turn in the yard. ‘I’m on my way back, Sara. Ten minutes.’
‘Thanks boss. I’ll tell him.’
* * *
As she drove back, Clare contemplated the problem of Tony and Chris. She had no doubt Tony would try to goad Chris into losing his temper and, with so many extra staff around to witness an outburst, it would be hard to defend Chris a second time.
She drew in at the far end of the car park, away from Tony’s car, and entered by the side door. She sensed Chris tense up and decided to forestall trouble. ‘If you could check on that miscarriage couple who’ve gone on holiday, Chris, I’ll update Tony.’
Chris headed off to the incident room and Clare went to hang up her jacket.
‘Detective Inspector Mackay?’
She turned to see a beaming figure in a Donegal tweed suit, tortoiseshell-rimmed glasses perched on his nose. He was clutching a tablet computer and looked improbably young.
‘Yes?’
He held out a hand. ‘Lyall McGill. I’ve been nominated by The Press Association to be your POMED Link.’
Clare stared at him. ‘My what?’
‘POMED. Police and Media
. Didn’t your ACC tell you to expect me?’
This must be the journalist Sara phoned about. Clare studied him and decided he looked more like the head boy at a private school than the world-weary hacks she was used to dealing with. Was he even twenty, she wondered?
She forced a smile. ‘Look, Mr – er…’
He smiled back. ‘McGill. Lyall McGill.’
‘Mr McGill. I’m sorry – it’s really not a good time just now. I’m right in the middle of a difficult case. I’m not even sure what this is all about. Could you possibly come back next week? Or the week after?’
He continued to smile. ‘But that’s perfect! I don’t want to shadow you when everything’s going well. I’m here to see things from your point of view. The trials and the tribulations, so to speak. And maybe educate you about the pressures we face. A bit of mutual understanding, you know.’
Clare thought that a little of Lyall McGill would go a very long way this week and she considered briefly if it was worth appealing to Tony. Or maybe she could palm him off on someone else. ‘Mr McGill…’
‘Lyall, please.’
‘Lyall. A lot of what I do is very tedious. Sitting at a desk, trawling through data. And some of it will be too sensitive for me to share with you anyway.’ She was racking her brains. Who could he shadow instead of her? There had to be someone…
‘But that’s the point, Inspector. We in the press want to know about your job: the highs and the lows, the exciting bits and the tedium. Don’t they say that detection is ninety-nine per cent perspiration and one per cent inspiration?’ He inclined his head and peered at her over the top of his glasses.
Clare groaned inwardly. It was going to be a very long afternoon. ‘Get yourself a coffee then.’ She went into her office, closing the door firmly behind her.
Tony looked up as she entered. ‘Ah Clare – what news from the front?’
She sat down heavily. ‘Did you know about that man-child out there?’
Tony grinned. ‘I see you’ve met our journalist friend. I thought you’d like him. Just keep him sweet and send him out the room if anything sensitive comes up.’
‘I suppose…’
‘Any progress with the baby?’
‘I saw the parents again. Mother’s out of her head on tranquilisers. Dad keeping himself busy. I don’t think they’re doing very well. Wendy says there’s a phone hidden in a laundry basket. She thinks the mum’s been making regular calls to the same number.’
‘Checked it out?’
‘Yeah. Pay-as-you-go. Can’t trace it.’
‘Any texts?’
‘Nope. Just calls. All outgoing.’
‘Okay. Anything else?’
‘Dad admitted that Mum had a boyfriend.’
Tony’s eyebrows shot up. ‘Checked him out?’
Clare nodded. ‘Spoke to him and he agreed to his house being searched. None too happy about it, but he came with us. Nothing, though. I doubt he’s involved.’
‘Right. That it?’
‘We visited the protest camp on the way back. Searched all the vans. There’s a baby there but it’s not Abi.’
‘Sure?’
‘Yes. Looked for the birthmark and tooth. Definitely not her.’
‘What about the pharmacy? Checked on the CCTV?’
‘Just about to do it.’
‘Make sure you keep that reporter away from it then. We don’t want him leaking anything sensitive.’
‘Honestly, Tony, I’ve no idea what to do with him. I’m too busy to babysit a journalist.’
‘Give him a guest login. It’ll let him get on to Google without being able to access our systems. Get him to research psychological profiles of baby abductors. Tell him it’s a lead you’re following up. Ought to keep him busy for a while.’
‘Good idea, Tony. Thanks.’
‘I have my uses. Don’t suppose you’d make me a coffee as a thank you?’
Clare rose. ‘No, I don’t suppose I would.’
She found Lyall in the main office, reading the noticeboard. ‘I’ve a job for you, Lyall, if you’re up for it.’
He positively beamed. ‘You bet!’
Clare installed him in front of a computer and said how important it was that they understood the mindset of the abductors. He seemed to swallow this and began tapping in search terms. Clare moved to another computer and called up the CCTV footage which had been put on the network for her to access. The alarm had been triggered in the control room at about two in the morning. She scrolled forward to just before two and set the footage to run.
Chris wandered over and stood behind her, looking at the screen.
‘Any luck with that couple’s car?’ she asked.
‘The ones who’ve gone down to England? Yeah, I think so. They pinged an ANPR camera on the A623 on Sunday but didn’t register on the next one along so they’ve left the road somewhere between the two.’
Clare furrowed her brow. ‘Where’s that?’
‘England. The Peak District.’
‘Crikey. Needle in a haystack then?’
‘Could be. I’ve spoken to the local police. They’ll check all the hotels and B&Bs in the area. Hopefully get them soon.’
‘What time did they pass the camera?’
‘Sunday teatime.’
Clare paused the footage to consider this. ‘Is it possible? Could they still have been here on Sunday? Would they have had enough time to snatch Abi at midday and make it down to the Peaks?’
‘Possible, but unlikely, I’d say.’
She restarted the footage and focused on the screen. The pharmacy was in darkness and, while the images were in colour, it was hard to make out anything other than rows of fully stocked shelves. And then the screen brightened as the emergency lighting came on and the coloured boxes and tubs of medicines could be seen more clearly. Clare and Chris watched as two figures wearing dark clothing and balaclavas appeared behind the counter, one quite tall, the other shorter. She paused the footage.
‘Chris, see if there’s anyone from Dundee in the incident room. They might recognise something about this pair.’
Chris returned with three PCs from Dundee and Clare restarted the footage. They watched as the shorter one went to the middle of a shelf and picked through bottles, examining and discarding each one in turn. Then he signalled to the other, who seemed to be grabbing bottles at random. As they made for the door, stashing bottles in their pockets, the taller one glanced briefly in the direction of the camera.
‘Stop,’ one of the Dundee PCs said.
Clare froze the frame and zoomed in. ‘Any ideas?’
‘Could be. I’ve seen that jacket before. See the badge on the sleeve?’ he said to the other two.
‘Yep,’ one of them said. ‘I’ve definitely seen that. Or one like it.’
The third PC said to Clare, ‘Mind if I check something?’
She moved aside and he sat at the computer. He shook the mouse then navigated to the force intranet and clicked to open a database. He typed in the search box then began scrolling through the list of names that appeared. After a few minutes’ peering at the screen, he stopped and jabbed it with a finger. ‘Could be Paul Sinclair.’
Clare said, ‘Go back to the pharmacy.’
The PC returned to the frozen image of the burglar’s face and the other two nodded.
‘Yeah, I think that’s him.’
‘You sure?’ Clare asked.
‘Not absolutely, but if it’s not him it’s someone pretty like him. I’ve arrested him often enough,’ the PC said. ‘Same build too.’
‘What about the other one?’ Chris asked.
They all peered at the screen. The other one was a good few inches shorter than Paul Sinclair. Clare pointed. ‘That’s hair, isn’t it? Coming out from under the balaclava?’
Chris peered at the figure on the screen and the hank of red hair. ‘A woman?’
‘Could be. Looking at the build, the shape from behind, and the longer hair, I’d say
so.’ She turned to the Dundee lads. ‘Any idea who she is? Is Sinclair married?’
They shook their heads. ‘We’ll ask around,’ one said. ‘Might ring a bell with someone.’
‘Can you get onto Dundee, please?’ Clare said. ‘Get them to pick up Paul Sinclair and bring him over?’
The Dundee PCs left and Clare sat, staring at the footage.
‘This could be it,’ Chris said. ‘The break we need.’
Clare wondered. Was this going to be it? Had they found their abductor? ‘Yes, could be,’ she said. But, in the back of her mind, she was asking herself Why? Why would a small-time offender like Paul Sinclair steal a baby? What could he possibly want with her?
Chris wandered off but Clare continued staring at the screen. What if Paul Sinclair wasn’t stealing digoxin for Abi? What if there was no connection? It was more than twenty-four hours now since Abi had been taken. What had that doctor said – forty-eight hours? She dragged the scroll bar back to the start of the pharmacy footage, at ten that morning when it had opened. She flicked idly through, not even sure what she was looking for. She was about to give up when something caught her eye. ‘Chris?’
He came over and stood behind her again. Clare zoomed in on the figure of a woman in a blue denim jacket. ‘Recognise her?’
Chris moved closer and peered at the screen. ‘Is that who I think it is?’
‘It certainly is. Come on; get your coat. We’ve a call to pay.’
Chapter 11
From his seat in the back of Clare’s car, Lyall regarded the flats without enthusiasm.
‘I’m afraid you’ll have to wait here,’ Clare said. ‘This has to be confidential.’
He looked out of the window. Two young boys were standing outside the car, peering in at him.
Chris laughed. ‘Don’t worry, we’ll lock you in. Protect you from the locals.’
Lyall didn’t smile.
As they walked away, Clare and Chris heard one of the boys say, ‘What have you done, mister?’
‘You goin’ to the jail?’ the other asked.
‘I almost feel sorry for him,’ Clare said as they climbed the steps.
‘Let’s see if you’re still saying that by the end of the week,’ Chris said.
In Plain Sight Page 9