‘I’d rather it wasn’t. I don’t really want to be reminding him of his rights.’
‘I thought you would say that.’
‘Thanks, Major. Send those details through. I’ll stay in touch.’
* * *
George was on the outskirts of south London by the time the Major sent address details for the nurse due home from her night shift with Roberts. He diverted immediately. It was a nice street: tight housing but tree-lined and with bay window features and patterned fronts. The nurse’s name was included: Camille Bisset. CB, he mused. She was a French national, apparently, but a long-time UK resident. Her house was in the very middle of the row. Though her neighbour’s property was pristine: hanging baskets bursting with colour, neat slatted blinds and a spotless front door, Nurse Bisset’s frontage was not quite so appealing. The curtains were drawn tightly and there were no obvious signs of life. George knocked firmly. He left it a minute until he knocked again. He stepped back and looked around. The traffic going past was steady and there were a couple of people out on foot. No one was taking any notice of him. He checked his watch: 8:30 a.m. Plenty of time for her to have finished her shift at 7 a.m. and to be back by now. He didn’t think it was enough time to be home and asleep. He knocked again. He followed it up by squatting and peering through the letterbox. He could see through to a kitchen at the back, some stairs off to the left and some mail on the floor. No real belongings. It didn’t have the feel of a house in use. He stepped back again. Further this time so he could see the first floor. More drawn curtains. The windows were all sealed shut. He turned to the sound of a door closing behind him. Someone stepped away from the house opposite.
‘Excuse me!’ He called out. A young woman stopped in the midst of a long stride. She seemed to be in a rush.
‘Can I help?’
‘Do you know the young lady who lives here at all?’
‘And who are you?’ She was clearly annoyed.
‘Sorry.’ George hurriedly crossed the street. He pulled his warrant card from his pocket and held it out. ‘I’m a police officer. She’s not in any trouble at all. I had an appointment to see her this morning. She’s helping us out with some enquiries is all. Have you seen her today?’
The woman shrugged. ‘No, not for a while. I know Dee next to her — the house with all the flowers. They seem quite close. I’ve seen them talking often anyway. I haven’t seen her for a few weeks if I’m honest. I still see Dee. Actually, I think your appointment might have moved out.’
‘Dee, you say?’
‘Deanna, yeah. Directly next door.’
‘Thanks for your help.’ He moved back across the road.
Dee wasn’t answering either. The expensive-looking blinds were angled so he couldn’t quite see in. The sort of deliberate angle if you were heading out for the morning. George wasn’t getting anywhere here. He wasn’t hopeful that his nurse was here anyway. He wrote a note on his own business card asking for a call back. He dropped it through Deanna’s door. He hoped she would see the police reference and be spooked enough to call him straight away.
George gave the address one last look and walked back to his car. His attention moved to his phone.
‘George. How did it go?’ Whittaker picked up fast.
‘It didn’t. She’s not in,’ George replied.
‘Ah. She can’t have gone straight home. Are you going to wait around?’
‘No. I don’t think it’s a current address.’
‘I see. That’s the address I have. It’s the only address I have. Do you want me to put a call into the prison and see if their HR team have any update?’
‘No, don’t worry. They’ll just ask why. I’d rather the prison were out of the loop when it comes to me pumping their staff members for information that is verging on a breach of medical standards. What about the doctor? Did you have an address for him?’
‘I do remember seeing one. But he was with Roberts all day yesterday. He’ll probably be back there today. There’s a fair bit for him to do.’
‘So I might be able to speak to him later when I see Roberts? If he’s there, I mean. Doctors are more used to being tight-lipped, I probably won’t get too much out of him anyway.’
‘You might be right. Let me follow up on yesterday, George, and make sure I can even get you in there first. That’s proving to be more of a challenge than I expected.’
‘Understood. Work that charm you keep telling me about.’
George’s next call was to Emily Ryker.
‘Patience is not really your thing, is it, George? I was going to ring you when I was finished.’
‘Now you don’t have to.’
‘Who says I’m finished?’
‘What have you got so far? I’m parked up and trying to work out where I should be going next, Ryker. I wondered if you had anything that might help.’
‘I might have. I’m still trying to flesh it out down here, so don’t go off half-cocked. If you’d waited until I’d finished I could have given you definites.’
‘What have you got?’
‘The part reg. I ran it through the national ANPR system. I got a lot of hits. I narrowed it down a bit — to your neck of the woods, wherever the hell that is. I got very little. There aren’t many fixed ANPR points on the road network up there. The Severn Bridge is about it really.’
‘Very little is something, right?’
‘Very little is nothing, actually. The part reg hits I did get weren’t white panel vans. They were any number of other things. That was the best I could do out of hours last night. This morning I was able to talk to someone who has access to a much juicier database.’
‘Only an intel officer could ever refer to a database as juicy.’
‘Oh trust me, George, this is some juicy shit. This is the one that shows ANPR hits for the private companies. A lot of car parks now for theatres, airports, venues, councils — you name it, they all monitor their car parks by ANPR. It’s linked to your parking ticket. Not to mention petrol station forecourts and so on, and so on.’
‘And?’ George sat up a little straighter, he could sense the excitement in Ryker’s voice.
‘And they log the details. I got a hit on a van. At a supermarket two days ago. A white, Renault panel van — MC17 POJ. It’s on the outskirts of a place called Ross-on-Wye. That’s right in among it, right?’
‘It is, yeah.’
‘I made a call to the supermarket this morning. I had a little bit of to and fro — I had to give them the old, do you know who I am. Anyway, they’ve burned the CCTV. It should be ready for you to collect by now. I got them to view it quick, too. They would only watch a few seconds. It’s the camera that covers the car park. It shows the van pull in, it shows a white male get out and enter the store. They assured me they’ll get a still of his face — the cameras are good in there apparently and they could see that he went in. They were going to go and check the other cameras and come back to me but seeing as you jumped the gun you can take that up with them.’
‘That’s brilliant, Ryker! Outstanding. I guess I shouldn’t expect any less from you, should I? Can you send me the store details? I’ll call the SIO and get that picked up.’
‘No problemo. It gets better, too. And when I say it gets better, I mean I get better. I ran the van on PNC. It’s registered to a hire car company in Ross-on-Wye.’
‘So we can get details on who has it?’
‘We can. I’m on it. But they might not do that over the phone. That’ll probably need one of us stood there in uniform. Hire car companies are generally very wary about giving out details over the phone.’
‘I knew you were the right person to call, Ryker. You’re gonna find this girl on your own and from two hundred miles away!’
‘Funny you should mention the distance. With the full registration I was then able to run it on the nationwide ANPR system again. This is where your problem comes.’
‘Problem?’
‘Yeah. Your plates ar
e gonna be a clone, George. An identical-looking van also pops up at a petrol station and then again at the Dartford River Crossing. Suddenly that’s a long way from where you are.’
‘The DRC? Do we know which direction?’
‘Southbound.’
‘Southbound DRC. When? Are the times right?’
‘Well, yes and no. I mean, it’s the next day so it’s possible. But why would the van leave Ross-on-whatever and then effectively head south — right towards us here?’
‘On the same day that our man is moved in the same direction. Coincidence?’
‘Ah, shit. Is this the bit where you tell me what you detectives think about coincidences? Spare me, George, I’ve heard it all before. No one knows that he was even being moved — that’s what you told me — let alone the day it was happening.’
‘Unless someone did.’
‘How? No one in Herefordshire even knew until a couple of days ago.’
‘Roberts knew.’
‘Roberts? He did. But no visitors, no letters in or out, no contact with the outside world and no one who cares enough anyway. How could he get word out?’
‘I don’t know, Ryker. I really don’t know. Good work on the van. Any more hits?’
‘Not as of a few minutes ago. I have an alert in place.’
‘Excellent. Look, send those details through. I’ll give Emma a call and get someone out to the hire car company and the supermarket. That’s good work, Ryker.’
‘I know.’
‘Of course you do.’
He checked his watch as his phone fell silent. It was still early, but not too early to start making calls. He hesitated about calling Emma. He didn’t want to get into a conversation with her about how he had got hold of the information. He just needed her to get someone out on enquiries — without delay. His phone beeped with a message from Ryker. It had details of the hire car company and the supermarket. He pressed to forward it on. He selected Emma’s name and sent it. He followed it up with a message he hoped would be simple enough.
‘URGENT — Emma — this is the van that may contain your missing person. Can you get someone to go see the hire car company for a name? The supermarket have CCTV that will contain an image of him too. I’ll explain shortly!’
He pressed to send. The phone made a noise confirming it had gone. Immediately the message showed two ticks next to it. Emma had received the message. The phone announced that she was typing. His phone vibrated.
‘Okay.’
That would have to do. She was obviously still upset with him, but none of that mattered for now. As long as she got that enquiry started. He considered calling her, just to smooth it over and to make sure she was on board. He made a decision and moved his hand to the car key. If that van was heading south he should be doing the same.
It was another forty minutes of motorway and silence before his phone rang again.
‘Hello?’
‘Is that George Elms?’
‘Yes.’
‘Oh. Hi, this is Deanna Dean. I think you put a note through my door?’
‘Ah, yes I did. Thanks so much for calling me back.’ George was feeling tired all of a sudden. He shook his head. The sign for the Maidstone services flashed past. He would let her tell him that she didn’t have a forwarding address for his nurse and then he’d stop off for a coffee and freshen up.
‘That’s okay.’ She sounded unsure, a little fragile almost. Like she was waiting for him to announce terrible news.
‘Look, Dee, it’s nothing to worry about, okay? It’s actually nothing to do with you. I was after your neighbour. We had an appointment this morning for a chat. She’s helping me out with our enquiries. You have a nurse next to you, right?’
‘Cam?’
‘Camille Bisset, yes.’
‘Yes, that’s right. And she made an appointment to see you there?’ Deanna suddenly sounded very unsure.
‘Well, yes and no. We made an appointment but I didn’t check the address because I’m horribly incompetent at times. We have that place on our system. It never crossed my mind that she might not be there.’
‘Ah, I see. That makes sense. She moved out about four weeks ago or something, I think.’
‘Are you still in touch with her?’
‘No, I’m afraid not. What makes you think we were in touch at all? She just used to live next door.’
‘Okay, no problem. I spoke to another neighbour. Someone over the road. She said that you guys might have been friends is all.’
‘Oh, I mean, we weren’t really friends. She was nice, but when we spoke it was just to say hello over the wall. And she helped Tommy with his costume. She’s very talented, see. A little too talented actually.’
He started to slow for the slip-off to a rest and a coffee. ‘Costume? She’s a nurse, though, right?’
‘I think so, yeah. But she said she used to work for a studio. One in London. She obviously loved it. I just don’t think it was regular enough or something.’
‘A studio?’
‘Yeah. She said she did makeup there. A proper makeup artist. It came up when we were talking about trick-or-treating. At Halloween. Tommy was going out. He’s my ten-year-old boy. She said she would do his makeup. I’ll be honest, I didn’t like it. Like I said, she was too good. It was supposed to be a bit of a laugh, a bit of fake blood round the lips and silly string. She took it real serious. He looked like the walking dead by the end of it! I didn’t like it at all, seeing my son like that. He looked ill!’
‘Ill?’ George sat bolt upright. He felt his stomach turn over. His voice rasped from a throat that was suddenly closing up.
‘Yeah, very ill. Pale face, black lips, black round his eyes. It was awful! She meant well, though, so I didn’t say anything.’
George cleared his throat the best he could. ‘I’m sure she did. Did she say where she was going? When she moved?’
‘She didn’t, no. I don’t have any forwarding details I’m afraid. We were just neighbours.’
‘Of course. Thanks for your help.’
‘No problem. I don’t think I’ve helped at all, have I?’ She chuckled down the phone.
‘Well, it’s not the answer I was hoping for, but you’ve been great.’ George pushed the accelerator and moved back out into the outside lane. The services flashed past in a blur of colour. He didn’t feel sleepy anymore.
Chapter 24
George could see Whittaker at the rendezvous point agreed over the phone: the pub car park of The Valiant Sailor in Capel-le-Ferne, less than a minute from the secure unit housing Roberts. Whittaker stepped out of the back of a police van as George pulled up.
‘What is this all about, George?’ Whittaker stiffened his back. He looked agitated. ‘Do you have any idea of the politics involved in a stunt like this?’ He was agitated.
‘I do. This isn’t a stunt, Major. Did you make contact with anyone in there yet?’
‘No. I used the dedicated line — no answer.’
‘No answer?’
‘Well, no, but that’s assuming it’s actually ringing in there. They were still putting bits together when I left. I told you, I could have just knocked on the door and avoided all this. I’m not overly concerned.’
‘I am, Major. We shouldn’t have put him in there until it was ready.’
‘Come on, George. The man’s come here to die. He’s as weak as a kitten. They had to stabilise him to transport him down here.’
‘I get that. Did you bring a team?’
‘I got what I could. I had a tactical team that were relatively close by. They were in the middle of dismantling a cannabis cultivation. They’re a bit pissed off. I couldn’t really tell them why they’re here.’
‘Are they ready to go?’
‘Yes. But what do you want them to do?’
‘Just like you said. We go up to the door and knock.’
George got back into his car. The Major walked to the van. George could see the officer in the driver�
�s seat. He shook his head, then he turned and looked at George. He looked confused. He quickly turned away again. The Major stepped back out. He walked to George’s car and sat in the passenger seat.
‘We’ll follow them down. They’ll do the knocking.’ Whittaker got in the car.
‘Understood.’
The house came quickly into view. The perimeter fence was new. It was lower than George would have expected on a secure unit, but he knew they were trying to stay under the radar for now. No one wanted to advertise that the new occupant was a Category A prisoner at this stage; eight-foot razor wire might well have done that. The vehicle gate was sturdy however. The van stopped at it. George could see cameras hanging down to driver height. An arm came out of the van and pushed something on a silver panel. George waited. It was maybe thirty seconds until the same arm came out again. Another thirty seconds passed. Then it was a minute. The van shook. The side door popped. Boots hit the floor as the team stepped out. The woman wearing sergeant’s stripes walked to Whittaker’s window.
‘We’re not getting any answer, sir. On the intercom, I mean. It just rings. Did you want to try the phone number you have again?’
Whittaker turned to George. His anger seemed to have given way to concern. ‘This is what you were expecting, wasn’t it?’
‘We just need to get in there, Major.’
The tactical team vaulted the gate in turn. A couple of them took long, clear-plastic shields. They jogged towards the building. The lead man carried a heavy enforcer and a wrecking bar. George followed them over. Whittaker was a little slower. The team stopped at the main entrance. George looked at the enforcer. It was used for smashing through wooden and UPVC front doors. He didn’t quite know how they might gain entry into a secure unit if no one was letting them in.
He needn’t have worried. The lead officer pulled at the door. It swung outwards immediately. It was supposed to be locked tight. It caught them all out, they were too close and they had to shuffle backwards. They stepped in.
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