‘What the hell?’ Whittaker exclaimed. George ignored him. He moved into the lobby with the tactical team. The first thing he noticed was the darkness, then the silence. It hadn’t exactly been operational the last time he had been here but the silence was more prevalent. The panels and cameras for scanning prints and retinas were still dark, but it was quieter. He got the feeling that it wasn’t just the security that wasn’t working. He looked at the door to the airlock corridor and remembered that it was powered differently and, sure enough, there was a small red light. He looked through to the airlock and briefly considered that they wouldn’t all fit, that they might have to go through in two groups. A gloved hand pushed at the first door, for entering the corridor. It didn’t budge. George looked into the gloom. He could just make out the other end of the corridor and a slit of light where the door was propped open. He squinted. There was something jammed in the bottom of the door. He couldn’t make out what it was.
‘You can’t open this door. The far one is open,’ he said. The window in the door was small. The tactical team bumped into one another and craned their necks to see through. The sergeant stepped back. She ran her hands down the steel sill of the door. It was flush to the steel rim. ‘There’s no way we’re getting a rabbit in there. I assume the glass is reinforced? That’s assuming anyone could fit.’
The rabbit. A hydraulic arm with a claw at the end that could be pushed into a gap in a door and then pumped to split the two apart. It was an effective opener in the right circumstances. These were not the right circumstances.
‘We need another way in,’ George said.
The team turned towards the front door. George stayed in the lobby. He pressed himself back up against the window. Whittaker stood next to him.
‘Do you have a torch I could borrow?’ George said. The nearest officer nodded and pulled a torch from a pouch on his belt. He handed it over. George pushed it up against the window.
‘What’s going on, George?’ Whittaker was craning to see in himself. The torch lit up the scene a little better at the far end of the corridor. ‘Where the hell are the security guards?’
‘I can’t see much of the inside, Major. I might be able to vouch for one of the guards though.’
‘You can see one? What the hell is he doing?’
‘At a guess, he’s propping the door open, Major. With his head.’
George and Whittaker moved back outside. One of the team had returned for bolt-croppers and they were making a start on a side gate on the west side of the building. The fence was a little higher here, some barbed wire along the top. It was subtle, but this close George could see the lethal little barbs. The team quickly gave up on the gate and moved on to the fence. It was a thin mesh of steel. They would need to cut a gap. It was slow going. The team’s movements were noticeably more urgent. Whittaker was shuffling from foot to foot next to him. George felt calmer. He already knew there was nothing inside to rush for. They were too late.
It took nearly ten minutes for enough of the fence to be cut. The team pushed through the last bit and jogged to the other side. George stooped through the gap. The Major was already ahead of him. He watched the team move round the building. The new turf was soft underfoot. That big window at the rear loomed above them. George pushed himself against it as the team moved to the double doors that were off to the side. The doors were caged in by the same steel mesh used in the fencing. They made a start. George turned his attention to the glass window. From this side, it was heavily smoked, but he could just about make out the interior. He moved to the far left, to look into the cell. It was empty. The bed had ruffled sheets and an upturned beaker with water pooling beneath it. Signs of a disturbance maybe? The restraints were undone but they looked out of use rather than cut or forced. He moved across the window so he could take in the open-plan lower level. Nothing much was out of place here, no further signs of disturbance. He could see a couple of pizza boxes stacked on a table top, a jug of water and more beakers. Everything else looked like it was where it should be. He couldn’t see much of the upstairs, the mezzanine level. He took a few steps back to take in the whole of the back. The tactical team were still cutting through the mesh to get to the only door that was visible at the rear of the building. George could tell they were struggling. Whittaker was standing over with them. George turned out to sea, his vision lifted beyond the thin, mesh fence.
‘George!’ Whittaker’s voice. He sounded excited. George turned to him. The team were pushing through the fence. He jogged towards them. The back doors hung open. They were in.
Despite that huge window, the house was dim. The alcove and offices tucked off the main, open-plan room were silent and dark. One of the officers flicked a light switch — nothing happened. The sergeant barked at George and Whittaker to stay outside. The tactical team started in formation, moving through the house, room by room, void by void, searching for anyone or anything. George and Whittaker both ignored the instruction. They moved into the ground floor. George was close to the cell door. It hung open. He moved to the pizza boxes. A local supplier. There were just crumbs left.
‘Contact!’ A shout from the tactical team. George and Whittaker exchanged a quick glance then moved towards the voice. They were in a small area that led through to the first of the airlock doors, the door that George had seen from the other side. Two of the team were kneeling down. Others were turning away. The sergeant turned right back towards them.
‘Oh God!’ She gagged a little. George kept moving. He got closer. A young girl in nurse’s uniform. Navy blue scrubs, the soles of her flat shoes were lying towards him. The blood was thick on the floor. The blood pool was a little disturbed where she had been dragged a few feet to act as a door wedge. There were no other signs of disturbance, no obvious defensive wounds. George had seen scenes like it before. This wasn’t a fight. This was a woman who never even had the chance to fight. The blood was localised as if it had flowed smoothly out rather than there being any splatter. She might not have even seen it coming. And she was definitely dead. George could see the eyes now. They were looking down her body, towards where George was standing at her feet. The angle of the head was unnatural. He could see the slit across her neck. It was jagged, untidy and deep. So deep that George reckoned that was why she was at an angle. He’d damn near cut her head right off. The other members of the team were turning away one by one. Their half-hearted attempts to find a pulse, to consider CPR, had all come to an end. There was nothing anyone could do. George couldn’t turn away. He was transfixed by those sorry eyes. She looked young to him, no older than thirty. Such a waste of a life.
‘What a mess we have up here, George!’ Whittaker was on his shoulder.
‘It’s gonna take some clearing up, sir.’ Suddenly his attention jerked to a loud banging noise off to their left. The tactical officers were milling about, but they all snapped to it too. Then there was a voice — a cry for help. It was coming from the holding area George had seen on his tour. The door to it was shut this time however. One of the team wrenched it open. Immediately people poured out with excited wails and cries as they saw the police uniforms.
‘Oh thank God! Thank God!’ A well-built prison guard was first out. He stumbled and the tactical team held him up. George stepped up to him.
‘What the hell happened?’
The man shook his head, like he was shaking it free. ‘He was so weak . . . one minute he was so weak, we were waiting for him to die — then he just raised up like he was possessed! I’ve never seen anything like it. There was someone else here too. It was just a pizza delivery — I didn’t think nothing of it. I thought someone had got one in! We never stood a chance. He was going to kill us all!’
‘Who?’
‘The guy with the pizza. He had a gun, for fuck’s sake! He never said nothing, just waved it around. But Roberts . . . he got a knife, a huge fucking blade. I got no idea where it came from! It was a big, curved thing. Like a sword almost. He said no one had to ge
t hurt. He said we just needed to get into the holding cell. That was it. We did what we were told. We all got families to get back to, you know?’
‘What about her?’ George gestured at the body surrounded by blood.
‘I dunno, man! It was like she wasn’t listening, like she wasn’t hearing what he was saying. She went a bit crazy. She started shouting at him. She said he wasn’t going nowhere. She tried to use a phone. She’s foreign. I couldn’t understand some of what she was saying. I tried to calm her down, but she weren’t having none of it!’ He looked down at her, at the scene in general. ‘Oh God! Look at that shit!’
‘Did Roberts do that?’ George said.
‘He must have. We were all forced into the holding cell. She was fighting with the door, she wouldn’t let them close it. I tried to calm her down and pull her in but she wouldn’t listen. Suddenly she was just dragged out. The door was slammed shut. I didn’t even hear anything. He must have just cut her straight away. Oh God!’ The man broke. His eyes began leaking tears, he put his hand over his mouth and he moved forward. George stepped aside and he stumbled through the back door that still swung open.
‘We need to keep some control of him, George!’ Whittaker said.
‘We do, but I think he needs some air.’
George turned away from the mess on the floor. He stepped away from the sobbing group and the tactical team who were calling with urgent tones on their radio. He stared into Henry Roberts’s empty cell. He was aware of Whittaker standing at his shoulder.
‘Jesus, George, what have we done?’
Chapter 25
George was glad when Whittaker shut the door to his office. He wanted it shut, shut to the buzz of the Major Crime floor, to the ringing phones, to the questioning looks from the quickly gathered team of detectives. Whittaker’s phone rang too. The sudden, shrill tone cut through George and made him jump. Whittaker turned it down. He didn’t pick it up. George was relieved. He needed a few minutes to gather his thoughts.
Neither man spoke. Whittaker fussed and fidgeted over making some hot drinks. When he’d finished and put a mug down in front of George it seemed to be the cue for him to say something. ‘The first thing we need to do is bring everyone up to speed.’
‘Have senior management said the same? They’re going to want some control over who knows what and when,’ George said.
‘We’ve lost control, George. We’ve lost Roberts. The second that man stepped out into the sunshine we lost the luxury of a circle of knowledge. It doesn’t matter who gets hold of this now. The beat coppers, the media — the more the merrier. The more eyes we have out looking for this man the sooner we might be able to get him back.’
‘He knows that.’
‘I’m sure he does. We can assume he has a plan.’
‘He does. You don’t orchestrate something like that without considering what happens next. Are we to assume his plan means moving back out of our county?’
‘Quite possibly. But this is our mess, George, we need to be cleaning it up.’
‘I’m not quite sure this is our mess, sir. Right from the start—’
‘Yes, George, I know. Spare me. That will all come out in the wash and when it does it will still be my head — or at least my force in the spotlight. That’s for later. Right now we need to find this guy.’
There was a soft tap on the outside of the door. George snapped towards it as if stung. Emily Ryker pushed it open and waited. Whittaker gestured her in. George had called her on the way back. He hadn’t told her much, just that they needed her to meet them in Whittaker’s office. And to cancel any plans for the next few days. From the grave look on her face, he could assume she was up to speed.
‘Emily, thanks for coming down.’
‘Of course. You all okay?’
‘Not really, Ryker.’ George said. ‘We’ve got a bit of a problem on our hands.’
‘What happened?’
‘We don’t know just yet. We were starting to piece a few bits together. We knew Roberts was getting help. I got a sniff that he might not be quite as ill as we hoped. I was starting to put it together. I was too late.’
‘If we suspect inside help, I’ll get an intel cell going for all the staff.’
‘We have a team of detectives talking to the group from the house now. But I’m not sure they’re going to be able to tell us too much. I’m still convinced it’s the staff who weren’t there — that’s the place to start.
‘Then you might be pleased to hear that I think I found your nurse.’
George’s back stiffened. ‘Where?’
‘Not so far from where she used to live. I have a contact at the Department for Work and Pensions. They couldn’t find her — she’s not claiming benefits. But her boyfriend is.’
‘Boyfriend?’
‘Yeah. I found her social media and that linked to a man who appears to be her boyfriend. We were able to do a search in the Dartford area and find him. He registered for his benefits at a new place recently — a flat. It’s a lot smaller than Camille’s previous house, but from the land registry people it looks like she’s buying this one rather than renting.’
‘Like she might have had a cash injection recently.’
‘Exactly like that. There’s a little more to it, too.’
‘More?’
‘I searched Companies House. Camille Bisset registered a business three weeks ago. She’s the only listed director. The Beano Café. It’s part of the same building.’
‘As the flat?’
‘Yes. They live above it. I found the filing for the accounts. It’s profitable. But just okay, nothing amazing.’
‘So what, she’s a qualified nurse who now fancies making bacon butties for tradesmen and for a smaller salary? That’s not right, is it? I need to go and speak to her.’
‘Now?’ Whittaker exclaimed. ‘I can only imagine the amount of work that has come out of today. We’re going to need a full debrief, George. I would rather you weren’t at the other end of the county when we’re trying to work out a strategic plan.’
‘I know that. That’s why I need to go now. If I stay here I’m going to be in the queue to get swabbed, to get my clothes seized, to have a full body-map and an interview. We don’t have time, Major. With respect, that house gives us more questions than answers. All the answers are out there. This missing nurse, she’s trained to make people look ill with makeup — movie standard. She’s had a decent cash injection too. She has answers. More than fibres that might be stuck to my trousers. We know who murdered that nurse. We need to know where he is now.’
‘Fine, George. But I need some sort of result. And quick.’
‘I’ll speak to her and then I’ll head back in so we can get our heads together. Who knows, it might be clearer by then.’
‘And what about Emma Rowe? She’s got an active investigation up there that links in. She won’t even know yet,’ Whittaker said.
‘No. I need to speak to her. I’ve tried calling but she hasn’t picked up yet. I’d rather not do it over the phone anyway but she’s not even giving me the chance to do that.’
‘I’ll try. There’s a strategy meeting today in London — this afternoon. I’m supposed to be attending and she pushed to be put on the list. I don’t know if she was added but if she was she may be in London already.’
George scooped his car keys off the table. ‘Major, if you do get hold of her, consider asking her to meet me. I would still rather tell her to her face.’
‘Meet you where?’
‘The Beano Café. Ryker here can give you the address. Just hold off on telling her too much.’
‘You want me to call her and tell her to forget about her strategy meeting with the Home Office and head down the road to meet you at some greasy café? And without telling her why?’
‘Yes. I think we can assume your meeting is off anyway. Just tell her it’s really important and it really needs to be done face-to-face.’
‘You know I’m the
senior officer, George, right?’ Whittaker’s tone carried a warning. George knew he could get above his station, and he’d been pushing Whittaker today. He knew that too.
‘Of course, sir. And if you tell me to do something else I will do it immediately. I’m merely suggesting the best course of action.’
‘I’ll speak to her, George. I’ll see how it goes.’
‘Thank you, sir. I appreciate it.’
‘You’ve suitably atoned, George. So now you can stop calling me, sir!’
Chapter 26
‘What the hell is this, George?’ Emma Rowe looked furious. He could understand her reaction. Her mood was only going to get blacker too, he was sure of that. He knew that Whittaker had got hold of her by phone, he was aware that she had been told that the meeting was cancelled and was also assured that she didn’t know why. Whittaker had told her to meet with George for some answers. He had warned him that Emma was beyond furious, as she didn’t appreciate being treated like someone on the periphery. George had received his update straight after Whittaker’s call with Emma. It was twenty minutes more before Emma called him. She’d surely been ringing around, trying to find out what she could from other sources. He would have done exactly the same in her position. When she did finally call it was obvious that she was still in the dark. That was probably the only reason she’d agreed to do anything he asked at all. He didn’t even try to appease her, he didn’t answer any questions. He just guided her into a tight, residential street in Croydon, South London. When she arrived he was leaning casually on his car with his arms folded. He was directly outside a dingy-looking café. He wasn’t trying to be aloof; he genuinely didn’t know how to tell her. When she stepped out of her car he spoke quickly, before she had the chance to tear his head off.
‘I’m sorry, you should know that from the off. This is not about keeping you out of the loop, this is about making sure you are aware of everything.’
‘What the hell are you talking about? What is all this about? Do you have our girl or not?’
The George Elms Trilogy Box Set Page 68