by Andy Crowson
Chapter 18: Public Appeal
Bentworth had given his statement of kidnap and ongoing investigation to the press at lunchtime. It had gone okay but he was irritated by how little information they had to offer. Just the basic outline of the case, he been waiting until this evening to give out more details. One of the problems was that once you opened an appeal you had a thousand callers offering information, ninety nine percent of which turned out to be useless but you still had to spend time administering and handling it all.
In front of his computer Bentworth sighed, he was on his third draft, it was simple, short and to the point. He stretched his neck, shifted in his seat and began another read through. His mobile rang.
"Bentworth," he said without checking the number.
"Sir it's Lindahl, we've got something," Josef said excitedly.
"Go on," Bentworth hurried. He thought that Josef probably wouldn't call him unless what he had was good. He hoped it was.
"Sir, we've been up to the Bryan Collridge's school and questioned some of his friends. One of the kids, who described himself as Bryan's 'best friend', told us that Bryan had been approached by a football scout from Fulham while he was playing football in the park Sir, twice. A week ago last Saturday and then again just last Sunday. The friend says the football scout said he was going to talk to Bryan's Mum." Josef waited.
"Did he talk to her?" Bentworth asked.
"Don't know Sir. Our next stop is to talk to the Mother, see if she knows about the football scout and if she knows who Bryan was with last Sunday, maybe one of them saw something."
"This friend wasn't there?"
"Not the second time, Bryan just told him about it."
"What's the boy's name?"
"Michael Murphy."
Bentworth thought for a moment, then decided.
"I'll need the details ASAP, but I need you to chase this. I'll bring Mason up to speed and have him come take the boy's statement. Can you arrange for a guardian to be there, if not one of the parents then a teacher or someone just for now. Also can you find out if the boy can give us a description of the football scout, if he can." Josef interrupted.
"He says he can Sir."
"Good. I'll send an artist, get moving as soon as you can and let me know if you come up with anything else."
"Yes Sir, one more thing Sir. Can you just have someone check with Fulham football club to make sure there wasn't a scout in the area or talking to Bryan?"
"Will do. And Josef, bloody good work," he said, "thanks."
"Don't thank me Sir, it was Whitlock."
"Pass it on," Bentworth said and hung up.
After learning nothing helpful from the other boys Whitlock rejoined Josef, who had just finished talking with the headmaster.
"You ready?" she asked.
"Just about," he said. "Everything is set up here for Mason to come get the boy's statement, let's go talk to Mrs. Collridge. By the way," he continued, holding the door open for her, "Bentworth said to tell you good work."
Bentworth slid his mobile onto the table and sat looking at it. It wasn't the first time he'd considered himself lucky to have brought Josef into this. Lindahl was turning out to be real detective material and Bentworth liked him, liked his ways. Bentworth could understand the logic of Josef's mind even he couldn't think that way himself.
He didn't smile at the idea of talking to Mason though, but he picked up the phone. He turned it in his hand a few times before pulling up Mason's number and calling.
"Sir," he heard.
"Brian, Josef has had a bit of luck at Bryan Collridge's school, with a school friend of his. I need you to go take a statement from the boy, his name is Michael Murphy, he's waiting at the school for you. He says Bryan Collridge was approached by a football scout in the park a couple of weeks ago and again last week. I need this statement here as soon as you can Brian, I need it for the appeal. I've asked Lindahl to arrange a parent or guardian and I'm sending an artist, can you take care of that for me?"
"Sir," Mason said.
"Good, Lindahl probably won't be there when you get there, he's chasing up a few things for me, I need you to get everything together for me and get it back here."
"No probs Sir," Mason said.
"Thanks," Bentworth said and hung up. He didn't want to lie to Mason, though while he didn't technically lie, he'd dressed up a chore, and he knew he'd have to pay the price of that deceit later, but right now he had too many other things to deal with and he didn't want to waste time massaging egos. Bentworth slid his mobile onto the table again and picked up his desk phone, looked at it and put it down again. He looked at his computer screen, sighed, picked up the desk phone and dialed uniform.
Mason was waiting in the car when DS Ward came back carrying the bag with Sandwiches, crisps and drinks in.
"I hate diets," Ward said getting into the passenger side. These low calorie sarnies taste like," he paused thinking, "actually they've got no taste."
"We've gotta go to Bryan Collridge's school, Lindahl turned something up with one of the boy's friends and Bentworth wants us to take over and get a statement for him. He needs it before the appeal," Mason said.
"Why can't Lindahl do it?" Ward asked.
"Because Bentworth wants us to," Mason said proudly.
"I don't have my notes," Mason lied, "where did the boy go to school?"
He mentally kicked himself in the teeth, he'd heard where the boy went to school but he'd been so wrapped up in being angry with Lindahl he'd forgotten. It was stupid and unprofessional and definitely not like him, he needed to shelve his dislike of Lindahl before he made another mistake, maybe one that would get him into trouble.
"Highfield School," Ward said ruffling through his notebook.
Mason set off without speaking. Ward peeled the plastic cover from his petrol station sandwich and extracted half a limp, wet looking ham salad sandwich that didn't seem to have any ham in it. Or any salad for that matter.
"So what did Lindahl get?" he asked, taking a bite of the anemic looking butty.
"Don't know, something about the Collridge boy being approached by a football scout in the local park." Mason didn't turn his head, instead he concentrated on driving.
"Bloody hell, you think our man poses as a football scout. Makes sense, all the boys are the right age to fall for a stunt like that. 'Ere, you want your sarnie?" Ward said holding out a rather better looking BLT in brown bread. He hoped Mason would say no.
"Just the drink," Mason said. Ward opened the can and handed it to Mason, who took a long draft then put it between his legs.
"It would make sense," he said.
"Too right," Ward agreed. "You gonna eat this?" he asked again, BLT in hand.
"Nah."
"Cool," he said, and threw the remains of his albino ham salad back in its plastic container and opened the BLT. He took a bite, opened a bag of diet crisps, threw in a few of those and munched. He popped his diet coke and took a swig. They drove to the school to the sound of Ward eating.
They found Michael Murphy waiting in reception with the headmaster and were shown into the sick room.
"So you're Michael?" Ward said happily. "I'm detective sergeant Ward, and this is detective inspector Mason," he said, emphasizing the rank and well as the name. The boy looked indifferent.
"Michael's mother is a child minder," the headmaster said. "She can't be here but she was happy for me to be present, I am sort of the boy's guardian while he's at school, is that OK?"
"Fine," Mason said flatly, studying the boy.
"Okay," Ward said to Michael, his notebook resting on his knee, "why don't you tell us everything you told the other officers."
Josef and Whitlock arrived at the Collridges' in minutes. Mr. Collridge answered the door. He didn't say anything but held the door open for them to come in. Josef headed for the kitchen where he could hear Mrs. Collridge talking to the baby. He pushed the door open. The baby was in a high chair and the woman was feedi
ng her some mushy peas from a plastic spoon. She looked up.
"Oh, err, would you like a cup of tea?" she asked putting the spoon back in the bowl.
"You carry on," Whitlock said smiling. She leaned forward and touched the baby's hair. "I'll do it."
"Would you? Thanks, tea and coffee and sugar are in the end cupboard," she said pointing. "Cups are in that one." While Whitlock filled the kettle and set about making tea Josef and Mr. Collridge sat down.
"Mr. Collridge," Josef said. "We've talked to one of Bryan's friends from school, Michael Murphy, do you know him?" Mr. Collridge looked sad.
"I'm finding out I didn't know anything about Bryan," he said.
"So you didn't?"
"No."
"Yes you do," Mrs. Collridge interrupted, "the small Irish boy from round the back on Plaistow Road. Bryan hangs around with him a lot when he's not playing football," she said.
"Oh, I know who you mean, I've seen him around," Mr. Collridge said.
"Michael claims that he was in the park with Bryan Saturday before last, can you remember that?" Josef said.
"I work Saturdays," Mr. Collridge said, "Sorry."
"I think so," Mrs. Collridge offered. "He didn't have a match that Saturday so he went to the park to practice with Michael"
"Are you sure?" Josef asked.
"I think so, you could check with his coach if that was the day they didn't have a game." Josef made a note.
"And what about last Sunday, do you know who he was with last Sunday?" Mr. Collridge looked blank.
"We did a big shopping last Sunday, Bryan never comes," he said. "I don't know what he did. Sometimes they have a game in the park, loads of older kids, you know, seventeen eighteen nineteen that age, they get together in the park and have a match. Sometimes they let Bryan play even though they don't let any other youngsters play, they like him."
"But you don't know if that's where he was?" Josef asked. Mr Collridge shook his head. "Do you know any of the lads who play football in the park on Sundays?"
"Sorry," he said, shrugging. They were silent for a moment, watching as Mrs. Collridge coaxed the baby to eat another spoonful of peas. Whitlock handed out the teas.
"Did you know that your son was approached by a football scout, you know, they find good young players for big clubs?" Josef asked at length. Mr. Collridge looked up from his tea.
"Is that what this is about? You think he was spotted by a talent scout?" he said puzzled.
"Bryan's friend Michael says that a man who claimed to be a talent scout spoke to Bryan in the park on the Saturday before last."
"Impossible," Mr. Collridge said. "He would have told us." Mrs. Collridge nodded her agreement.
"He would," she said.
"What if this man told Bryan that try outs would cost a lot of money. Bryan told the man you didn't have much money, so the man told Bryan not to say anything to you, and that he would talk to you himself. Does that sound possible?" Josef said.
Mrs. Collridge looked at her husband. She put down the bowl and picked up the baby. Josef could see tears in her eyes. Mr. Collridge nodded.
"I'm sorry," Josef said, "I know this is painful, but you understand that I need to know about it. If this man knew enough about you he may have been able to manipulate Bryan, make him believe he was going to talk to you and use that to lure Bryan away." Mrs. Collridge cuddled her baby tightly even though she struggled a bit, then put her back in the high chair. She forced her eyes to meet Josef's. They were full of tears.
"Yeah," she said. "Bryan might've believed him."
Josef held her gaze.
"Thank you," he said. She returned her attention to feeding the baby.
"Do you think that's what happened?" Mr. Collridge said.
"Yeah I think so. We've got someone checking to see if there was a scout in the area, but my guess is it's our man."
"So what now?" Mrs. Collridge asked.
"Michael is going to try and help us draw a picture of the man," Josef said.
"Michael saw him?" Mr. Collridge interrupted.
"Yes. But if there's no luck with the picture we're going to have to try and find some of the lads who play football in the park on Sundays, see if they saw anything or got a look at him. Michael said Bryan spoke to the man again in the park on Sunday." Mr. Collridge said nothing. Josef decided to change the subject.
"How did it go at the bank?" he asked.
"What?" he replied.
"When we were here earlier your wife said you were at the bank," Josef said.
"Yeah, well it didn't do any good. Between Bridget's parents and my parents and us we can just about scrape together ten thousand pounds. The bank don't want to help us, we're a month behind on the mortgage since Christmas and the only thing they say we could do is auction the house and they'll lend us the money till we get it. We'd get about forty thousand profit if we got a good price on the house but we'd never be able to buy again at today's prices, I don't earn enough. Bridget's Mum says we could live with her." He stopped there and Josef waited to see if he would go on. When he didn't Josef said,
"Will you auction the house?"
"Detective," he struggled for Josef's name.
"Josef," Josef offered.
"Josef," he said, "The only thing I have." He corrected himself, reaching out to touch his wife's shoulder, "We have, is our kids. There's an estate agent coming to look around this afternoon, he's a friend of my boss's and he says he'll do it for free and he'll really push for a good price at auction. He's gonna make sure everyone knows why we're selling and that we need the money. We're gonna do it Saturday and I can call the bank man and he'll fix the money even though the bank is shut."
Mrs. Collridge put down the bowl and spoon and turned to face Josef.
"I'm sorry," Josef offered.
"I know," she said, her eyes still full of tears.
"We think it's fantastic what you're doing," Whitlock said. "We know you'd do anything to get Bryan back. So would we, and believe me when I say we're doing everything we can. We're gonna get this guy and nail his balls to the wall."
Somehow, Josef thought, she made the words sound sympathetic and threatening at the same time. He wondered what crisis management training was. They sat together in silence for a while.
"Where is the PC we left on watch?" Josef asked.
"Upstairs in the kid's bedroom," Mr. Collridge said. "He said you told him to watch the street."
"I did," Josef said and got up. "I'll just check in on him."
Josef found the PC sitting on the bed with a small pair of binoculars and a note pad.
"What've you got?" he asked.
"About twenty five so far," the PC said.
"Can I have them?" The officer tore several pages from his notebook. Josef added them to the pages he'd got from the Martins'.
"Thanks," he said, "keep it up."
They left the Collridges' and phoned Bentworth on his mobile. He picked up on the third ring. There was some muffled talking in the background and the sound of a door.
"Go on," Bentworth said, "make it quick though I've just stepped out of a meeting."
"From what the parents say it looks like the football scout is the prime suspect our end. What does the club say?"
"They say their football scouts don't work like that, almost no one's do," Bentworth said, "and if we mention their name they'll sue, so don't."
"Did they come up with a picture yet?"
"No," Bentworth seemed agitated. "The artist drew two pictures the boy described as a good likeness, but they were totally different. I think the best we can reliably do is white male 35 to 50. They're trying the kid now with photofit but we're not holding out much hope."
"Shit," Josef said. "Matches the profile though."
"What're you doing now?" he asked. It was the question Josef had hoped to answer with this call but hadn't.
"We need to confirm something with the football coach then I suppose a trip to Central Park and a shit lo
ad of questions."
"The football coach is the PE teacher isn't he?" Bentworth asked.
"That's right," Josef said.
"Mason is at the school now, what do you want to know?"
"Just ask him to get a list of the dates of the football games Bryan played in the last month. Ask if one was cancelled."
"Just that?"
"Yes Sir."
"Okay. Let me know if you come up with anything else."
"Sir," he hung up.
"No luck with the picture then," Whitlock said.
"Kid can't give a proper description, keeps changing it."
"You don't think he's lying though?"
"Nah, it's just harder than it looks," Josef said.
"What now?" Whitlock asked.
"It's a five minute walk from here to Central Park, shall we leave the car here?" he asked.
"Yeah," Whitlock said. "Are we really gonna hang around the park the rest of the afternoon asking questions?"
"Of course not," Josef said smiling. "Just while I'm figuring out the next step."
"Let's take the car then." Whitlock laughed holding out her hand, palm up. "Looks like rain."
After just twenty minutes in the park it had started to rain. The few kids that were there went home so Josef and Whitlock retreated to the car. Josef checked his watch.
"What time is it?" Whitlock asked.
"Ten past four."
"What now?"
"I think probably the most productive thing we can do is pass the Martins' and the Beachams' on the way in, go through those registration numbers. Maybe we'll turn something up."
"Okay, anything's worth a try."
It was after six by the time they'd gone through the fifty or so registration numbers collected. Josef drew the short straw and typed up their notes while Whitlock looked. Nothing appeared on more than one list. When they'd finished Josef fetched coffee from the canteen.
Mason hadn't appeared back in CID. He'd gone straight to the public appeal. Josef conceded that he was lead detective and should be there so he grudgingly photocopied his notes and left the copy on Mason's desk.
"I don't know about you," Josef said, "but I'm starved." Whitlock examined her coffee cup.
"I've got to go home," she said.
"Okay, I'll see you here in the morning for briefing," Josef said. He wasn't actually sure he'd been turned down, because he hadn't actually asked, but they both knew he was going to. He decided she meant 'don't ask', which was fine. She got up and headed for the door.
"Night Mary," he said.
"Close," she called, but he couldn't see her face.
Josef sat at the desk for a long time, leaning back in the chair his feet on the desk, his eyes on the ceiling. He fell asleep.
Josef woke about nine slumped across his desk. His cheek was wet and he couldn't even move his right arm. It fell lamely off the desk as he sat up. He tried his fingers but they didn't move and checked his watch, outside it was getting dark. Josef massaged some life into his arm and when the feeling began to return he wiped his cheek and the desk with a tissue. With the pins and needles raking his fingers he checked his phone for missed calls but had none, so he phoned Bentworth.
"Yes," the man said.
"Sir, I'm just checking how the appeal went?"
"It went well actually. We're having a flood of calls but no promising leads yet. You'll be first to know if we do. We didn't get a picture in the end but we released a description. Did you turn up anything?"
"No Sir," Josef said, "nothing."
"Okay, well keep trying."
"Thanks Sir," Josef said. Bentworth hung up.
Josef was still tired but he knew that if K abducted another child tonight he could be called anytime, and he was going to be worthless without proper sleep. He drove home and was asleep in bed within half an hour.