by Jay Nadal
She caught Scott’s drift, and busied herself with an imaginary fluff on her jacket.
“Abby?”
Abby took a sharp intake of air. “Thankfully, we’ve been so busy, that I’ve not had a lot of time to think about it. If I’m honest, I feel like I’m on autopilot. We get up, come to work, go home, go to sleep, and do it all over again the next day.”
“Well, I still want you to take a break after this case. Have you spoken to Jonathon?”
Abby frowned and the lines on her forehead deepened. “I spoke to him. He wanted to go out for a meal the other night, but I’d not seen the kids, so the best I could suggest was a takeaway at mine. Not ideal, but I got to see him and the kids.”
“What did he say?”
Abby sighed and rolled her eyes. “He said he’s noticed a change in me in recent weeks. I’m flat and moody. He suggested that if I’m not happy then the job isn’t right for me. Perhaps civilian jobs like fraud investigation and financial crime, or transferring to a police staff role.”
“And?” Scott held his breath.
“I wish I knew. Do you know my boy’s changing and growing up so fast, I don’t recognise him? His personality, his traits, they’re all changing. I missed that his school trousers are an inch too short for him…and he’s never moaned about it. I should have picked up on that…if I’d been there.”
Scott stood and walked around his desk towards her. His eyes showed the gentle concern a father would have. He laid his hand on her shoulder, and instead of flinching like she normally would, it soothed her. It felt as if he was wrapping her in a blanket of his caring. “Your pain is my pain. You’re not alone and never will be. You, your kids and our friendship are important. I want the old Abby back, and I’ll do everything I can to make that happen.”
Abby tapped the back of his hand in gratitude. “I know. Thanks.” Tears threatened to escape as sadness consumed her. She changed the subject fast. “Shall we catch our killer?”
Scott rolled from one crisis to another. Within minutes of Abby leaving his office, Meadows strode in, his shoulders pulled back, and concern etched on his face.
“I get the impression you’re going round in circles again, Scott?”
The irony wasn’t lost on Scott as Meadows paced the limited space, creating tiny circles with his shoes. Scott raised his eyebrows in amusement. “I don’t think so, Sir.”
“Well, it looks like that from where I’m sitting.”
Scott wanted to point out the man’s geometric-themed pacing but thought a joke now wouldn’t go down well. “We are making progress.”
Meadows stopped by Scott’s desk and drummed his fingers on the surface. “Well, if you are, it’s slow and invisible. You’ve not made one arrest, there’s no psychopath sitting in a cell downstairs, and no one has been in for questioning. I sometimes question just how you do your job, Scott. You get results, but it’s how you get them that concerns me.”
“I think you hit the nail on the head, Sir. I get the results. And I will this time.”
Meadows narrowed his eyes in suspicion. Scott was a good officer, but he preferred to do things by the book, accountability and impressions always high on his list. He nodded without saying another word as he strolled out, leaving Scott in no doubt as to the urgency in his superior’s tone.
Scott blew out his cheeks and ran a hand through his hair. His tight shoulders cramped his neck, and he could feel the first signs of a tension headache. He couldn’t decide if it was from a lack of sleep, or stress, before deciding that it was a combination of both.
The more he thought, the more convinced he became that Adam Dawson was a key suspect. He had the motive, the training and the means. The cable ties, the surveillance and the hooded executions, they were all characteristics of warfare.
He sat looking at Sarah Critchley’s case file, and post-mortem results. He read and reread the details, the discovery, and the circumstances. The more he looked, the harder his mind worked.
“Fuck.” Scott bolted upright as if hit by a lightning bolt. He realised that he’d got it all wrong. Sarah wasn’t the first victim, she wasn’t a trial run, or even the beginning.
She had committed suicide.
No one took her pleas seriously. Adam Dawson’s concerns had fallen on deaf ears. The police hadn’t investigated the allegations, neither had Ashman, or Amy Harp. Through neglect, ignorance or self-preservation, they had ignored the children’s plight. It would explain a lot. Losing his only friend in the world in such tragic circumstances was the likely catalyst for his trail of destruction.
Scott thought about it more. Sarah Critchley wasn’t a trial run, but Golding was. That’s where it all started. The slice to the abdomen inflicting Sarah’s identical suicidal wound. Perhaps that wasn’t enough and removing their eyes carried a symbolic gesture.
The pieces fell into place. Adam wanted to punish Golding, Ashman and Harp. He wanted them to suffer in the same way he had. He wanted Ashman and Harp to feel loneliness in the same way he had since he’d lost Sarah. That’s why they had been spared.
It all made sense now.
Scott raced over towards the rest of the team, relaying his theory as he scanned the incident board. He pushed the team to find every conceivable way of identifying Adam Dawson and his whereabouts. He assumed the voice on the other end of the phone was Adam Dawson. They didn’t know his location, nor did they have a recent description for him. He had become a ghost after leaving the army. Scott knew it wasn’t hard to change an identity if you didn’t want to be found.
Scott grabbed the nearest phone and called the high-tech unit. He checked his watch.
“Ah, Inspector, we’re still analysing the recordings. We are picking up nuances in the speech, the dialect, the background noise, and so on. We’ll still be a few hours.”
“I appreciate it’s a difficult one, but I’m not sure we have a few hours. I’ve got an armed suspect roaming around Brighton, with a hostage in tow. And we’ve no idea as to the name he’s using at the moment, nor his location.”
Scott heard paper shuffling on the other end. “Well, I might be able to help you with that, Inspector. I checked the phone records. It’s a registered phone. Did you know that?”
Scott stood speechless. “Erm, No. The calls I’ve been receiving from our suspect have come from an unregistered pay-as-you-go phone. Are you sure?”
“Absolutely. The phone’s registered to Ryan McCormick.”
51
Scott put the call on speakerphone so that the rest of the team could hear.
“I’ve been in touch with the mobile phone company. They’ve sent over the tracking details. The phone has remained in standby mode since yesterday evening, and static for all that time. No further calls have been made, nor have any calls been received. After working with them, we know it was plotted from contact with base stations to the west of town.”
“Where?” Scott asked.
“The phone is communicating with two base stations close by. Unfortunately, there isn’t a third base station locally, which doesn’t give us a triangulation to narrow down the target area.”
Mike shot up from his seat and headed over towards a map pinned to the wall. He took the reference points for the two base stations and circled them.
Scott listened to more details.
“You’ve got the River Adur that runs through the area, and then most of the surrounding landscape is open countryside. A few residences are scattered here and there, but you’ve got the old Shoreham cement works, and the bus garage. The signal is coming from around that area. As I said, I can’t be more precise than that.”
Scott thanked him and hung up.
“We can rule out the cement works,” Raj interrupted. “That place is sewn up like a button. It has got round-the-clock security monitoring. If you sneeze, they will know about it.”
Helen studied the map in detail. “It’s too big an area to undertake a ground search, Guv. NPAS could do an aerial search
, and the thermals might pick up something. Otherwise you’re looking at getting a PolSA team to cover the ground, the underwater team to cover the river, and hours chasing our own tail.”
“You’re probably right,” Scott said.
“Besides, we don’t even know if McCormick’s in possession of his phone, regardless of whether it is in standby mode or not. For all we know, it could be dumped by a roadside, and McCormick moved elsewhere. The killer fucked up by using McCormick’s phone because he’s given us an identifiable trace.”
Scott agreed. As the months had progressed, he’d been suitably impressed with Helen’s involvement in cases, including her assessment and thinking. She was shaping up to be a vital member of his team.
“I don’t think he’s fucked up.” Scott counted on his fingers. “He has always been one step ahead of us and evaded capture. He moves in the shadows, he leaves nothing substantial in terms of DNA or fibres, and he’s never put a foot wrong.”
“So what are you saying? That this was deliberate?” Raj asked.
“I think it is. McCormick is the last person he wants. This ends with him. I think he wants us to come and find him.”
“But he could hide anywhere?”
Mike had been studying the map, his finger tracing the contours. “The old cement works. That’s where he will be.”
Scott moved alongside Mike, searching for an explanation. His eyes following Mike’s index finger as it hovered over the label for the old cement works in Shoreham.
“If Adam Dawson is holding him, the cement works is the safest place for him to be. It’s protected by a ring of steel and CCTV. No one is going to look for him there. Don’t forget he’s ex-forces. His job is to find a location which gives him shelter and the maximum visibility to any incoming threat.”
Raj pointed out the obvious. “If it’s that bloody well protected, how the hell is he going to get in there?”
“Like he has done with everything. Silence and stealth. You’re talking about someone who’s been in a lot of hostile situations. He’s had to move in the shadows and avoid being spotted…or captured. He’s bloody ex-para, the military’s elite fighting force. Sixty per cent of the SAS are recruited from the paras. Based on reconnaissance, he would have found the weakest point in their security, and gained access to the cement works.”
“Doesn’t that mean he’s backed himself into a corner?” Raj asked.
“Depends if he plans to fight until his last breath, escape or just needs somewhere to hide out for a while.”
The enormity of the problem hit Scott like a steam train. They had neither the manpower nor the budget to mount such a large operation.
Scott pulled Mike to one side. “Mike, how do you feel about heading over there and doing some discreet snooping around? I mean low-key. Out of all of us, you’re the best trained for this. I know it’s risky, so you don’t have to do it.”
Mike held up a hand to interrupt Scott. “Guv, I love shit like this. I’ve still got my sniper scope and high-res binoculars. I’ll get over there and give you an update.”
With that, Mike grabbed his jacket, and sped out of the door like an excited schoolkid who had heard the ice cream van pull up outside on a hot summer’s day.
Scott left the team to follow up every line of enquiry whilst he went in search of Meadows.
“So, you’re telling me we have an ex-para specialist as our main suspect?”
“Yes, Sir.”
“A bloody killing machine, who has been running circles around my team for days, and you want to apprehend him?”
Scott sensed the incredulity in Meadows’s tone and the disbelief on his face that almost threatened to morph into a smile.
Scott laid out the reasons Dawson was their suspect, which only drew a further shake of Meadows’s head.
“I can’t agree to sending my team into an abandoned building with the risk of a trap present. Nor do we have resources to mount a full-scale operation. You said yourself that he’s munitions trained. What happens if the place is booby-trapped? Then we’d be calling in the army? And before you know it, we’ve got a bloody circus on our hands.”
An uneasy silence settled between the two men, each unsure what to say next.
“How can you be sure that Dawson is there? He could be gone by now?”
“Sir, I suggest we send NPAS. They can look for heat traces. Uniform can check the perimeter for breaches. The quicker we can do that, the greater the chance of finding McCormick alive.”
“Do it. Get that done and report back. In the meantime, I’ll brief the bosses and put the tactical units and armed response on standby.”
Scott headed back to his office. As he passed other officers in the corridor, he smiled politely, whilst hiding the torrent of adrenaline that coursed through his veins like a river in a storm.
An uncomfortable few hours passed whilst Scott and the rest of the team steadied their nerves waiting on the outcome of the search from NPAS and ground units.
Raj slammed his phone down in a fit of excitement startling the others. “Guv, I’ve found him. I’ve found Dawson.”
Eager faces stared back at him, a look of hope and curiosity etched on the faces of Abby and Helen.
“Adam Dawson, left the army and changed his name to Adam Marshall. He’s been working overseas as a security contractor since then. For the last two years, he’s been in Iraq working for a private military contractor earning ten grand a month tax-free.”
“Lovely, if you can get it,” sighed Helen.
“I’ve just got off the line to an American called AJ Gonzalez. He owns a security firm that employs private military contractors or PMCs as they’re known in the business. Dawson worked for them a year ago, before leaving for personal reasons to work on another project.”
Raj relayed how the risks to a PMC were much higher. The firefights were a lot closer, and a lot more personal than as a regular soldier. AJ had pointed out that when he was in the army, he had the military might behind him. As a PMC, he couldn’t call for backup, he couldn’t call in aerial firepower.
“AJ said Dawson was a bit of a mess after his last stint out there. He was shot at by snipers, survived a handful of roadside bombs and a grenade attack, and once a bullet lodged in the bulletproof glass of his vehicle, inches from his head.”
Scott took it all in, making notes on the board as Raj continued. He wondered about the psychological impact on Dawson’s mindset.
“AJ didn’t dress it up, Guv. He said it got so bad, that they got to a stage for a period of about three months, where they probably lost guys every second or third day. It was violent, and emotionally difficult.”
“Did he give any indication for Dawson leaving, other than it being personal, or his state of mind?”
“No, Guv. Not specifically, but he reiterated that Dawson was a total mess after an incident. Dawson was part of a four-man team ambushed by insurgents using two small children, a brother and sister. The kiddies ran towards Dawson and his team, holding hands and crying. It’s only when they were near that the insurgents detonated the explosives strapped to the children’s chests.”
52
The room descended into a respectful silence, each officer in quiet reflection as the horror flashed through their minds along with the fear that must have engulfed the minds of those poor little souls. Abandoned, used and exploited for adult gains.
Scott shook his head in despair and raked his fingers down his face as he questioned if the children had the chance in their short lives to be just that, children?
Abby held her hand tight over her mouth, her stomach twisted and turned like a roller coaster. She imagined a child’s scream came from a place of terror, telling of a mind lost in absolute fear, when all they craved was a cuddle and reassurance that everything would be fine.
The silence broke when a nearby phone jolted them all with an update from NPAS. They had picked up a heat source at the far end of one of the warehouses at the cement works. They c
onfirmed visuals on a car parked close to the perimeter. A PNC check had confirmed it belonged to McCormick.
Scott knew it wasn’t enough to go to Meadows, but the ground units did fill him with optimism. His pulse quickened as he hung up and called Mike.
“Mike, what have you got?”
“I’ve seen NPAS overhead for the past thirty minutes, Guv. They have scanned the area, and beyond. I’ve moved around the perimeter to a higher vantage point. Standby…”
A lengthy paused followed that felt like hours rather than minutes. Scott held his breath, his heart thundering in his chest, drowning out other noise.
The phone crackled into life. “Guv, I’ve picked up a scope reflection in a fifth-floor window on the south-east corner of a warehouse. Someone’s watching, but I’m not near enough to make an ID.”
Scott circled his finger to tell the team to get moving. “Mike, he’s our man. Uniform have found two guards hooded and bound with cable ties in the security office. Both are alive. I’ve asked them to move away and monitor from a distance whilst we arrange support.”
It felt as if the whole station had been mobilised as a convoy of vehicles raced out of town and along the Shoreham Bypass. Traffic scrambled to get out of the path of the rolling avalanche of sirens, blue strobes and screaming engines. Tactical firearms units had been deployed, and were leading the charge, followed by half a dozen vans crammed full of every available officer, two dog units and Scott’s team in a job car.
Mike met them at the gates as the vehicles pulled up in a snaking line on the verge.
The tinny whine of the helicopter blades whipped through the air above their heads. Scott directed the ground teams. Meadows back in the station control room watched on the live feed.
Paramedics dealt with the two members from the on-site security team. Scott positioned officers to monitor the perimeter in case Dawson made a run for it. The rest of the officers fanned out as they made their way to the rear of the site. The armed officers led the way as they swept their firearms in wide arcs, their fingers poised on the triggers ready to respond to any threat.