“What brings you here, Inspector?” Sullivan asked from a seated position on the sofa. The folds of his dressing gown did little to flatter his appearance.
“Your source.”
“What about him? I set you up as… requested.”
“I want him.”
“Don’t we all, Inspector. Don’t we all.”
Sullivan laughed as he took a steep draw on his cigarette, exhaling the smoke directly at Caslin.
“You misunderstand me. I’m not here to force more out of you. I came only out of courtesy.”
“I don’t understand.”
“That isn’t surprising to me, Jimmy. You did me a favour, under protest I’ll grant you but it led me to him. We’re onto him and we’re confident he’ll be in custody within the next couple of hours. You had better find yourself another meal ticket, this one is spent.”
Sullivan sat back into the sofa. His expression was unwavering but he didn’t draw further on his smoke, the ash curling away at the end of the cigarette but yet to drop.
“Why would you be telling me?”
“It turns out he’s not quite what you… and I, to be fair, thought that he was. He was convincing but—”
“He was full of it.”
“Definitely full of something, yes.”
“So why are you telling me?”
“Some strange, misguided notion, that I owe you one. To give you a chance to minimise your professional embarrassment. Depending on how far you took the story, of course.”
Sullivan, at first appeared to be crestfallen before he managed to process the information. After that his expression conveyed an element of fear as the realisation dawned on him that he could come unstuck as a result of this.
“Why should I—”
“No reason why you should but then there’s no reason for me to be here. I don’t need to squeeze you. I would if the need was there, but it isn’t. Call it even?”
The journalist stubbed out his cigarette in an overfull ashtray, disturbing the pile and sending some grey matter cascading to the coffee table below. Sullivan rubbed his face with the palms of his hands before their eyes met and he nodded. Caslin made to leave without another word, seeing his own way out. Pulling the front door closed behind him and heading downwards, his footfalls echoed around the concrete stairwell. The charade had played out as expected and Caslin hoped that the remainder would work just as well. There was a momentary flash of guilt at using Sullivan in this way. After all, Caslin still felt that the source was potentially dangerous and by stoking the hack’s paranoia, there was a chance that this plan could backfire. He resolved the internal dispute by concluding that Sullivan was sharp enough to take care of himself. He wasn’t entirely convinced of that, but it was too late now. With a bit of fortune, the journalist would be beating someone else with a stick soon enough.
Caslin had needed the respite and the few hours’ sleep afforded him before the visit to Sullivan’s had worked wonders. Three days on from DC Underwood’s murder, Caslin could feel that they were close as he walked back into CID. The sounds of an energetic team came to his ear, he was buoyed.
“Where’s the DCI?” he asked no-one in particular.
“Briefing Broadfoot and the other brass upstairs,” DS Hunter said. “Word’s come through that a parliamentary question is going to be asked in the commons today and they’re concerned.”
“Shitting bricks is more like it,” Caslin replied. Undoubtedly some would feel their careers would be threatened by such a high-profile development, fortunately he no longer had that problem. “Okay, where are we with Chloe’s known associates?”
“The bad news is no-one has seen her,” Hunter said.
“And the good?”
“Is very good. She has few contacts outside of the York area, by all accounts. We’ve run down all those local to us and they haven’t seen nor heard from her. She has some distant family down south and local police are chasing those up. Although, I doubt she’ll reach out to them.”
“Terry,” he called out to Holt. “Financials?”
The DC dutifully walked over with notebook in hand.
“Chloe has limited funds in her bank account, deposits and withdrawals are much in line with patterns over the past few weeks. No withdrawals since she went missing. If she is running, she’s not going to get far.”
“Good work, Terry. Phone?”
“No activity,” Baxter answered, having joined the conversation.
Caslin’s confidence was growing. “It’s only a matter of time.”
“You think she’s running then?” Hunter asked. “You don’t think she’s been abducted.”
“Do you?” Caslin countered.
“No, I don’t. There was nothing to indicate a struggle at her place.”
“The more I think on it, I agree with you. She’s running. Lack of activity on her account and phone tell me she’s trying to be clever about it.”
“Did she kill Hayley?” Holt asked, uncertainty edging into his tone.
Caslin bit his bottom lip before replying, “On that I still don’t know. Let’s find her first.”
With little in the way of wealth and even fewer resources to aid her disappearance, Caslin felt sure that after a couple of days the net was tightening. The frustrating element to it all was that she had been under surveillance for so long that it seemed counter-intuitive to now be chasing her shadow.
The phone on Hunter’s desk began to ring and she reached down to answer it. Caslin walked towards the information board to cast his eye over the enlarged map of York, coloured pins marking known haunts of Chloe and her associates. Attached slips of paper denoted which had been checked and crossed off. He almost failed to hear Hunter’s excited shout. Turning, he went to her desk as she offered him her phone.
“We have a positive sighting.”
Caslin indicated for Hunter to put the phone on speaker, telling the squad room to quieten down. Activity ceased as everyone stopped to listen when the call was put through.
“This is DI Caslin, with whom am I speaking?”
“Jack Martins,” came the reply.
“And what do you have for me, Mr Martins?”
“I’m a haulier, long distance. I think I came across this woman you’re looking for.”
“You think? Can you be sure?”
“Yeah, sorry. I’m sure. You’ve got posters up all over the services here. I stopped for an early lunch and I saw—”
“Great, Jack,” Caslin interrupted him. “Where did you see her?”
“Woodall Services on the M1, southbound. Just east of Sheffield. She was hitching.”
“Good man, when was this?”
“Couple of hours ago, maybe. I didn’t see the picture until just now.”
Caslin cursed. He was pleased that the information flyers had generated a lead but gutted with the time delay. Putting his hand over the microphone he looked to Hunter.
“Flood that area with everything you can get your hands on. She’s had enough time to get off in any number of directions but we might get lucky. I want all traffic units on major arterial routes within a hundred-mile radius of that location on alert.” He then returned to his conversation with the haulier. “Did you speak with her, Jack?”
“Aye, I did. Like I said, she was hitching. I offered her a ride but she knocked me back.”
“Why?”
“I was passing by the southbound services but crossing over to head north. She said that was the wrong direction for her.”
“Well, she was right about that. You’re sure it was her.”
“Absolutely. I thought it a bit weird at the time.”
“In what way?”
“Several, really. She didn’t have anything on her. I mean, I pick up hitchers all the time and they travel light but she had nothing, bugger all. That doesn’t happen. She was also a lot older than most people you meet. And looked in a bit of a mess, like she hadn’t slept for a bit.”
“Di
d you see her catch a lift with anyone else?”
“Err… no, can’t say as I did, sorry.”
“That’s okay, thanks. Listen, I’m going to pass you over to a colleague to take some details from you but I appreciate your help.”
A tense atmosphere replaced the initial elation in CID as they waited, the bubble of expectation deflating as the minutes ticked by. Chloe was tantalisingly close and yet, remained out of reach. Caslin sat in his chair observing the team swirling around him as they optimistically hoped for the results that their efforts deserved. He didn’t share their positivity. For his part, he spent the time reviewing reports from the previous twenty-four hours, looking for the slightest detail that may have been missed but failing to come up with anything. If he was honest, he was merely killing time.
He contemplated his meeting with Jimmy Sullivan that morning. His brief excursion to the journalist’s home had a purpose. The wheels had been set in motion and the results would come. He wasn’t certain but he was confident and until then, it was a waiting game. The surprise came soon after when his phone rang. He had been expecting a call, perhaps not so soon but anticipating one, nonetheless. However, the caller was far from whom he had expected.
“Inspector Caslin?” the voice asked quietly.
“Yes.”
“It’s Chloe… Chloe McNeil. I need your help.”
The winter sun sat low in the sky. The ornamental trees cast long shadows and the water feature gurgled away as if it ran through the most natural place in the world. To his mind, the wooden seats may well lend a stylish edge to the Winter Gardens in Sheffield but they did little for his back. Caslin arched it from his seated position in a vain attempt to release the pressure. A small group of boys and girls sat off to his left, deep in conversation, with only the occasional explosion of laughter to indicate the lightness of their mood. Caslin guessed they were students on their wind down to Christmas.
Glancing up and through the branches, adorned with decorations, he watched as the clock ticked round to 3 p.m. before picking up his coffee cup. The temperature outside was dropping away rapidly. Snow had been forecast again but he hoped they were wrong. The whiteout was always stunning in Yorkshire, beauty not altogether lost on him even during the recent tribulations. However, if you had to get anywhere or achieve anything beyond the four walls of your home, it was a severe pain in the backside.
Another glance towards the clock. It now read five past. If she didn’t show in the next ten minutes he would call it a day. Having already sat there for an hour, he was in no mood to stay much longer. The call received from Chloe ensured a frenzy of activity, not least a hair-raising drive south at speeds he could hardly imagine travelling at. Even in a convoy of traffic cars with all the bells and whistles, it was still frightening. That journey had given them a window of little more than thirty minutes to set up their operation.
Beyond Caslin’s view there were two officers holed up with the security guards in their control room, poring over the CCTV system, waiting to clock her arrival. Further to that there were plain clothes officers all around the Winter Gardens, blending in with the public. They had even managed to supplant DS Hunter into the coffee shop as a waitress for the afternoon. She was the only member of York CID that they felt confident Chloe would never have met. Apart from DI Baxter, the remaining officers on the operation were all sequestered from Sheffield. It made sense as they knew the area far better than the team from York. A hasty briefing was convened at the Nunnery Square Station where photos of their target were passed out. Every officer was forewarned to expect the unexpected and no-one was in any doubt that this arrest could be far from straightforward.
Despite Chloe having initiated the meeting they were all well aware that at one end of the scale, Caslin could be dragged into some kind of an ambush and at the other, Chloe might lose heart and change her mind. With either eventuality, or anywhere in between, they would need to move fast to secure her in custody. Casually, Caslin glanced around. Baxter was seated within twenty feet reading a newspaper, or at least that’s what he appeared to be doing. DS Hunter was clearing tables a short distance away. The remaining officers’ whereabouts he could only guess at, as their faces had all merged into one since the rushed briefing.
Operations such as this were unusual to Caslin. More often than not they would have had a far greater lead time to get themselves organised. With that said they had been praying for a break and this certainly qualified as such.
Placing his cup on the bench next to him, Caslin realised that his hands were sweating and he wiped his palms on the flat of his thighs. At that moment a flicker of movement from Baxter caught his attention, only the slightest darting of the eyes but it was enough. Looking over to the eastern entrance, a figure had passed through the glazed door and was glancing around her as she walked. She wore a heavy coat that shrouded her figure along with a woollen hat, pulled down to just above her eyebrows, frizzy hair protruding in all directions from beneath. Unmistakably, it was Chloe McNeil. She made eye contact almost immediately and headed straight for Caslin. Instinctively, he stood up to greet her. Nervous as he was, he didn’t show it and managed a soft smile. Although his was deeply contrived, she returned it warmly with one of her own.
With an open hand he bade her to sit down, which she gratefully did. Caslin also returned to his seat and offered her the second cup of coffee that he had purchased along with his own, fifteen minutes earlier. Taking her measure, he thought she looked dreadful. To be fair, she wasn’t in great shape when he had seen her previously but her appearance had certainly altered. She was haggard, her eyes bloodshot and sunken, with far darker rings beneath them than he recalled. There was little colour in her heavily lined face and he wondered when she had last managed any meaningful sleep.
“It’s only a latte, but it has milk and more importantly, should still be warm.”
“Thank you, I know I’m later than I said but I wanted to be sure.”
“Sure, about what?”
Chloe looked around.
“Sure, that we no-one was watching.”
Caslin had to try very hard not to laugh at that as he too glanced around.
“True, that would be awful.”
“Not by your lot!” Chloe snapped. “There is probably a dozen of you around here somewhere. Don’t worry. I’m not planning on doing one.”
“Then by whom?”
Chloe’s eyes scanned the Winter Garden once more, as if expecting to see a face in the crowd. Satisfied that that wasn’t the case, she tentatively sipped at her coffee.
“The same person that I think you’re looking for and if you’re not, then you damn well should be.”
“And who might that be?”
Chloe fixed him with a stare.
“Lee.”
Caslin saw fit to keep the conversation going rather than take her into custody, there and then. If she was opening up, now was as good a time as any. A voice crackled in his earpiece but he chose to ignore it. Casually reaching up, he removed it from his ear and put it in his pocket.
“Your friends?” Chloe asked. Caslin nodded with a hint of a smile. “Keen, aren’t they?”
“They want you in handcuffs.”
“Me?”
Caslin nodded once more, accompanied by the slightest of shrugs.
“By all accounts, you fled a crime scene. Doesn’t look good.”
“My place?”
“Yes,” Caslin sat back a little. “Can you tell me what happened?”
Chloe took a deep breath followed by a mouthful of coffee, closing her eyes as she swallowed before fixing Caslin with a stare.
“Lee came to mine. He scared the crap out of me.”
“And Lee is?”
“A friend of Garry’s. I was in the kitchen looking for a torch under the sink. You know there was a power cut?”
Caslin nodded, “I know.”
“Then, there he was at the window,” she continued. “Just standing there. P
roper weird.”
“You let him in?”
“Didn’t see as I had much choice.”
“What did he want?”
“Me to go with him.”
“Where?”
Chloe shook her head.
“No idea but I told him that your lot were outside, anyway and I couldn’t go anywhere. He didn’t like that. Said he had already seen the car which was why he came around the back.”
“What happened then?”
“He told me he’d take care of it. He went to the front window and had a look before going back outside.”
“And?”
“And what? As soon as I thought he was clear of the back yard, I grabbed a coat and took off.”
Caslin had been listening intently, assessing her words as she spoke them. They didn’t appear to be well rehearsed but he had been wrong before. Keen to keep her talking, he chose to leave Hayley’s murder aside for the moment. He took another sip of his coffee.
“Why did you run?”
Chloe laughed. It was a nervous laugh without genuine humour.
“You would too, if you knew him.”
“Tell me about him.”
“Garry brought him home one night, said he was a mate from the army but I didn’t see it.”
“Why not?” Caslin asked, remembering the visit to the pub in Catterick and the conversation about Garry and his withdrawn friend.
“Never mentioned him before and I got to know most of them over the years. Don’t doubt that he was military. He had the walk, you know?”
“Not really, but I’ll take your word on it.”
“Anyway, he was proper weird, Lee. Quiet, didn’t say a lot but creepy.”
Divided House (Dark Yorkshire Book 1) Page 26