by Linda Coles
There was no way he wanted to wait for the camera evidence. He’d have to find another way. “Okay then, not to worry, I’ll get it picked up somehow. It was only on the off chance, since you said you’d be there.” It seemed he had a slow evening ahead of him, starting now. “Where are you headed then?” he found himself asking. Perhaps they had a lead on their friend. He wasn’t going to get their hopes up with his own suspicions so kept quiet about the contents of the envelope.
“Calais, then not entirely sure. We’ll figure it out. Any news your end?”
“Nothing to report, no.” He kept it non-committal. “Anyway, I’d best get off so have a good trip,” he said and hung up before either party could say another word. He sat for a moment, hands steepled in front of him, chin resting on his fingertips. He felt someone hovering near his shoulder.
“There’s always an easier way, you know,” Bridget announced. “They could put the file in a cloud folder, and you could download it this end. It’ll take a while, but not as long as a trip to the coast and back.” Alan turned and watched as the blonde slipped her arms into her bright-red raincoat. The contrast between her pale hair and the vivid colour was startling – he was reminded of Marilyn Monroe. Her idea made sense.
“Bridget,” he said loudly, “you’re a genius. Why didn’t I think of that?” He picked his phone up and hoped the person he’d not long ago spoken to was still there and able to upload it for him.
“Because I’m the brains here,” she said and gave an exaggerated wink as she turned briskly and headed for the door. “Ciao,” she called, red mackintosh flapping as she walked.
Indeed, the file could be uploaded to the cloud and a link sent to him. They’d just dropped the USB at the information desk, but it was no bother. Alan thanked the man heartily and figured he’d grab a burger from next door while he was waiting. It could take some time to sift through and find what he needed so he may as well refuel while he had the chance.
Chrissy was parking up at the ferry terminal. She had a nose like a truffle pig rummaging around an oak tree and knew instantly that whatever it was in that envelope, it was important. And the detective sergeant wasn’t sharing, which was beginning to aggravate her. Weren’t they both on the same side, weren’t they looking for the same woman?
“Stay here, I’ll only be a moment,” Chrissy instructed as Julie prepared to get out of the car. There was no sense in them both going to the desk. This way she could pretend she was a colleague of the detective without actually saying as much. Impersonating a police officer was not a bright thing to do, not to mention a criminal offence. Chrissy hoped whoever was manning the desk at this time of day would be bored stiff, uninterested and would hand it over without comment.
Once inside the terminal building, she spotted the desk and headed over. A young male in his late twenties was assisting an elderly man and Chrissy waited patiently while he explained what the café on board stocked by way of snacks. Chrissy wondered if the old man was debating whether he should stock up before boarding or not and willed him to decide and move on. With a faint roll of her eyes, Chrissy smiled as she approached the counter and prepared to empathise with the younger man.
“Age comes to us all eventually,” she quipped, “though you’re a way off yet.” It came out flirtier than she’d have liked, judging by the tiny pink blotch that appeared on his cheeks. “There should be an envelope to be picked up. For Detective Sergeant Davies.” No lies thus far. She watched as he turned and retrieved it from a tray on the top of his workspace. He double-checked the name on the front before handing it over.
“Here you go.”
Chrissy smiled her thanks and headed straight back towards the door without another word. When you’d got what you came for, why risk saying anything else that might arouse suspicion? As soon as the envelope had entered her hands, she knew what it contained. The obvious outline of a USB drive shifted inside, resting with a light thud in one corner, and she ran her finger over it.
“Let’s see what’s so interesting on this little beauty,” she said as she opened her car door and slipped back inside.
“Pass my laptop over, would you, Julie?”
Chapter Forty-Four
When an unauthorised person attempts to access a police file above their pay grade, an alert is sent to those that might be interested in such activity. Detective Chief Superintendent Morton reached for his phone and immediately called the detective whose login details had registered. Why would he be snooping around and trying to access the file of a protected witness? After introducing himself and asking that same question of the man, he was told it was yet another detective that was interested.
“And what’s your colleague’s interest, may I ask?”
“You’d have to double-check with him, sir,” Carl said as he struggled to keep his two-year-old from clinging on to his lower leg as he walked. Her delirious giggling was distracting him from paying full attention. “Hang on a moment and I’ll get his number for you.” The only way to stop her laughter temporarily was to stop moving. It gave him the opportunity to find what he was looking for and pass it on.
“Thanks, I appreciate it,” Morton said and then he was gone, leaving Carl to the clutches of his young daughter.
It didn’t take long for Morton to get Alan Davies on the phone. The detective was waiting patiently for his burger order not far from the station. Not recognising the number that flashed up when his phone rang, he was tempted to let it go to voicemail, particularly as it was nearing the end of his shift, but something told him to accept it.
“DS Alan Davies,” he said and waited.
“Detective Chief Superintendent Morton here. DS Carl Bradley passed your number on to me.”
“What can I do for you, sir?”
“I’m interested in your interest in a locked file actually. Can I ask what it is?” When a chief super calls and asks why you’re interested in something, you tell them. But this simple misper case, which was fast turning into something a whole lot more intricate, had Alan’s internal antennae vibrating. He should choose his words with care.
“Simple really, sir. A woman’s name popped up after the train crash, but we can’t find much about her to confirm an ID. It was a simple file search, nothing more. Is there a problem?”
“You know as well I as do, sergeant, that a simple file search wouldn’t ping my attention. Would you care to tell me more?”
“There’s nothing more to tell. I’m trying to confirm her ID and find any next of kin.”
There was a silence on the other end of the line that Alan felt was calling him a liar. Maybe that was his paranoia talking, but the antennae in his gut was still telling him to be cautious.
“And the name you have to work with is Tabitha Child?”
“Yes, sir.” There was empty silence again while Alan waited for the chief super to respond with more. When he didn’t, he filled the void with a question of his own. “I’m guessing there’s something special with this file? Are you able to tell me more?”
“No, I am not. Where is she now?”
“In the temporary mortuary at the airbase still.” Alan didn’t want to give any more away until he had some answers of his own. “Can I ask why you can’t help confirm her ID?”
“Leave this with me.”
And he was gone.
Alan stared at his phone. He became aware someone was calling his name and dragged himself back to the here and now to claim his meal, somewhat perplexed by the strange conversation he’d just had. Why would someone, and particularly a senior officer, not want to help confirm the ID of a woman that was lying in a chiller nearby? He wracked his brains about what he knew of protected persons and the way things ran. Individuals had false identities to protect them from something, usually life-threatening, but she was already dead. And then there was the tattoo that both he and Carl knew was bad news. And there was the small matter that her passport had been used to board a ferry to Calais – after the crash. Somet
hing didn’t smell right and now a higher pay grade knew the woman was dead. And the chief superintendent wasn’t for helping him out with confirming her ID either, which in itself was strange. Or was it all his own paranoia, having seen her tattoo and linked it back to the past? If the woman, who was now deceased, had had some involvement in a crime from at least fifteen years ago, did it even matter? The ringleaders were safely tucked away in prison. And, back then, they’d had no reason to suspect more victims being involved. If his mystery woman had been a victim, there could well be more out there that would rather forget what had had happened to them. Like she had tried to do with the overlaid tattoo.
He needed to get back to his desk and scroll through footage of passport control and the surrounding buildings. Tabitha Child had been caught up in the tangled silk web strands and had somehow broken free. After all she’d likely endured, a freak rail accident seemed an unjust way to leave this earth. Nobody was watching over her any longer.
Susan Smith was somehow caught up in it all and could now be in grave danger.
Chapter Forty-Five
Dominic felt like a grade-one idiot. Tabitha had given him the slip. The last message he’d left on her voicemail ricocheted through his mind. Had he scared her off for good now? Had he gone too far? He had to make certain she was safe; there was too much riding on her staying alive. That was what safe houses were for, that was what the protected-persons programme was all about, keeping them safe. The startled youth, who Dominic had forced down a side street with his arm tucked painfully behind his back, had told the truth. He’d picked the phone up off the street less than an hour ago and had been taking it to a mate’s place to try and unlock it. It was of no use to him as it was. Through the mix of pidgin English and French, Dominic had understood and believed the boy. Eventually the youth had straightened his jacket back into place and left the deserted side street, rubbing his sore arm as he went. A tirade of likely curse words floated on the air like the grey vape from an e-cigarette. Dominic had been left standing there, wondering where it had all gone wrong.
It was about to get worse. His phone vibrated in his pocket and he groaned outwardly as he saw who was calling.
“Where are you?” Chief Superintendent Morton asked.
“Paris actually, sir. Why?”
“Do you know Detective Sergeant Carl Bradley, or Alan Davies?”
“Can’t say that I do. Why?”
“Because they’ve been looking at a file. Tabitha Child’s to be precise. And apparently she’s dead.” The air between their two lines spiked with an electric current though no one said a word. The static was silent.
“That’s not possible. She’s here, in Paris.”
“You’d better explain to me how, then, because she’s on a deceased list from the train crash.” The chief super’s words had an edge to them as sharp as a jagged wine glass, a shard slicing into nearby flesh. Dominic, or DS Dominic Berger as the chief super knew him professionally, flinched as if he was the one being cut. Morton carried on, “She’s in a fridge awaiting her formal ID.”
“Sir, she can’t be, she texted me only yesterday. We’ve been in contact.”
“Then what the hell do you think she’s doing in Paris?” the man screamed. “It’s called a safe house for a reason! How the hell did you let this happen? Because I can’t think she got permission for a fun day out!” The man’s voice bellowed into Dominic’s ears and he was glad he wasn’t stood in front of him to experience his wrath at such close proximity. The man’s stale breath was legendary. It was time to come clean and tell the chief super what he knew.
“Look,” he said, taking a steadying breath of his own. “The first I knew was when I got a text saying she was taking a short trip. Obviously, I was as mad as hell and told her to get back home, but she hasn’t. So I’ve come to Paris to take her home.”
“And have you? Got her back to take home?”
“Not as yet, no.” The silence at the other end of the line was like a sonic boom in Dominic’s ears. He knew he was going to have to tell his boss that he messed up, that she’d given him the slip. “She ditched her phone earlier today. I’ve no idea where she is now.” He sounded like a young Dominic, in deep trouble and resignedly expecting a dressing-down from his father.
“Tell me, have you have spoken to her since the train crash, actually verbally spoken to her, heard her voice?”
“No.”
“I thought not. So, can you tell me this, how has a now dead woman pinged at passport control, travelling on the Dover to Calais ferry?”
“So she is alive then.” Dominic sounded hopeful. After all, he’d been communicating with her only yesterday. Or had he? If she’d been killed in that crash as his superintendent had just said, he couldn’t have been.
“You tell me!” the chief super screamed. “Because she can’t be in two places, she can’t be alive and dead, you incompetent prat! Find out what the hell is going on or you’ll be directing traffic, if you’re lucky enough to still have a job when this is all over. Now get back here, pronto!” The line went dead, his superintendent had hung up. Dominic closed his eyes and rested his head against the glass window of the shop behind him. It felt cool to his skull that was still ablaze from his boss’s angry words. Something was clearly not right. She had to be in France, he couldn’t have received a message from her if she was dead. And yet her passport had pinged at the ferry. Apparently. He glanced down at the phone he’d retrieved from the youth, the one Dominic had foolishly tracked. The kid said he’d found it on the kerbside not an hour ago, but it was locked so it hadn’t been of any use to him. Dominic had wanted to hit the lad about the head with it. But the fact that it was locked proved that no one else could have sent those messages – not unless they knew the passcode. It wasn’t that easy to break into a phone. Taking a long deep breath and releasing it, he pondered his next move. Tabitha Child was somewhere up ahead of him, though he had no clue of the direction she was going in. Or she was actually lying in a cold fridge back home. There weren’t two of them. And if his chief super said she was in the mortuary, she would be. He was never wrong.
The only possible way to explain the events was that someone else was travelling as Tabitha Child. Someone had sent texts from a locked phone and had deceived passport control by pretending to be Tabitha. Or had she somehow set this grand scheme in motion to give him the slip? Was the woman in the fridge a decoy? Something had gone wrong with her plan though, if that was the case, because if Tabitha Child had attempted to fake her own death, she wouldn’t be using her own passport and phone. No, the real Tabitha had vanished and was likely unaware of the train crash killing her decoy. That was the only explanation he could think of that fitted.
Tabitha Child was on the run.
And Dominic was going to bring her home.
There was no way he was going to let this fall apart now. His own future was riding on it.
Chapter Forty-Six
Since Chrissy had picked up the USB from the ferry terminal, she had assumed it was going to be camera footage from CCTV and of course she was correct. It was a grainy image when it came: video footage of people milling around, dragging luggage behind them and generally passing the time until their departure. Chrissy glanced at the timestamp: it was mid-afternoon on the day of the train crash. The taxi driver had thought it to have been about four o’clock that he’d dropped Susan off. The fare had stood out because she’d paid by credit card and the amount was larger than the local ones he’d taken that day. But Chrissy wanted to see more footage. If Susan had got on a later ferry, she would have hung around the terminal a while longer, and Chrissy needed to find out as much as she could about her sister’s friend. As the taxi driver had said, it was about 4.10 pm when Susan Smith entered the building. It was Julie that noticed her first, pointing to the screen with an audible gasp. They watched as she made her way to Burger King and then on to passport control. Chrissy made a note of the timestamp because Susan Smith had to be tr
avelling under a different identity since her real passport was back at the police station, with Alan Davies. They needed to know what that name was – it would make their search going forward a whole lot easier because she’d likely have credit cards in the same.
Julie sat back in her seat and put her hands over her eyes. Chrissy gave her sister a moment before speaking. “That confirms it then, Susan has taken off for some reason, and she doesn’t want anyone to know where. Otherwise, she’d have been in touch, she’d have answered her phone.”
Julie for once was speechless. Maybe seeing her friend preparing to run had disappointed her.
“Do you think that she’s running away from Marcus?” Chrissy asked.
Julie removed her hands from her face and rolled her eyes to the ceiling while she thought through recent events. “I really have no clue,” she said tiredly. “I didn’t realise things were so bad between them, but if he is the reason, she quite clearly doesn’t want him to know that she is alive and kicking. She’s got everyone worrying and she hasn’t contacted me so she is obviously intent on starting a new life somewhere for some reason. I’m her friend. Or so I thought. And I hadn’t a clue!”
Chrissy ignored her sister’s dramatics. “The thing that strikes me,” said Chrissy, “is that she’s got no luggage, she’s got nothing with her, so this wasn’t planned in that respect. She’s just literally got on a ferry and gone to France; she’s doing this on the hoof. I doubt she’s got a secret hideaway somewhere with all her new belongings ready for a new life, but of course I could be wrong.” She thought for a moment before adding, “The good thing about the spontaneous hoof is she’ll make mistakes. Let’s hope that works in our favour.”
“So we know she’s gone to Calais at least. What do you suggest we do now, then?” Julie’s words sounded weary, adrenaline had surged and left her body, leaving her tired.