by Paul Watson
‘I’m having lunch with Tommy,’ said Steve’s wife from three thousand miles away.
‘How’s he feeling?’
‘Tommy’s much better, a good rest this weekend, and he thinks he’ll be ok for school on Monday; I’ll put him on speaker.’
‘Hello Tommy, how are you?’
‘Hello Daddy, are you having a good trip?’
‘Tiring buddy, glad you’re better. I’ll call you and Mummy later for a chat. I’ve got a question for you. Did you pack me a surprise in my travel bag?’
‘Don’t think so?’
‘I’ve found a little plastic duck.’
‘No wasn’t me, make sure you bring him back though.’
‘Sometimes the airline gives you a plastic duck in your travel pack,’ said Nikki
‘I don’t travel on the same airlines as you, Honey. I’d settle for a standard size seat. Glad you’re both all ok. Got to go; I’m with Andy; I’ll call you before I go to bed, probably when you’re having dinner.’
‘Bye Daddy.’
‘Speak later, say “Hi” to Andy,’ Nikki said.
‘No mercy. Let’s see inside the duck; I’ll ask for a knife at the bar.’ Andy headed into the pub with the duck, but before he reached the bar, he heard a screech of tyres outside, and shouting; he couldn’t make out the words.
Andy rushed outside and glimpsed a red Ford Transit turning left onto the main street. There was no trace of Steve; the bags and the yellow bike had also disappeared.
One of the woman that Steve had spoken with earlier trembled; tears trickled over her pale cheek. ‘There were about six men, they jumped out, hit your friend with a gun and bundled him into the van; the men were shouting and pointing weapons.’
‘Did you get the registration mark of the van?’
‘Yes, I took a photo as they drove off down the road.’
The woman handed her phone to Andy, and he mailed the picture to himself.
He dialled 999 and said, ‘Kidnappers have taken my friend.’ Andy gave details of the van.
‘We have no units free to deal, please stay where you are, and we’ll get someone with you as soon as we can, will you be available on this phone?’
‘Yes.’
‘I’ll hang up now and keep you updated.’ The line went dead.
Andy was hungry; he’d planned to eat something with Steve after a few aperitifs, but now his need was functional. He saw a budget takeaway pizza place on the other side of the road; calorific food with plenty of carbs and fat would be just the job.
He trudged over to the pizza place; he sat on a plastic bench, near the door.
A waitress sauntered towards him. ‘Can I get you anything to drink?’ She spoke with an Italian accent.
‘A Coke please, I’ll have a Margarita with a thin crust.’ Andy didn’t bother to check the menu.
‘We only do standard crust is that ok?’
‘Yes, no problem.’
She sashayed back to the counter and passed a ticket over to an enormous man who wore a white apron over his triangular belly. Andy figured that this man was the boss as his only job in the production process seemed to be to pin the ticket onto the first station. A much younger man span dough into thin flat discs and passed them on to station two. Andy observed his order progress along the production line.
‘Here’s your Coke.’ The waitress placed a pint glass in front of Andy. ‘I like your duck.’ Andy had placed the duck on the table as he reached to take a swig.
‘Thanks.’ Andy watched as his pizza base advanced to station two. A girl, around eighteen years old, with a bird tattoo on her lower neck, received the pizza base from the dough spinner and spread a thin layer of tomato sauce over it.
She dipped her gloved hands into a bowl and scattered on mozzarella balls. The evenness of the scattering impressed Andy; a random process would have left clumps of mozzarella and bare patches. The uniformity of the cheese balls showed considerable skill.
‘I’ve brought you a bowl for your duck.’ The waitress placed a clear bowl, half full of water on the table. She picked up the duck and popped it in the bowl where it floated on top of the water. ‘We like to keep all our customers happy.’
The men behind the counter making the pizza were laughing. Andy raised a smile.
He studied the duck bobbing in the water and returned his attention to his pizza’s progress.
The toppings station came next. Two more girls, in their late teens, worked at this station, in front of bowls of ham, olives, pineapples and mushrooms. Andy noticed that his pizza had passed through this station untouched and was in a queue before the oven.
The pizza oven functioned like a commercial toaster, like those found in breakfast rooms of chain hotels; you put the bread or pizza onto the rotating wire rack, and a belt transports it through a set temperature for a fixed time: Andy estimated about seven minutes.
He glanced back to his duck. The water underneath had a bluish tinge; perhaps reflecting the blue sky through the window, like open water.
‘Refill on the coke?’
Andy had finished the whole drink. ‘Yes please.’ He gazed at the oven: the bottleneck. He imagined that it was a constant source of frustration for the manager at busy times, throttling back his throughput.
Andy reflected that the oven brought stability to the whole operation. The pizza’s plopped out every few seconds, and, downstream, waitresses delivered them to the tables in boxes.
One way to speed up the pizza delivery would be to buy two ovens. Would the demand call for that investment? Andy considered what a wood-fired oven would do to the process; he’d seen pizzas cooked in ninety seconds in them at sports events. With a restaurant this size, this would move the constraint to order taking, assuming enough customers.
The extra volume might mean hiring a few more waitresses.
‘Here you go; enjoy.’ The waitress carried Andy’s pizza. She stared at the table, ‘Oh, I’m so sorry.’
‘Why? The service is great; you have a fantastic restaurant here.’
‘Sorry for putting your duck in the water. It felt like a bath toy. I didn’t realise it was a bath bomb.’
Andy observed the bowl; most of the duck’s body had dissolved, and only its head still bobbed around. The liquid had turned a deep purple colour.
EIGHT
Saturday morning. Amy woke in her bed and reached for Jamie who wasn’t there; perhaps he’d woken early and gone downstairs. She stretched her arms and yawned; the end of a set of tiring late shifts, and Amy didn’t want to waste a minute of her rest days. The last turn was the worst; a death in custody is rare, and the investigation would be thorough. She thought of poor Sergeant Howard who would endure the questions as the man in charge. What could she have done? There would be plenty of time to go through this, it was best to use the time off to recover and spend time with Jamie.
Amy donned the white dressing gown Jamie had bought from a hotel, during a mini break last summer. The robe cheered her: a different uniform, no work.
She descended the stairs and lifted the post from the mat near the front door. In the kitchen, Amy chose an Americano pod and made coffee; she’d choose Decaf later.
Jamie hadn’t come home. Perhaps he’d grabbed over time? Odd though, for the guvnor to allow overtime on the last late shift at double pay.
Amy pulled her phone from her bag and called Jamie; voicemail; no messages on her mobile.
After making toast she sat at the table and gazed through the window; the kitchen was her favourite room; it had bifold doors that overlooked a terraced garden with steps leading to a fence with a gate. Both the garden and the maisonette were tiny, but the view from the kitchen window was sublime; trees shimmered in a gentle breeze, and birdsong punctuated the silence. The bluetit that had arrived a few months earlier popped in and out of the bird box, and a squirrel darted along the fence. Amy ate the toast and drank the coffee; she opened the location app on her phone; Jamie’s location showed near
Covent Garden.
Amy showered and dressed in a pair of blue jeans and a white t-shirt. At the weekend she wore her brown hair in a ponytail; after fixing the bags under her eyes with makeup, the reflection in the mirror pleased her. Amy remembered that Becky was on early shift and would have received handover from Jamie’s night shift; she dialled Becky’s number.
‘Hi Becks, are you ok?’
‘Hi Amy, sorry I didn’t call you, but I couldn’t think what to say. Jamie and Rob didn’t book off last night, the last anyone saw of them was around eight p.m.’
‘Where were they?’
‘At the theatre job; they took statements for Mike, and there’s been no contact since then; I’m sorry Amy, I would have come over after my shift.’
‘Don’t worry Becks, I’ll see you soon.’
Going back into London was a drag; Amy grabbed her bag and strode towards the tube station. The journey on the Piccadilly line into Covent garden took half an hour, and Amy didn’t waste her time. She liked to read whenever she could, always fiction, it made travel a pleasure rather than a curse.
Amy arrived and escaped from the tube; she checked her phone for Jamie’s position, which wasn’t at the theatre but a little North of it. She hiked to the location; a blue dot on the app. The phone display showed that it updated at 8.10 p.m. on the previous evening. A ramp wiggled down into a parking garage at the site.
Down the ramp, Amy observed a few cars parked and spotted a door at the opposite end of the building. She pushed it open and climbed a set of stairs leading back up to street level where she found a ticket machine. Amy read the information on the machine which included a phone number to call for help.
Amy dialled the number.
‘Hello how may I help you?’ the car park attendant said.
‘Hello, I’m police, I need to meet with you as soon as possible, I’m on the parking level.’
‘I’ll come and find you.’
Amy returned to the car park and spotted a lady with grey hair emerging from another door under the main ramp. The attendant walked with a limp.
‘Are you the police?’ the attendant said.
Amy got her warrant card out of her bag and presented it.
‘Come into my office Cherub, and we’ll have a chat.’
Amy followed the woman into a small room, constructed from the void under the entry ramp. There was a kettle and mugs on a table, next to two chairs; there were no screens or computers. A first aid at work certificate hung on the wall above a photo of two middle-aged men.
‘What would you like to drink Poppet?’
‘Nothing, thank you, I’ve just got a few questions.’
‘I don’t get to talk to folks much; are you sure you can’t spare time for a cuppa?’
‘Thanks, I’ll have a coffee then please, black no sugar.’
The attendant filled the kettle with water. Amy found it hard to estimate the woman’s age. The lady had young eyes, but her wrinkled skin could have been over 70 years old.
‘Now how can I help?’
‘Do you have CCTV?’
‘No CCTV in the garage. Who needs cameras when you’ve got me, now what brings you to my doorstep on a sunny Saturday morning, when you should be out enjoying yourself?’
‘I’m looking for two police officers that didn’t book off duty last night.’
‘Are you working today?’
‘It’s my rest day today.’
‘So what brings you here, surely plenty of other police are available?’
‘The missing officer is my boyfriend.’
‘Oh Sweetie, you must be worried sick, here you go.’ The attendant handed Amy a cup of coffee which was strong and tasted bitter. ‘Tell me about your boyfriend.’
‘He’s about 5 feet 9 tall, and skinny.’
‘Tell me about him, what is he like?’
‘Why’s that relevant?’
‘Honey, the world is more complex than we think, and it’s impossible for people to understand by themselves. Things that don’t seem important can surprise us and change everything. Other things we worry about disappear without a trace. Best to assume nothing and explore everything if possible, but you already understand that. It’s always time that’s the problem.’ She spoke with a voice like gravel with an occasional cough.
Amy breathed deeply and smiled. ‘He’s intelligent, top of the class, he knows the answer to every problem and works hard.’
‘Sounds like a fine man to be out there keeping me safe.’
‘He looks weak and scrawny, but he’s tough. He grew up in China and did Kung Fu since he was small, his dad was a diplomat.’
‘Do people like him?’
‘He’s got a few friends.’
‘You don’t need everyone to like you.’
‘There are many people he doesn’t get on with, how did you know?’
‘I’ve met lots of people cupcake, not as many as I’d like anymore. I like the sound of your young man. What’s his worst bit?’
‘He always thinks he’s right and doesn’t listen to anyone. People say he’s not a team player.’
‘Such confidence Angel, maybe he’s right all the time but can’t persuade people with facts and logic.’
‘He makes me so cross sometimes, but he is always right.’
‘He’s got you to help him with the people bit Gorgeous. I bet you’ve never struggled with people. Have you? The only problem is sometimes you’re too kind?’
‘You’re right; do you know anything?’
‘I’m not sure I know anything Precious, but some things are more probable than others.’
Amy stared at the woman for a few seconds. ‘What probably happened to Jamie?’
‘Oh Jamie, what a lovely name, goes well with Amy.’
‘I didn’t tell you my name.’
‘That little plastic card you showed me Petal. Your hair looks more fetching in a ponytail, if I may say so dearest, rather than up in those buns like on the photo. I had hair like you, a long time ago now mind you.’
‘I’ve enjoyed talking with you, but if you know nothing that might help, I need to be going.’
‘But you’ve not finished your coffee yet. It’s unlikely that rushing off before you’ve finished it will help you find your Jamie any sooner. It might be better to rehydrate; you could have a long day ahead. We never grasp what’s next around the corner.’ The attendant picked up a frame from the table and showed it to Amy. ‘Jojo, the apple of my eye.’
Amy regarded the photo. There was a little black cat sat on a rug.
‘I look after him, and he looks after me.’
‘Thanks for all your time, say hello to Jojo for me. Hope you get outside and see the sun today.’ Amy walked towards the door.
The attendant stood up and opened the door for Amy. ‘Amy, don’t rush off before you find out where Jamie is.’
NINE
Jamie woke in a single bed with a thin duvet; he could feel the springs through the old mattress as sunlight glared through the window, illuminating the white-painted brick walls. Two wardrobes and three empty beds stood in the room.
Jamie wore his trousers and shirt; someone had removed his belt kit, boots and stab vest, along with his radio and mobile phone.
He crept towards the steel door; his hosts had locked it. There was no keyhole, but it had a window. The other window, in the wall, had bars.
Jamie opened the wardrobe door. It had just enough room for a skinny runt like him; Rob would need a different plan if he were nearby. Jamie climbed into the closet. There was no room to sit.
He’d stood still like this for twelve hours on a night shift before, guarding a cordon, a few weeks into his service. He’d wanted to pee but wouldn’t take the risk of being found away from his post or being spotted by an unlikely passer-by.
A recent back injury made Jamie doubt he could stand for that long now, but he didn’t think it would be a problem; he suspected his hosts would be along to check on him.
Jamie stared at his wrist in the dark; they’d taken the watch he wore to remind him of his parents, who had bought it as a twenty-first birthday present; Jamie had often thought about buying a cheap digital for work.
The watch linked him to his parents, doing their public service thousands of miles away. Jamie would admit it to himself and maybe one day to Amy, but it wasn’t the everyday humdrum police work that drove him. He dreamt big and hoped to get to the top. His dad was in good health, and Jamie’s mind wandered to his father, sailing his yacht, in retirement, as his son progressed through the ranks and became commissioner.
Jamie refocussed on the current situation; the steel door creaked as it opened, and Jamie executed the plan he’d run through in his head.
He placed both palms against the wardrobe door and pushed hard, like a punch. The door flew open, and Jamie burst into the room. He raised his chin as he ran and kept his centre of gravity over his rear leg; years of training and tournament fighting in his childhood had programmed his muscle memory.
Rushing in against a competent fighter would provoke a violent reaction. It had been a long time since Jamie had faced a qualified opponent though.
Jamie saw the door was about six inches ajar, with an arm, poking through the gap, holding a handgun.
He tensed his left hand, tucked in his thumb, and put his palm flat against his chest. Jamie twisted his torso away from the door, and braced his knees, like a golfer winding up for a drive. He unleashed the chop; the side of his hand hit the gun arm just under the wrist knocking the gun clear. The blow beat the gunman’s wrist into the door’s sharp edge, snapping it.
Jamie caught the broken wrist in his left hand, pulled it towards him, and a bear of a man tumbled into the room; Jamie swung an elbow into the bear’s nose.
The giant lay motionless on the floor. Jamie picked up the gun, checked the safety catch and searched the bear from top to tail; he found a bunch of keys, clipped them onto his belt hook and left the room.
Above the corridor, neon strip lights hung from the ceiling and provided stark illumination. Several doors lined the walls, but only three of them had windows in the panel.