Abduction in Dalgety Bay

by Ramsay Sinclair

  She motioned for me to be seated, speaking with the repertoire of seasoned colleagues rather than those who hadn’t long met. Mustering all the finesse that could be found, I took the seat appreciatively.

  “I understand. It’s all under control thus far.”

  “Uniformed PCs haven’t found a sign of Sarah by searching the surrounding areas closest to the school, and there’s no one responding to the photographs of Sarah they handed out around town yesterday,” DCI Harvey began. “What are the team working on in there?”

  “They’re running through the employee records as we speak, and we’ve requested footage from the traffic cams to try to patch up any footage of where the van was heading. Get a general direction until the trace goes clear at least,” I relayed all the information we’d gathered.

  She seemed pleased at the efficiency. “Well done. Looks like I made the correct choice when putting you in charge. My instinct never fails me.” DCI Harvey had a lighthearted twinkle in her eyes. “Is that all?”

  “Actually, no. It isn’t.” I heaved a sigh. “There’s something else I’d like to talk about, even though I know you’ve got enough burdens to take care of right now--”

  “That’s what being a DCI is all about. Don’t worry about me.” She set her pen down with finality and leaned both elbows on the tabletop. “Now, I’m guessing this isn’t anything to do with the case, huh?”

  There was knowing sobriety to DCI Harvey’s question, having guessed where this was heading.

  “I’ve a feeling you’re here to discuss DI Cooper. Am I correct?” she continued pressingly.

  “How did you--?”

  “There was a pause before you mentioned this discussion, unlike the certainty you had when talking about Sarah’s case with me. That seemed easy for you to talk about, as you’ve remembered all the facts by heart, while this is a conversation that seems harder to talk about, something that concerns you on a personal level, rather than a professional one.” DCI Harvey’s polite exterior had vanished, replaced with a no-nonsense approach. “Reading people is a part of CID’s speciality. Shoot.”

  “You’re right.” Shuffling in surprise and a wee bit of admiration in my seat, I proceeded to explain the tough position I’d found myself in. “It is about DI Cooper. He’s a very stubborn man.”

  “I noticed,” DCI Harvey smiled in mirth.

  “He won't admit that he needs help of some capacity. A therapist or counsellor, to be exact,” I explained heartily. “I’m afraid it’s only going to get worse if we don’t intervene.”

  “That’s a sign of a caring friend,” she said firmly. “Other people wouldn’t be as brave to stand up against what someone in shock wants, but that’s the best way to deal with this situation. DI Cooper needs asserting rather than options. With options, there’s room for him to doubt the normal recovery rate and form opinions on how best to deal with the aftermath of trauma. But sometimes, intervening is sometimes the greatest help we can give them.”

  Jotting down some scribbles upon a notepad, I was relieved that this was being taken seriously.

  “You don’t think I’m overreacting?” I asked curiously.

  DCI Harvey immediately shook her head in disagreement. “Shock is a serious ailment, especially to an officer. We don’t want DI Cooper’s decisions in the workplace to be affected by the nerves.” She was right. “You’ve given DI Cooper time to heal without getting involved, but from what I hear and see, he’s only declining in health. I agree with you. DI Cooper needs someone separate from work and home life to talk to, in a place where he won’t feel judged by anyone.”

  It seemed natural, indulging in a conversation of this nature with DCI Harvey. She wasn’t belittling to Finlay or me, nor was she unsympathetic. I was more than grateful that she was willing and prepared to tackle this problem head-on. Another niggling thought was stuck in my mind.

  “I’m afraid if I tell DI Cooper myself, that he won’t take it seriously enough. That he’ll hold a grudge against me for getting involved.”

  DCI Harvey nodded understandably. “I’ll take care of this instead. Save you the trouble.” She took off the bangles that were getting in the way of her writing. “I’ll use the guise of my position and natural assertiveness to convince DI Cooper to agree. I’ll say it’s my duty of service to the team and that it's in the best interests of CID that he’s referred to a psychiatrist. I’ll explain it's out of kindness and concern, rather than just trying to be a busybody.” She ran through the plan to quell any further concerns I had. “I’ve done the same in my previous position, and after the first therapy session, the officer agreed that it helped their mental state. Hopefully, DI Cooper will be the same story.”

  “I sure hope so.” If the orders came from higher up, hopefully, Finlay would see this was a serious request.

  DCI Harvey weaved her fingers together and studied me carefully. “Is there anything else you’d like to talk about? I’m here for all the team, just to let you know.”

  “You’ve taken a huge weight off my shoulders by helping with DI Cooper’s troubles. More than you’d probably be able to comprehend. Thank you.” I hoped she realised I was sincere.

  “Don’t mention it. Whilst I’m your DCI, I’m here to help, both as a superior and a friend.”

  Beaming now, I felt lighter than I had in a while. Finlay was one of my closest friends. Whatever he was going through often reflected on me too. We were in this rocky ride of life together, whether he realised that yet, or not.

  “Glad to hear it.”

  “And thank you for the coffee.” DCI Harvey pointedly took a sip, leaving a lipstick transfer on the rim. “Without wanting to kick you out, the superintendent is expecting to speak with me in a couple of minutes.”

  “Aye, no worries,” I stood up immediately, respecting her routine. “We’re quite busy ourselves.”

  As I stalked towards the exit, DCI Harvey raised a finger to show that she wasn’t done yet. “I should be finished with all of my initial tasks this afternoon. Then I’ll be available to help with Sarah’s case. She deserves our utmost attention.”

  “Agreed. Thanks, ma’am,” I said appreciatively.

  11

  “Sarge?” DC Taylor snapped up from his computer at around midday and practically ran over to McCall’s messy desk. It was covered in its usual strewn files, coffee mugs, and snacks. She called it a working state of progress. “I’ve found something.”

  Glancing up from the temperamental printer, I was hit square in the head with a flying tissue. Where the hell did that come from?

  The constables sniggered, and the obvious culprit was Cillian due to his guilty expression. God only knew what the tissue had been used for, but I had to wipe a greasy residue from my skin in repulsion.

  “Sorry, sir.” His gangly legs paced over to pick the dirty kleenex up. “You moved at the wrong time.”

  “At least it wasn’t me, for once.” Tony proudly displayed the many bruises he had gathered on the nape of his neck during his years at CID. His goal post sized head attracted flying objects. Cillian’s notoriously bad aim didn’t help.

  “Your head’s so huge, Tones, that it has its own orbit.” He found the opportune moment for a token joke. His suit trousers were so rumpled they looked more like ankle swingers. The unfolding scene would turn into anarchy if it wasn’t stopped, a mixture of teasing and mickey-taking would erupt.

  “Just shush for five minutes, Cillian,” I begged and came up with an appropriate bribe. “I’ll pay you five pounds if you do. One pound per minute, in case you can’t do the math.”

  Finally, he piped down and allowed the rest of our attention to focus on the other, more important interaction taking place in the office. Cillian took my offer onboard and mimed zipping his lips tightly together.

  “Both Jerry and Marvin Clark served time in prison for assault,” DC Taylor carried on speaking and flashed the employee records we had obtained towards McCall.

  “Of course!” She
slapped the desk in sudden realisation, knocking over DC Taylor’s flask of lemon water. He was on a new detox diet, as the team had heard a dozen times over. It was an internet fad, something supposed to help with fitness, etcetera, etcetera.

  “What’s up with Sarge?” Tony uttered, preoccupied with helping me to fix the printer. It was jammed as usual and still beeping bloody murder.

  “I don’t know.” Rebecca shrugged. She, too, was distracted by the computer screen and concentrated wholly on her research. Her hair was in a new, experimental style today: scraped tightly from the hairline and piled into small ribbons atop the crown of her head. “Shouldn’t you be doing something more… substantial than the maintenance duties? Call someone to come and fix that printer. It’s too temperamental to deal with ourselves.”

  Tony poked his tongue out in victory as he dislodged some chewed up ribbons of paper from the reverse side of the machine. “Actually, I’m on my break for now.”

  “Yeah, well. As of now, no breaks,” McCall broke the disappointing news to them, pouring over the file that DC Taylor was proudly displaying. “These guys who had worked for the Carlings are more important to the investigation than we originally realised.”

  I glanced alongside them at the employee records, too, apprehensive about finding out the juicy information. DC Taylor was showing pictures of the men we originally believed to be cousins or siblings.

  “As we already know, these two men are called Jerry and Marvin Clark.”

  “Yeah,” McCall muttered and pensively tapped a pencil against her lips. “Formerly known as the Clark brothers. Very original.”

  “When we were in the Carlings’ offices, you mentioned that they looked familiar?” I prompted.

  Stretching out and grimacing, McCall shared what she knew so far. “They were the first case I worked on as a police constable. About ten years ago.” Her eyes glimmered. “DC Taylor found their background records, including their criminal ones.”

  Where had those ten years disappeared? McCall and I first met on the uniformed side of things, attending various street patrols and house calls. We gelled immediately after having the same sense of humour and attention to details on our calls. We’d both mutually agreed to move into the CID department as constables and eventually worked our way up the ranks.

  Gobsmacked, I had to double-check my hearing was correct. “Blimey, how time flies.”

  “We don’t look bad for our age.” McCall laughed in agreement, although Cillian was bursting to tell us otherwise. “Jerry and Marvin Clark previously assaulted a young woman. The girl was only seventeen at the time, still legally a minor. The Clark brothers had gotten into gang troubles of sorts with the girl's father, and the Clark brothers used the minor as leverage to reel in the father. Basically, they used the seventeen-year-old as bait. It was all to get their revenge, or so the Clark brothers had said in court at a later date.”

  “Tough bastards then,” Tony sighed.

  Rebecca didn’t appear the least pleased at the revelation either. “If they can do it once, do you think they’re capable of doing it again?”

  “Criminal history, using young women as leverage, and underpaid wages. I’d say it’s a very strong possibility,” McCall confirmed. “It’s the best lead we’ve got so far.”

  “If they went for a seventeen-year-old before, do you think they could go for an even younger girl like Sarah?” I mused. “There’s a big difference between a seven-year-old and a seventeen-year-old.” Teenagers would be old enough to grasp the situation they were dealing with, whereas a seven-year-old would be crying and making a loud fuss. Sarah wouldn’t be the easiest to keep quiet.

  “No doubt about it. These guys were vicious.” I detected a bout of nerves behind McCall’s seriousness. This begged the question: if the Clark brothers were as deadly as they’d been portrayed, would we have any chance of getting Sarah Carling home safely?

  “Then I guess you know what to do, DC Taylor.” A spark of excitement and pure determination lit in my veins. “Pull ‘em in.”

  McCall shushed me by putting a finger to her pale lips. “Who’s fronting the case here? Pull 'em in, DC Taylor.”

  “You literally copied exactly what I said.” I chuckled in disbelief at her competitive personality.

  “You always get to say that. Let me do it for once,” McCall tutted chirpily, excited at the prospect of a breakthrough.

  “The address should be right here.” DC Taylor faffed around and flicked through the individual sheets on their employee records. “Luckily for us, it’s fairly straightforward if they haven’t moved house or changed their phone number. I’ll get onto that right away, sir. Sarge.” He saluted and paced away to dispatch the call.

  Rebecca clicked twice to grab our concentration. She pointed smugly at the computer monitor. “Whilst you guys were talking, I did a quick internet search. I found a Facebook profile belonging to Marvin Clark.”

  Ah, Facebook. The crux of all modern life. I didn’t have any social media apps for that exact reason. It was too easy for any Tom, Dick, and Harry to find out everything they needed to know.

  “From the photographs on his page, it would seem he’s turned God-fearing now,” Rebecca whispered, marvelling at the computer screen that displayed all types of photographs and videos Marvin Clark had shared to his social media page.

  “She’s good.” McCall folded her arms and peered over, visibly impressed.

  “Forget good. She’s brilliant,” I gushed and earned a playful slap on the arm. “Sorry. You’ll always be my favourite, McCall, but Rebecca isn’t far behind. The fab two.” I shrugged unapologetically. The two women were a force to be reckoned with.

  “So, what did you mean by God-fearing?” I wondered aloud and scrolled through the Facebook page myself. Rebecca helpfully turned her computer screen for all the team to see.

  “They say people change, Sir,” she optimistically stated. The person centre stage in every photograph was recognisably Marvin, shown at the church, at the shops, and even by the waterfront. “Although I’d say he’s bordering on narcissism, as all of his posts are selfies.”

  McCall nearly choked on her own saliva at the sight of the pictures. “If I had those sorts of muscles, I’d love myself too. He didn’t have that physique ten years ago, and those employee records certainly didn’t do him any justice.”

  I tried to cover the digital screen with my hand, but even that didn’t hide the muscles. They were more impressive than a sailor. “Put your eyes back into your head. Don’t forget they’ve got a track record and that they could have Sarah Carling.”

  “I know that.” McCall rolled her eyes. “Doesn’t mean we can’t give credit where credit’s due. Trust me. You couldn’t pay me to touch him with a bargepole after what the Clarks did to that seventeen-year-old.”

  “Glad to hear it. What about Jerry Clark?” I turned to face Rebecca, who also appeared to be admiring the view. “Anything about him on the Facebook profile?”

  “Not even a whisper. It’s as though he’s purposely avoided any type of online presence since last year. There’s only aged photos and comments from him dating back to that time.” She showed us an example.

  “Strange,” McCall noted in curiosity. “I wonder why Jerry stopped posting, but Marvin didn’t?”

  Perching against the desk in interest, I couldn’t think of any speculative reasons why. “We can ask when we question them. I wonder if the Carlings knew they’d hired convicted criminals?”

  “It would’ve come up on their records upon hiring,” McCall insisted. “They must've known, yet they were adamant none of their employees would do anything like kidnapping Sarah Carling. I think their trust blindsided them. They appear to be gullible in thinking that there are decent people surrounding them.”

  “Like Abbey said over supper,” I added. “You don’t realise how many bad people are wandering the streets until you work for the force or have a crime committed against you. Maybe the Carlings will realise t
hat nobody is trustworthy after what’s happened to their daughter.”

  Tony cleared his throat and held up some letters he finally managed to get printed. “Sir, sarge. I made a copy of the Carlings’ joint bank transcripts whilst we’re on the subject. I’m not sure if they’re of any use, though.”

  “Go ahead.” McCall nodded. “Anything is worthwhile at this stage.”

  “Their transactions are habitual for the first few years of their business opening. Outgoings were mainly for the upkeep and normal starting costs you’d expect for a business. Then, recently... I don’t know. It’s odd. There are sums of money coming out everywhere. They’ve nearly emptied the account in the space of this past month.”

  I took the printout, seeing firsthand the huge loss of money the Carlings had. “That’ll be the crippling debt. It’s not uncommon for people to get desperate and panic. The amount in the account before it started coming out in mass amounts probably wouldn’t be enough to pay half of their bills. We found a few in their desk. The bills we found were… extortionate, to say the least.”

  “Yeah, I suppose you’re right,” Tony deflated. “Sorry, I thought that would be more helpful. It’s driving me mad, knowing Sarah’s out there, and all this is all I’ve managed to find. I’ll carry on digging.”

  “Don’t let it get you down, Tones. We’re all in the same boat, with only one oar left by the looks of things around here,” McCall said lightly, managing a sympathetic nod of encouragement. “Everything’s helpful at this stage. We can build a bigger picture of who the Carlings spoke to, interacted with, etcetera. Can I see those statements?”

  Tony handed over the reports to the capable eyes of McCall, who dipped into a placid silence as she read.

  “Something isn’t quite right here. It doesn’t add up,” McCall mentioned, frowning in confusion. Flicking back through a couple of hurriedly stapled together pages, she continued to elaborate. “It states here that Marvin Clark has been a payee to the Carlings previously.”