Cillian and Rebecca were the next to reply, and it was obvious who was in charge of the radio duties in that vehicle. “Aye, aye, captain. Ma’am, I mean. We can see the same as DI Cooper.”
The final of our CID vehicles to respond were that of Tony and DC Taylor. Their reply was serious, as opposed to the prior one.
“We’re in place, ma’am,” DC Taylor was the one to commandeer the set. “There’s nothing of interest at our end yet.”
A few strange noises echoed through our devices, followed by a high pitched ringing noise. Blocking our ears, we attempted to turn the volume down. It set our teeth on edge, and a prickle of shivers littered my spine.
“Guv, our radio is crackling. It’s hard to hear you.” Rebecca’s voice came over the system. “We did check the radios before we left, but clearly, it wasn’t thorough enough. Sorry, Guv.”
It wasn’t anyone’s fault. Technology was unreliable, especially our rickety old equipment. We found ourselves often dealing with faulty computers or dodgy Wi-Fi around the Bay. Take our printer as a prime example.
“You said you have eyes on Mr and Mrs Carling. Can you still see DI Cooper and DS McCall’s car? If your radios cut out or you can’t hear us at any point, then look at them for a signal,” DCI Harvey directed in an attempt to fix the dwindled communication before the kidnappers arrived. We four instinctively looked towards each other, making eye contact through the windshield and windows.
“Yes, Guv. We can all see each other… just,” Rebecca confirmed, and Cillian poked his tongue out at us childishly, excited at the fact that we couldn’t do anything about it. Although crackling, their voices were just about audible.
“Cillian, we can still see what you're doing,” I muttered into the radio, and the systems went silent.
“Just testing your eyesight, sir. Sorry, Sarge,” he said meekly, and I saw him glaring at me from across the road for telling him off.
I couldn’t help but let a chuckle escape at the cheeky bugger.
Mr and Mrs Carling weren’t aware of the tête-à-tête between us all, standing a ten-second sprint away. They mirrored models on the television, overworked, overtired, and undernourished. Mr Carling should have been the type of guy to sport a middle-aged beer belly, yet due to the uncertain circumstances, he’d be lucky to have a stomach at all. They’d barely eaten apart from when we had to force them to.
An unspoken tension hung inside the air and transferred through the radio channels. McCall searched inside the glovebox for a snack of some description. She was a stress eater and was lucky that after all the stress we’d undergone in our years of policing that she’d stayed slim.
“Three minutes,” I announced just for our benefit. I’m sure the others were more than capable of keeping their own time.
“Stand by,” DCI Harvey gave the agreed order. “Eyes on a white van, indicating into Ferry Way. I repeat, stand by everyone.”
“Here we go,” McCall snapped up, forgetting all about the idea or food, and my own grip tightened on the steering wheel.
“Heading west along Ferris Way, towards your vehicle, DS McCall and DI Cooper,” DCI Harvey stated.
“Copy.” McCall took care of the talking whilst I was focused on keeping the engine running and eyes on the prize. We were leaning towards the windscreen, waiting for any sign of the vehicle stated. Anxiety and suspense coursed through my veins, filling my temples with a throbbing sensation that blurred my vision ever so slightly.
“They’ll have to locate the Carlings first,” I muttered. “The kidnapper didn’t state an exact position on their message.”
A squealing sound of tyres racing along the concrete alerted us into action as the white van hurtled into sight. The vehicle itself was covered in scuff marks, probably a direct result of the thrashing motions they’d put it through. Like a horse being put through its paces, they accelerated, in danger of burning the tyres to a pulp.
“Eyes on.” McCall was on form, already calling it in. “Heading towards the Carlings. Subject is rounding the corner.”
The person driving was covered by a reflection across the window, hiding them from immediate sight of who it could be. Cillian’s radio crackled loudly as they tried to communicate again. The sound dipped in and out, but it was clear enough to figure out.
“We can see them too from our side, Guv.”
Mrs Carling was deathly pale and almost about to faint, judging by the way she gripped onto a nearby wall for support. Mr Carling wiped his balding scalp free of the moisture collected there and seemed to double-check that the briefcase was still clutched mercilessly in his grasp.
DCI Harvey hit us with an urgent reminder. “Hold tight until Sarah’s been handed over.”
“Yes, Guv,” we all agreed and watched the racing van closer than a hawk.
Our suspect van screeched up to the pavement and slammed on the brakes. A small fog of dust rose from the ground up, transferred from the heavy set wheels themselves and onto the tarmac. Not only were they holding someone’s daughter unlawfully, but they were breaking a thousand traffic and road laws too.
Mr and Mrs Carling stared at the vehicle with hopeful eyes, waiting for a glimpse of their young lass. Their pale skin stung from the Scottish chill, branded in pink and red hues. Unfortunately for them, the back of the van had no windows, and nothing held inside of there was visible to us. The driver’s door swung open in double time, and we could only assume the driver was on their own. Leaving the engine running, the kidnapper approached the couple fearlessly.
“Suspect is out of the vehicle, Guv. Heading towards the Carlings. Seems to be asking for the briefcase,” McCall cooly stated. “No sign of Sarah yet.”
Our suspect wore a balaclava, exactly as they were reported to be wearing during the original kidnapping. The man outstretched his hands, motioning to the briefcase as he shouted towards the Carlings.
“He’s asking for the briefcase,” Cillian’s crackling radio came back on. “We can hear them through our open window. Mr Carling’s putting up resistance, asking to see Sarah first.”
I groaned, hoping the kidnappers’ patience wouldn’t run out too soon. Wearing all black, the man who’d clambered from the van was shorter than Mrs Carling’s recollection and slimmer than we’d expected. Palm outstretched, he waggled his fingers at Mr Carling before he lunged for the briefcase.
“Can anyone see Sarah?” McCall held the wireless transmitter to her chin and stayed frozen until we had an answer.
It took a while for a reply. “Negative.”
In the distance, Mr Carling reluctantly handed over the briefcase and peered into the van in search of their daughter. The kidnapper opened the briefcase and took a peek at the money, seemingly satisfied. Securing the briefcase with twenty thousand pounds underneath his armpit, the suspect sprinted and clambered back into the driver's seat, slamming the weighted door shut behind him. In seconds flat, he’d slammed on the accelerator and sent the transit flying from its stationary setting and towards the east side of Ferris Way.
Mrs Carling screamed bloody murder when the white van screeched away from the pavement again, and Mr Carling attempted to run with the moving car. He banged on the plastic a few times but was soon left choking in the exhaust fumes as the kidnapper zoomed away. The delta team out on foot interfered by holding the Carling’s back before they put themselves into immediate danger.
“Shit,” I seethed and thrust the gear into first. I speedily pulled out of our allocated space, careful to manoeuvre past any of the warehouse’s employee cars. We didn’t need a lawsuit against us for crashing into them, after all.
As I tried to tail the transit van, McCall, in a highly wrung state of panic, radioed the team accordingly. “Suspect is on the move, heading towards the east of Ferris Way. Sarah is not in our care. Repeat, Sarah is not in our care.”
Nearing the unmarked vehicle on the east road, I wondered why Cillian and Rebecca weren’t attempting to cut the kidnappers' vehicle off. The transit va
n rounded the corner and passed by them at speed, and that’s when we noticed their engine was spluttering. Rebecca was desperately trying to start the engine, but to no avail, the headlight beams flashing on and off each time they tried.
Keeping a constant line of communication, McCall barely stopped talking. “The east vehicle is having difficulty. We’re trailing the transit. Suspect heading steadily up towards Ridge Way, exactly where you’re stationed, Guv.”
The wipers struggled to cope with the fast-paced speed I’d set them at, fighting against the grit that coated our windscreen. I was in danger of slipping into the wrong gear, for my hands were so sticky.
“Understood, DS McCall. Waiting here with a delta vehicle that will cut him off at the top of Ferris Way,” DCI Harvey said in a steely tone, one which assured us that they were serious.
Sure enough, one unmarked vehicle and a police car in the near distance came into sight at the end of the road and swerved horizontally, restricting the exit points for our transit to join the through road.
“In position,” DCI Harvey confirmed their presence. “Eyes on the suspect and you guys just behind the van.”
The transit van’s wheels spun at their arrival, churning up even more stones than before. We were at the brunt of it all, earning ourselves a few chips on our screen from a dozen sharp stones hitting us. McCall and I instinctively shielded our faces in case one of them actually pierced and shattered the thick glass.
“Suspect’s on the move again. Blocked off at two ends, the only way out is along the greenery,” DCI Harvey informed us, and I could see that a few of the uniformed officers were starting to step out onto the road, behind their barrier.
The person inside the van seemed to realise that, and the transit was starting to reverse towards us at speed. It didn’t seem like there was any sort of hesitation in the kidnappers’ course of action.
McCall gripped onto her seatbelt, bracing for the collision. “He’s going to hit us!” The alarm in her inflexion was evident, and she yelled louder for a second time, mouth agape in horror. “Finlay, reverse!”
Frozen to the seat and ice cold from fear, I physically couldn’t move. Numbed to the tip of my toes, it happened just as it did the last time I was stuck in a position of act or be injured. The rear of the van end was still approaching us expeditiously. I struggled to articulate a single vowel nor shake the disorientating haze away to put my foot down or the gear into reverse.
We succumbed to the realisation that we were going to be involved in a collision when, at the last minute, the driver of the transit rotated the steering wheel and spun around approximately ninety degrees, accidentally clipping the curb that then set him back from racing away.
That’s when a fresh voice that hadn’t been heard throughout the entire altercation joined over the channels. “Approaching across the greenery, Guv, ready to cut off the van’s last point of exit. T minus... now.”
DC Taylor and Tony’s unmarked vehicle roamed across the grass and covered the empty side. They boxed the transit in. There was nowhere else our kidnapper could go, for we covered him on three ends, except for the pavement where a thicket of trees was planted.
McCall leaned back on the headrest, glad that it was over. Her chest rose and fell in a jagged manner, and I instinctively knew my actions had affected her too. We’d both been frightened for our lives, and it wasn’t a pretty sight to be confronted with.
“That was…” she trailed off and wiped away adrenaline-packed moisture that escaped her eyes amidst the panic.
Gradually retaining the ability to speak, neither of us sounded right when I spoke.
“I’m sorry,” I whispered, the seat belt cutting into my neck from where I’d pulled it tight. “I-I couldn’t move.”
Swallowing the lump that had risen in my throat, McCall rubbed her stinging eyes. “It’s okay. It wasn’t your fault. It took us by surprise, that’s all.”
The bustle outside had blurred whilst we recovered, but now, the noise hit us like a ton of bricks. Mrs Carling was sobbing. The officers and CID team had gathered around the van and ordered the driver to step out. The driver himself retreated, hands above his head.
McCall climbed out to the pavement and stood up reluctantly, brushing her front down. I followed suit, the sensation of the road feeling surreal beneath us. As we stumbled to join the team, Tony had a vice grip on the masked criminal and held him still.
“It wasn’t me,” the kidnapper yelled out loud. “I’m innocent, I swear.” He strained against the grip. DC Taylor started to pull the balaclava away, and the bloke’s face was red from the cloth material. His hair nearly appeared wet, and he looked much younger than we’d expected. In fact, he looked no older than nineteen.
“I didn’t do anything,” he insisted, dragging his feet to make it more difficult for the constables to bundle him into the police car. “You have to believe me. I made a deal with a guy called sid.” Handcuffs had been slapped to his bruised wrists, and our briefcase full of money stood upright in the passenger's seat
“Tell us that at the station,” Tony heaved and grunted from the effort, whilst DCI Harvey nodded in approval at their actions.
Meanwhile, uniformed officers delved into the transit van whilst Mr and Mrs Carling peered over their shoulders expectantly, waiting for Sarah to be handed over to them.
“Er, ma’am?” The officers resurfaced with quizzical frowns plastered on. DCI Harvey heard her name and listened intently, as did we. “There’s definitely no sign of the kid in here. It’s a setup.”
17
We’d been given the runaround, and none of us was best pleased, to say the least. Mr and Mrs Carling were back to being distraught, and their hope had been cruelly dashed.
DCI Harvey, McCall, and I sat grimly in the interviewing room with the teenage boy caught on the scene, who we now understood was called Thomas Kirk. He’d refused the presence of a lawyer, repeating as many times as he could that he was innocent. A uniformed team had managed to search his home, yet there was still no sign of Sarah Carling. Our team was beginning to lose confidence. Even so, we were still persistent.
“This is South West Fife CID, holding an interview with a suspect that goes by the name of Thomas Kirk.” DCI Harvey spoke for the tape, as sombre as they came.
The kid sighed, a spectacular set of buck teeth displayed for all of us to witness first-handed. “I told you before, Miss, everyone calls me Tommy.”
Ignoring the somewhat chirpy lad, DCI Harvey wasn’t fazed by the interruption.
“Present in the room is DS Kirsty McCall, DI Finlay Cooper and DCI Christine Harvey. Interview commenced at--” There was a slight pause whilst we observed our watches. “1940 hours. Mr Kirk was given the option of a solicitor but refused. After being found on the scene of what we understood to be an unlawful exchange, the suspect was caught taking twenty thousand pounds under the pretence that the victims would see their missing daughter again.” She paused for a deep breath. “This afternoon, Mr Kirk proceeded to insist that he is not, in fact, guilty of this crime and that he’d like a chance to explain his involvement.”
Thomas rocked on his seat, with flaming red cheeks worse than an alcoholic flush. “I ain't guilty. How many times do I have to tell you?”
“As long as it takes to get to the bottom of this,” McCall hissed, trying to rifle in our report files.
“May I remind you that you are under caution, Mr Kirk? You can pass any question by saying ‘no comment,’ and we can end the interview when you choose,” I explained the lawful aspects in place of an advisor and stifled a yawn. This wasn’t boring, but after such a gruelling day, we were all struggling to stay awake. Even the caffeine had worn off.
“Things would be much easier if you only spoke when asked to,” McCall advised and nudged my foot with her own. In interviews, we had learned each other’s approach and technique after all these years of being partners. It would be interesting to see how the dynamics changed with a third party in
volved: DCI Harvey’s input.
“You claimed you were innocent.” Leaning on her elbows, McCall sat forward. “So why were you found on the scene today during an exchange of a seven-year-old called Sarah Carling? For the tape, can you confirm that you were driving the Ford Transit with the number plate, papa-sierra-5-1-echo-golf-sierra? It’s a cloned plate relating to a vehicle that already exists.”
Glancing at the table confusedly, Thomas exhaled forcefully. “I’m not sure of the number plate, but I was driving the van. Yes.”
“You took our briefcase containing twenty thousand pounds from the father of Sarah Carling, named Mr Bob Carling, didn’t you?” McCall finished as I tried to size up the teenager from afar.
He wasn’t stocky but rather quite weedy and spineless, the opposite of Mrs Carling’s original statement that described the kidnapper’s appearance. Thomas would be singing like a canary soon enough. We knew his type. Sure, it was only a guess, but an educated one in light of our previous experiences and suspects.
“I didn’t know their names,” Thomas continued and itched a rather inconspicuous spot that decorated the bridge of his overly protruding nose. “But I’d gotten a text telling me to go to the warehouse and when. A letter was sent to me, as well.” Thomas stared at each of us in turn, along the row of detectives.
I rifled around in our evidence bags and made it clear for the tape what I was sorting through. “We do have one mobile burner phone secured about Thomas’s person, found on scene and relating to case 1-0005. It contains a message giving a time and date for the exchange, sent at 1:15 this morning. All the secure information regarding the phone was willingly given to us by Mr Kirk.” The teenage lad nodded gratefully at the mention of his cooperation with us. “Also found on a search of Mr Kirk’s home was said letter. I have the evidence here.”
DCI Harvey hitched her reading glasses further up her Roman nose, although they weren’t sliding down in the slightest. “Referring to a printout of the message, it’s similar to the one the Carling’s received. No trace was available on that number either. It reads, Ferris Way. 15:00 in two days. Money for her life- accept cash only. £20,000 and no less. Sid.” DCI Harvey wet her chapped lips. “One noticeable difference between the two messages sent to you and the Carlings is that this one was signed off with ‘Sid’. Presuming it isn’t a mistake, Mr Kirk, who is Sid?”
Abduction in Dalgety Bay Page 14