No Way Home

by Jack Slater

  Moments later, he knocked on Silverstone’s door.

  ‘Come.’

  Pete stepped in, closing the door behind him. ‘Sir?’

  ‘These arrests at Risingbrook, Peter. At what point were you intending to tell me the identity of the victim involved?’

  Shit! ‘Everything’s in my daily report, sir.’

  ‘I see. And just so that I know, bearing in mind that your psych eval came back with a clean bill of health just three months ago, how long have you had this urge to get fired from the police force?’

  Here we go, Pete thought. It was almost a relief to be returning to normality. He’ll start yelling in a sec. ‘I’ve got no desire the leave the force, sir. A situation arose. I dealt with it the only way I could at the time and, having started, it was natural to continue.’

  ‘It felt natural to continue,’ Silverstone repeated carefully. Then he erupted, hands slamming on his desk. ‘And what about the regulations, Detective Sergeant? Which we both know you’re fully aware of, having had this conversation before. What kind of example do you think this sets for your junior officers? And what kind of reputation do you think it’ll create for this station? For this force? Eh?’

  There it is. Priorities confirmed, Pete thought. ‘The aim is for zero tolerance and prompt, efficient action. Sir.’

  ‘Zero tolerance can only work if it includes everyone, Gayle. Police and civilians. What the Devil am I going to do about this? I’m getting sick of cleaning up your messes, do you hear? If anything like this happens again, you’ll be back in uniform or kicked off the force entirely before you can think of an excuse. As it is, I have no alternative but to instigate disciplinary action through Professional Standards.’

  Pete had half-expected this, pretty much from the outset, but he wasn’t going to let anyone else investigate an attack on his own daughter. What kind of message would that have put out? One of weakness, he knew. One that would have left Annie at more risk than ever if it emboldened her attackers.

  ‘Well? What have you got to say for yourself, Detective Sergeant?’

  Nothing you’d want to hear, he thought. ‘Nothing, sir. Thank you.’

  ‘Is the case done and dusted?’

  ‘The lads are being processed as we speak, sir.’

  ‘Then get out of my sight.’

  Pete turned towards the door without speaking.

  ‘And Gayle…’

  ‘Sir?’

  ‘You are on borrowed time. I suggest you spend it wisely and imagine you’re walking on eggshells every moment you’re on duty.’

  ‘Sir.’

  He left the office, heading back to his desk. Sitting down, he found he’d been gone long enough that his computer screen had gone black. He wiggled his mouse to bring back the image.

  ‘So, what did Fast-track want?’ Dick asked.

  ‘I don’t know how much more I’m going to be able to manage to use this computer this afternoon,’ Pete said.

  ‘Eh?’

  ‘I’ve got such a sore wrist, from where he slapped it for not handing off Annie’s assault.’

  ‘Jane did warn you, boss,’ Jill said. ‘She told me.’

  ‘Yes, she did. But what would any of us do, eh? Faced with an attack on our own kid that’s reported directly to us? Is it just me?’

  ‘No, boss. You’re right. We’d all do exactly the same. Those of us that have kids, that is. Which Fast-track hasn’t.’

  ‘And that’s a good thing for the kids,’ Dick said. ‘We just have to hope, for the sake of the country, that it stays that way.’

  ‘Didn’t there used to be such a thing as compulsory sterilisation?’ Jill asked.

  ‘Yeah. It was got rid of by the European courts,’ Dick answered. ‘With a bit of luck, once we get out of the EU, they’ll bring it back. Especially for the likes of him.’

  ‘In the meantime, I’ve drawn up the warrant request, boss. Should I take it through?’

  ‘Probably best,’ he said. ‘I don’t think he’d want to see me again this afternoon.’

  ‘Right.’ She stood up and headed for the door, the quiet allowing Pete to concentrate on his screen.

  The still image showed the back two thirds of a small black Vauxhall hatchback. The driver, judging by the silhouette, was female and slim, but that was about all he could tell. One thing he did know was that there hadn’t been a car like that along Colleton Crescent when he was up there. But it was a one-way system around there. It could have been heading for one of the two other roads off Melbourne Place. He took a screenshot, if only for elimination, and let the footage run on. There was no movement on the road for a while. Then two cars passed, one close behind the other. The first was a four-by-four, the second a little city car of some sort. He paused the image and wound it back. Going slightly past the point he needed, he let it run forward again, frame by frame. The medium sized four-by-four edged into shot. Dark-green, it looked like a Toyota. The driver came into shot. A man. Balding, Pete could see the gleam of light on his scalp. He edged the footage onward, the first vehicle passing out of shot. Just a few feet behind it, the little rounded city car came slowly into view. Cream or white – Pete wasn’t sure – with a driver who was clearly female. The ponytail was a giveaway, if nothing else. She appeared to be wearing something dark, but he could tell no more than that. He paused the image, took a screenshot just in case, and let it run on.

  Suddenly, he doubted that this was going to be as helpful as he’d thought. Still, he had to keep going, now he’d started.

  The door opened to his left and he glanced up. It was Jill returning from Silverstone’s office. She waved a piece of paper and smiled. ‘Got it.’

  The relief surprised Pete as it swept over him. ‘Thank God for that, at least. Take Dick with you and get it served, ASAP.’

  *

  It took Pete almost another hour to go through the footage from the solicitors’ on Colleton Crescent and when he’d finished he had a list of five vehicles on the pad at his elbow. He turned to Ben. ‘How many cameras did you find on Holloway Street?’

  ‘Two. One in each direction halfway up from Bull Meadow Road.’

  ‘So, the uphill one will cover the end of Friars Walk.’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘Good.’ Pete referred to his notes. ‘I want the footage from two o’clock to two-forty-five.’

  ‘OK. Give me a minute, boss. I’ll put it on a data stick for you.’

  Pete took the DVD out of his computer and slipped it into its plastic sleeve, which he put in his desk.

  ‘Here you go.’

  Ben passed across a thumb-drive. Pete plugged it into the USB port on the front of his machine. He waited for it to boot up, downloaded the file from it onto his hard drive and removed it from the port, passing it back to Ben. When the program was ready, he pressed Play, then Fast Forward and concentrated once more on the screen in front of him.

  The entrance to the little estate that included Colleton Crescent was in the top-right section of the screen. Pete focused on that part of the image, waiting to see what vehicles would emerge from it, which way they would go and if he could read the numberplates or see the drivers.

  He had been concentrating hard for a little more than five minutes when the door to the squad room opened and Jane walked in, followed by Dave.

  ‘All tucked up safely in their beds, boss,’ she announced. ‘Charges filed, parents and solicitors called. Busy day tomorrow.’

  ‘Busy enough today,’ he replied. ‘We’ve got a third victim.’

  ‘Shit, this is turning into a spree,’ Dave said, sitting down at his desk.

  A message popped up in the bottom corner of Pete’s screen. He had a new email. I hope it’s good news, for once, he thought as he clicked on it. A new window opened over the paused CCTV image. The press liaison office was copying him in, as SIO, on what they had sent out to the press. The three images of their suspect and the accompanying text were attached. He read it through, hit Reply and s
ent a quick note back: ‘Spot-on. Thanks.’

  He was never going to please Adam Silverstone, but it couldn’t hurt to keep as many as possible of the other members of the force onside.

  He closed the email and settled in once more to examining the CCTV footage. Moments later, the pale, rounded nose of a small car showed in the junction he was looking at. It pulled out, coming towards the camera. Pete was sure it was a Nissan Micra. As it approached, he got a look at the driver. Female. Hair pulled back into a ponytail. The image was too blurred to use for identification but it was, at least, indicative. He glanced down at the front of the car. The registration plate was not sharp either, but it was visible. It looked like it could probably be enhanced to the stage of being readable.

  He took a screenshot and saved it into the same folder as the others, then let the footage run. A car he didn’t recognise emerged from the junction, turning away from the city centre. All went quiet for a while. Then another came out, heading towards the camera position. It was still in shot when a dark four-by-four emerged, turning away. As it crossed the road, Pete recognised the shape and hit Pause, staring at the screen. The driver was on the far side of the vehicle, but the sun was with him. It looked like a female. Long, dark hair. Was that a flash of red as she lifted her arm? He edged the image backwards a couple of frames. Yes. It looked like it. This could be her. There was no way he was going to get a registration number, though. It was too far away.

  ‘Where’s the first camera on Topsham Road?’

  Holloway Street became Topsham Road a short way beyond the Friars Walk junction.

  ‘The first one’s out by the Priory High School, boss.’ Predictably, it was Ben who had the answer.

  Pete grimaced. There were a lot of side roads going off before that. She could have gone anywhere. ‘That’s no help then.’ He took another screenshot, for what it was worth, and moved on. More vehicles came and went, but none he recognised from the short list he’d compiled from the Colleton Crescent footage. He’d stopped the video and closed the window on his screen when Jill flounced in, hips swaying wildly, waving a clear plastic evidence bag in one raised hand. In the bag, he could see a mobile phone.

  Behind her, Dick Feeney held the door, smiling.

  Pete sat back in his chair. ‘Fisher’s?’

  ‘Yep. Complete with a file full of pictures of girls who are far too young to be photographed in the ways they have been.’

  ‘Including Becky Sanderson?’

  She nodded. ‘And Rosie Whitlock.’

  ‘Did he have anything to say for himself?’

  ‘Denied all knowledge,’ Dick said. ‘Says they must have been put on there by some of the lads.’

  Pete drew a breath. ‘Well, the phone will show where they came from and where they were sent to, but not who was doing it.’

  ‘What, so he gets away with it?’ Jane demanded.

  ‘I didn’t say that.’

  ‘Well, how are we going to prove it was him that downloaded them, then?’

  ‘The dates and times of the downloads will be attached to each image. If we prove where the phone was at those times, we might well be able to prove who was there with it. Witnesses. CCTV. Other phone data.’

  Jane relaxed, mollified.

  ‘I wonder how helpful Sanderson might be if he thought it would shave a bit of time off his sentence,’ Dave said.

  ‘Might be worth finding out.’ Pete shut down his computer. ‘Meantime, I’ve got some other stuff to look into. I’ll see you all in the morning, bright and early.’

  *

  ‘Lou?’ Pete closed the front door and dropped his briefcase on the floor.

  ‘In here.’ Her voice came from the kitchen. Another bad sign.

  ‘What’s happening? Where’s Annie?’

  She stuck her head around the corner as he slipped off his jacket and hung it on the newel post at the bottom of the stairs. She indicated with a tilt of her head that he should come through.

  Pete complied. They kissed. ‘So, what’s going on?’

  ‘She’s in bed. Upset. Not those lads again,’ she said quickly, not knowing what progress the team had made on the case that day. ‘It was Tommy.’

  ‘Tommy? Why? What’s the matter with him?’

  She shook her head and sighed. ‘I don’t know. He was really off with us this afternoon. Like he wanted to drive us away. It… it got to her badly. She cried all the way home.’

  Pete sighed. ‘I expect she’s still suffering with the attack by those lads as well. That wouldn’t have helped. She’s a brave kid, but even she can only take so much at once.’

  ‘She told me you went to see her at lunchtime with a load of pictures or something. Had her pick out some of the lads that were involved. That was a bit soon, wasn’t it? She’d hardly got over the trauma and you wanted to bring it all back for her?’

  ‘That was the last thing I wanted, Lou. But it was by far the best hope of getting them ID’d – and we did.’

  ‘So, what now? You ask permission from their rich parents to talk to their privileged little lads and slap them on the wrists?’

  ‘Not quite. While they’re in the school’s care, they’re the school’s responsibility – not the parents’. So, yes, the parents have been informed, and no doubt some of them, if not all, will have hired solicitors. But the lads themselves are all down in the basement at Heavitree Road for the night. All nine.’

  ‘Well, that’s all fine and commendable, but what happens tomorrow, when their expensive solicitors get them out of there? They go straight back to normal routine and the next thing you know, they’re waiting to ambush Annie all over again? She’ll have nightmares for the rest of her days, poor kid.’

  Pete was shaking his head. ‘They’re not getting off that easy, Lou. We’ve already got confessions from some of them. They’re not going back to Risingbrook – none of them. They don’t tolerate behaviour like that there, no matter how rich the parents are. And most, if not all, will be remanded. Charges like that demand it.’

  ‘What, so they’ll be going to Archways instead? How long do you reckon it’ll take them to figure out Tommy’s Annie’s brother, eh? Then what’ll happen?’

  ‘They won’t be going there. For one thing, because Tommy’s there. And for another, the place is already almost full. They’d damn near fill it again. There’s nine of them, remember.’

  ‘So, where else will they go? I can’t see rich kids like that going to your standard borstal.’

  Pete grinned and reached out to squeeze her shoulder then draw her into a hug. ‘They’re not called borstals any more. They’re young offender institutions nowadays. And they cater for all sorts – rich and poor alike. There’s no class segregation at Her Majesty’s Pleasure.’

  ‘Good. That might scare a bit of respect into them. But the sooner you explain all that to Annie the better, if she’s awake.’

  ‘Yes, you’re right.’ He stood back, holding her limp hands in his. ‘I’ll go and check on her.’ He squeezed her fingers briefly and turned towards the stairs.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE

  ‘Christ,’ Pete muttered as he came into sight of the Heavitree Road police station.

  It looked like the place was under siege. There were cars everywhere. Both pavements were completely blocked, the road constricted to a single-vehicle width so that traffic was queueing in both directions to get through. Orange hazard lights were blinking everywhere. About three quarters of the parked vehicles had taxi lights on their roofs and most of the rest had council licences on the backs – private hire cars. No doubt the remainder would be press, he thought, as he drove closer. He saw a few men with cameras dotted about.

  At least the TV crews had yet to arrive.

  Even the half-dozen parking spaces in front of the building were full, he saw.

  And this was all for him. Because he had yet to catch whoever was out there killing taxi drivers.

  Fast-track was going to be absolutely apoplectic. His
blood pressure, when he saw this, would set a new world record. Pete smiled. It would almost be worth being the brunt of his venting to see how red the man’s face could actually get.

  He turned into a side road and drove slowly along until he found a place to park, locked the car and walked down towards the station. Further down the road, uniformed officers were trying to ease the congestion by diverting traffic off the main road. There would be a couple of others, he guessed, guiding them through the smaller streets and out onto the Topsham Road.

  One of the two officers on duty at the junction – the one directing the queueing vehicles into the side road – was a familiar face.

  ‘Morning, Mick.’

  ‘Sarge.’

  ‘Have we got all the numberplates?’

  ‘Oh, hell, yeah.’ He tapped his body-cam. ‘They’re not getting away with this. We weren’t going to give them all tickets. We wouldn’t have survived the riot. But we can always send them enforcement letters after the event.’

  Pete gave him a wink. ‘That’s the ticket.’

  Mick cringed. ‘So, what are you doing about the reason for all this?’

  ‘We’re working on it.’

  Mick continued waving the traffic around the junction as they spoke. ‘Yeah, but are you getting anywhere, Sarge?’

  ‘Between you and me, Mick, I sometimes wonder the same thing.’ Pete clapped him on the shoulder and walked on towards the station and the chaos that surrounded it.

  *

  Pete wasn’t the first of his team into the squad room, despite its being a Saturday. Ben, Dick and Jill were already at their desks when he walked in. He put down his briefcase and sat down. ‘Somebody tell me there’s some good news,’ he pleaded.

  ‘Fast-track’s not in yet,’ said Dick.

  ‘It doesn’t help what we’re working on, but I’ll take what I can get.’

  ‘In relevant news,’ Jill said, tossing a newspaper across towards him. ‘He did do his job with the press. And Jane and Dave are downstairs, interviewing.’