BABY SNATCHERS (A Detective India Kane & AJ Colt Crime Thriller)

by Bo Brennan

Then they’d brought her here in darkness. She'd been up all night, too afraid to sleep. She'd never shared a room with anyone before, and here she was sharing with fifteen strangers.

  The policewoman said it was temporary, just until her mum came back. But no one would even tell her where her mum was. No one was telling her anything. Her pleas to stay with Aunt Janet had fallen on deaf ears too. No one was telling and no one was listening either.

  She was overlooking a car park. She could see the solid gates that had closed behind them last night. Her swollen eyes followed the tall brick wall extending either side of the gate and enclosing the perimeter. There was no way out. She thought about Miss Davies and wondered if she'd see her today. Her eyes prickled with tears. She rubbed at them with the curtain, surprised that she had any tears left inside of her. Miss Davies tried to stop them and they'd hurt her. If they could do that to a teacher, Sasha was terrified of what they could do to her.

  She jumped when a bell rang out and the sleeping strangers started to stir. They all looked older than her. Some of them were almost adults. She shrank away from the window and quietly sat on her bed.

  “Look! We've got a newbie,” the girl in the bed opposite shouted rubbing the sleep from her eyes. “Oi, newbie. What's your name?”

  “Sasha,” she said quietly, casting her eyes down as the girl sauntered towards her. She had piercings in her face and belly button and not much on in the way of clothes.

  “Where's all your stuff?” the girl said poking around her bed and locker.

  Sasha shrugged. “At home.”

  The girl pulled out Sasha's school uniform and waved it in the air. “Ooh, dragged out of school!” she cooed. The girl narrowed her eyes. “What's the score then, Newbie? You killed your teacher or something?”

  “No,” Sasha snapped snatching the jumper from her hands. “Leave me alone.”

  “Chill out kid, you won't be wearing it again anyway. You're on lockdown for fuck’s sake.”

  George Sarum stood in the court queue, casting a contemptuous eye over the two social workers in front of him. One of them - the white one - had dreadlocks to her waist, and a ring in her nose. The idealistic bullshit she was spouting, delivered in a hippy drippy monotone. They both looked like they could do with a good scrub. They looked like people whose children should be taken.

  He craned his neck when the Judge came in, and smiled with relief when Flackerly took the bench. The two in front didn't, they grumbled expletives under their breath. Flackerly was old school. Things would move fast. And he wouldn't entertain any free love or bleeding hearts crap from the Mother Earth types either.

  All four of George's emergency care orders, needing the official rubber stamp today, were girls. The Judge wouldn't dwell on them. It was only a formality, they were already in care. He would be out of here by lunchtime.

  And then the fun would start.

  The calling in of favours, a little bit of pressure, a veiled threat here and there. If all else failed he'd have to make the ultimate call. Of course, the kid was still too young for them, that's why he'd been left to mop up the mess in the first place. But, their powerful influence couldn't be ignored; they had way too many people in their pocket for anyone to be stupid enough to make that mistake. If they made it once, they didn't make it twice. When they came knocking - official, or not - cooperation was guaranteed. Ask Alan Roberts.

  New Scotland Yard, London.

  The temperamental air conditioning system had turned the small space into an arctic vault. Colt tugged the meeting room windows open and gazed out onto the bustling city streets below.

  It was only 10 am and the city was sweltering already. Flip flops and wife beater vests were the main order of the day. The usual slick suits, ties, and button down collars the attire of the respected and important. Some of them wouldn't appear so respected and important tomorrow. Most of their targets wore suits.

  Colt rolled his head and yanked at his tie as the DIs from the London boroughs CP Units filed in joining his own team. They were going to love being in full protective garb tomorrow. They'd be like boil in the bag rice when the adrenaline kicked in.

  Pulling out his phone, he checked his texts and emails as he switched it to silent. Ignored the three from Commander Hussein with the words 'Budget and Costs' in the subject line and let out a small sigh when there was nothing from India. He hoped he might've heard from her this morning, she was gone from his bed when he woke at five. Whatever last night’s ferocious argument was about, her sister had seriously overstepped the mark and hurt her badly. It had been a while since she'd disappeared completely beyond his reach.

  “All present and ready when you are boss,” DI Maggie Bevan said squeezing his shoulder.

  Colt smiled. “Have we got the final detail for the Ambassador's movements yet?”

  She waved a handful of documents in his face. “Hot off the press.”

  Colt scanned the Ambassador's schedule as Mags handed copies around the room. “For fuck’s sake,” he said rubbing his forehead. “He's visiting Harrods at 8 am. Got a private two hour shopping session before the bloody store opens. So much for the Home Office and Mayor’s Office working with us,” he muttered shaking his head.

  Maggie raised her brows. “The Intelligence Report says they’re expecting a peaceful protest outside the store. Apparently people are camping out already.”

  Colt rubbed at his brow. Got the feeling it was intentional. Damage control. With public servants featuring prominently on tomorrows target list, it was oh so easy to divert attention to the arrest of a Hollywood star. Especially with the world's media camped out just yards away. “That's a bummer for Dwight Sanders.”

  “He's got a new film coming out at the weekend,” DS Bob Green said. “My missus wanted to take my girls. They love him. Think he’s the mutt’s nuts. I put my bloody foot down and told them they weren’t going. I’m public enemy number one in my house at the moment thanks to that bastard.”

  Colt raised his brows. “They say there's no such thing as bad publicity.”

  Bob let out a grumble of expletives under his breath. “I suppose there is an upside. If it's going to be all over the news tomorrow at least they’ll all start talking to me again. Daddy won’t be the big bad bastard after all.”

  “You’ll always be our big bad bastard, Bob,” Colt said and raised his hands to stem the laughter and jostling. “Has everybody got their personnel and firearms support in place?”

  Everyone nodded.

  Colt smiled approvingly. “All custody suites cleared and ready for the influx?”

  “The drugs squad did a raid in Lambeth this morning, Chief,” DI Steph Carruthers piped up. “Their cells are full of trafficked hash growers. We'll be using Wandsworth for any overspill.”

  “Okay. Good,” Colt said. “Is everywhere else clear?”

  When everyone nodded he ran a hand across his jaw, concerned that everything was running too smoothly. There were always glitches, and he was always nervous before a raid, but this one was unsettling him more than usual. The sheer number of people involved and the high status targets increased the risk of leaks. Nothing had appeared in the press but the engineering of the press focus couldn't be ignored. He wondered how many of the targets knew they were coming.

  “Everyone, everything, everywhere, is ready, Boss,” Maggie said sensing his anxiety. “You've done a good job. We're all raring to go.”

  “Unless of course some little tosser starts a riot in the next eighteen hours,” Bob mused.

  Colt blew a breath up his face. Christ that was all they needed, a repeat of last summer’s riots. “If that happens we're all screwed,” he said. They had four hundred officers working on tomorrow’s dawn raids in the London boroughs alone. Twice that again across the UK. The operation was costing a fortune and Commander Hussein was taking every opportunity to remind him.

  “I want everybody in bullet proof vests and full protective clothing tomorrow. No exceptions. No excuses. And d
on't forget the Crown Prosecution and Child Protection Services are joining us, so mind your Ps and Qs.”

  Commander Hussein didn't bother knocking when he entered the room wearing full regalia, hat under arm, and interrupted Colt mid flow. “I'll need a full update as soon as the raids are completed. Arrests, children saved, etcetera, etcetera,” he said waving a hand in the air. “I’m on a walkabout with the Mayor tomorrow. If he can spout some facts and figures for the media it will be good for his profile, what with him being newly elected and all.”

  The ‘and all’ meaning he was an old Eton bum chum, Colt thought running his tongue over his teeth.

  The Commander smiled. “We’re joining the South African Ambassador on a tour of Harrods in the morning. It’s still touch and go as to whether his wife will be well enough to join us mind.”

  Colt clenched his jaw and glared at him. He was right. Dark forces were at work. The Ambassador’s schedule had been engineered around Dwight Sanders’ arrest. They were killing a lot of birds with one stone - not just dragging the media gaze away from the arrests in public office, but providing sound bites and column inches for the old boys’ network. Drawing a deep breath in through his nose, Colt thrust his hands in his pockets to prevent himself from throttling his prick of a boss.

  Hussein cleared his throat, and rocked back and forth on his heels looking around the room at his silent, glowering audience. “That’s all. Carry on, Detective Chief Inspector,” he said with a curt nod, moving for the door. Colt was just about to let rip when he popped his head back in and said, “Good luck for tomorrow everybody.” And then went and ruined it all by adding, “There's no budget for error.”

  High Courts of Justice, London.

  “For god's sake,” Felicity Firman muttered under her breath as soon as she saw him. He'd been here every bloody morning this week. The man was becoming an irritant.

  “You'd think he'd get the message by now wouldn't you,” Leon said walking along beside her.

  “You know the rules, Mr Reynolds,” the security guard said as Flick and Leon approached the Family Division. “No journalists allowed.”

  “No public, no juries, no witnesses either,” Ryan Reynolds replied. “Doesn't that strike you as odd? I mean, we're in the Courts of Justice, yet behind those very doors secret trials are being conducted every single day.”

  The security guard rolled his eyes and sighed. “The Family Division is not secret, it’s private. And it will remain private because it's in the best interests of the children concerned.”

  Ryan laughed, “Even you don't believe the script.”

  “Excuse me,” Flick said finding his animated arm gestures blocking her route.

  Ryan turned and smiled at her. “Good morning, Miss Firman.”

  Flick gritted her teeth and glared at him. “Do we really have to do this every solitary day?”

  “Only until I find out what goes on in there,” he said pointing at the Family Division doors.

  “She could have you barred you know,” Leon said tersely.

  Flick cringed as Ryan Reynolds pulled his pen from behind his ear and raised his notepad. “Can I quote you on that? What's your name?” he said.

  “His name doesn't matter,” Flick cut in before Leon could naively open his mouth again. She made a mental note to teach him about the workings of the press and why they were far better on side than off. “But, what he said does. If you continue on this course of behaviour you could well find yourself barred from the entire building, Mr Reynolds.”

  Ryan stared at her intently and Flick knew that she was marked. “I guess I'll just pop along to the appeal court and find out why a man who raped and murdered three under-fives thinks his sentence is too long then,” he said.

  Flick smiled. “You do that, Mr Reynolds.” She stared after him as he sauntered down to the Criminal Division of the Court of Appeal. Suddenly he stopped and turned back, grinning.

  “Oh, Miss Firman,” he called across the main court foyer. “The new hair looks great by the way. Suits you.”

  Flick swallowed hard as her stomach lurched into her throat. He couldn’t be tapping her phone, he couldn’t. It was unregistered, pay as you go. He was playing with her. She turned to the security guard. “If he's here tomorrow,” she said. “I want him barred.”

  Chapter 9

  Hampshire CID, Winchester.

  “Kate,” India called looking up from her computer when the two uniforms emerged from her Guv’nor’s office. “You two enforced a child protection order at the City Secondary School yesterday. Who called it in?”

  “Social Services,” PC Kate Wesson said. “God, it was awful.”

  PC Paul Smith tilted his head. “You think that's bad? I've been there when they've cut the cord,” he said.

  “I don't want to know.” Kate winced as her body succumbed to an involuntary shudder. “It's all too heavy handed for my liking. I can still hear her teacher screaming now. She was absolutely distraught.”

  “She was bloody lucky we didn't nick her,” Paul murmured.

  “Her teacher is my sister,” India said leaning back in her chair.

  “Oh god,” Kate murmured rubbing a hand over her face. “Tell her I'm, we're, sorry.”

  “Whatever,” India said brushing it off with a wave of her hand. “The PNC says you two were involved with carting the kid's mother off to the looney bin on Tuesday too. How'd that come about?”

  Kate frowned and flipped through her notebook. “Lisa Lewis is Sasha Grant's mother?”

  India nodded, twiddling her pencil between her fingers. “Yep.”

  Kate sighed and shook her head. “If they hadn't bloody sedated her we would've known the girl was home alone and it needn't have come to that.”

  “Just as well they did or she'd be up in court on an ABH charge now,” Paul Smith said incredulously. “Crazy bitch shredded that doctor's face.”

  “I've seen it,” India said raising her brows. “Just a scratch apparently.”

  Paul Smith huffed out his cheeks. “Yeah, right. She's bloody lucky he was so understanding. I wouldn't have been.”

  “So, let me get this right,” India said. “You didn't take a statement from her and you didn't follow up on her claims either?”

  “There was nothing to follow up,” Paul Smith protested throwing his hands in the air. “The hospital has no record of her phantom baby!”

  India set her jaw. “You've got kids. How would you react if someone snatched one?”

  “I'd beat the fucking shit....” Paul Smith started to rant.

  Kate elbowed her partner in the ribs, cutting him off. “Exactly how Lisa Lewis did,” she said evenly.

  “Thanks. It's been enlightening.” India rose from her desk and strolled across the room to her Guv’nor's office. She stood staring at him in the doorway, waiting for him to finish his call.

  “I've got a missing baby and his mother in the nut house,” she said when he hung up and beckoned her in.

  DCI Firman sat bolt upright. “Where's the missing report?” he said holding out his hand.

  “There isn't one.” India dropped into a chair when his shoulders slumped. “Hear me out.”

  Her boss sat back in his seat, stroking his beard, as she gave him a summary of what she knew. It wasn't much.

  When she’d finished, Firman leant his elbows on the table frowning. “If the hospital has no record of this baby, what makes you think this Lewis woman is in the wrong place?”

  “Kate and Paul are parents,” India offered. “They’d both react the same way if someone stole one of their kids.”

  “And that's it?” Firman said dully. “Smith and Wesson are parents.”

  India shrugged. “She ripped half the doc's face off, and the smug bastard says it's a scratch. I want to go and see her. I want to hear her side. Her daughter says there's a baby,” she added casually.

  Firman raised a brow. “So you've already spoken to her daughter?” India nodded. She thought it best not to
tell him she'd also gone to the psychiatric hospital but hadn't yet spoken to the mother because she was drugged out of her nut. “Have you spoken to Sangrin?”

  “Not this month.”

  “Whether you like it or not, while Tom’s on paternity leave, he’s your direct line manager.”

  India rolled her eyes. She was in no hurry for DI Tom Dwyer's return, but hell would freeze over before she called that scummy little shit, Sangrin, Sir.

  Firman gave a heavy sigh and drummed his fingers on his desk. “I know it’s not ideal, but there are still a helluva lot of people watching you, kid. Get through this year without event and I'll put you in for your exams. Discussing this case with Sergeant Sangrin would be a really good start.”

  India sighed and nodded acceptingly. “Okay. Will do, Guv.”

  She closed the boss’s door behind her and headed for her desk. Dumping her note pad and pencils into her bag, she cast a cursory glance at the water dispenser where Sangrin was getting fresh with the work placement girl.

  India walked straight towards him on her way to the main door. When he saw her coming he stepped back and put his hands in his pockets. “Hospital appointment,” she growled and was gone before he could reply.

  London.

  “Open up, Sharna,” Alan Roberts said banging his open palm against the double glazed door.

  “Owes you money too, eh?” a voice said from above him. “You'll be lucky to see that again. She's done a bunk, love.”

  Alan looked up to see a middle age woman hanging out of the first floor window of the maisonette next door. “What do you mean she's done a bunk?”

  “She did a moonlight flit a couple of nights ago,” the neighbour said. “I saw her and her suitcase getting bundled into a van.”

  Alan’s stomach lurched. He'd only been up here a week and already two of his cases were missing. The paperwork mountain was making it difficult enough to get away from his desk as it was, at the rate he was going he'd be tied to it for 80% of the day shortly. He looked down at his notes. At least he knew she had only been gone for a couple of days. Brian had visited her last week. Or had he?