by Bo Brennan
Only a foolish man would trust someone he openly hated with his food. Still, a little bit of spittle never did anyone any harm. Of course, it might've been a different story if she'd put the rat poison in she'd first thought of.
London.
Colt frowned at the old lady occupying the hospital bed. “Where's Sasha Grant?” he asked the passing nurse.
The nurse pursed her lips. “She really doesn't need to be here anymore.”
“Oh god,” he murmured. “Please don't tell me she's gone.”
“We've moved her in with her friend,” the nurse said.
Thank God. Colt let out a relieved sigh. “I promise it won't be for much longer. We're looking for the right place for them.” The field of who could be trusted to care for them was growing narrower by the day. He didn't know jack shit about the needs of teenage girls, but he knew they'd both be coming home with him before he saw them returned to the care of Haltingbury Social Services, or the New Lives Foundation.
The nurse smiled and patted his arm. “Don't worry. We'll keep them safe.”
Colt smiled back. “Thank you.”
“Room three,” she said, and nodded at the two tubs of Haribo sweets in his hands. “They'll be sick if they eat all of those.”
Colt grimaced and Maggie pulled her finest ‘I told you so’ face. Making their way down the hall to Room 3, she hummed as she gleefully swung The Body Shop bag from her wrist. It was filled with fragrant bathing goodies that Colt had deemed too boring and bland while in the shop.
Seemed he was wrong. They loved them.
Maggie took the seat between the two beds, looking smug as they oohed and aahed over the smellies. These girls hadn't had much in the way of nice lately. Colt tentatively loitered. The only places left to sit were on the girls’ beds, and he wasn't about to do that. It pained him to see Melissa still looking so pale and fragile. “I got you these,” he said, feeling like the crappy uncle at Christmas who bears gifts of novelty jumpers instead of the latest Xbox game.
Melissa’s little face lit up with a smile so big, Colt felt like boxing the air in jubilation. “The fizzy ones are my favourites,” she said working the plastic lid off with ease, and offering them his way.
Colt hated sweets, but popped a fizzy cola bottle in his mouth as he quirked a brow at Maggie. He soon wished he hadn't. It puckered his mouth like an arsehole and made his eyes stream. The girls giggled as he perched on the arm of Maggie's chair and pulled the photographs from his briefcase.
Colt chuckled along with them. “I need to show you some social workers’ pictures,” he said and both girls instantly sobered. “I want you to tell me if you know any of them.”
Neither girl recognised Roberts or Fleming, both shook their heads.
“That one's George,” Sasha said while Melissa stared blankly filling her mouth with sweets. “He took me from Miss Davies’ class and took me to London.”
Colt got a sinking feeling in the pit of his stomach. Melissa had been with those foster parents a little under six months. According to her case file, both Brian Fleming and Alan Roberts had been assigned as her social worker during that period, but she had no idea who either of them was. “Who's your social worker, Melissa?”
Melissa shrugged and popped another brightly coloured sweet in her mouth. “I don't know. I've never seen one.”
Colt ran a hand across his face and looked to Maggie.
“Do either of you know if one of these men took Tracey?” she asked gently.
“We didn't see him,” Sasha said. “We were upstairs listening.” She pointed at George Sarum's photograph. “But, it wasn't him. I know his voice.”
“I've heard him before,” Melissa said. “He was the one who took Casey away so Sasha could come and live with us.”
Colt glanced at Maggie, she gently shook her head and turned her palms outwards. Oh for fuck's sake. Who the hell was Casey? She hadn't cropped up in any of the files or missing lists. Colt rubbed the back of his neck. “Would you know his voice if you heard it again?” he asked.
Without hesitation, Sasha and Melissa both nodded. “Yeah,” they chorused in unison.
Colt grinned and turned to Maggie. “Okay. Great. All we need to do is get their voices on tape.”
“How do you propose to do that?” she said raising her brows. “You've already been warned for harassing them.”
Colt smiled as he stretched a sweet jelly ring to its limits and forced it onto his pinkie finger. “Then I think first thing tomorrow a personal apology is in order, don’t you?”
Chapter 52
Park Gate, Hampshire.
“You know Barrington and Johnson quite well,” India said helping herself to a bottle of Bud from his fridge and attempting to cap it on the side. “D'you know of any thugs or hired muscle associated with either of them?”
Colt frowned and snatched the bottle from her hand, as perplexed by the question as he was the potential damage to his oak worktop. “I know a few of their associates,” he said flipping off the bottle top and handing it back. “Why do you ask?”
India swigged from her bottle and hauled her backside onto his kitchen worktop. “They had Lisa Lewis killed. If I can find the bastards they paid to chuck her off the car park roof, I can get Barrington and Johnson for soliciting her murder.”
“Len said Barrington and Johnson were out of the frame,” Colt murmured capping his own bottle of Bud.
India raised her brows. “You've been talking to Firman about me again.”
“No, I haven't. I've been talking to him about the case.”
“Why didn't you ask me?”
“It was operational matters.” Colt shrugged and took a long satisfying slug of cold beer. “We're into something big with Barrington. I needed assurance Winchester weren't going to steam in and screw it up for us.”
“I'm confined to fucking desk duties under Sangrin because of you?” India stared at him. Colt felt the hairs on the back of his neck stand to attention.
He rolled his head. “You've got no solid evidence on Barrington. My team have.”
“Him and Johnson ripped Lisa Lewis's world apart and then had her killed!”
Colt raised his hands in self-defence. “I don't doubt that, neither does Len, but......”
“Then why the fuck are you covering it up?” she spat
Colt clenched his jaw and glared at her. “You should know me better than that.”
India dropped her eyes and picked at the label on her beer bottle. “What have you got?”
Colt sighed. This was the last thing he wanted to talk about tonight, but knew he had to if he expected her to back off. “We think Barrington’s part of the same paedophile ring as Dwight Sanders.”
Glancing up at him, she asked, “Is Johnson in it too?”
Colt raised a shoulder. “I don't know yet.”
“I saw his wife today,” she said returning her eyes to the bottle. “He kicked ten barrels of shit out of her to get an alibi for the night Lisa Lewis's baby was snatched. Her own father backed him up. Why are men such wankers?” she murmured.
Colt raised his brows, hoping present company was excluded. “Because we're good at it?” he offered trying to lift the mood.
It worked. Momentarily. She huffed a chuckle before asking, “Why do women stay with abusive men?”
Colt puffed out his cheeks and blew a breath up his face. “That one's not so easily answered.”
“Try,” she said balling up the shredded label and dropping it on the worktop.
“Love, fear, duty, finances, shattered confidence, a broken spirit?” Colt shrugged. “All of those things. None of those things. I honestly don't know.”
India kept her eyes on the Bud bottle as she scraped the glue with her nail. “You've seen it countless times,” she mumbled. “Tell me why a mother stays with a man who hurts her own child.”
Colt sighed and rested his hand on her thigh. “Are we talking about Johnson or you?”
India abrup
tly slid off the worktop and downed the remainder of her beer. “You've got nothing on Johnson,” she said thrusting the empty bottle towards him. “That fucker's mine.”
Colt grabbed her arm. “Stay away from him, India. My unit have got an opportunity to clean up here. I’m telling you the same as I told Len - if Dr Dale Johnson has to be brought in, I promise you’ll be the one doing it.”
She tugged her arm away and narrowed her eyes. “Does Sangrin know about all of this as well?”
Colt was caught off guard. He certainly hadn’t told him, but couldn't rule out that Len Firman hadn't. “I don’t know. That’s not my call to make.”
He stared after her as she clenched her fists and stormed rigidly into the night. Knew going after her was futile at best and dangerous at worst. All he could hope was she'd beat the shit out of something soft when she walked through her own front door, but he couldn’t help wondering who's face she'd be visualising when she did it - Johnson's, Sangrin’s, his, or her own mother’s.
Chapter 53
Friday 29th July
London.
It hadn't hurt as much as he'd thought. Seemed the ‘S’ word came a whole lot easier when it wasn't sincere. Colt pulled the Dictaphone from his pocket, and pressed ‘play’ as Maggie drove away from Haltingbury Social Services.
“We're all on the same side,” Colt's own voice played, filling the car. “I'm sorry if I made either of you feel that wasn't the case. It wasn't intentional. The job gets the better of me sometimes.”
“It gets the better of us all occasionally.” Brian Fleming's hoarse smoker’s voice came through loud and clear. “You wouldn't be human if it didn't.”
“I'm really sorry about the safe house too, mate,” Colt said. “I went off on an urgent call and completely forgot about you stuck in there.”
“Don't worry about it,” the younger nervy voice of Alan Roberts responded. “I'm just glad everything turned out all right in the end.”
Colt voiced the next line aloud inside the car - “No hard feelings fellas,” clicked off the recording and grinned at Maggie.
“You're a very bad man,” she laughed. “Hospital?”
Sasha was braiding Melissa's hair when they arrived. Colt was relieved to see them both with colour in their cheeks and sweets remaining in the tubs, when he stuck his head round the door. “Knock, knock. Can we come in?” he asked. Both girls smiled and nodded. “Smells nice in here today,” he said sniffing the fruity fragranced air. “How are you both doing?”
“I'm not allowed to shower yet,” Melissa said quietly as Sasha fastened a band around the end of her damp braid. “But Sasha just washed my hair with the nice presents you bought us.”
Colt's heart twisted and he forced a smile.
“Would you like a sweet?” Sasha said pointing at the tubs.
Colt smiled. “No thanks. I've just brushed my teeth.”
“I haven’t,” Maggie chirped reaching for the tub. “Do you ladies think you might be up to listening to some voices for us this morning?”
When they nodded, Colt closed the hospital room door. He didn't want them distracted by the hustle and bustle outside. And he only wanted them to listen once. They'd been through too much already.
The girls got comfortable on Melissa's bed. Maggie positioned the open tub of sweets between them. Colt held his breath and pressed 'play' on the Dictaphone. The girls listened intently, staring at the little silver machine. As soon as he spoke, they looked at each other and stopped chewing. “That's him,” Melissa said. “That’s the one who took Tracey and Casey.”
Hampshire CID, Winchester.
India sighed as the DVLA database finally returned the details of the twelfth Range Rover she'd picked up from the CCTV footage. She scribbled 'red' next to the registration number and scored a line through it. She couldn't quite believe how many city dwellers actually drove a Range Rover, and more's the point - how many were driving their posh tractors in the vicinity of the Winchester bloody car park the night Lisa Lewis was chucked off it.
She rested her chin in her palm as she watched the never ending stream of cars going up and down the High Street, spasmodically hitting the pause to check a make of vehicle, or to give her eyes a rest when they all blurred into one.
Fifteen minutes later, she hit the pause button with valid reason when the thirteenth Range Rover of the night appeared on the screen. Rubbing at her bleary eyes, she scribbled the time, location, and registration number on her pad, before tapping the plate details into the database and getting up to stretch her legs and grab a coffee.
Her eyes narrowed as Sangrin came through the door with a box in his arms. She stirred a sugar into her strong black coffee and raised a brow when he dumped the box on her desk and picked up her notepad. “What's that?” she said pointing at the box and dropping into her seat.
“More footage,” he said gleefully. “You haven't come up with anything in a two mile radius, so I've extended it to five.” India gritted her teeth. “Why the fuck are you wasting time looking at red, blue, and green cars?” he spat slamming her notepad down on her desk. “I told you it was black.”
India gripped her mug with both hands to prevent her from repeatedly smashing his head through her computer screen. “The footage is black and white,” she said dully.
“Good. You'll either resign from boredom or sit there until you retire then.” India's jaw twitched as he leant so far into her personal space she could feel his breath on her neck. She kept her eyes front and centre, knew if she looked at him she'd nut him. “I haven't forgotten what you did to me,” he whispered. “Pay back's a bitch. Enjoy.”
“I gobbed in your bacon butty,” she said staring at the screen. “Does that look like Marky Markham to you, Sarge?”
She heard him gulp as he straightened up. “You did what?”
India ran her cursor over the man at the wheel of the Range Rover and zoomed in. “I found our hired heavy,” she said turning to the DVLA database and refreshing the screen. “And look whose car he’s driving.”
New Scotland Yard, London.
“When are we bringing him in, Boss?” Bob rubbed his hands together in anticipation as Colt pinned the social worker’s photograph to the suspect wall.
“We haven’t got enough yet,” Colt said. “I’ve had to stick a surveillance team on him.” He scrubbed a hand over his head. “Our only witnesses are a Latvian street walker who thinks John is the mutt’s nuts, and two traumatised little girls who recognise his voice. He's a social worker. It's an easy swerve.”
“Ryan Reynolds and Father Carey know him as John too,” Bob added.
“Father Carey thinks he's a great guy who helps out at the hostel, and all Ryan Reynolds can tell us is that he paid him for the Sanders raid footage,” Maggie said perching on the edge of the table. “If he's taking girls and babies we need to know where to.”
Bob swept an arm towards the main wall. “It could be any of this lot. We still don't know who's in this paedophile ring. Jesus, we haven't even confirmed Dwight Sanders is in it yet.”
“I'm hoping Declan Maloney can help us with that,” Colt said taking a seat.
Bob nodded and slumped into a chair. “He's staying at the Haltingbury Travel Lodge until Monday. Room 142.”
Colt leant back in his seat and cracked his knuckles. “If John is supplying a paedophile ring, it's not this one. All the children in the Sanders images were around seven years old and male. His interest lies in young women and babies. He could be supplying them for black market adoptions. That would also fit with the Winchester missing baby case. Either way Barrington is the firm common denominator.”
“John will be at St Saviour’s on Sunday,” Bob said clasping his hands on top of his head. “Let's dangle a carrot. Stick a duffed up undercover in and see where he takes her. It's always worked before.”
“I can't do it,” Mags said. “He knows me.”
“Then we need to find someone else and quick.” Colt drummed his fing
ers on the table. “What female coppers do we know who look young enough to pull it off?”
“We've used that one from Charing Cross before,” Bob said.
Maggie crossed her arms and glared at him. “She's already doing my husband, now you want her doing my job too?”
“Shit, sorry Mags,” Bob mumbled. “I wasn't thinking.”
Colt made a pointed show of looking at his watch. “It's Friday afternoon,” he said. “Unless you can come up with someone else capable of doing the job in the next thirty seconds, we don't have a lot of choice.”
Maggie turned her glare on him. Her cheeks burned red. If there was another option, he'd take it. She knew that. But they were short on time as well as options. Colt spread his hands. “What's it to be, Mags?”
“You'll have to phone her,” she muttered. “I'm not doing it.”
“Bob, make the call,” Colt said standing up and smoothing his jacket. “You two get this end set up. I'm going to see Declan Maloney. I'll speak to Winchester on the way.”
Chapter 54
Hampshire CID, Winchester.
“We've got a notorious thug for hire in the vicinity at the time of Lisa Lewis's death,” Firman said. “Mark Edward Markham, better known as Marky Markham.”
“Never heard of him,” Colt's voice filled the office as it came through the speakerphone.
“Doesn't surprise me,” Firman returned. “He's a big fish in our small pond. Came out of clink two months ago having done a six month stretch for assaulting his ex. But that's not the best bit. He was behind the wheel of a Range Rover registered to the New Lives Foundation at the time.”