by M. J. Ford
‘Before that,’ he said. ‘From Manchester.’
In a second, her expression changed completely – he’d never seen the blood run from someone’s face, but it did in that moment, like a white veil falling down her skin.
Chapter 20
Jo called the number Bailey had left them as they made their way back through the field, but he didn’t answer. Next they tried Aiden Chalmers.
‘We’re looking for Greg,’ said Jo.
‘Sorry, detective – don’t you think he deserves a little personal time?’
‘We think he might be in danger.’
‘Really? How so?’
She didn’t think it wise to explain exactly the nature of the scrawled message on the back of the car in the field. ‘All I can say is that it’s a credible threat. Please, where is he?’
‘He’s staying with a friend,’ said Chalmers. ‘Have you tried calling him?’
‘Of course. There was no answer. Do you have the friend’s number?’
‘No, but I have the address. Look, this is highly irregular …’
‘He’s probably ignoring our calls,’ said Jo. ‘Can you ring him now, right now? Tell him to stay where he is. And tell me the address. We’ll send someone.’
Chalmers said he would, and gave her the address in Cumnor, a village south-west of the city. It would probably take them twenty minutes to get there, but a squad car might be closer, so Jo called it in. She tried Greg again, and this time left a message.
‘Greg, it’s DS Jo Masters. Listen, it might be nothing, but we’d like you to stay where you are. Megan is still in the area, but she’s with a dangerous individual who we think might intend to hurt you. Just hold tight.’
* * *
They drove with the sirens again, taking the back roads. She told herself, several times, that it was probably nothing. For Megan’s companion to stay in the area seemed crazy, almost unhinged – he must have known half of Thames Valley would be out looking for him. Yet, she had to remind herself, he might be exactly that. Megan was clearly wary of him, going by the fact she was leaving messages in secret. Was she with him against her will somehow?
‘What’s he got against the son?’ said Carrick.
‘Greg was lying to us about something,’ said Jo. ‘All that stuff about giving her money to go away – it never made sense. No one hates their sibling that much.’
‘And Megan cares about him enough to leave a warning.’
They crossed the A40, the main road running west out of Oxford. Still ten minutes out from Cumnor.
‘You think he’s kidnapped her?’ said Jo.
‘Would make sense if he was the estranged father,’ said Carrick, ‘but Saskia seemed to think he was young.’
He concentrated on the road, overtaking the car in front with a lurching manoeuvre that had Jo gripping the handle above the door.
‘He was wearing a balaclava. She might have misjudged. Especially given the fear factor.’
At a crossroads, they met a squad car coming the other way, who waved Carrick ahead.
Cumnor was a country village bigger than Stanton St John, but much the same in terms of its inhabitants. They shot past the village pub, then the cricket club, before bouncing up a private track towards a clutch of four or five grand-looking Georgian houses. The one they were looking for was called ‘Heron’s Perch’ and straight away Jo noticed Greg’s Jaguar wasn’t anywhere in sight. She was out of the car before the engine stopped, and strode towards the front door, where she knocked loudly.
A middle-aged woman in pearls and a cardigan came to the door, and behind her was a young man of about the same age as Bailey.
Jo showed her warrant card. ‘I’m looking for Greg,’ she said.
‘I’m afraid he left about ninety minutes ago,’ said the young man.
‘Do you know where he went?’
‘No. He didn’t say.’
Jo didn’t think he was lying, but pushed anyway, ‘Are you sure? He’s not in any trouble.’
The man shook his head. ‘He got a call, and said he had to go.’
‘How did he seem?’
‘In a rush,’ said the friend.
‘Agitated?’
‘I suppose so.’
That call must have come through about the same time as Saskia Patel was being dragged out of her car. ‘Can you ring him now?’ said Jo. ‘We think he might be in some danger.’
The man nodded briskly, and took the phone from his pocket. After holding it to his ear for twenty seconds, he shook his head. ‘He’s not picking up.’
‘Shit,’ said Jo, earning a look of reproach from the boy’s mother. ‘If he calls back, tell him to go to the nearest police station.’
‘God! Is everything all right?’
‘I hope so,’ said Jo. She jogged back towards the car to share the news with Carrick.
They sat for a few minutes side by side, going through the options. The most precise method would be to trace his phone via either the sim’s GPS or the phone’s own triangulation, but both would require a warrant. With the best will in the world, even if they invoked the emergency protocols, it would take twenty minutes. Carrick made the call anyway to the telecoms liaison unit, in order to put the wheels in motion. Jo meanwhile got in touch with Heidi to find Greg’s vehicle details and to put an alert on the ANPR network in case his car turned up. It wouldn’t give them a real-time location, but it would narrow things down considerably. To her surprise, Heidi rang back almost at once, and Jo put her on speaker.
‘You’ve found him?’
‘No, we’ve got a possible visual on the stolen Audi.’
‘Fuck, where?’
‘Ten minutes ago, outskirts of Banbury, northern carriageway.’
Banbury was about twenty miles from the car-jacking site. The time-frames added up.
‘Why “possible”?’ said Carrick. ‘Didn’t the cameras pick it up?’
‘No, member of the public. Driver was behaving erratically. Mentioned the missing rear bumper.’
‘That’s our guy,’ said Jo. ‘We’ll head that way now.’
‘Heidi,’ said Carrick. ‘Send all available units in pursuit. And get surveillance units set up north of Banbury on the major routes. He’s not getting far. We’ll need a tactical firearms squad too.’
They drove at speed north, overtaking a couple of other police vehicles on the way. If he’s making a run for it, he’s got no chance, thought Jo. With the whole of Thames Valley activated, there’d be close to a hundred patrol cars and several unmarked vehicles scouring the Banbury area like a giant net closing in. Her only hope was that they could take him alive, and no one else would get hurt.
They slowed as they reached the outskirts of the city. Jo kept checking her phone, and watching the in-car radio, expecting a call at any moment with a location. When none came, and the minutes ticked by, the adrenalin in her blood began to dull, only to be spiked again with the sudden realisation that it was almost five pm. She was due to pick Theo up in an hour. Shit! Shit! Shit! She went through a range of emotions, from panic to anger at her own stupidity, settling into a queasy sense of embarrassment and guilt. She asked Andy to stop the car so she could make a private call. He pulled over, beside a mobile burger van at the side of the road.
With the smell of grease hovering in the air, she called her sister-in-law. It was Paul who picked up the phone. ‘Hey, sis. Amelia’s in the shower. What’s up?’
She took a deep breath. ‘I know I said I’d never ask again, but I really need your help …’
He spoke quickly, before she had time to continue. ‘You want us to get Theo?’
‘Can you? Please? I’m in the middle of something really important.’
Her brother hesitated. ‘Of course we will, but, Jo – this is what I was talking about. You’ll always be in—’ he stopped mid-flow. ‘Look, forget it. It’s not the time. Don’t worry about Theo. Just do what you need to.’
‘Thank you,’ said Jo. ‘It
’s been a crazy day, but it’s going to be over soon.’
‘I know it will,’ said Paul. ‘Be careful, all right?’
‘You need to be somewhere else, don’t you?’ said Carrick, as she got back into the car. ‘I’ll drive you back.’
‘Nope. All sorted.’ She spoke brightly, but inside she felt torn apart. Twice in a week she wouldn’t be there to hold her son.
‘Jo, I spot liars for a living,’ said Carrick. ‘Talk to me.’
She dug her fingernails into her palms to stop herself welling up, and changed the subject. ‘I bet he’s ditched the vehicle somewhere.’
‘I give the orders, remember,’ said Carrick.
She really couldn’t stop the tears, however hard she tried, so she just let them come. ‘I can’t fucking do this,’ she said. ‘I thought I could, but I can’t.’
Carrick unbuckled his seatbelt, and reached across to the glove box, taking out a packet of tissues.
‘You’re doing a great job,’ he said, handing her one.
She snatched at it, and rolled her eyes. ‘How is this a great job? Look at me!’
‘You’re crying, for the first time since I’ve known you. Are you seriously ashamed of that?’
She wiped her nose. ‘I’m not ashamed of crying. I’m ashamed of why I’m crying.’
‘Which is?’
‘Because I miss my son, Andy,’ she said, and with the admission came another, uncontrollable flood of tears. ‘And when I don’t miss him, that’s even worse, because I should. It’s like I can’t help fucking up his life, and he’s only six months old. Because every time I try and do the right thing – to buy a fucking nappy, for fuck’s sake – it turns out to be wrong.’
Carrick touched her hand. ‘You’re not … effing up anybody’s life, apart from maybe your own. Give yourself a break.’
‘You don’t know what it’s like,’ she said. ‘I’m on my own with him, and I know that’s my fault, which makes it a real kick in the gut. There aren’t enough hours in the day.’
‘Actually,’ said Carrick softly. ‘I do know what it’s like. Sort of, anyway.’ Jo sniffed. His voice, she realised, was close to breaking, and if she wasn’t mistaken, there were tears brewing in his own eyes.
‘Andy?’
He breathed out a slow, shuddering breath. ‘I haven’t told anyone at the station, because … well, what’s the flipping point? But Jasmillah left me, about five months ago, when you were on maternity leave.’
‘Christ, Andy, why didn’t you say?’
‘There isn’t much to say, is there? She’s met someone else – I think she met him a long time ago and she was just waiting until the kids got older.’
She couldn’t believe it. Jasmillah and Andy were as strong as couples came. At least they were going by the photographs Andy posted on social media. Lucas and she had even used to joke about it – they and their kids looked like something out a lifestyle catalogue.
‘Where are they now?’
‘The oldest with me, the youngest with her. It’s a mess to be honest, but amicable enough.’ He smiled briskly. ‘I didn’t even see it coming.’
Was this where Andy’s anger had come from, when he’d kicked her out of the station? When he’d spoken of idiotic cops messing up their families? Jo had resented him shutting her out, but now it took on a quite different complexion.
He still had his hand on hers, and she folded it in hers. ‘Look at us,’ she said. ‘So much for the thin blue line.’
The radio crackled and they pulled their hands apart.
‘Firearms crime in progress. Walton Street Cafe, Walton Street, Jericho. Tactical unit, please respond.’
‘This is ARU Alpha. We’re in Banbury. Confirm Walton Street, Oxford?’
The dispatcher confirmed, and Jo and Carrick listened to the unfolding drama in a series of radio traffic broadcasts between patrol cars, the tactical unit, and the control centre.
‘It’s got to be him,’ said Carrick. He swung the car out and turned one-eighty at the next roundabout. The armed response van shot past them.
‘Why would he head back to Oxford?’ said Jo.
‘I’ve no idea.’
Carrick spoke to the control centre as he drove, instructing them to keep half a dozen vehicles in the Banbury area. They began to hit denser rush-hour traffic a couple of kilometres outside Oxford. Carrick pulled across on to the hard shoulder, wheels close to the ditch, still travelling at seventy.
Another call came in to Carrick’s phone. It was Heidi.
‘We’ve pinged Bailey’s phone,’ she said on speaker. ‘It looks like he’s at the site of the shooting in Jericho. Waiting for confirmation from the ground.’
Carrick slammed a hand on the wheel. ‘Dammit!’
Chapter 21
By the time they reached Jericho, a quarter of an hour later, they couldn’t even get close to the site of the shooting. Walton Street was busy at the best of times, but at 17.30 it was completely clogged with traffic. Ahead, a couple of hundred metres up the road, the competing lights of several squad cars looked like a rave in progress. Carrick parked his own vehicle and they went on foot, passing many people who’d got out of their vehicles to complain, or those who’d emerged from nearby houses and businesses to see what was going on. A cordon was being set up twenty metres from the front of the café. Several officers, some armed, were keeping people back. Dozens of mobile phones were raised, recording the scene for kicks and posterity.
Jo took it in. An entire front window of the café had been shattered. Chairs and tables lay on their sides inside and out. Among the glass fragments were several pools of blood, the largest of which had trailed down the pavement, and was trickling into a drain. Inside the café, a paramedic was tending to an elderly man who was bleeding from his head, while two uniformed officers were chatting to a shaken waitress, her white apron covered in more blood.
Jo and Carrick made their way through the cordon, showing their ID.
‘Is that the casualty?’ she asked.
‘No,’ said the officer. ‘He got hit with broken glass.’ He pointed up the road. ‘Ambulance managed to get the other guy out already. Didn’t look good.’
‘Do you have an ID on the victim.’
‘No, ma’am. Young fella.’
Jo walked towards the café entrance, stepping over the channel of blood, still shockingly fresh and red. She counted three spent cartridges on the ground.
Inside, the café tables were still covered with half-eaten plates and glasses, of which several had spilled. Jo had actually come here once, she remembered, with Lucas in happier times. They’d sat just inside the window that lay in pieces on the ground. She pushed the memory away as a Middle Eastern man, bald and moustachioed, came towards them, his white shirt filthy and sweat-stained. He was carrying a broom, gripping it like a weapon with both hands.
‘Are you the owner?’ asked Jo.
He nodded. ‘What am I going to do?’
‘Can you tell me what happened?’
‘I was in the back. I hear the shots, then yelling and screams. By the time I come through, it is done. Everybody running. But the boy, he is lying there.’ He threw out a hand, theatrically, towards the blood.
‘Did you see the shooter?’
‘No, no – but Aylin did. My daughter.’
Jo nodded towards the girl in the apron. ‘That’s her?’
‘Yes. She was so close! Praise be to God she is okay!’
Jo walked to where the officer – Constable Paulo Bianchi – was talking to the witness and taking notes.
‘Ma’am,’ he said.
‘What’ve we got?’
Bianchi, who Jo had always liked, consulted his pocket book. ‘Miss Yilidrim was serving outside when a man in black clothes and a balaclava pulled up in a black car, climbed out, and fired five or six shots at the man sitting at one of the tables. He then took a bag from the victim and drove away, heading north. She tried to administer first aid until the ambula
nce arrived. Before he lost consciousness, he said his name was Greg.’
Not that there had ever been much doubt.
Jo turned to the waitress. ‘Aylin, did you see anyone else in the car with the gunman?’
‘I didn’t see. I think he was on his own.’
‘And did the gunman speak to the victim at all?’
She shook her head. ‘Not that I heard. He just started shooting.’
Jo thanked her. Back in front of the café, she was aware more than ever of the camera-phones pointed in her direction. It wouldn’t be long until Emma and Will, and all her extended family, saw the images. She should text as soon as possible, and let them know she was okay.
‘It had to be a planned meeting if he knew where to find Bailey,’ Carrick muttered to her.
‘So why shoot him? It doesn’t sound like they even argued.’
‘Can you go to the hospital?’ said Carrick. ‘We need to speak to Greg if he pulls through.’
‘Sure. Doesn’t sound positive though. Christ, Andy – what sort of person just opens fire in the middle of town? It’s insane.’
‘I agree it’s brazen,’ said Andy, ‘but I don’t think we’re dealing with someone out of control. Think about it. He must have switched the plates on the Audi, or avoided the cameras on a circuitous route. There are a half a dozen between here and …’ He turned to one side, and laughed bitterly. ‘You know what? I wouldn’t even be surprised if he made the call about Banbury in the first place.’
Jo caught his meaning. ‘To distract us?’
Carrick nodded, and rubbed his brow. ‘And we fell for it hook, line and sinker. Emptied Oxford of personnel, and the armed response.’
It was only conjecture, but it had the ring of truth. We left Greg Bailey like a sitting duck.
‘I’ll report back from the hospital,’ she said.
Carrick offered his car, given it was furthest from the mad congestion around the scene. As she was walking past the scene again, Bianchi approached.
‘Ma’am – you’ll want this. Pretty sure it’s the vic’s phone.’ He offered her a mobile, a new model with a cracked screen. ‘We found it on the ground.’
She took it, and hit the home button. An image appeared of Greg Bailey, mid-charge, with a rugby ball under his arm. Despite her antipathy towards him, the sight of him very much alive and untroubled made her unexpectedly sad. ‘Yeah, it’s his. Thanks.’