by M. J. Ford
* * *
Jo’s most recent visits to the Radcliffe Infirmary had been with Theo after the accident, but she’d spent a lot of time in hospitals professionally. They were part of the job. Either to speak to the victims of violence, or those who perpetrated it. Drunk-drivers who’d crashed, neighbours whose disagreements had escalated into physical conflict, kids who’d thought it was a good idea to take a knife into school and had ended up on the receiving end of the blade. There was a lot of waiting around, drinking bad coffee and watching that day’s unfortunates being confronted with their vulnerability and mortality.
The reception desk found someone to talk to her quickly, and she was directed to a family liaison room. The greying man who met her there, dressed in an open white coat over a suit, was of East Asian heritage and introduced himself as Dr Wilson Kim.
‘How is he?’ asked Jo, straight away.
‘Still in surgery,’ said Kim. ‘He’s stable at the moment. Does he have family?’
Jo hesitated. Talk about complicated! ‘Not really.’
‘There may be difficult decisions to be made,’ said Kim. ‘It looks like he’s been shot three times. Once in the forearm, a second clipped the femoral artery near his groin. We’ve pretty much controlled the bleeding there. But there was a third entry wound …’ Here, Kim pointed to his lower abdomen, halfway to the right hip. ‘It looks like the bullet hit his pelvis and sheared, with fragments shredding part of his lower intestine and spinal column. He’s got some significant internal bleeding.’
‘Do you think he’ll pull through?’
‘I’d say he’s got a good chance, but it’ll be a long road to recovery. Is there anyone close to him? We can have someone ready to explain things when he wakes up, but it sometimes helps to see a familiar face.’
Jo thought of Chalmers, and of the friend from Cumnor, whose name she didn’t even know.
‘I can find someone,’ she said. ‘How long until he’s out of surgery?’
‘I’m going to guess four hours at least, but it could be longer. We’ll keep him under afterwards though.’
‘So there’s no chance of speaking to him today?’
‘You might never speak to him at all,’ said Kim bluntly. ‘Check in with us in the morning.’
* * *
By the time Jo returned to pick up Carrick the police had drawn in the cordon and got the traffic moving again on a single lane outside the café, and the unfortunate owner and his daughter had begun the clean-up. Nothing had come through on the radio about the black Audi, or the shooter, and though Jo told herself it couldn’t be long, she didn’t really believe it any more. Whoever was doing this was making careful calculations. If the killing spree had been entirely the work of one man – and one of the firearms guys had confirmed the shells were indeed nine mm just like those used to kill Xan Do – their suspect had been on the run for over a week already and by best guesses hadn’t been more than ten miles from the St Aldates police station at any point. Worse still, they didn’t even have an ID to start the search other than a youngish, average height man. We’re working blind here.
As she and Andy drove back towards the station, she looked at the faces of the men in the street. He could be any one of hundreds and she wouldn’t know. Of course, the likelihood was that he, and Megan, were far away by now. If they were sensible, they would have abandoned the Audi somewhere and switched vehicles, making the possibility of finding them soon even slimmer.
Heidi was getting ready to leave for the day. She told them that Dimitriou and Reeves were staying up in Manchester for the night, hoping to speak to someone from the council the following day about Megan Bailey’s past prior to Oxford. Otherwise, they faced the same frustrations as Jo and the team at St Aldates.
Just waiting for his next move …
On walking past Heidi’s desk, Jo noticed a copy of the warrant for Bailey’s phone. It reminded her of the phone that she had failed to leave at the hospital, and an idea suddenly occurred. She picked up the paper.
‘What level of tap have we got on Bailey’s phone?’
Heidi was slipping on her coat. ‘The emergency warrant gives us full access.’
Jo fished out the phone. ‘Bianchi found it at the scene.’ She explained that she had meant to give it to Greg.
‘But you forgot?’ said Carrick, joining them.
‘Genuinely, I did,’ said Jo. ‘But now we have it …’
Carrick picked up his own phone and Jo heard him speaking with the telecoms support team.
Ten minutes later, the access code of Greg Bailey’s phone had been remotely altered to four zeros and they were in. Jo went straight to the messages. She got the impression Carrick was holding his breath just like her.
The top message was from Chalmers, and read: ‘Greg, the police want to talk to you. Where are you? Call me.’ It was the only message from the solicitor.
Then, below, from Rohan Kirk: ‘Mate, the police were here! They’re worried about you!’Other messages in the chain above seemed to pertain to the practicalities of coming to stay at his friend’s place in Cumnor.
But below that, waiting like a treasure chest to be opened, was a series of messages from an unknown number.
Jo opened the chain. There were only three messages, and they were all from Greg himself, that day.
‘I’m going to leave in five minutes.’
Nine minutes before: ‘I’m here. Where are you?’
And half an hour prior: ‘I’ve got it.’
‘You think those are to his sister?’ said Carrick.
‘Or the man who shot him,’ said Jo. ‘They’d arranged to meet.’
‘But no messages from the other party,’ noted her boss, ‘unless he deleted them.’
‘But we can get them, right?’ said Jo.
‘Telecoms can tell us,’ said Carrick.
‘If he deleted them, he’s got something to hide’ said Jo.
‘What was in the bag the shooter took?’ said Carrick, as he redialled. ‘Money? Drugs?’
‘Could be,’ said Jo. ‘Blake said the drugs at the Baileys’ house were put there by Xan with Megan’s knowledge. But if Greg knew Xan, it could have been the three of them involved.’
‘And then they fell out somehow?’ said Carrick.
‘Sounds plausible. Until he wakes up we’re guessing.’
Carrick began to speak to the telecoms team once more, but from his face and disappointed questions, she knew the answer wasn’t what they wanted. He finished the call. ‘They don’t hold the information at the service provider,’ he said, ‘but they might be able to extract deleted messages from the physical phone. It’ll take time.’
‘Doesn’t everything?’ said Jo. ‘We can get the phone couriered over to the tech lot.’
‘I’ll handle it,’ said Carrick. He looked deflated. ‘You should get out of here. It’s going to be a busy one tomorrow.’
This time, Jo didn’t put up a fight. Unless there was a sighting of the gunman or Megan, there was nothing else to be done. But more importantly, she needed to get to Theo. She gathered her things.
‘Hey, Andy,’ she said. ‘Thanks for earlier. It meant a lot.’
‘No problem,’ he said. She noticed that his eyes lingered for a split-second on the family photo on his desk, so she looked away.
Chapter 22
Jo was expecting an inquisition when she got to her brother’s, but instead Paul gave her a hug that caught her completely by surprise. ‘We saw the news,’ he said.
‘We saw you!’ called Emma, from behind him. She emerged from the living room with Theo in her arms. He reached out when he saw Jo, and she took him and buried her nose in the wispy hairs on top of his head. For a few seconds, with her eyes closed, lips against his warmth and the scent of him in her nostrils, she was in her own world, completely untouchable.
‘Is someone dead?’ said Will.
The moment passed. Her nephew was wide-eyed.
‘Will!’ snappe
d Paul. ‘That’s not appropriate.’
Jo bounced Theo up and down, shared a look with her brother, and said, ‘The man who was shot is in hospital, and he’s very ill.’
‘Have you caught the person who did it?’ said Will.
‘No, but we will.’
‘Kids, give us a minute,’ said Paul.
‘I hope you’re not talking to me,’ said Emma, glaring in mock outrage.
‘Sorry,’ said Jo’s brother, shooting her a hard stare in return. ‘Kids, and any other financial dependants – please go somewhere else for a moment.’
As Emma and Will retreated, Paul looked serious, and ready to embark on a lecture, so Jo got in first.
‘I can’t face an argument,’ she said, ‘but I want you to know I’m going to make changes. I really am. As soon as this case is cleared, I’m going to sit down with HR—’
‘Jo, stop,’ said Paul. ‘That’s not what I was going to say.’
‘Oh … right,’ she replied.
Paul put his hands in his pockets, and looked at her with a contrite expression. ‘I know I gave you a hard time earlier, and on Sunday. That was wrong. Amelia and I spoke afterwards, and we get it.’
‘Get what?’
‘You. Your job. How hard it must be, all the time. And, well … we wanted to run something by you.’
Jo felt uneasy. She had no idea what was coming, but she was scared Paul was about the ask her to come and live with them.
‘We didn’t want to say anything before, but Amelia’s quit her job.’
‘No way!’ said Jo. Amelia had only recently returned to working as a teacher. ‘Why?’
‘The politics, the workload, the pay … you name it. About the only thing she does like are the kids, and they sound dreadful, in my opinion.’
‘What’s she going to do instead? Yoga and long lunches?’
‘That’s just it – she’s going to retrain as a childminder.’
‘Are you serious. You’re going to run a crèche?’
Paul laughed. ‘Hey! No! If I had my way, they’d all be contained in the garage.’
Jo suddenly understood what he was getting at, and found herself lost for words.
‘You wouldn’t have to use her,’ continued her brother, ‘but we want you to consider it as an option. Obviously, no mates rates would apply, and Theo would have to pull his weight like all the others …’
‘I couldn’t …’ said Jo, managing to speak, but still flummoxed.
‘Yes, you really could,’ said Paul. ‘Amelia would love it, obviously. And it would great for Emma and Will too. And me. I love the little guy. Plus, we could be more flexible than a nursery.’
‘I know,’ said Jo, ‘but it’s such a big thing. A big decision. We’re family, and—’
‘Exactly,’ said Paul. ‘We are family, and sometimes we don’t act like it. Don’t take this the wrong way, but I don’t feel I know you any more.’
‘Sadly, I’m just the same as always,’ said Jo. ‘Just more hormonal.’
‘Promise me you’ll think about it.’
‘Of course I will,’ said Jo, emotions threatening to get the better of her again. ‘I’m not going to cry, you know.’
‘I wouldn’t expect anything less from my tough sister,’ said Paul.
WEDNESDAY, 23RD APRIL
The evening brought no developments. Megan and her mystery companion had simply disappeared off the face of the earth. Whoever he was, the man in the balaclava seemed able to step onto centre stage in an explosion of sparks and noise, then vanish into the smoke.
But somehow, despite the day’s drama, repeated on the evening news, and despite the fact their chief suspect was armed and dangerous and on the run, Jo slept like she hadn’t slept in months. It was as if some magic spell had been cast over her bedroom, enveloping both herself and Theo in an enchanted slumber. She woke a few minutes before her alarm, and watched him sleeping through the cot bars beside her, a picture of perfect innocence, until his eyelids began to flicker with whatever dreams a baby was capable of having. She clung to the moment as long as she could, but as he surfaced to consciousness, the realities of life outside crept into their cocoon as surely as the light seeping around the edges of the blackout blind.
‘Morning, sweetheart,’ she whispered.
He answered with a beaming smile, and kicked violently inside his sleeping suit like he wanted to burst free and face the day.
‘Let’s go get ’em,’ said Jo.
She checked her phone. No updates. She fired off messages to both Andy and Heidi. While she prepared Theo’s porridge, they both replied that there was nothing to report.
Fighting her frustration and impatience, Jo was still considering her brother and sister-in-law’s offer as she dropped Theo at nursery. On the face of it, it seemed too good to be true, but still her mind naturally went to the negatives. Why complicate their personal relationship by introducing a professional one? What if, like this very week, she imposed upon them too much? And she was honest enough to acknowledge there was a third, deeper concern. Theo would be spending many, many hours with Amelia. It would only be natural that he would grow fond of his aunt. At such an impressionable age, he might even get confused …
As if to prove her point, he went to Suzie at Little Steps wearing a grin, and didn’t even look back at Jo. ‘Will it be your sister doing pick-up again?’ asked the carer.
‘No,’ said Jo firmly. ‘It will be me.’
* * *
Heidi was already at her desk, face leaning close to the screen, a finger on her mouse. With every click, a new selection of images appeared in a three-by-four grid. As Jo approached she realised they were photos from the number-plate recognition database. ‘What are you doing?’
‘Searching for a needle in a haystack,’ said Heidi. She leant back and flexed her neck. ‘I contacted the DVLA and they gave me the licence plate that corresponds to the VIN number on the Ford Focus you found abandoned. I thought, if the Audi’s wearing the Focus plates, I could track it using them. But it looks like he’s still one step ahead. The Focus plates haven’t been seen by any camera for three months, meaning he’d likely been using false plates on the Focus too and he transferred those to the Audi.’
‘Okay …’ said Jo.
‘Luckily, I’m stubborn,’ said Heidi. ‘A patrol found the gate where our man drove the Ford Focus into that field. It’s off a farm track and, depending on which end he entered, there are two cameras within quarter of a mile. I’m going over both in the three-hour window before the car-jacking of the Audi, looking for the Focus by sight rather than plates. Once I’ve found the plates it had on, then we might be able to find the Audi, if it’s currently wearing the same ones.’
Jo looked at her with bewilderment. ‘And if he didn’t go past the cameras in the Focus?’
‘Then I may throw this computer through the window,’ said Heidi. ‘Heck! I can’t sit here doing nothing.’
Jo looked to Carrick’s office. His door was open, and his jacket was on the back of his chair.
‘Where’s the gaffer?’
‘Briefing room,’ said Heidi, ‘with Aiden Chalmers.’
Bailey’s solicitor. ‘What’s he doing here?’
‘Being nosy, probably. He only arrived a couple of minutes ago.’
Intrigued, Jo dumped her bag and went through.
Chalmers was sitting with Andy Carrick, nursing a hot drink. When she walked through the door, he looked at her with a doleful expression, his skin pale. Her first thought was that there’d been bad news from the hospital.
‘Is Greg okay?’
‘He’s regained consciousness,’ said Chalmers, ‘but he’s still heavily sedated.’
‘Well, that’s good news,’ said Jo. ‘So what are we doing for you?’
‘Mr Chalmers was here for an update,’ said Carrick. ‘I’ve told him we still aren’t sure who it is that carried out the attack.’
Chalmers cleared his throat. ‘Actually, I m
ay have some information.’
‘Oh yes?’ said Jo.
‘It’s strictly confidential.’
Jo wasn’t sure what that meant in the context, but she slipped into a chair opposite. ‘Go on.’
‘I received a call, yesterday … after I spoke to you,’ Chalmers began. ‘Gregory had been into the local branch of Coutts. His parents banked there, as does he. He emptied his current account, and tried to withdraw funds from a secondary account also, but it would have required a co-signature from his father. They refused.’
‘And they called you?’
‘They found it suspicious, and they were trying to get hold of Mr Bailey senior. I’m listed as a contact. They were unaware of his murder.’
Jo shared a look with Carrick. That clarifies what was in the bag, then.
‘So why are you telling us this now?’
Chalmers sighed. ‘Mark Bailey was my friend as well as my client. I’ve been looking after that family’s interests since before that girl even came on the scene. They are – they were – good people. I don’t want to see anyone else getting hurt. I owe Gregory’s parents that much.’
‘That’s very noble,’ said Jo, trying not to sound too scornful. ‘But have you any idea why Greg might be paying off either his sister or the person who shot him?’
Chalmers shook his head and looked her right in the eye.
‘I wish I did, detective. I wish I did.’
‘At the moment,’ Carrick said, ‘Greg might be our only chance of a breakthrough. He could unlock the whole thing.’
Jo addressed the solicitor. ‘You know we’re going to need to talk to him, as soon as he’s up to it?’
‘So I understand. I’d like to be there when you do.’
To help or hinder? Jo wondered.
* * *
The breakthrough came a little after ten in the morning, but it wasn’t from Greg Bailey. Heidi was still looking through thousands of vehicle images when her phone rang. She answered, then said, ‘Hold on,’ before putting the caller on speaker. ‘Boss, Dimi’s on.’