Watch Over You

by M. J. Ford

  Carrick came out of his office. ‘Go on, George. We’re all listening.’

  ‘We’ve found him,’ said Dimitriou triumphantly. ‘James Brown, D.O.B. oh-three, oh-six, ninety-eight. Brother of Megan Brown.’

  ‘A brother?’ said Jo. What did that make him? Twenty-two? It matched the description from Saskia Patel.

  ‘That’s right. Both children were removed from their mother in 2007 when Megan was three, and James was nine. The fostering agency where Putman worked decided it was in their interests to separate them. Alice is still working through the files, but we’ll scan what we can and forward it.’

  ‘That’s great work, George,’ said Carrick. ‘Anything on his recent movements or place of abode?’

  ‘Not yet,’ said Dimi. ‘Some of the materials are pre-digital, and the filing system here would bring Heidi come out in hives. James was placed in a number of foster homes, but it looks like none of them worked out. He was a messed-up kid. Finally went missing from the system in 2015, aged seventeen. He must have a record though – he was first arrested at thirteen for going after a female teaching assistant with a pair of scissors.’

  ‘What about the birth parents?’ said Jo.

  ‘Mum died from an overdose the night the kids were taken in. We’ve got the report from the emergency team who responded. It’s a grim read, trust me. The kids were known to social services already, because of mum’s history as a sex worker. Dad wasn’t recorded, but given her line of work, it’s anyone’s guess.’

  ‘Send everything through,’ said Carrick. ‘We’ll check records for James.’

  ‘Gotcha, boss,’ said Dimitriou, before ending the call.

  ‘Nothing like a bit of misery to bring the best out of George,’ said Heidi.

  ‘Those poor bloody kids,’ said Carrick. ‘Jo, bring up the records.’

  He stood at her back as she opened up the national computer database, searching by James Brown’s name and date of birth. Unsurprisingly, there was only a single result.

  ‘That’s our guy,’ muttered Carrick, as they looked at a mugshot from 2016. James Brown’s face was gaunt and defiant, his eyes staring straight down the lens, as if he wanted to throw himself at the officer unfortunate enough to be taking his photo. His thick dark hair fell over one side of his forehead, and the pallid colour of his skin gave him an almost monochrome relief. Black and white. His lips were narrow, almost non-existent. Everything about him looked sharp, a blade ready to cut.

  The record was surprisingly thin. The 2016 mugshot related to the most recent arrest, for assault. Jo perused the file quickly, taking in the salient details. A fight outside a pub in central Manchester, in which a man’s jaw had been broken. James Brown had been released with a caution. Further back, there were a dozen other arrests, for a mixture of vandalism, petty theft, trespass, and two more aggravated assaults. As a juvenile, no DNA had been taken, and though charges were levied, he was released each time with a caution, or under supervision, back into the council’s care. The attempted stabbing with the scissors was listed too, right back in 2011. Jo opened up the more detailed file on that case, which linked through to the court findings. There was no question, it seemed, that he was guilty, but the teaching assistant in question had actually appeared as a witness in James’ defence, reporting him as a highly intelligent pupil, who could, with the right support, go far.

  I bet she never had this in mind, thought Jo.

  Chapter 23

  ‘We arrived to find Constables Sheldon and O’Neill at the premises. A team of paramedics were working on Ms Brown in one corner of the living room, where she lay on the ground beside a sofa. At this stage she was alive, but appeared to be convulsing and vomiting. There were several items of drug paraphernalia on a table. Cons. Sheldon directed me to a closed door at the end of the corridor. He said he believed there was at least two children inside, and asked if he should break down the door. I asked him to wait, as I thought I might be able to convince James to open it himself.

  It took several minutes before he acknowledged me. I could hear him talking to his sister Megan, telling her it was going to be okay. I introduced myself by my first name, and explained that we’d met before, during a visit the previous year. He said he couldn’t remember, and asked if his mother was all right. He said he had called the ambulance. By then Ms Bailey was completely non-responsive and the paramedics were attempting to resuscitate her. I told James we were doing our best to make her better, and asked if he would open the door so we could talk face to face. He said his sister’s nappy needed changing, that he had tried, but he thought it was on the wrong way. I said we could help with that too. He said he didn’t need help from me. He wanted his mother. We continued to speak in this way for approximately ten minutes. He swore at me often, aggressively. His fear, I determined, was that we would take his sister away, and he’d promised his mother that would never happen.

  It was during this period that Ms Brown was taken on a stretcher out of the flat. I believe she was already dead, though her death was not officially declared until she reached the hospital shortly after. Megan, aged three, had begun to cry loudly. James was becoming more agitated, repeatedly instructing her to be quiet and saying that he was doing everything he could. I tried a final time to persuade James to open the door, but Megan’s shouts had risen in pitch, indicating that she was in pain. I gave Constable Sheldon an instruction to break down the door, and he did so. Inside the room, we found James in one corner, shielding his sister. She was partially clothed, and there was a strong smell of human waste, coming from a pile of soiled nappies in one corner of the room. There was more drug paraphernalia, as well as alcohol containers, dirty bedding and what appeared to be historic fire damage along one wall. Megan was struggling in James’ grip, and I told him to let her go. When he refused, together with Constable Sheldon, we forcibly removed her. In the process, James bit me, drawing blood, and I was forced to use an approved palm strike to make him release me. Subsequently, James and Megan were removed from the premises and taken to hospital for examination …’

  The report of the emergency duty team continued in the same dry language for a few hundred more words, detailing the initial medical findings, which included malnourishment, dehydration, lice, plus an advanced ear infection affecting Megan and severe conjunctivitis in James. All symptoms indicated a case of extreme neglect and emotional abuse, though no signs of physical abuse. Following this, the EDT officer found an emergency temporary residence for both children. At this stage, he recommended that they remain together.

  Jo closed the file, and passed it across to Carrick. They were seated opposite each other in the briefing room, sharing the material as it came in.

  ‘Dimitriou said it was grim, and he wasn’t lying.’

  Knowing something of the people in question in the present made it worse. And, in the previous few days, Jo felt she had been getting to know Megan, even though they’d never met.

  There were reams of paperwork to get through, and Reeves was sending more through all the time, adding to the pile of print-outs to absorb. Council evaluations, efforts to find relatives, a procedural inquest relating to the previous monitoring of the family, and then placement details. It looked like the children were kept together for the first few months, moved from place to place as temporary carers tried and failed to deal with James’ violent outbursts. A child psychologist’s report made a tentative diagnosis of conduct disorder, as well as observing a raft of other disruptive behaviours including a lack of impulse control. Megan herself was believed to exhibit symptoms of foetal alcohol syndrome due to her hearing deficits, retarded verbalisation and co-ordination, and her relatively small size.

  It was early 2008 – around seven months after their mother died – that the two children were separated, with James remaining in the care system, and his sister finding a new home in Oxfordshire. Jo couldn’t find a justification explicitly stated anywhere on first pass, but it wasn’t hard to read between the lin
es and see that Megan would be a lot easier to rehome than her significantly more damaged brother. What it must have done to him particularly was hard to fathom.

  And now we’re seeing the fallout.

  ‘He’s come to get her,’ said Carrick, speaking for both of them.

  ‘Looks like it,’ said Jo. ‘But what’s with the four-year gap? Arrested in 2016, it looks like the next slip-up will get him jail-time. Then he vanishes.’

  ‘Maybe he was abroad,’ said Carrick.

  ‘You think he had the wherewithal to apply for a passport?’

  ‘Turned over a new leaf then?’

  ‘Oh, happens all the time, boss.’ Jo gave him her most sceptical look. ‘No, somehow he kept his nose clean for four years.’

  ‘And he came back a different person,’ said Carrick. ‘A ruthless killer. Maybe he was in with a gang?’

  Through the window, Jo saw Nigel from the front desk plodding through the drizzle to empty a waste basket into the wheelie-bin outside. She remembered what Saskia had said about his footwear – the boots – and the oversized rucksack he was carrying on the CCTV.

  ‘What about armed forces?’ she said.

  Carrick tilted his head as he considered. ‘That would explain his acquaintance with firearms,’ he said. ‘And the level of planning and reconnaissance he would have needed.’

  ‘And maybe the Banbury decoy,’ said Jo. ‘It was a neat trick.’

  ‘You sound like you admire him.’

  ‘I wouldn’t go that far. Let’s contact the Ministry of Defence and see what they can give us.’

  Jo went back to her desk and found the general enquiries number quickly. As she dialled, her gaze fell on the mugshot of a sixteen-year-old James Brown, now pinned to the main board. We’re coming for you, she thought. His eyes, dark and intense, answered her challenge.

  * * *

  Dealing with the MOD was almost the exact opposite experience of trying to wrangle information from a local council. In a series of transferrals, and without anyone trying to bullshit or bluster, she was passed from the enquiries desk, to army personnel, to the infantry training base in Dering Lines, Wales, and finally, after a wait of about five minutes, a voice came on the phone and introduced himself as Corporal Kinnear.

  ‘You’re asking about James Brown?’

  Jo introduced herself. ‘That’s right. Did you know him?’

  ‘Very well,’ said Kinnear. ‘Is he in trouble?’

  ‘You could say that,’ said Jo. ‘Can you tell me about him?’

  ‘A very effective soldier,’ said Kinnear, ‘but a very troubled young man. He came to me straight out of specialist mechanic training. Served two deployments in Afghanistan. Seven months ago, he went AWOL from Chepstow Barracks. I can’t say it’s a surprise. He’d been skating on thin ice for a while and we’d likely have kicked him out at some point.’

  ‘Can you give me any more details?’

  ‘He had an anger problem,’ said Kinnear, ‘but we work with a lot of kids like that. Normally it gets channelled as they bed into the team, or the team sorts it out, but Brown always kept his edge. Ready to kick off all the time, and it didn’t matter how many guys he was up against. He did some good things overseas, became something of an expert in IEDs and counter-ambush. You couldn’t question his courage. If we could have ironed out his kinks and sorted the discipline, he could’ve made special forces. He had that sort of drive. Tough, tough kid. Sadly it wasn’t to be.’

  It was useful information, but Jo didn’t have high hopes when she asked the next question.

  ‘We need to track him down. Can you think of anyone who might be able to help us?’

  ‘If James wants to stay hidden, he will,’ said Kinnear. ‘He’s a survivor, that boy.’

  ‘He’s killed several people,’ said Jo.

  ‘You’re kidding me?’

  ‘You sound surprised.’

  ‘I am,’ said Kinnear. ‘For all his problems, it was always provoked. I got the impression he just wanted to be left alone.’

  ‘There’s family involved,’ said Jo. ‘Listen, thank you for your time. If anything else comes to mind, will you let us know?’

  ‘Of course, detective,’ said Kinnear. ‘I can send you his file, if that would help?’

  ‘It would.’

  They shared direct contact details before finishing the call.

  ‘Sounded interesting,’ said Carrick.

  ‘Worrying, more like,’ said Jo, before repeating what Kinnear had told her.

  ‘We’ve got a job on our hands then,’ said Carrick.

  It wasn’t long before the file came through from the corporal. The photo accompanying it, dated the previous year, showed James Brown in uniform. He looked considerably older than the mugshot from 2016, his face and physique more bulky, with a crew-cut. It could have been a different person from the police file, but for the same, chin-up posture and the burning black eyes. He looked like a young man rather than a boy, and though Jo searched for signs of the poor kid from the child services reports, he simply wasn’t there any more. There was no vulnerability – just defiance and anger.

  The MOD material included a full chronological record of Brown’s service, dating back to his initial enquiry at the recruitment centre in Manchester in 2016, followed by his periods of training at Sandhurst, and later Chepstow, before deployments in 2018 and 2019. He’d graduated top of his mechanic class and there were other highlights, including a commendation for bravery. His first-class physicals suggested an exemplary approach too.

  However, there were also a number of citations for disciplinary problems, ranging from offences involving the possession and consumption of alcohol to fighting in the barracks. At one point he had been temporarily demoted for throwing a mess tray at a superior officer.

  ‘Hey, guys,’ said Heidi. ‘I might have something. Come and see.’

  ‘You’ve found your needle?’ said Jo.

  Heidi had a shot of a blue Ford Focus on the screen. There was only one person in the front seat, driving. Heidi zoomed the image. Definitely Brown, though his hair had grown back.

  ‘It’s him,’ Jo said. ‘You did it.’

  ‘No sign of Megan,’ said Carrick.

  ‘Get the plates plugged into the ANPR for the last seven days,’ said Jo.

  Heidi switched windows, and copied the alphanumeric sequence. It took a few second before a satellite map came up on screen, populated by green triangles.

  ‘Holy shit,’ said Heidi.

  It was all there. The plates from the Focus had pinged cameras all around Oxford. There were also several notifications on the roads around Stanton St John.

  ‘Check that one,’ said Jo, pointing to the closest of them.

  Heidi hovered the mouse over the dot, bringing up a date, time, and direction of travel, and a thumbnail of the vehicle image. April 13th, 06.12.

  ‘Morning,’ said Jo. ‘Not long before the Baileys’ neighbour heard the shotgun blast.’ Clicking through for the full details, a larger image of the Focus came up. Again, it was only Brown visible.

  ‘Narrow it down to the last forty-eight hours,’ said Carrick.

  Most of the triangles disappeared as Heidi performed the action. All that remained were a constellation of points in and around Oxford that also stretched out towards the north-west, including near to the Woodstock car-jacking.

  ‘What’s out that way? said Jo. The triangles stopped around nine miles outside the city.

  ‘Some of the cameras have pinged multiple times,’ said Heidi. ‘He was using the same route repeatedly. With a little time, we should be able to map out the chronology.’

  She narrowed the search to the last twenty-four hours and the pattern was sparse. Eight triangles, all on the road from the north-west.

  ‘He came in and went out,’ said Jo. ‘Where’s the most recent sighting?’

  In a few clicks, a single green dot remained, just beyond the village of Over Kidlington. It was timed at 20.04 the
previous evening. Heidi pointed to a grey dot beyond the outer reaches of Brown’s route. ‘That’s a camera location too, but he didn’t get that far.’

  Jo leant over her, and sketched a circle with her fingertip around the green dot. ‘So he’s likely in that vicinity.’

  ‘The car is,’ said Heidi. ‘Whether he’s with it or not is another matter.’ Much of the land to the west of the road was forest, with a number of tracks cutting through, and occasional buildings too. Perfect for concealing a vehicle from prying eyes, even those in the sky.

  ‘You think we need the armed response?’ asked Jo.

  ‘Let’s recce first,’ said Carrick. ‘Heidi, if the ANPR picks him up, we need to know straight away.’

  Chapter 24

  They drove north without sirens, and with little in the way of conversation. Jo understood Carrick’s decision not to deploy the AR team. Though no one would ever say it, the previous day’s failure must have weighed heavily on him, and he likely didn’t want to make the same embarrassing mistake twice unless they had better intelligence that James Brown was present. The worst thing in the world would be to remove the firearms officers from Oxford again only for him to turn up there bearing deadly force and bad intentions.

  They passed through rural Oxfordshire, and Jo noted the discreet grey ANPR cameras mounted at occasional intervals above the road. She was struck by the uncanny feeling of seeing the world through Brown’s eyes. Given his plate-switching, he couldn’t have failed to notice the cameras too. But if he had pre-empted them before, was he still doing so now? Or perhaps he hadn’t anticipated Heidi Tan’s tenacity, feeling his tactics were foolproof against police intelligence, and hadn’t realised they were about, finally, to catch up with him. Despite the lack of armed support, she noted that Carrick had silently tossed two bullet-proof vests into the back seat.

  As they passed through Over Kidlington, he slowed and the atmosphere in the car took on a more serious edge. Soon they were passing thick trees to the left. They rounded a corner and Jo spotted a track on the left marked ‘Chiltern Timber’. Carrick indicated, braked suddenly, and swung into it, earning a horn from the car behind, plus a raised middle finger. It didn’t appear to bother her boss. A gate was closed across the track, and padlocked. The single track beyond was gouged with the dried-up ruts made by heavy-duty vehicles. A sign read: ‘Site Traffic Only. Visitors please use main entrance.’