by Nigel Cooper
‘It certainly is,’ said Rhodes, not feeling the need to tell his DI that he was actually born in Cambridge, but moved to London with his parents when he was 12. Somehow, it didn’t seem an appropriate time for idle chitchat.
‘Ok, here we are,’ said Carver, pulling up outside the Kramer’s house. ‘There isn’t much I need your help with here, Sergeant, I just thought it would be good for you to meet the Kramer parents, to help slide you into the case so to speak,’ said Carver.
The door was answered by a man in his mid to late thirties. You could see that on any other day that he was a good looking guy, but not today. His light brown short back and sides was parted on one side and he had what looked like designer stubble, or perhaps he just hadn’t shaven for a couple of days.
‘Mr Kramer?’ said Carver.
‘Yes,’ he said.
‘I’m Detective Inspector Carver, this is my colleague, Detective Sergeant Rhodes and I believe you’ve already met Detective Constable Dubois and DS Dobson.’
‘Have you found them?’ came a woman’s voice from the hallway behind Mr Kramer, before appearing in the doorway, muscling past her husband. Beneath the red puffy eyes were dark bags where the poor woman obviously hadn’t slept. Her unkempt hair and lack of make up and generally stressed and haggard look had killed off what was once a very attractive woman. Although she was 36, today she looked 10 years older, understandably so. She was slim with a slight petit build, about 5’ 2”, with shoulder length mousy blonde hair cut into a trendy bob parted above her right eye, the opposite side to her husbands.
‘Not yet,’ said Carver. The expectant look on Helen Kramer’s face slid away and was replaced by the vacant expression of a woman who’d recently lost her twin boys.
‘Please, come inside,’ said John, leading his wife into the living room. ‘Do you have any news?’
‘We’re still working hard,’ said Carver.
‘Well why aren’t you out there looking for them, what are you doing?’ said Helen, somewhat hysterical.
‘Mrs Kramer, I wanted to come and visit you personally to assure you and your husband that we’re doing everything we can. I’m leading the investigation and at this precise moment there are search parties out looking for your boys from three different constabularies. I have nine detective sergeants, each with five detective constables doing door-to-door enquiries in and around the area. We’re going through all the local CCTV footage and doing other checks,’ he said, by “checks” he meant looking into local sex offenders and paedophiles, but he wasn’t going to say that out loud. ‘Mrs Kramer, this case is our top priority I can assure you.’
‘Why can’t we do anything, I feel useless here,’ she said.
‘This is the best place you can be, both of you, we need you to be home in case they turn up or if anybody phones,’ said Carver.
John put his arm around his wife’s shoulder, but she was so wrapped up in her own miserable world she barely even knew he was there.
DI Carver and the Family Liaison Officers did everything they could to reassure Mr and Mrs Kramer that they were doing everything they could to find their boys (Rhodes chipping in here and there) and they had every confidence that they would. In reality, it wasn’t looking that great. So far nothing out of the ordinary had shown up on the CCTV footage, but there was still a ton more still to be viewed and it was going to take weeks to get through it all. The door-to-doors hadn’t yielded anything of interest. Nobody had seen anything unusual, no strange vehicles parked where they shouldn’t have been, but then again, people don’t generally stand staring out of their windows all day – where’s a bloody curtain twitcher when you need one. Right now, the police were pinning the largest portion of their hopes on the bunch of balloons, the forensics results of which should be back sometime that morning, with any luck.
Chapter 5
The vacant bungalow sat just on the southeast edge of the Histon Road Cemetery in Cambridge. Its living room and kitchen windows faced Victoria Road, while the bathroom and bedroom windows looked out onto the small garden and the cemetery beyond that. The elderly couple that used to live there had passed away – the man died a couple of year’s back, while his wife had died just recently. The thing is, there was some confusion with the couple’s will and accompanying paperwork. It didn’t look like they’d left their property – fully paid up with no mortgage – to anybody, which meant it would go to the government. However, the confusing paperwork meant that an investigation would be required and any relatives would have to be tracked down, which could, and probably would, take quite some time. In the meantime the property would remain vacant until the relevant investigations were concluded. That was four months ago and the property’s front and rear gardens were starting to look somewhat overgrown.
Inside the bungalow things didn’t look much better. An estate agent would describe it as being ‘tired’ and in need of some serious internal restoration and decoration. It needed gutting as the kitchen and bathroom and décor looked like it was done back in the early 70s and the funky smell didn’t help matters either. The curtains at the front of the property were drawn, and had been for quite some time, not that anybody could see in from Victoria Road as the bungalow was set quite far back off the main road with a small driveway that led down to the entrance with high conifers hiding most of the bungalow. Still, the kidnappers, Dean and Snowy, didn’t want to take any chances so they kept the Kramer twins in the main bedroom to the rear. Although the bedroom looked out onto the cemetery, a cemetery that didn’t get many visitors, the kidnappers kept the bedroom curtains closed. When Dean – the so-called brains behind the kidnapping – did a recce on the bungalow he was surprised to find that there was still gas, electric and water being supplied, which was a bonus. So, in preparation for the boys arrival, he’d stuck a small LCD television with a built in DVD player in the bedroom with a dozen or so children’s DVDs: Frozen, Minions, Inside Out, Rio 1 and 2, Toy Story 1 to 3, Despicable Me 1 and 2, Ice Age, to name a few. He didn’t know exactly how long they were going to be stuck there. Dean had also had the foresight to buy a shedload of E-number riddled snacks and sugary drinks: crisps, biscuits, chocolate bars and enough Fruit Shoots to drown a dozen donkeys – all the things that children love, even though they are bad for them. But, Dean had also brought some yogurt, tangerines, bananas and apples, so there was some saving grace on the diet front. He figured for anything hot, either he, or his partner in crime, Brandon “Snowy” Clifford – so-called because of his cocaine habit – could pop out and grab a McDonalds, KFC or perhaps a Pizza.
Dean and Snowy shared a two-bedroom terraced house on Histon Road, just a few hundred meters away, on the opposite side of the cemetery, from the vacant bungalow that Dean had discovered. There was no way Dean was going to keep the Kramer twins in his own house, it was too exposed and therefore, too risky. Dean didn’t know for sure how long the vacant bungalow was going to remain, well, vacant, but he’d noticed it had been empty for a few months now, and as the gardens were looking overgrown and the windows were dirty, he figured it wasn’t going to be occupied anytime soon. Risky, yes, but Dean only needed it for a few days until John Kramer paid the ransom money.
‘Go and check on them, make sure they’re ok,’ said Dean to Snowy. Snowy turned to leave the kitchen. ‘What are you’re doing?’ said Dean.
‘I’m going to check ’em, like you said.’
Dean pointed to the black balaclava on the kitchen worktop and gave Snowy a look that seemed to say, ‘You fucking dumb idiot’.
‘Oh yeah,’ said Snowy, stepping back into the kitchen and pulling the balaclava over his head.
‘And remember, like we discussed, don’t talk, but if you really have to keep it short and whisper,’ said Dean.
‘Ok, I got it,’ said Snowy, leaving the kitchen.
Dean had heard somewhere, though he can’t remember where, that if you whisper when talking it disguises your voice and makes it impossible to identify you. If this whol
e thing went tits up the last thing Dean wanted was the boys’ to be able to identify their faces or voices, especially Snowy’s strong Geordie accent.
Snowy slid the bolt across – the bolt that Dean had fitted to the outside of the bedroom door the night before – and gently pushed it open. Edward and Jamie Kramer were sitting on the bed, their backs leaning up against some pillows and the headboard. The fact that the place was furnished, be it with decrepit old 70s furniture, was another bonus. Toy Story was playing on the television, but the boys weren’t paying much attention to it. Although they’d stopped crying, their eyes were still red and their noses snotty. They didn’t seem overly scared anymore, but they were far from happy with the situation. When they first arrived two days ago, Dean had told Snowy to reassure them (whispering of course) that they were going to be spending a few days with them and they could watch all the fun children’s movies their eyes could handle and eat all the sweets, snacks and drinks that they wanted. Snowy’s efforts didn’t work too well, but at least they weren’t crying anymore.
Snowy didn’t feel the need to say anything; all looked ok, in the grand scheme of things, so he closed the door and slid the bolt back across, then removed his balaclava and headed back to the kitchen.
‘They’re fine,’ he said.
‘Good, ok, it’s time to make the call,’ said Dean, who’d figured that if they waited two days before making their telephone demand it would give the Kramer parents time to see what they were missing, put the thought into their heads that they might never get their four-year old twins back – shit them right up. This way, when the telephone call came, they’d agree to their demands right there and then.
‘You remember what to do, what we discussed?’ said Dean.
‘Of course, cycle down to The Backs on Queen’s Road, pick a quiet spot where nobody can hear me then using the pay-as-you-go phone call the Kramers dialling 141 first to withhold the number.’
‘Right, and if she answers, ask to speak to him.’
‘Ok, we don’t want to deal with an emotional hysterical woman right?’ he laughed.
‘Just remember what you’re supposed to say and don’t fuck it up, and when you’re done come straight back here and come in the way I showed you,’ said Dean.
Dean had been as methodical as he could and planned out every last detail. He’d bought a pay-as-you-go phone in Cambridge, giving a false name and address. He figured when this was over he’d toss the phone. Even then, he insisted that Snowy dialled 141 before dialling the Kramer’s, to withhold the number, just as an extra precautionary measure. On top of that, each time Snowy had to make a call to the Kramers Dean would make him cycle at least two miles from where they were holding the twins. Why? Dean wasn’t really sure, but he knew mobile phones had GPS systems in them and worried their location could be traced. Dean wasn’t sure what technology the police had regarding tracing people’s phone calls and GPS positioning, but he knew it was there and wasn’t taking any chances.
* * *
John Kramer paced up and down his living room while Helen stood at the window looking out onto the drive, hoping upon hope that her boys would appear at the end of the drive at any moment – but they didn’t. But something did happen at that moment, the landline phone rang. Helen spun around on her heels while John stopped in his tracks. Helen sprinted across the living room and grabbed up the cordless phone and hit the answer button.
‘Hello!’ she said. She paused and listened; a confused look attached itself to her face. She turned to her husband and lowered the handset from her ear.
‘Who is it?’ said John.
‘I don’t know, they’re whispering, they want to speak to you.’
Helen’s confused look became contagious as John stepped over to his wife and relieved her of the handset.
‘Hello?’ He listened, in silence, for what seemed like an age, his face taking on various expressions: shock, horror, surprise, rage, and desperation. Then he slowly lowered the handset and pressed the End Call button. He just stared at the handset for a moment.
‘What, what is it?’ said Helen.
‘They’ve got Edward and Jamie.’
‘What, who, who has them?’ said Helen, her voice emotional, angry and demanding all at the same time.
‘I don’t know, he didn’t say, they want money.’
‘Money, well how much, we can pay them.’
John looked up at her, his expression turning serious, ‘£200,000.’
‘Ok, well lets pay it, we can pay, we can get our boys back. Phone them back, lets do it,’ she said, excited at the prospect of getting Jamie and Edward back.
‘Helen, don’t you think this is all a little strange?’
‘What do you mean? We have the money, we can pay them, we can get our boys back.’
‘You mean I can pay them, it’s my inheritance money, Helen.’
She shot him a look, disgust, hatred even. ‘I don’t believe you, these are our precious children we’re talking about here and all you can do is think about your precious bloody money.’
‘That’s not what I’m saying.’
‘So what are you saying?’
‘Well don’t you think it’s funny that I had an inheritance payment of £220,000 paid into my bank account not even two weeks ago and now our children have been kidnapped and somebody’s demanding a ransom of £200,000?’
Helen pondered for a moment, but she still only had one thing on her mind, getting her boys back, whatever the cost.
‘Whoever it is, they must have known about my inheritance money,’ said John.
John’s mother had recently died after a second massive stroke and as John’s father had died when he was just a child, he, and his only sibling were the sole beneficiaries. So, the proceeds of the sale of her house were split 50/50 between John and his sister, Kimberly, just over £220,000 each.
‘What else, what else did he say?’
‘He told me to get the money by noon tomorrow, in cash.’
‘And?’
‘He’s going to phone back at noon tomorrow to make sure I have it, then he’ll give me further instructions.’
‘That’s it? What else, he said more than that, you were on the phone longer than it took to say that.’
John looked at her, not quite knowing what to say, his face desperate.
‘Tell me,’ she demanded.
‘He said if we don’t do what they say or if we call the police they’re going to—’ he stopped himself.
‘What, they’re going to what? … Tell me?’
‘They said they’d … they’d cut off their thumbs and mail them to us.’
Helen gasped and clapped her hand over her mouth, tears started to run down her face as she paced back and forth, panic kicking in.
‘Get the money, I don’t care, get the bloody money, John, and pay them … I mean it, get the money.’
‘Don’t you think we should phone the police,’ he said, unsure of the right thing to do.
‘No, no I don’t, you heard what they said, we can’t do that. I’m not going to risk my boys getting hurt.’
‘But in situations like this they always say phone the police, regardless of what the kidnappers threaten to d—’
‘No, I’m not going to risk anything happening to my boys.’
‘Our boys,’ he corrected.
‘Well start acting like it and take responsibility. We have to do what they say, you have to get draw the money out, it’s the only way; we can’t risk anything happening to them. They might follow through with their threat; we don’t know what sort of people they are. Besides, once we have them back we can phone the police then. I’m sure they’ll be able to find out who did it and get the money back,’ she said, resisting the urge to say ‘your precious money back’ as she really needed him to be on her side right now.
He thought about it for a moment and figured that the police could get his money back after their boys were back with them. ‘Ok, you’re right,
’ he said, ‘I’ll phone the bank and find out if I can withdraw that amount in cash and how soon they can get it ready,’ he said.
Chapter 6
Tuesday morning
‘Good morning, sir, how can I help you?’ said the bank clerk behind the glass.
‘My name’s John Kramer, I phoned yesterday to give you notice for a large cash withdrawal, you’re expecting me,’ he said, speaking just loud enough for her to hear him, not wanting to alert any other customers to the fact that he was soon going to be walking out of the bank with £200,000 cash. He’d scanned the interior of the bank on his way in and, thankfully, the NatWest branch in St Neots was pretty quiet that morning, just one middle-aged man using the internal machine to make a deposit and a young woman waiting to see a financial adviser. John had got lucky with having to give the bank notice. It turned out that the St Neots branch put in its weekly money orders on a Monday and Wednesday, as long as you inform them that you want to withdraw a large amount before noon on either day, the cash turns up via the usual security van at some point the following day, usually by noon.
‘Just a moment, Mr Kramer,’ she said, getting up to go and check with her manager. A moment later the manager, another woman, came out onto the floor to meet John, while the clerk took up her position again behind the glass.
‘Good morning, Mr Kramer,’ said the manager, walking over to him, ‘would you like to come this way.’ John followed her into a small office at the back. ‘Have a seat,’ she said.
‘Is there a problem?’ said John.
‘No, not at all, it’s just that this is such a large amount. Do you mind if I ask why you want to withdraw such a large amount of cash?’ she enquired.
‘You can ask, but frankly, that’s none of your business,’ said John, who wasn’t usually so rude, but, understandably, he wasn’t quite himself right now.
‘I’m sorry, Mr Kramer, I didn’t mean t—’