Ray forced eye contact with her, indicating for her to ease up.
‘You want their names and details of where they’re planning to hit next? That’s what I’m offering if you protect my family.’ He looked directly at Ray. ‘You promised you would help get me back to my kids.’
Ray lowered his pen and rested his palms flat on the desk. ‘And I meant what I said, Mikey. Has Casey threatened to hurt your family?’
‘Not in so many words, but from day one he made it clear what would happen if we didn’t toe the line. He’s a pretty serious fucking guy.’
‘And you think he would go after your family?’
‘He’s probably already got people on their way to my home. He’ll have heard that my stand-off has ended and that I’m now in custody. Please, mate, you’ve got to send someone to get them. I swear I’ll tell you everything you wanna know, about all the jobs we’ve pulled, but you need to protect them first.’
‘If we agree to have a patrol car wait outside your home as a deterrent, then you’ll give us those names? The sooner you tell us who your friends are, the sooner we can arrest them.’
‘They’re not my friends! That’s what I’m trying to say; I didn’t sign up for any of this, not at first. I answered an ad in the paper: they were looking for someone who was good with his hands, looking for cash work. I turned up thinking it would be some kind of manual labour, and that’s when they told me what they had planned. I wanted to bail but I needed the money – and he was promising a decent bonus when the job was done … so I went along with it. And the first one went like clockwork: in and out with nobody hurt. I knew it wasn’t for me, so I told him I didn’t want to do it again, and that’s when he indicated what he would do if I walked.’
‘What did he say?’
‘He didn’t say anything, just ran a finger across his neck. One of the other lads told me about Casey’s reputation, and I knew not to fuck with him. That’s the only reason I was there this morning; I was too scared not to be.’
‘If you were that worried, why didn’t you phone the police?’ Jodie interjected.
‘Didn’t you hear what I just said? Casey would have killed me and my family.’
‘You could have called the anonymous tips line, and reported the job. We’d have been waiting and could have apprehended the lot of you in one go. Poor Vicky wouldn’t now be suffering with PTSD.’
‘I had no flamin’ chance of making an anonymous call. He watched us at all times of the day.’
‘How?’
‘We was holed up together since we started all this. My wife thinks I’m working on an oil rig in the middle of the North Sea. Casey would allow me to phone her once a week, but he listened on the other line so I couldn’t let anything slip. He’s seriously fucking paranoid!’
Michael’s forehead was shining under the overhead light, and large dark patches had appeared beneath his armpits.
‘Help me to help you,’ Ray suggested. ‘Give us the details of one other job you’ve pulled so we know we can trust you, and then we will send someone to find your wife and boys.’
‘There isn’t time! You need to go now!’
‘We will, Mikey, just calm down. We will put in the call as soon as you tell us what we need to know. The sooner you speak, the safer they will be. Tell us about the bookies in Shirley. Why were there only three of you that day?’
His voice raised an octave. ‘Bookies? What fucking bookies? We robbed post offices, that’s all! Casey had an inside man who gave us details of delivery times, likely cash values, and police response times.’
Ray’s pulse quickened. ‘We know you lot were there, we have you on CCTV pulling the job.’ He pulled out the picture of Scarface from the traffic camera. ‘Is this Casey?’
Mikey’s face contorted in confusion. ‘Who the hell is that? That’s not Casey. That’s not us! I swear we only did post offices. Whoever that is, he’s nothing to do with us.’
A memory fired in the back of Ray’s mind. Suspending the interview, he ushered Jodie from the room.
‘What is up with you?’ she asked, when the door was closed.
‘It’s Gianni Demetrios,’ he said confidently. ‘Has to be. That’s why he sent his goon round to Delilah’s flat; she must be his insider and he wanted to make sure she kept her mouth shut. When we first looked into the job at the bookies some things didn’t add up, and you heard what Mikey said: they only did post office jobs. Demetrios must have told his boys to make it look like it was the same gang, to cover his tracks.’
‘It’s a good theory, Ray. Where’s your evidence?’
He snapped his fingers. ‘We need to get to Delilah. She’s the key.’
‘She wasn’t willing to talk the other day.’
‘That was before we knew what had happened. We can offer her protection if she comes clean.’
‘What about Mikey?’
Ray stared back at the door. ‘He’s not going anywhere, and he won’t give us anymore until we get his family to safety. I’ll go and speak with the inspector and see if he can get a couple of units to their house. Meanwhile, put Mikey back in cells and let him know what we’re doing.’
‘And then what?’
He fixed her with a look of determination. ‘Then we prove that Gianni Demetrios planned the robbery at the bookies.’ And for the briefest of moments he felt the respite of satisfaction.
43
Alex didn’t notice the young man leaving her house until she’d nearly bumped into him.
‘Sorry,’ she said absently, before studying the figure closer.
He was wearing the same torn and weathered leather jacket he’d had on when he’d come banging at her door yesterday. It didn’t look like he’d washed his long, greasy hair either. Keeping his head down, he didn’t turn to acknowledge her apology, reaching the end of the driveway and darting to the right, soon disappearing from view behind the neighbour’s overgrown hedgerows.
‘Ah there you are,’ Isla said as Alex pushed the front door open. ‘I was starting to worry. You weren’t here when I finished my call.’
‘Is there any news? Are they any closer to finding her?’
Isla shook her head. ‘I’m sorry, no. I would have phoned if there’d been a breakthrough.’
Alex saw her push a cheque book into her handbag.
‘Was that Luke I just saw?’
Isla’s cheeks flushed a little, and she nodded. ‘I’m sorry, I’ve told him he can’t keep coming here when I’m on duty.’ She took a breath to compose herself. ‘Where’ve you been?’
Alex was too embarrassed to tell her about her encounter with the so-called psychic and then the mistaken identity at the park. ‘I just needed to get some air; staring at these same walls was driving me crazy.’
‘Cabin fever. Did you go anywhere nice? Even a visit to the supermarket can be a good way of getting a break from all the waiting around.’
‘Actually, I’ve got a bit of a headache,’ Alex said, squinting against the light escaping from the kitchen. ‘I might go and have a lie-down. I want you to come and get me if you hear from DI Trent.’
Isla nodded. ‘Understood. Do you want me to make you a drink?’
‘Thanks, but I’ll be okay. Just need a couple of painkillers and I’ll be right as rain in no time.’
With that, she slowly climbed the stairs, closing the bedroom door behind her. She didn’t even bother stripping off before climbing under the duvet and pulling it up to her chin. She knew sleep wouldn’t come, but it was safer to be here where she couldn’t terrify any other children.
Her hand instinctively formed a protective shield around her abdomen. A single tear rolled down her cheek, and she made no effort to wipe it away allowing the duvet to soak it up. Why was it time only flew when you were having fun? Why did it drag so much when things were bad?
Turning onto her side, she stared at Ray’s pillow, wishing once again that he was here with her. She could only assume he had returned to work. He could
never just sit idly by and wait for things to happen. He’d probably already pulled up the criminal history of Jack Whitchurch, searching for clues as to how he could be involved in Carol-Anne’s disappearance.
Her thinking came to an abrupt halt.
If he could do investigating of his own, why couldn’t she? In this day and age, it was rare for anyone to go through life without leaving a digital footprint; just look at how easy it had been for Simon to find her email address. What was stopping her trying to find Jack Whitchurch?
Reaching into her handbag she pulled out her mobile phone and opened an internet search engine, typing in his name. The usual hits came up first: Facebook, Instagram and LinkedIn, and after clicking on each link, she couldn’t find a single profile picture that resembled the man in the image she’d been sent.
Then there was a link to a pub in Whitchurch in Shropshire, as well as links to other businesses in the same town. Changing the search parameters to include the word ‘news’, she searched again. This time the first hits were for a couple of local newspapers reporting Jack Whitchurch’s sentencing almost a decade ago. She read the stories one after another, feeling physically sickened by the accusations made against him, yet compelled to continue reading.
He’d held one five-year-old girl in his basement for more than three months. Her parents had given up hope of ever seeing her again, but she’d managed to escape when he’d inadvertently left the door unlocked one night. Apparently, she’d crept out of the basement, made it to the front door and ran out into the street, screaming for anyone to help her. And luckily, a passing milkman had come to her rescue before Whitchurch had realized she’d gone. The police had found evidence that she wasn’t the only girl he had held captive in that cellar, but they had failed to trace several sources of DNA back to their original owners.
How could someone be so cruel to another person, especially a child? What was wrong with people like that?
How could he have been allowed to go free again? Surely, he was still a danger to other children? Why hadn’t they locked him up and thrown away the key? Or couldn’t they have chemically castrated him, so he wasn’t a danger?
People like that didn’t deserve to be free, let alone breathe the same air as innocent children like her daughter.
Alex lowered her phone, gulping at what she’d just thought. Maybe there was more to what the police had said: maybe whoever was behind the emails had sent them because they shared her thoughts on the wicked nature of Jack Whitchurch.
If they wanted him dead, why go to the elaborate method of snatching Carol-Anne? Why not just go and kill him? Why target Alex? She wasn’t a killer, nor was she capable of ending another person’s life; she didn’t have it in her.
She subconsciously rubbed her abdomen, thinking of the tiny life growing within.
If Simon’s motive was revenge, why didn’t he just go and kill Whitchurch himself? Was it because he didn’t know the address? Maybe he thought Alex would be able to get hold of the address from Ray, or one of Ray’s colleagues. Maybe that was why he’d targeted her. Maybe his messages weren’t demanding she kill Jack; maybe he meant he wanted her to find him the address.
But she wasn’t convinced that was the answer.
If someone was holding a loaded gun, and she had to choose between her daughter and this convicted sex offender, the answer was obvious: she’d choose Carol-Anne every time. If she had to hold the gun, she couldn’t be sure she’d be able to squeeze the trigger. The consequences of killing Jack – a life in prison, the shame, not being around to see her daughter grow up – were just too much to even consider what was being demanded.
What would happen if she failed to meet Simon’s deadline tomorrow? Ever since the first message had come through, she’d worked on the assumption that Trent’s team would resolve matters before they escalated. Suddenly the ticking clock was sounding loudly in her head.
‘I brought you a cuppa,’ Isla said, pushing through the door without knocking. ‘How’s your head now? Did you manage to get some sleep?’
Alex had lost track of time, but the ache in her head was at least gone.
Alex kept the phone’s screen pointed away from Isla. ‘Have they arrested that Jack Whitchurch yet?’
Isla returned her stare cautiously. ‘They’ve spoken to him, but I don’t believe there are any plans to arrest him.’
‘Why not?’
‘Because they don’t believe he’s involved.’
‘Then why did someone send me his picture?’
‘I don’t know, Alex. I don’t think you should worry about him. We’re doing everything we can to find out who sent you those messages. It’s only a matter of time.’ She paused, a forced smile taking hold of the lower half of her face. ‘Is there anything you want me to ask the investigative team when they call through later? Hopefully they should be able to give me more of an update than you’ve had so far.’
‘I want to know what they plan to do when tomorrow’s deadline arrives. Simon said he would kill Carol-Anne if I didn’t meet his demands.’
Isla’s cheeks flushed. ‘Hopefully it won’t come to that. I know some of the team have been strategizing, and they will have a plan.’
Alex watched her leave, knowing she was right about one thing: it was only a matter of time. As Isla closed the door, Alex opened the email app on her phone and began to type a reply to Simon.
44
The lift to the seventh floor was still out of order as Ray and Jodie made their way into the communal entrance of Delilah’s Millbrook tower block. Even in the bright afternoon sunshine, the grey soulless tower had gained little additional charm. In the adjacent building, lines of clothes hung from the balconies as the residents desperately tried to dry their laundry before the next downpour.
Ray led the way up the stairs this time, and although he heaved as he reached the seventh floor, he was undeterred in his objective. Thumping his fist against the door, he wasn’t surprised when his banging went unanswered.
Crouching, he lifted the lid of the letter box and bellowed, ‘Delilah! Police. Open up.’ He listened for any sound of movement from within; only silence greeted him. ‘Delilah? You have one minute to open this door or we’re going to bust through it.’
Jodie pulled on his shoulder. ‘Uh, we have no grounds to bust any doors in.’
He lowered the letter box and stood. ‘Just a threat.’
‘She may have gone to work,’ Jodie offered sincerely.
Ray wasn’t so easily persuaded. ‘Or Demetrios has started tying up his loose ends.’
Jodie rolled her eyes. ‘What is it with you and him? There’s no evidence to suggest he had anything to do with the robbery at the bookies.’
‘That’s the difference between being taught how to be a detective and learning from experience.’ He hadn’t intended to be so curt in his response, but it was too late to cover his tracks.
Jodie glared angrily at him. ‘And what the hell is that supposed to mean?’
‘Forget about it. Forget I said anything.’ He thumped the door again, still no sound within.
Jodie wasn’t prepared to let the dig lie. ‘If you have something to say, spit it out. What? You think I’m not as a good a detective as you because I was fast-tracked through the system? You really think that my serving two years walking the beat in uniform would make me any better at my job now?’
He turned to face her. ‘Truthfully? Yes, I do. It takes years to hone the necessary skills to do this job properly, to understand the risks and the way the criminal mind operates. You’re barely old enough to be out of school, yet you’re entrusted to protect public safety and prosecute those who deserve it. Quite frankly, it’s a joke. The criminal justice system is on its arse, and the powers that be think the best way to tackle the issue is to throw more shit at the wall and hope some of it sticks.’
Jodie’s cheeks were burning, and he wasn’t sure she wouldn’t slap him there and then, but her self-control was stronger than he
’d given her credit for. She didn’t respond, shaking her head in disappointment and stomping back along the corridor to the staircase.
Ray clamped his eyes shut in frustration. He hadn’t meant to have a go at her, and he wasn’t even sure he believed half of what he’d just said. It had felt good to vent, though. He would have to apologize, and he suspected Jodie would struggle to forgive him, but that was just a chance he would have to take. Punching the doorframe, the sting in his knuckles felt good as he turned his back on the door and made his own way to the stairs.
It was time for Plan B.
Their journey to the bookies was made in complete silence, with Jodie refusing to even look at him. As he’d made it out of the block of flats, he’d half-expected to find she’d driven off and left him there. He wouldn’t have blamed her if she had. He didn’t deserve her respect after his outburst, and apologizing wasn’t a skill he had ever mastered. Every time he tried to spit out the words, she would sigh or the car would jerk suddenly and he’d be put off.
Despite the front door to the bookies being boarded up where one of the robbers had fired his shotgun, the shop otherwise bore no hint of the heinous crime that had occurred there a couple of days before.
A customer dressed in denim jeans and matching denim jacket was just entering the venue as they pulled up outside. It seemed business was open as usual as Papadopoulos did his best to recoup what the robbery had taken from him.
Ray was out of the car before Jodie had killed the engine. Jogging down the pavement, he stopped at the small newsagents on the corner, purchasing crisps, cigarettes and a chocolate bar. Lighting one of the cigarettes he walked slowly back to where Jodie was leaning against the bonnet of the car. He threw the chocolate bar in her direction, and she caught it with one hand.
‘Thought you might be peckish,’ he said sheepishly, before taking up position next to her.
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