He lifted a corner of his mouth. ‘Worked it out, have you?’
Guesswork mainly but she nodded. ‘Sure have.’
‘When you were going on about loving films and all that crap, did you know then?’
‘Had a damn good idea.’ He’d just inadvertently confirmed it. ‘This is the old Picture Palace, isn’t it?’ The disused cinema on the main drag through Kings Heath, place was falling to rack and ruin, dusty greenery sprouting from crumbling brickwork. The bulldozers should’ve been sent in years ago. Apart from tell-tale smells and voices, she’d remembered the taxi rank right next door, recognized call signs, engine noises. ‘Are we in a store room then? Admin office or something?’
He cocked an eyebrow. ‘Who’s a clever girl?’ Then clocked what her fingers were doing inside her thigh.
‘Do I get a prize?’
He blew her a kiss. ‘That’s on account for when I get back.’
She watched him leave, ditched the forced smile. He could come back when the hell he liked as long as the night was one she’d live to remember. Then it hit home. Her gran, the fire. Caitlin buried her face in the pillow and sobbed.
FORTY-FOUR
She’d only seen the outside, but Sarah doubted Linda Walker would ever live in the place again. Fixing blackened brickwork and blistering paint was one thing, but the images inside a head were difficult to shift. That Walker would pull through now looked more likely. The smoke inhalation turned out not as severe as first thought; she’d been taken off the ventilator; burns had never been an issue. Only Sarah’s pants had been on fire. Like Mark Twain, reports of Walker’s death had been greatly exaggerated. Especially the ones in the press.
‘You here for the guided tour?’ Ben Cooper headed her way jabbing a thumb over his shoulder. ‘I’ve just been admiring the artwork round back.’
‘Picasso?’ She arched an eyebrow. ‘Good to see you, Ben.’
‘More like Pollock.’ He returned her smile. ‘Or would’ve been if the handiwork hadn’t been interrupted. Follow me.’
Chatting, they fell in step towards the poor man’s Tate. Sarah got on well with Cooper. The FSI boss was good at the job and easy on the eye. They’d tried giving a relationship a whirl, but it hadn’t worked out. Professionally though she had lots of time for him, knew the feeling was mutual.
‘Wish I’d placed a bet now.’ Sarah nodded at a foot-high jagged red mark to the side of the boarded-up window. ‘In my book, that was definitely going to be a K.’
‘I won’t argue with you.’ Ben tapped the plywood. ‘Bedroom’s through there by the way.’
She shuddered. An unwanted image in her mind. ‘Anything?’
‘Half a house brick. Shards of glass. Nothing to write home about. The aerosol cans were clean, by the way.’
No prints. No DNA. No surprise there. He told her they’d tagged and bagged a load of stuff lying round outside, drinks cans, butt ends, bottles, matches, bits of wood. ‘But you can see for yourself. There’s no fence and it’s all a bit of a dumping ground.’
‘I won’t hold my breath then.’ She pulled her coat tighter as they headed back.
‘Do you want to take a look inside, Sarah? We’re just about done now.’
She shook her head. ‘Thanks, no.’ No need. She’d dropped by the estate to show her face to the troops, boost morale, pick up any whispers, decided to have a nose at the bungalow’s external damage while she was here. Pointing to the land at the side of the property she asked about the tyre marks on the grass.
‘The guy who raised the alarm? I think he must fancy himself as the next Jensen Button.’
She frowned. ‘Have you spoken to him?’ It was more than she had.
‘No.’ He grabbed a bottle of water from the Transit’s passenger seat. ‘The house over the road there? I got a blow-by-blow account from the owner.’
Mr Insomnia? ‘Thanks, Ben.’ She tapped her temple. ‘Later.’
Ray Castle could rabbit for Europe. By the time he’d talked her through it, Sarah felt she’d been there. For once, a person’s verbal diarrhoea didn’t bother her. Nor the fact the earlier door-to-door sweep had missed Walker’s elderly neighbour. He’d been out back, he said, wouldn’t have heard the knock. A touch deaf he might be, but there was nothing wrong with his eyesight. In more ways than one he’d had the vision to scribble down the number plate. While Castle banged on, Sarah had called it in to Dave who’d run it through the PNC.
For Jensen Button read Jake Portman. The name had rung an immediate bell. And a faint alarm. There could be an innocent explanation but what the hell was the caretaker at Caitlin Reynolds’ school doing driving past Linda Walker’s house at two o’clock in the morning?
The late brief – 18:00. A team of DCs and half a dozen uniforms were still on the estate, knocking on doors, stopping drivers, canvassing people in the street. Two youths had been brought in for questioning on the strength of Caroline King’s descriptions. Dozens more statements had been taken. Sarah had read every word and still had no answers. The Portman question had been going round in her head for hours; she’d just put it to the squad; it was their turn now.
‘He didn’t just drive past, boss,’ Harries said. ‘If the neighbour got the right end of the stick, Portman went out of his way to foil the attack.’
‘Drove straight at the buggers, didn’t he?’ Hunt propped up his patch of wall, pen tucked behind an ear. Twig for once sat at a computer.
Sarah nodded. She stood at the front, hand in jacket pocket. ‘So why didn’t Action Man stop? Or at least supply a name and address?’
Twig turned his mouth down. ‘Could’ve been pissed. You’d need bottle to do what he did.’
‘Skin full, presumably,’ Hunt said deadpan.
Twig rolled his eyes. ‘You know what I mean. It could explain why he didn’t hang around. If he’d had a drop, he’d not want the law on his neck.’
‘Christ, Twig, have you been to the pun shop?’ Hunt again.
‘Enough,’ Sarah said. ‘Besides, he’d be sober as the proverbial by now.’ So where was he? Portman hadn’t turned up for work. He wasn’t answering calls. There had been no sign of life at his Balsall Heath flat. Sarah had pushed a note and numbers through his door.
‘The background seemed to stack up, boss.’ Dave ran a pen down his notes. ‘Father dead. Small inheritance. Started at the school in January.’
‘Could be coincidence, ma’am,’ Hunt said.
‘Could be complete fabrication,’ she countered. The abductor would have had years to work on a story; a meticulous almost foolproof plan.
Dave sniffed. ‘Reckoned he was Jack-of-all-trades, didn’t he?’
Sarah narrowed her eyes. Jake-of-all-trades was what he’d actually said. For Jake Portman read Jack Bolton? Portman was about the right age and they’d still had no joy tracing him. Could he be hiding in full view, as it were? ‘What if Portman’s been keeping an eye on the place?’
Dave voiced what half a dozen looks said. ‘How does that work?’
‘Not sure.’ She was still working on it herself. ‘Let’s get a pic of Portman. Flash it round the estate. Start with Ray Castle.’ If Portman had been hanging round recently …
‘If Mr Neighbourhood Bigwig had the number plate, ma’am, how come he didn’t call it in?’ Twig asked.
‘He reckoned he only took it on the off-chance,’ Sarah said. ‘He caught the witness appeal on the news just as I turned up.’
‘Much bloody good that’s done us so far,’ Twig chuntered. He was one of the few who knew the release was a tissue of lies.
She thought about picking him up on it but ceded that – as far as the bigger picture went – he had a point. The abductor had yet to make a call, let alone a move. Logic dictated he’d make contact with Nicola Reynolds sooner or later. Beth and Holmes hadn’t let the woman out of their sight. Reynolds was at home sitting on the phone, tearing her hair out according to Beth. Sarah intended heading out there straight after the brief. It had
to be the place to be and she certainly wouldn’t be knocking off any time soon.
‘I’ve been thinking, boss,’ Harries said.
‘Bad for the health that, lad.’ Twig winked at Hunt.
‘About the deadline.’
‘Even more fatal.’
‘Zip it, Twig,’ She heard him mutter something about Baker. Sooner the chief’s back, something like that. The older guys, Twig particularly, didn’t like having strips torn off them by a woman. The fact that Baker would have their bollocks off was neither here nor there. The chief would be a hard act to follow and right now only Sarah knew he’d likely be making an early exit. It was another pressure she could live without. ‘Go on, Dave.’
‘The abductor set twelve hours. Said he wanted an end to it. I kind of assumed that meant for Walker to die. Then he’d let Caitlin go. Surely, he has to know the woman’s dead by now? What if he’s changed the goal posts? Has a different end in mind?’
‘For Caitlin?’ She raised an eyebrow. ‘I don’t think he’s changed a blind thing, Dave.’
Sarah had never regarded the girl’s release as an option.
FORTY-FIVE
The call came at 19:00. Jed Holmes had alerted Sarah, who had been en route to Reynolds’ home anyway. Beth had a transcript ready and the recording cued for when the DI arrived. Harries had gone along for more than just the ride. He’d been here with Sarah at the start, told her he wanted to be around for what could be the end-game. If the recent exchange on the phone was anything to go by, it sounded that way too.
‘One more time please, Jed.’ Sarah slipped off her coat, the heat getting to her.
‘No,’ Nicola wailed. ‘I can’t bear to hear it again.’ The DI nodded at Beth who put an arm round the woman’s waist and steered her out of the sitting room.
Sarah needed a second listen: the voice wasn’t immediately Portman’s. On the other hand, if he suspected for a second the police were in on the act, it wouldn’t be. Like he’d be thick enough not to disguise it. She lifted her pen. Jed took his cue, hit play.
Did you really think you’d get away with it, Nicola?
Where’s my daughter, you bastard? You swore you’d let her go.
Language, language. Caitlin’s going nowhere. You said you’d kill the old cow.
She’s dead, for Christ’s sake. What more do you want?
I told you what I wanted.
God damn you to hell, my mother died in agony.
You didn’t kill her.
A five-second silence was broken only by Sarah’s pen scratching the paper.
I know everything, Nicola. Like I know you’ll never see your darling daughter again.
Harm her and you’re dead. I swear to God I’ll kill you with my bare hands.
Like mother, like daughter. I’ll call later … you’ll probably want to say goodbye.
The final words sent a chill down Sarah’s spine. In marked contrast to Nicola’s screamed abuse, the abductor’s delivery was utterly devoid of emotion.
‘Cool bastard, isn’t he?’ Harries folded his arms.
‘Dry ice.’ She lifted her gaze. ‘And deadly.’
‘Bloody crackpot if you ask me.’ Jed sniffed.
‘That’s the last thing he is.’ The perp wasn’t a step or two ahead of the cops; he was so far in front he was out of sight. Like Caitlin. There’d still not been a single sighting of the teenager since her last day at school. School. Jake Portman. A caretaker with keys. Access to the entire building. The DI shook her head. Queen’s Ridge had been searched twice. If Portman was their man, he couldn’t have Caitlin holed up there.
‘What is it, boss?’ Harries heard her out, then: ‘There’s no way she’s on site now but …’ He narrowed his eyes, imagining scenarios. ‘I guess it would’ve been easy enough for him to grab her, spirit her away in a store room, an outbuilding, somewhere like that.’
She nodded. ‘Or just come up with an excuse for her to show him where he could find … God, I don’t know … a book or a classroom or something.’ Portman was good-looking, plausible. Caitlin would have no reason to fear him.
‘All he’d need do is bide his time until everyone left.’
‘Before bundling her into the back of a motor.’ And taking her God knew where. She glanced over at Holmes. ‘Get on to the incident room, will you, Jed? See if Jake Portman’s pic is ringing any bells. And ask if Leicestershire Social Services has come up with anything yet.’ Jack Bolton had been in a couple of its children’s homes, hopefully there would be a photograph on file.
‘I still don’t get it, boss.’ Harries frowned. ‘If Portman was there last night, doing what he did probably saved the old girl’s life.’
‘I think the answer’s here.’ She showed him the transcript, pointed out what she’d underlined.
‘“You didn’t kill her.”’ He glanced a query at Sarah.
She shook her head. ‘“You didn’t kill her.”’
His eyes widened as the implication sank in. ‘Nicola had to do it herself?’
‘I think he drove the yobs away so they couldn’t kill her. He wants Walker’s blood on Nicola’s hands.’ Make that wanted. Sarah reckoned the option no longer existed; time had passed for that – and for Caitlin was still running out.
Harries cracked a knuckle. ‘Sadistic bastard.’
She nodded, wondered if the original deadline held. In which case, they had two and a half hours to play with. Or Caitlin did.
FORTY-SIX
The congealed remains of lamb rogan josh lay in foil dishes on the concrete floor; the air stank of cardamom and coriander. Caitlin reclined on the mattress, playing a strand of hair through her fingers. ‘What time is it?’
‘Why?’ Smiling, he propped himself up on an elbow.
She parted her lips a fraction. ‘It feels like bedtime.’
‘Again?’ He laughed. ‘I’m knackered.’
‘Good.’ She giggled artlessly. Fucking good. That had been the general idea, even though she felt she’d never get rid of his smell. She made a playful grab for his wrist, checked his watch. ‘Hey, it’s only eight. We’ve not seen the film yet.’ Kneeling now, hands on thighs, she asked what he’d brought.
He pointed to an Asda bag on the far side of the room. ‘Take a look.’ She knew he just wanted to ogle her naked body as she padded over. She bent over, threw in a wiggle or two. Feast your eyes, monkey man. I Know What You Did Last Summer. Sodding joker. Straightening, she clutched the DVD to her boobs. ‘Hey, I love this movie. Ace choice.’ She sashayed back, reached down for her glass, tilted it towards him. ‘Cheers.’ The cheapskate hadn’t run to champagne but the Chianti wasn’t bad. He’d downed a couple of lagers as well, didn’t look particularly out of it though.
‘Wanna stick it in?’ She cocked an eyebrow, angled a toe at the laptop.
‘Sure, and the disc.’
The film had barely started when he slid into her from behind. The booze hadn’t touched his sex drive.
‘A neighbour’s fingered Portman, ma’am.’ Holmes covered the mouthpiece with his hand. ‘Want a word? It’s Huntie.’
Sarah took over the phone. ‘John. What’ve we got?’
Ray Castle. The one-man Neighbourhood Watch had clocked a guy mooching round on the pavement outside his house several times in the last month or so. The man paced up and down, smoked a fag often as not. Castle went out once to ask what he was playing at. The guy told him he was an undercover cop and Castle was jeopardizing an operation.
‘Almost got to admire the bloody cheek,’ Hunt said.
‘Castle’s a hundred per cent?’
‘Recognized the photo straight off, ma’am. Portman was definitely the driver last night.’
‘I want it out there now, John.’ Social media, TV news, web sites, press. Bloody sandwich boards if need be. “Have You Seen This Man?”’
Huntie knew the drill. Pensive, she handed the phone back to Jed. She wished to God they had more to go on. But if Portman had nothing to hid
e, surely he’d come into the open?
‘Reckon Portman’s our man then, boss?’ Harries asked.
‘Who the hell’s Portman?’ Nicola stood in the doorway, Beth just visible over her shoulder.
‘He’s a person of interest. Someone we need to talk to.’ She brought the picture up on her phone. ‘A caretaker at Caitlin’s school.’
She stared at the screen then shook her head. ‘Never laid eyes on him.’ Sarah recoiled at the sour smell of vomit; Reynolds didn’t just look sick.
‘Why not go and lie down, Mrs Reynolds? Try and get some rest?’
‘I’m waiting for a call, remember?’ Her voice dripped with contempt. ‘To say goodbye to my daughter.’
Caitlin hardly dared breathe, let alone move. She felt the rise and fall of his clammy chest against her spine, fancied she could feel the beat of his heart. Out of the corner of her eye, she saw his eyelids droop. His phone lay just out of reach. Sleep, you bastard, sleep.
Linda Walker slowly opened her eyes. Each time she regained consciousness she’d seen things more clearly. Not just the sterile surroundings of the side ward; her own ghostly reflection in the window. She knew she had to act quickly before her resolve weakened. She had to talk to DI Quinn, the detective who’d touched her in more than one way. She rang the buzzer. A nurse popped his head round the door. She asked him to bring a phone and pen and paper.
‘Where are you? We have to talk.’
Sarah sighed. ‘Not now, Caroline.’ She was en route to the hospital, Harries behind the wheel. The summons from Linda Walker had sounded serious. Reynolds had refused point blank to go with them. Beth or Jed would make sure the DI knew when anything moved. It was now 20:05 – sooner the better.
‘I’ve seen him before. Jake Portman.’
‘Where?’
‘In person or not at all.’
She rolled her eyes, no time to argue, knew King wouldn’t budge a gnat’s anyway. ‘Can you be at the QE? Ten minutes.’
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