As soon as I was off the phone to him I cancelled every one of my credit cards and ordered new ones before deciding to try to put everything to do with the previous night out of my mind and simply carry on with the book. I was currently on chapter twenty-two, almost two-thirds of the way through now, and at one of the most violent points, where Maxwell was in his armed robbery phase, just before he ended up on the wrong end of a Flying Squad ambush followed by a six-year stretch in Pentonville. In the real version of events no one had got hurt, but in mine, one of Maxwell's fellow robbers had been killed, while Maxwell himself had shot and badly wounded a cop (a legitimate target in Maxwell's eyes, because he'd been armed) before taking a bullet in the gut himself.
But the writing just didn't work that day. Suddenly, Maxwell didn't seem such an exotic and exciting character. For the first time I was seeing him for the thug he actually was, someone who made his money from intimidating people and, where intimidation failed, hurting them. No different, in fact, from the men who'd attacked me. I felt pissed off that I'd been in such thrall to him. I put it down to the fact that I'd never been the victim of crime before and so was far more inclined to glamorize it. I wondered if my view had now changed for ever, and what implications this was going to have for the book.
I sat staring at the computer screen for the best part of an hour before giving up and eating some lunch in front of the BBC news, which was the usual diet of doom and gloom and reminded me all too vividly why I avoided newspapers and news programmes these days. I was hoping that the break might provide some inspiration. It didn't. All I could think about was Jenny. Where she might be now and what I could be doing to locate her, because at that moment I was doing nothing.
Eventually I could hold back no longer. I called Islington police station and asked to be put through to CID. Without a crime reference number I found myself placed on hold, then sent through to an automated messaging service. When I tried again, the switchboard operator offered to take my details and get someone to call me back (I declined). It was only on my third attempt, when I told a different switchboard operator I wanted to report a murder but would only speak to someone in Islington CID, that I was reluctantly put through.
Incredibly, the phone still rang for a good minute and a half before it was picked up, which made me wonder what the hell you needed to do to get taken seriously by the police these days.
'DS Storey,' said a nasal voice, laced with a strange mixture of excitement and irritation. 'I understand you want to report a murder.'
'No,' I answered, feigning innocence. 'I'm following up on an abduction I reported last night.'
'So you're not reporting a murder?'
'No. I don't know where you got that from. There must have been some mistake.'
DS Storey sighed impatiently. In the background, I could hear a lot of noise. 'Have you got a crime reference number?' he demanded.
I told him I hadn't and started to explain what had happened but he stopped me dead, asking who I'd dealt with. When I told him it was DS Tina Boyd, he said she was who I needed to speak with, and she'd be back on duty at six o'clock.
I couldn't believe it. Jenny had been kidnapped and her kidnappers had tried to murder me yet no one appeared to be doing anything about it. 'This is an abduction I'm reporting,' I said, my patience finally snapping, 'not a fucking parking offence. Why is no one taking it seriously?'
'Listen, sir,' snapped Storey in return, snarling out the 'sir', 'if I don't know anything about it and you don't have a crime reference number then I can't help you. All right? Now, my advice is to contact DS Boyd direct when she comes in tonight because right now we have an emergency on at this station and I do not have the time to talk. OK?'
It wasn't OK, but there was nothing I could do about it, so I rang off.
I looked at my watch. It was half past two. I was angry with Tina Boyd. I'd thought she would take things seriously enough to pass the information on to her colleagues, but it was clear she hadn't. Figuring that I had nothing to lose, I dug out her mobile number and dialled it.
She answered after a fair number of rings and identified herself with a single hello, sounding half asleep.
'It's me,' I said, 'Rob Fallon. From last night. The kidnapping.'
A sigh of irritation echoed down the phone. 'I haven't forgotten you, Mr Fallon, but I was actually sleeping.'
'I'm sorry,' I lied. 'I didn't mean to wake you up.'
'You knew I was on night duty so I'd have thought it was pretty obvious that I'd be sleeping during the day.' She paused. 'What can I do for you now?'
'I want you to know I'm not bullshitting, DS Boyd.'
'You already told me that last night.'
'I've just been on the phone to one of your colleagues in CID, a DS Storey, and he didn't know anything about Jenny's kidnapping. Now I don't know why those men took her, or even if she's alive or dead, but the thing is, I cannot just sit here and do nothing while her life might be in danger.'
Tina gave another exaggerated sigh. 'I want you to forget about this, Mr Fallon.'
'Why? She could be in a lot of danger.'
'I spoke to her father before I came off duty this morning, and he told me that she couldn't have been abducted because she phoned him from Gatwick airport late last night on her way out of the country on holiday.'
'But she was with me late last night. And she never mentioned anything about a holiday. In fact, she said she'd just come back from somewhere, on business.'
'Well, that's what he said, Mr Fallon.'
'And have you managed to speak to her work? What have they said?'
'Ah, her work...that's an interesting one.'
I didn't like the way she said that.
'It took me a while to find the name of her employer with the limited information I had to work on, and I was off duty when I finally called them. I even put off my sleep for it, because I wanted to give you the benefit of the doubt. But I got through to her boss, a Miss Murton, and guess what?'
I began to get an ominous feeling in my gut. 'What?'
'She left three weeks ago.'
Ten
After she got off the phone, Tina found it impossible to get back to sleep. Eventually she got up and made herself a cup of strong black coffee. She knew she'd been a bit harsh on Fallon. Part of the reason for that was because she was always grouchy when she got woken up. The other part was because she still didn't know what to do about the investigation herself. A lot of Fallon's story made sense and there were some strange coincidences that appeared to back it up. Yet the fact remained that he was the only witness to this crime. And some things counted against him, like the fact that he'd been drinking heavily on the night and had had difficulty remembering Jenny's last name, as well as his claim that Jenny had told him she'd just returned from a business trip when, in reality, she'd left the company three weeks earlier.
She lit her first cigarette of the new day and tried Jenny's mobile number again – her fourth attempt – but like the other times, the automated voice told her the handset was switched off. This was turning into a real puzzle, one she was going to have to talk through with somebody. And she knew exactly who.
Tina had worked with Mike Bolt at SOCA, the Serious and Organized Crime Agency, for more than a year before returning to the Met a few months earlier, and he was one of the few people whose opinion on criminal matters she trusted absolutely. But their parting of the ways had been difficult, which was what had stopped her picking up the phone to him earlier that morning.
During their time working together they'd become very close friends, and almost inevitably a mutual attraction had developed. One night he'd given her a lift home from a surveillance job and had made a pass at her. They'd kissed in the car, passionately, and she'd been tempted to let things go further, but she'd had a relationship with her boss in CID four years earlier, before SOCA, which had ended in tragedy, and she was desperate to avoid putting herself through the emotional mill again, especially with
someone she was going to see so much of, so she'd pulled away from his embrace.
Mike had apologized and nothing more had been said about the incident, but their relationship had never been the same after that. To be fair, it hadn't been the only reason she'd left SOCA. She'd also grown tired of the long-drawn-out investigations into those shadowy figures running the UK underworld, which so often ended in abject failure. But Mike hadn't seen it like that. He'd thought it had something to do with him, and though she'd tried plenty of times to persuade him that wasn't the case, she knew she hadn't convinced him. And if she was entirely honest with herself, she wasn't convinced either.
They hadn't spoken since, which didn't help, and the longer time had gone on the harder it had become to re-establish contact. She regretted this because, despite the fact that she'd made the break, she missed him.
Now, though, seemed a good time to finally make that call. She speed-dialled his number, having never got round to relegating it to her standard contacts list.
She felt an unexpected jolt of nerves when he answered.
'Hey Tina,' he said, sounding pleased to hear from her, 'long time no speak. How's life back on the streets?'
'Same as it is in SOCA, I expect,' she answered, forcing herself to sound cheery. 'Too many bad guys. Too few of the good ones.'
'But you're enjoying it though, yeah?'
'There's plenty of action, that's for sure.'
In truth, it had been a big disappointment – something she really should have expected, given that she'd worked out of Islington before. Virtually all the crimes she dealt with, from domestic burglary right up to murder, were depressing, sordid affairs where the identity of the perpetrators was obvious immediately, and unfortunately there seemed to be a never-ending stream of them.
But she didn't say any of this to Mike. Instead, they made the usual small talk, and she was slightly saddened that it lasted only a couple of minutes before fizzling out.
'So, to what do I owe the pleasure of your call?' he asked when the inevitable silence arrived.
Tina told him about the kidnapping, going through the details methodically, trying hard not to miss anything out, and feeling better to be getting down to business. 'I don't know what to do, Mike,' she said. 'I still can't get hold of the girl, and Fallon doesn't strike me as a bullshitter. That's why I thought I'd run it by you.'
'You need to build on what you've got,' he replied after a few moments' thought, 'because it's nowhere near enough for the bosses to take seriously. First thing I'd suggest is to get the CCTV footage fast-tracked.'
'Easier said than done.'
'Well, you know Matt Turner works over at the FSS now?'
Matt Turner had been a colleague of theirs at SOCA until he was seriously injured during an operation the previous year.
'No,' she said, suddenly feeling very much out of the loop, 'I didn't.'
'He moved to their hi-tech unit a few months back. I think he got tired of the desk job at SOCA, and he's never going to recover enough for fieldwork.'
'It's a pity. He was a good guy.'
'He still is. Get your footage over there and tell him it's urgent. And if it turns out it has been doctored then you're definitely on to something, and by the sound of it, something big. And have you checked out the doorman at her apartment building yet? Because from what you're saying, they couldn't have done it without his help.'
'No, I haven't,' she said, knowing she should have thought of that. 'That would mean three people involved, which seems a lot.'
'True, but you can't discount it. See if he's got a record. That'll at least give you something to go on.'
'I will, but I don't think my boss is going to let me spend much time on it. We're snowed under at the moment.'
'But if it's happened – and from what you've told me my feeling is that it has – then he's going to need to act. Speak to him. See what he says. He might surprise you.'
Tina doubted that very much. Like most senior officers, DCI Knox was interested in hitting Home Office targets, and that meant dealing with the crimes that were right in front of them and easily solvable, not ones that required extensive resources and might not even have taken place. 'Thanks,' she said. 'I'll do that.'
'Let me know how you get on. Seriously. I'd be interested to find out.'
'Thanks. I will.'
'I'd help myself, but we're snowed under as well right now. I guess that's par for the course in our line.'
'It's all right, Mike, I wasn't after your help. Just your advice. And you've been more than helpful.' He had too, but then he'd always been one of the best detectives she'd worked with.
'We aim to please,' he said, but this time the cheeriness in his voice sounded forced.
There was an awkward silence. Tina asked him what the team were working on at the moment.
'The usual,' he answered. 'Trying to bring down another of the Mr Bigs.'
'Who's it this time? Anyone I know?'
'Yeah,' he said, his tone sounding reluctant. 'Paul Wise.'
Tina swallowed hard. Mention of Paul Wise's name still made her jaw tighten and her stomach knot. If there was one person she could blame for doing so much to wreck her life, it was him, even though they'd never met. Wise was the bastard behind the murder of her former boss and lover John Gallan. A multi-millionaire businessman with his finger in all manner of unsavoury pies who'd managed to evade justice all his life and who was as close to untouchable as any criminal she'd ever come across.
'How come he's suddenly back on the SOCA agenda?' she asked, hearing the strain in her own voice. 'I thought everyone had given up on pinning anything on him.'
'No one's going to give up on Paul Wise, Tina.'
'And what's he doing now? I thought he was based out of the Turkish part of Cyprus, far away from the long arm of the law.' She knew damn well he was. She'd checked enough times.
'He is,' said Bolt, 'but he's been diversifying now that property development isn't as lucrative as it used to be. Now he's into large-scale heroin smuggling into the UK. That and prostitution.'
Tina snorted. 'As classy as ever. Are you close to getting him yet?'
'The honest answer's no. But that doesn't mean we stop trying. We've got a lot of resources aimed at him now. It's only a matter of time.'
She didn't know whether Mike believed this or not, but she didn't. Britain didn't even have an extradition treaty with the Turkish part of Cyprus, and the moment it got one Wise would be off somewhere else where he couldn't be touched. Men like him always seemed to be one step ahead of the law. She would still like to have been involved, though, and it suddenly irked her that she was out of it.
'If you do get the evidence to take him down, make sure you let me know, OK Mike?'
'You'll be the first I tell, Tina. I promise.'
She could hear the warmth in his voice, and she knew then that he would. 'Thanks. I appreciate that.'
'Take care. And don't give up on your case. Follow your instincts.'
I always do, she thought as she said her goodbyes. And it usually gets me into trouble.
Eleven
Have you ever felt that you're moving in a parallel universe to everyone else? Where everything you do takes on a dreamlike quality? I experienced it once before as a student when a group of us took magic mushrooms – my one and only foray into hard drugs – but even then I knew that what was happening wasn't reality. I was far less sure of that now, and for the first time in my life I began to question my sanity. I've had some tough times in my life, tremendous highs followed by leaden, black lows, but I've always felt in control. The things I was hearing now, however, were confusing me so much I was wondering whether last night had happened at all.
But I had been in Jenny's apartment because when I went back it felt completely familiar to me. And my jacket, along with my mobile phone and wallet, was definitely missing.
I needed to clear my head, so after I finished talking to Tina Boyd I drove up to Broxbourne woods
and went for a much-needed walk, enjoying the solitude after all the drama of the past twenty-four hours.
I hadn't got very far when Dom called. He asked me if I'd had any news. 'I've been worried about it all day.'
'Some,' I said, and I told him what I knew.
There was a pause at the other end of the line, and I sensed what he was thinking. For a while, when I first got back from France, I'd gone into a real depression. I'd slept badly, found myself unable to work, and almost stopped eating entirely. At my lowest point I didn't get out of bed for three solid days, and I lost more than a stone in weight. I don't think it was a breakdown as such, but I know that Dom was worried about my mental health. He'd even talked to my dad about what he should do, without informing me. Eventually I fought my way out of the worst of it without need of outside help, but I was sure Dom was feeling the same concerns about me now. I hadn't seen him for a few weeks so in his eyes it was entirely possible, I suppose, that I had relapsed.
I knew he wanted to say something, so I beat him to it. 'Everything's been going fine in my life lately, Dom. This happened, I promise.' But I was conscious of the doubt in my voice.
'I just don't understand it,' he said. 'Why would Jenny's dad say she was on holiday if she wasn't?'
'What's he like, her dad?' I asked.
'I only met him a couple of times. He was a nice guy.'
'Is he rich?'
'He runs his own business and I think he's quite well off, but nothing spectacular. I doubt if he clears more than a couple of hundred grand a year. Not enough to kidnap his daughter for.'
It was a good point, and it closed another door for me, because now I had no obvious motive for Jenny's abduction. The nagging voice started in my ear again. Did it really happen, Rob? Are you sure you're not imagining it?
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