Heatwave

by Oliver Davies

  “Heads up, we’ve got another one,” Stephen said. While I’d been thinking, the radios on our belts had chirped, and he’d picked it up.

  “Another what?”

  “Another group of teenagers causing mayhem.” Stephen got up to his feet, and I followed him. “Didn’t you hear the radio?”

  “Sorry, I was away with the fairies. What did they say?”

  “There’s a whole gang of teens hounding some homeless folks near the city centre. They’re calling for at least a couple of units to help deal with it.”

  “Got it.”

  We jogged down the stairs and headed out to the car, climbing inside even though it was hot enough to make me start sweating within seconds. Stephen took the wheel, flicking on the sirens and getting us over to where we were needed in record time. The volume of traffic was high this time of year, with both locals moving around and the tourists coming into the city to see the sights. But Stephen expertly weaved around the cars when they didn’t move out of the way quick enough, and we rolled up no more than ten minutes later, Stephen having turned off the sirens once we got close.

  Still, it seemed like we’d been too late to catch the majority of the action, as the police officers already there were standing around, talking to each other or the homeless people, and there weren’t any teenagers in sight.

  “What happened?” I asked the first officer we came across. He gave Stephen and me a quick look up and down before he replied.

  “There were ten of them, I’d say. They all bolted before we could get out of the cars.”

  “Dammit,” I muttered. “Was anyone hurt?”

  “Scrapes and bruises,” he said, nodding over to the group of homeless, who looked distinctly unhappy to have the police hanging around. “We’ll head off in a minute. Not much else we can do, is there?”

  “Alright, mate, thanks for the update.” I gave him a nod, and he walked away.

  “You want to go and have a chat with them?” Stephen guessed.

  “Aye, it won’t hurt. They were the only ones who actually saw the troublemakers, weren’t they?”

  “Do you think it’s the same who got up in your face yesterday?”

  I hesitated. “Could be, but I have no particular reason to think so. The group that bothered me weren’t as many as ten.”

  The police officers were beginning to get back in their cars and move away, and the homeless looked keen to move location, too. And no wonder, since our lot and theirs didn’t have the best track record. But I only wanted to help, and Stephen and I stepped over to a petite woman who looked about middle-aged and had a careworn face.

  “Hi, I’m Darren, this is Stephen. Could we ask you about the teenagers that were bothering you?”

  She gave me a long look as if trying to figure out whether I had some underlying motive.

  “You can ask,” she said after a moment, her hands busy as she wrapped up her sleeping bag.

  “Thanks. Did you notice which one seemed to be the ringleader? And what they looked like?”

  “The leader?” she repeated. “I dunno really, didn’t seem to be one.”

  “What sort of ages would you say they were?”

  She’d finished up packing her sleeping bag into her rucksack and was looking side to side, clearly wanting to be off.

  “I dunno. Fifteen? Sixteen, I guess?”

  “Was there a tall, very blonde boy? With a lip ring?” I asked, speaking faster as she hefted her rucksack on.

  “Nah.”

  “A short boy, dark-haired, about fourteen?”

  “I dunno.”

  “Were any of them wearing patches or badges,” I tried, knowing that it was a long shot, “with the symbol of a flame on? In bright red?”

  “I dunno.”

  “Did any of them say their names?”

  “Look, mister, I’ve gotta go.”

  “Alright,” I sighed, stepping back out of her way. “Thanks.”

  She jerked a sharp nod and walked quickly away, glancing back over her shoulder once before she disappeared around the corner. The rest of the homeless had all headed off while we were speaking to her, taking advantage of our distraction, no doubt, except for one bloke who was passed out on the floor and hadn’t moved at all. Concerned for him, I went over to see if he was alright, but he was breathing fine and smelled strongly of alcohol, so I left him alone.

  “What now, boss?”

  I glanced around the area, which, only a couple of minutes ago, had been bustling with people but was now all but deserted. Looking up at the walls of the buildings nearby, I walked backwards, searching.

  “There.” I pointed up to a CCTV camera on the side of a nearby wall. It looked to be a public one, and I was optimistic that there’d be something on there we could use. “Now we go and watch more footage and hope we strike lucky.”

  Eight

  “Bingo.”

  “You’ve found them?” Stephen asked as he came over with fresh drinks for us and sat down.

  “I sure have.”

  He and I watched the footage play out as the teenagers walked by the camera, passing almost directly underneath it on their way to torment the homeless folks up out of the camera’s view. It was frustrating that we couldn’t get the teens’ harassment on video, but pictures of their faces would be a big help.

  I manipulated the pictures to the best of my limited abilities and sent various close-ups to the printer, hoping that they’d be easier to look at on paper. Staring at the computer screen had been beginning to make my eyes cross, and I rubbed them tiredly as I stood by the printer and waited for the machine to spit the images out.

  As kept happening whenever I had a moment of downtime, my mind went back to Sam. I turned over questions in my head about the future, even though they were questions it was impossible to get answers to. We’d agreed to try the long-distance relationship, but neither of us knew how that would work out for us. I didn’t know if we could maintain the same spark that existed between us now over video and phone calls, but the only way we’d find out was by trying.

  The printer finished up, bringing me back to the present, and I took the grainy photos back to Stephen. I nabbed a desk lamp from someone’s unoccupied desk and flicked it on, spreading the photos out beneath it.

  “I swear they look familiar,” I said after a pause. The footage was in black and white, as well as being taken from a distance and at a strange angle, so it was difficult to be sure.

  “Are they the teenagers from yesterday?” Stephen looked over at me, but I shook my head.

  “No, but still, I could swear I’ve seen…” I tapped one of the boy’s faces, frowning down at him.

  “Well, it’s not Mickey or Tiger. Nor Alistair or Jules, for that matter.”

  “No,” I said distractedly, still looking at the boy. “How old do you think he looks?”

  “I don’t know, fifteen?”

  I hummed, considering the video still. I was sure I recognised that boy, but from where, I couldn’t quite remember. It was on the tip of my tongue, but I couldn’t reach it.

  “Well, I can’t say that they look familiar to me.” Stephen gave a shrug, heading off to get himself a fresh cup of tea.

  I continued to stare at the print-out, hoping that it would materialise into meaning if I looked at it long enough. I tried for ten minutes before giving it up as a lost cause and shifting my attention to looking back through what we’d done so far in the hope that I’d notice something important that we’d missed earlier on.

  It was when I was flicking through my notebook half an hour later that I remembered where I recognised those teenagers from.

  “Steph!” I said, seizing the photos and looking at them again, tapping the paper in triumph. “It’s the boys from the joyride! Remember? On Tuesday, we went to help out-”

  “I remember, I remember,” Stephen said impatiently. “Have we got their names? Their details?”

  I got on my computer to search it up, looking for th
e records relating to the incident.

  “Aye, here, look.” Pictures had been taken of the two, along with their fingerprints and full details. “Dammit,” I muttered, “they clearly haven’t sorted themselves out, have they? They’ve gone straight back to making more trouble.”

  “Yeah, I’d hoped they might’ve been young enough to get straight once they’d had a talking to.”

  “So did I,” I sighed. “Alright, at least we’ve got a couple of names and faces. That’s good. Hopefully, we can trace them back to their respective schools and fill in some more gaps.”

  “You’re hoping to find out who the rest of the group is?”

  “It would help,” I said, though I was privately hoping that we’d find out more than that. That there would be some evidence that demonstrated a link between these cases, and maybe even Alistair’s, too. “You take this one,” I pointed to the younger teen, “I’ll look into the other one. See what we can find out.”

  “Are we calling their parents?” Stephen asked. “I mean, they’d know the most.”

  “Mm, good question.” I rubbed a hand over my jaw. “Not yet, I don’t think. I don’t want the teens tipped off by their angry parents and them warning their friends, you know?”

  “Alright, let’s go with that for now. We can try the parents later if we need to.”

  We got to work, and I started with the teenager’s school, which had been recorded on the forms we’d had his parents fill out when he was brought in for the joyriding. It wasn’t the same school as Alistair, which was a disappointment, and Stephen confirmed that the teen he was looking into didn’t go to Alistair’s school either.

  “How have they gotten together, then?” I queried, shaking my head. “Teens make friends at school mostly, don’t they?”

  “This day and age, I suppose we’ve got to think of the internet. You can meet anyone on there.”

  “I wonder whether Keira’s had a chance to look into Jules online yet,” I said as the thought occurred to me. I’d have to check in with her and see how she was getting on.

  We went back into researching the two teenagers, and I was focused on looking through the kid’s social media when someone cleared their throat on my right and made me startle. I looked up sharply and was surprised to see Sedgwick standing there, looking impatient.

  “Afternoon, Sedgwick.”

  “Mitchell,” he greeted me flatly. “You asked to be kept updated.”

  “Aye, I did,” I agreed when he seemed to be waiting for confirmation or pre-emptive gratitude. “Have you got something?”

  “We’ve been conducting interviews at Alistair’s school,” he said stiffly. “We spoke to a teacher who’d seen Alistair being confronted by another boy at the school gates a short while before he went missing.”

  “Huh.” I sat back. “That teacher must have a good memory to remember that.”

  Sedgwick gave me a cold look, like I was doubting the validity of his witness, but went on after a second of silence.

  “The teacher identified the boy as one who’d left the school a year ago. She said his name was Jules.”

  “What?” I stared at him for a long moment. “Well, damn. That’s good to know, thanks.”

  He gave a shallow nod. “I’m willing to consider that this boy, Jules, may know Alistair’s whereabouts.” The way he said it sounded like ‘You were right and I was wrong,’ to me, but I resisted the desire to point that out. “If you find him before we do, I’ll expect to be told.”

  “Sure,” I agreed easily. “Can you send the full report over, with the teacher’s name and that?”

  He gave another nod before turning on his heel and smartly walking away.

  “It’s been a while since Sedgwick has admitted to being wrong,” Stephen said, sounding slightly amused.

  “I don’t know that he did,” I laughed. “He said he ‘might be willing to consider my theory’ or whatever.”

  “Yeah, that’s the most you’re going to get out of him.” Stephen shook his head with a smile. “Useful of him to come and tell you, though.”

  “It is. We need to talk to this teacher, too, I think, and find out Jules’ last name. That’d help a lot.”

  “He and Alistair might’ve met through school, then, if they went to the same one,” Stephen mused. “Whereas it seems like the other kids met online. That might indicate two different groups of teens.”

  “Maybe,” I hummed. “Although, Jules was three years older than Alistair, so it’s not that likely that they interacted a lot during school, is it?”

  “Possible, though,” Stephen countered, and I gave a nod of acknowledgement.

  Before we could get back to work, the phone on my desk started ringing, and I reached over to pick it up.

  “DCI Mitchell speaking.”

  “It’s Rashford. I want the pair of you in my office.”

  She hung up the phone before I could ask why, and I set it down with a baffled frown.

  “Are we in trouble?” Stephen said, only half-joking.

  “No idea, but Rashford wants us. C’mon, let’s not keep her waiting.”

  We made tracks over to her office, and I tried to think of what she might want to talk to us about. Perhaps Sedgwick had complained about us inserting ourselves into his case, but he’d been surprisingly cooperative today, and I didn’t think so. So what was it?

  Rashford called us in when we knocked and, after sharing a glance with Stephen, I pushed the door open. The superintendent didn’t look especially annoyed when she looked up and gestured for us to take a seat, but I wasn’t sure that I knew her well enough yet to tell. She always looked strictly professional and wore a white button-down and navy trousers, her hair done up in a neat twist today.

  “Ma’am,” I said politely, and Stephen echoed it.

  “You’ve been working incidents focused on teenagers, is that right?” she asked, getting straight to the point.

  “Yes, ma’am. Particularly fire-related incidents.”

  “What have you covered so far?”

  “Well,” I stalled while I thought, “we helped with a group of joyriders, there was a fire outside York, then there were the teenagers bothering homeless people today.”

  “Plus the ones who bothered you,” Stephen added.

  “And, before all of those, there was a fire set by teenagers on Monday night,” I remembered. “There’s been a marked increase in fires being set since April, ma’am.”

  Rashford gave a short nod, her expression not showing any surprise.

  “And from your reports, I gather that you think there’s some kind of link between these events and the missing child, Alistair Pumphrey?”

  “Yes, ma’am.” I couldn’t tell from her tone whether she thought the idea had merit or that it was ludicrous.

  She seemed to consider this for a long moment, briefly glancing over at her computer screen.

  “I can’t say I’m entirely convinced, Mitchell, but your reports have been interesting, regardless. Besides, there’s been another one, and I want you to focus on it.”

  “Another one, ma’am?” I repeated. “Another fire?”

  “No, teenagers causing damage. A group of them robbed and terrorised an elderly couple, and one of them is in hospital.”

  “Christ,” Stephen muttered.

  “I have doubts that this ‘pattern’ you’re investigating is anything more than young people kicking off because it’s summer,” she said, and I had to bite my tongue so that I wouldn’t interrupt her, “but you’ve not got another case on your plate, so I want you to handle this.” She gave me a shrewd look. “And if you want to continue to look into your theory whilst still aiding the force, I won’t tell you not to.”

  My shoulders relaxed in relief that she wasn’t completely dismissing our ideas.

  “Thank you, ma’am.”

  “Go and figure out what happened at this robbery, understood?”

  “Yes, ma’am.”

  We set off towards the
house that had been robbed, me behind the wheel and Stephen listening closely to the radio for any updates.

  “Rashford wasn’t as doubting of your theory as I expected,” Stephen mused as we passed through York. The sky had clouded over slightly through the afternoon, and it felt unpleasantly humid, the pressure in the air building up for a storm.

  “It’s still just an idea.” I shrugged. “I don’t think that every teenager-related crime in this city is somehow linked. That would be an Illuminati-level conspiracy theory, right?” Stephen chuckled. “But I think there’s a connection between some of them, and you’ve gotta look at the whole picture before you can pick out the important bit, right?”

  Stephen made a noise of affirmation, and we drove on, reaching the scene of the crime relatively quickly. With the cloudier day, the traffic was quieter, and it made for easier driving.

  “Here we are.”

  I pulled into a side road and rolled down the slight slope until we spotted the house with a police car parked outside. I brought us to a halt on the other side of the road, and we climbed out. I pulled my shirt away from my chest as we walked over, trying in vain to cool myself down.

  “DCI Mitchell?” a male officer asked, coming over to greet us. “We were told you’d be heading over?”

  “Yes, that’s me, and this is my partner, DI Huxley.”

  The officer nodded a hello to Stephen and didn’t offer to shake our hands; it was too warm for it. Instead, he showed us around the compact, semi-detached terrace, which was dated but charming. The years of life that had been lived in it were visible in all the carefully dusted ornaments, and there was a persistent smell of rose all through the house, as if from using the same perfume or soap for decades.

  The pleasantness came to an end as we reached the rear of the house where the sitting room had been completely trashed. The glass doors through to the back garden had been shattered, spilling glass across the pale brown carpet, the entire sofa had been upended, and everything that could have been broken or thrown across the room had been. I stared around in grim disgust at how cruel people could be. The elderly couple who lived here must have been terrified, I thought.