Heatwave

by Oliver Davies

  “Ma’am, I’m fit enough to work the case, I swear.”

  “I’ll take your word for it,” she said, sounding unconvinced. “But I mean it, I won’t take excuses about your injuries if you can’t get me some solid evidence or an arrest by next week. Things have gone way further than they should have.”

  “I know, ma’am. We’re doing our best for the case.”

  “Well, consider some weekend overtime, hm?” she said pointedly before ending the call.

  Stephen had mostly overheard the conversation, what with us sitting close together in the car, and he gave me a troubled look.

  “We’re doing our best,” he said. Perhaps it was meant to reassure me or convince himself, I wasn’t sure.

  “Aye, that we are,” I sighed. “But she needs answers fast, and the only thing she can do is put pressure on us.”

  We’d settled in for the evening, and Stephen got munching on a sandwich he’d picked up from the shops, making the car smell like tuna. I wasn’t especially hungry and just sipped on some juice as I watched the garage from across the road. A parked van partially hid us, and the streetlights weren’t anywhere near us, so when the sun went down, we’d be well in the shadows, I hoped.

  Now, at around six, it was still warmly daylight, and I couldn’t imagine that the teens would move in this early. But we didn’t have a set time and ‘tonight’ could mean anything from the evening onwards, as far as I was concerned. So we ate a makeshift dinner in the car, watching the cars pass up and down the street as people drove home from work to their families. A few students went by, heading out for Friday night at Kuda or the like, some of them already staggering about. Some other poor officers would probably have to deal with some of them, I thought, when they were drunk off their heads and picking fights or just making a mess.

  For tonight, though, Stephen and I’s job was to sit and watch the garage. The employees seemed to have all cleared out before we arrived, the car park sitting empty apart from one car. At half six, a man, presumably the owner or manager, closed up the place and took the last car out, leaving it deserted.

  The sun didn’t make its way below the skyline until it was nine or a little later, the street lights flickering on a short while afterwards. Stephen snacked on Starbursts, the sugar keeping him awake, while I rationed out my coffee so that I wouldn’t be running off needing the loo when things started happening. If they ever did.

  By eleven, the street felt abandoned, and the quiet was soporific, even with the caffeine in my system. I read back through my notes to pass the time, scanning over what I’d written in my reports from the start of the case and the interviews we’d done with the kids.

  A question that continued to trouble me was where Alistair fit into this, exactly. He’d apparently run away from his parents by his own free will, despite a reportedly happy home life and having few troubles in school. Jules seemed to have somehow lured him into working with or for the gang, but I didn’t understand why.

  My first assumption was that the younger teenager had been threatened somehow, but that wasn’t the sense I’d gotten when I’d seen Alistair interact with the others before I was attacked. Sure, the group had teased the kid a little, but it had felt like comradery and not mean-spirited or disdainful. He’d been one of the pack. So was that why he’d agreed to join up with them, to be part of a friendship group? It just didn’t quite add for me about how a seemingly good kid with everything going for him had gotten tangled up with Jules.

  The details of the case continued to tick over inside my head as the time slowly crept on. Stephen and I were both struggling to stay awake as the car’s digital clock passed midnight. I resisted going on my phone, thinking that the bright light of the screen would give our location away immediately to anyone watching, which left little to do except watch and think. Occasionally, we talked a little, but the conversation had dried up after a few hours as we both got tired. Now we mostly sat quietly, waiting and hoping that something would happen.

  Finally, it did. An old banger rolled up quietly around one o’clock and stopped outside the front of the garage. I straightened up, blinking myself fully awake and glancing over at Stephen. It was hard to make him out in the dim light, but I could see from his profile that his attention was on the car that’d just pulled up. He gave me a nod to show that he saw this too, and we watched in silence.

  The car had parked away from streetlights, as we had, and it was difficult to make out many details of the three figures who climbed out. They looked lanky enough to be teenagers and wore dark jackets with the hoods up. At a glance, I guessed that none of them was either Alistair or Jules. Jules’s height would’ve made him stand out, and though one of the figures was short, they were much broader across the shoulders than Alistair was. It was disappointing, but I watched regardless, hoping that the teenagers would take the petrol canisters we’d tagged with them and lead us straight to where they were based. We could try just tailing their car, of course, but there was no guarantee that they wouldn’t spot us, especially when the roads were as quiet as they were at this time.

  “There they go,” Stephen said quietly when the three teenagers headed straight towards the garage.

  I could just about make out that one took up standing outside in the shadowy car park, the other two letting themselves into the place. I assumed one of them must have been the garage employee because no alarm went off nor lights turned on, though I did see the glint of a weak torchlight through the windows.

  It took them three trips to ferry all the petrol canisters from the garage entrance to the car which sank a little on its axis every time they loaded it up. Carrying so much fuel like that was incredibly dangerous, I thought grimly. If they got into an accident or, god forbid, one of them started smoking inside the car, it wouldn’t be just those three who ended in hospital or worse.

  Watching it happen, I was badly tempted to intervene and grab these three whilst we could, seizing the stolen petrol. But if we did that, the true head of the gang would get off scot-free, and we’d be facing more incidents like this in the future, but even better hidden. Not to mention that we needed to protect Mickey’s safety. Hence I made myself stay quiet and still in the car, making a promise to myself that we’d get these guys pinned down good and proper.

  “They have enough to fuel a lorry, there,” Stephen said under his breath, and I agreed.

  It was too dark to make out the specific petrol canisters, but I counted the number going into the car, and I reckoned that they’d stolen all the garage’s supplies. If they had, then our tagged and tracked canisters would be in there too.

  The teens finished up not long later, the three of them carrying the final containers back to the car’s boot before they closed it up and climbed inside. Their movements were unhurried and confident, and I could understand why. The whole operation had been slick and organised, and if we hadn’t had a tip-off from Mickey, I couldn’t see how we would’ve ever found out what had happened. The garage would likely report the theft, of course, but not until long after it had all taken place.

  They drove off quietly a moment later, the car rolling out casually like they’d done nothing more exciting than a trip to the shops. There was none of the tyre-squealing acceleration that teens usually liked to get up to, and the whole thing had seemed worryingly professional.

  Stephen released a heavy breath beside me, which was part relief and part frustration, I would’ve guessed.

  “Let’s hope that worked, then,” he said, rubbing his eyes. Even with the adrenaline of watching it all take place, I was similarly feeling leaden-eyed and headachy with tiredness.

  “We can’t check on the trackers til the tech guys are back in in the morning,” I said before yawning widely. “We might as well get some kip.”

  “I couldn’t agree more.”

  Stephen mimicked my wide-mouthed yawn, and I chuckled. I drove us back over to the station to drop off the car. Stephen offered to drive me back over to Sam’s, a
nd I was more than happy to accept. I could’ve run home, but I was stiff from sitting still for so long, and I didn’t want to tear anything, not to mention that I was pretty much asleep on my feet.

  By the time my head hit the pillow, I was dead tired, but my mind continued to mull over the night’s events. I wondered whether the petrol canisters had been dropped off yet and if they’d even be taken to where the gang met up or where Alistair was staying. It’d already occurred to me that the petrol might end up stored in one of the lackey’s garages, probably belonging to the teenager’s unfortunate parents, but I’d considered the possibility worth the effort, anyway.

  There wasn’t anything I could do right now to find out whether our plan had worked or not so, when Sam turned over in her sleep, I curled up closer to her and let myself fall asleep.

  Eighteen

  “Trackers are all up and working,” the tech guy told us when we went to visit him on Monday.

  “Where are they?” I asked, leaning forwards.

  “Over in Acomb, it looks like. They’re static now, not moving.”

  “Alright, can you bring that up on google maps?”

  He did so, and we looked at the street view on his computer. The house looked entirely ordinary, with a slightly scruffy front garden and a car parked outside.

  “You think that’s where Alistair is?” I asked Stephen as I straightened up.

  “Could be, but how’ll we know?” he said. It was a valid question and one I was still mulling over. More information was always what we wanted, but then we had to decide how to act on it.

  The tech guy sent us over a link to follow the tracker ourselves, and we thanked him, heading back to our desk.

  “Have you checked the chat yet today?” I asked as I logged on, sipping at my coffee.

  He hadn’t, and neither had I. My first priority had been to see whether our ploy with the trackers had worked or whether they’d been discovered and, so far, the news on that seemed positive.

  “There’s talk of a successful pickup, but that’s about all,” I said a moment later. I rubbed my hand over my chin and considered. “I’m going to give Mickey a call, I think. See whether he’s heard anything new after the burglary happened.”

  “Go for it,” Stephen said without turning away from his screen, continuing to read over the teenagers’ messages from the previous night.

  I got Mickey’s number up on my phone and gave him a call, prodding my bruised nose lightly as I waited for him to pick up. I’d put a spot of Sam’s concealer under my eyes this morning, where the worst of the purple bruising lingered, but otherwise, I was looking and feeling much better. My ribs still throbbed if I twisted the wrong way, and lying on them at night could be sore, but they too had healed up further over the weekend. Since walking was relatively painless now, I was tempted to try out running, but Sam had vetoed that idea immediately when I’d suggested it.

  “You want to do exercise, you can come and do a leg day at the gym,” she’d said firmly. “But you’re not jolting your poor ribs and shoulder around until the doctor says you can, do you hear me?”

  I’d smiled at the concern that showed through her sternness and agreed, perhaps foolishly, to go to the gym with her later in the week or at the weekend. Anything to burn off some of my excess energy sounded like a good idea at this point, but I knew how hard Sam pushed herself, so I might regret that later.

  The phone continued to ring in my ear as my thoughts drifted towards Sam and running, and I frowned as Mickey failed to pick up. Eventually, the call switched to voicemail, and I hung up. I didn’t want to leave a recording on Mickey’s phone that could land him in trouble if one of the others in the gang happened to hear it or pick his phone up. Still, I hoped he’d see the missed call and get back to me soon because we could really do with his input.

  Stephen didn’t look too surprised when I told him that Mickey hadn’t picked up my call, lifting one eyebrow as if to say, ‘what did you think would happen?’ His doubt in the teen was annoying, but unfortunately, completely justified.

  “He’s not the most reliable,” I agreed out loud, giving a sigh. “Okay, I reckon we might as well do a drive-by past the address where the petrol is being stored. Just in case there’s anything we can see there which could tell us more.”

  Stephen drove us over to Acomb to drive by the house. The car’s air conditioning was a pleasant break from the overheated station, but in terms of useful information, the trip yielded nothing. The house looked almost exactly as it had on google street view, and there was nothing to indicate whether or not Alistair or the other teenagers were based there. I considered knocking on the door to see who answered but decided that it was too much of a risk.

  We returned to the station, and as we considered our next steps, my phone rang in my pocket.

  “Can you get it?” I asked Stephen, focusing on the driving. Despite living in York for over a year now, I still had to concentrate when the city traffic got busy.

  He tugged my phone from my pocket and picked it up.

  “Adams, it’s Huxley,” I heard him say before I had to pay attention to the other cars on the roundabout and lost track of what Stephen was saying.

  “She wants us back at the station,” he explained unprompted when he came off the phone. He didn’t need me to tell him that I hadn’t been listening because he knew already.

  “What for? Has she got news?”

  “Yeah, and she said it’s urgent.”

  “Urgent enough for sirens?” I asked, concerned.

  He hesitated. “I’d say so. She said she was concerned for Mickey’s safety and that we should call him ASAP.”

  I swore quietly, flicking the sirens on and putting my foot down as soon as the way ahead was clear.

  “Call him,” I instructed. “He’s in my contacts.”

  Stephen got on the phone, but I could hear it ringing and ringing. My hands tightened on the steering wheel, and I thought about how I’d tried to call the kid earlier this morning. He’d not answered then, either, but I’d not been especially concerned since the teen had a record of ignoring my calls. I’d not even considered that he might be in danger, but I definitely worried about it now.

  “Dammit,” I muttered.

  “It’ll be fine,” Stephen said firmly as if he could will the fact into being just by stating it.

  I didn’t reply.

  Despite the cool air con, I was sweating even before we got out of the car at Hewford and jogged across the car park. The running jarred my ribs, but I winced and ignored it.

  “What’s happening?” I demanded from Keira when we arrived, slightly out of breath.

  “I found another messaging site,” she explained, her expression serious. “There’s more chatter on it than the one I sent-”

  “And Mickey’s in danger?” I cut in, feeling too worried for the kid to focus on anything else.

  For once, Keira didn’t frown at my interruption. “Yes, I believe so. There’s talk of a ‘traitor’ on the chat and some threats towards them.”

  “Jesus,” Stephen muttered, and I swore.

  “How’d they know? What’re they saying?”

  “I’ve sent you the link, Mitchell. You’re welcome to go and read it yourself.”

  “Do you know anything else?” I pressed, reluctant to leave without having any other information. “Where he might be, for example? Can you track his phone?”

  “Anybody in here can try to track his phone, ask one of them, alright?”

  “Okay,” I sighed before thanking her.

  I strode over to the nearest tech team member who looked free and cajoled them into dropping what they’d been doing in order to find Mickey’s phone.

  “There’s nothing. The GPS is off, or the SIM card’s been crushed, but there’s nothing coming back.”

  I dragged a hand through my unruly hair. Part of me wanted to call Mickey repeatedly, bombarding his phone with calls, but that wouldn’t help. We needed to be smart about
this.

  I gave the tech a nod of thanks, and Stephen and I left, heading for our desks so that we could study this other messaging site that Keira had turned up. The conversation was far busier than the one we’d been looking at up until now, and I chewed my lip as I scanned over it. Keira was right about their talk focusing around a traitor and what they’d do to him, and the threats honestly scared me. From the talk itself, I wasn’t sure that the teenagers on the chat knew who this traitor was exactly, but that didn’t mean that Jules didn’t know. It was worrying, to say the least.

  “Call Mickey’s parents, will you?” I asked Stephen. “If we don’t get an answer, we can go around to the house.”

  While Stephen did that, I chased up any leads that might give us even a nugget of information, from seeing whether the petrol had been moved to checking if Mickey’s phone was back online and trackable. Neither yielded any results.

  What I didn’t know was how the hell they’d found out. Had we been seen when we went to tag the petrol, or when we were staking the place out? Had Mickey let something slip? But the ‘how’ wasn’t important right now, not when we needed to find out where Mickey was and if he was safe.

  “There’s no answer at his house,” Stephen concluded a moment later.

  “I don’t think I have his mum’s mobile.” I flopped back in my seat and groaned, looking up at the ceiling. “We need to put this on the system. Maybe he’s turned his phone off and gone for a joy ride, but this is worrying enough that we need the word out.”

  “On it.”

  Stephen inputted it in, alongside a picture of Mickey he got from the teenager’s social media page and uploaded it onto the missing persons database.

  “We need to get hold of his mum.” I straightened up, picking up my water bottle to take a slug, the stress and heat making my mouth dry. “Let’s go round to his place, anyway. Perhaps Ms White is in the garden, and that’s why she didn’t answer the phone.”