by Jane Isaac
She fiddled with her phone a bit more, then nudged his arm, “We’re on.”
Jackman stared at the tiny phone screen as Reilly appeared. His hair was slicked back and his face freshly shaved.
“Looks like he’s picked out his Gucci suit for the occasion,” Davies said.
Reilly lifted the notes in front of him, although didn’t refer to them as he shared the fact that they had made important inroads into the investigation into Ellen Readman’s murder. He called the arrest today ‘a significant development’.
The journalist asked him about the activity in the village of Clifford Chambers that morning. ‘That’s a line of enquiry I’ve had my team looking into for some time. I can’t share any of the details right now, but I’m fairly confident we are moving in the right direction and will be in a position to charge very shortly.’ His words were as smooth as chocolate with just the right measure of reassurance, his face conveyed the perfect level of gravitas as he continued to say how they’d worked around the clock to solve this case and to thank everyone involved in seeking to make Stratford safe once more.
“Urrrgh! Where does he spew that from?”
Jackman glanced across at Davies. Her jaw was hanging at an awkward angle. He looked back at the screen to watch Reilly give one more sincere nod, then retreat.
Davies put her phone back in her bag. “‘That’s a line of enquiry I’ve had my team looking into for some time… ’ God, he’s full of it.”
Jackman shook his head. “Don’t let it bother you.”
She turned to face him. “I wouldn’t if the powers that be didn’t think he was so marvellous.”
“What, Janus?”
“No! The new bloody chief constable. Apparently they’re always on the golf course together. He thinks the sun shines out of Reilly’s arse.”
They sat in silence for a moment.
“Is that what we’ve got to look forward to now? Political policing?”
Jackman shrugged.
“Roll on the next ten years,” she said. “If that’s the case my thirty can’t come soon enough.”
Jackman opened a bottle of water and took a glug. Even with the windows wound down the car felt stuffy. He glanced at the entrance to Jie Wang’s flat.
Davies followed his eye line. “Are we sure there’s only one entrance?”
Jackman nodded. “Only one accessible from the street. The other is through the back of the restaurant and we’d spot him going in from here. I think we’re pretty much covered.”
The rain came down gently at first, blurring Jackman and Davies’ view as small spots littered the windscreen. Within a few minutes it had changed force to huge blobs falling from the sky at breakneck speed that clattered as they hit the vehicle.
A flicker of lightning in the distance was followed by the rumble of thunder. Jackman tucked his elbow inside and raised the window. He couldn’t imagine who would want to come out in that weather.
Hours later, Jackman rolled his shoulders and checked the clock on the dash. It was 3.53am. He shifted his gaze to the seat next to him where long tendrils of black curls hung down, tumbling across Davies’ shoulders and the surrounding seat.
He stared at her a moment, listening to her soft raspy breaths as she slept.
They’d sat and watched people trailing in and out of the restaurant for hours. Cars crawled, then later spun by on the main road at the bottom as it thinned out. Finally, the restaurant lights turned off. The staff filed out.
Jackman loved covert work. The thought that something could happen at any moment excited him. It represented the hands-on policing that he’d joined the force for, all those years back, although apart from an urban fox and the odd cat nothing had appeared tonight.
Glints of first light were already filtering through the darkness. The sun would come up soon. He’d watched so many sunrises this past year that he was accustomed to the gentle brightening of the air around him, the warmth of those first early-morning rays on his skin.
The birds had already started jostling in their roosts, twittering together, warming their voices up for the morning chorus.
He sat there for several moments, lost in the expanse of his mind. Slowly, his thoughts dissipated into the dust motes that gathered in the surrounding air as the sun’s rays struck through stronger. Here it comes, he thought, that warm hue of weariness that never failed to strike in those waking hours when everyone was rising, fresh for the day. It was a constant battle, a curse of insomniacs across the globe. And he fought the sleep that evaded him so resolutely every night.
Chapter Thirty-Six
I woke suddenly to the sound of dripping. A small puddle had collected beneath the gap above and was rapidly expanding, just inches from my feet. Instinctively I drew them in slightly.
A silvery darkness swamped the pit. The storm had cleared the air, but sent the temperatures plummeting. As my gaze rested on Lonny, I jumped.
He lay propped up next to me, eyes wide open, his whole body juddering.
“You alright?”
He looked back at me. “Bloody hole. Goes from sticky heat to freezing in the course of a few hours. Are they the only blankets?”
I swallowed. I knew what I should do, but it felt wrong somehow. I hesitated for the shortest of seconds then lifted the corner of the blanket and looked at him tentatively. He gave a juddered nod, uncrossed his arms and sidled across. It felt strange, having a man that wasn’t Tom beside me. But Lonny wasn’t a complete stranger. Not now.
Time stood still as we laid there in the darkness together until his breaths steadied into a gentle rhythm and I found myself falling into a deep sleep.
Chapter Thirty-Seven
Jackman yawned. Cars were beginning to pass through the main road at the end of the street as he knocked the door of Jie Wang’s flat. The sound of soft footfalls on carpet were followed by the turn of a key in a lock. The door opened swiftly. Jie’s hair was spiked around the crown area as if he’d just rolled out of bed. He rubbed his eyes.
“No luck,” Jackman said. “Any calls?”
Jie shook his head.
Jackman dug his hand into his pocket and passed over a card. “Give us a call the moment he gets in touch, please?”
The car rocked slightly as he climbed back inside and shut the door. Davies awoke, sat up abruptly, rubbed the side of her neck and glanced at the clock on the dash.
“Wow, 7.13? Is it that time already?”
Jackman nodded. “Afraid so. Sleep well?”
Davies pulled a face. “Best night’s sleep I’ve had in ages.”
“I wondered why you insisted on coming.” They both chuckled.
She reached up and tied her loose hair back behind her neck. “Any visitors?”
“Nothing. I think we’ll call it a day.” He reached for the ignition, just as his mobile buzzed.
“Jackman.”
Keane didn’t bother to introduce himself. “Sir, there’s been another kidnapping.”
A sharp pain spiked Jackman’s lower back as he jerked forward. “What do you mean?”
“Twenty-year-old male student from Hong Kong, name of Lonny Cheung, also studying at Stratford College. His father received a ransom demand yesterday. He alerted the college this morning who contacted us.”
“How long has he been missing?” Jackman asked.
“Not sure, but the email is the same as Min Li’s, practically a carbon copy. It seems we have a double kidnapping on our hands. Janus is gathering everyone together and looking for you, sir. Briefing’s here in an hour.”
Jackman thanked Keane, rang off and immediately redialled Janus.
“Will, where the hell are you?” She didn’t attempt to hide the annoyance in her voice.
“In Birmingham. We stayed over on the off-chance of running into… ”
“Well, get back here,” she interrupted. “Now. Reilly needs your help.”
The line went dead. Another kidnapping. Another student from the college.
He could just imagine the smile that wormed its way onto Reilly’s face at the thought of taking over another high-profile case straight after claiming to solve the Readman murder. A positive result would probably be enough to whisk him through the next promotion board. Jackman ground his teeth. Some people would go to any lengths for an ounce of glory.
The M6 was thick with traffic that Friday morning and they crawled out of Birmingham, not managing to pick up any kind of speed until they’d cleared Spaghetti Junction. The sun had risen early and the storm that cleared the air last night now seemed a distant memory.
As they passed the Dunlop building on their left, the traffic slowed again. Jackman turned to Davies, “This is bloody hopeless. Give Keane a call and see if they’ve anything back on forensics.”
Davies rummaged through her bag, retrieved her phone and waited for it to dial.
Within seconds Keane’s voice filled the car.
“Morning,” she said. “You’re on speaker. We’re held up in traffic. Anything back on forensics?”
The phone line crackled and scratched. “I keep losing you,” he said.
Davies shook the phone. They crawled forward another couple of metres. “Looks like we’re back in signal,” she said. “What do you know?”
“Hold on. Forensics are just back. There’s a match on the hair samples with Ellen Readman and,” he paused and they heard the sound of a page turning, “that’s interesting… ”
Jackman leant closer to the phone. “What?”
“Looks like they found a DNA match on the blood with her too. Nothing on Katie Sharp yet, but looks like enough for us to charge.”
Chapter Thirty-Eight
A blast of warm air tickled my ear. I wriggled. The concrete scratched at my skin as I edged a few inches away. Again.
I turned awkwardly, stretched around and looked back at Lonny. A stripe of light illuminated his face which was pointed towards me, his breaths slow and deep, relaxed in sleep. He was close enough for me to feel the heat that radiated from his body, watch the rise and fall of his chest.
It was different waking up with somebody else in the pit. Almost comforting. I stared at him a moment.
He lacked the traditional round face and angled eyes of many Chinese people. His face was long and framed with dark eyebrows. A shadow of stubble was just forming across his chin. His eyes, still glued shut, were shaped like teardrops. Quite handsome, really.
I watched him awhile. His face was relaxed, peaceful, the lips slightly parted. His cheek flinched. Maybe he was dreaming.
Back home I dreamt a lot. They weren’t full stories or scenarios, just snippets of scenes, most of which I forgot within minutes of waking, although one was very set in my mind: I was in an exam room. I turned over the paper and my pen wouldn’t work. I picked up my spare and that didn’t work either, nor did the invigilator’s whose eye I managed to catch. I seemed to try pen after pen and nothing made a mark on the page.
I looked back at Lonny. I hadn’t dreamt in the pit. My nights in here were filled with snippets of shallow rest, where I jolted awake intermittently. I knew the rats were close by, lurking in the shadows.
A definite line of light brightened the pit today. It was like sunshine bursting through the crack in a pair of thick shades. The warmth beckoned me like a seductive finger. I imagined it was a lovely day outside, the storm having washed the plant life clean, the air cleared with freshness that only rain leaves behind.
Was there a field above? I knew there were trees, I’d heard their branches bending and creaking during the storm. Maybe there was a meadow too? I could see it in my mind. The leaves lush and extra green, blades of grass swaying in the morning breeze.
I skimmed the concrete walls. It was like living in a parallel world, a microclimate. Down here we got to experience the smells, witness when day turned to night, were fed and watered. Our whole lives controlled. We were aware of the natural changes in the outside world but prevented from experiencing or enjoying them.
I glanced back at Lonny and a thought struck me. That was the first time I’d slept all night with another man. Tom and I had spent time together in my room, but he only ever stayed until the early hours. My apartment was small, my bed narrow. Tom was so tall that I felt squashed when he joined me in my little bed.
I couldn’t help but wonder what Tom would think of my being here, like this with Lonny. I told myself that it didn’t matter. We’d simply edged together to keep warm, prompted by self-preservation, but it still felt oddly strange to be so close to somebody, yet feel so far away.
What was Tom doing now? Did he miss me? I missed his warm smile, his sharp wit, his ability to lighten the load and make me laugh. I felt torn though. Meeting up with Tom again would raise the whole abortion issue, force a decision, and I still didn’t know what to do.
Instinctively, I rubbed my stomach. Although I hadn’t felt my baby move, I knew it was there even before the pregnancy test had confirmed it. I just felt different. Protective and wholesome. My stomach grumbled back at me. I needed to eat something. My child needed feeding.
As I scrambled towards the food we’d pushed to the corner to make room for Lonny, I heard a distant scratch. I glanced back at Lonny. He was still fast asleep. My eyes darted around the pit. All was quiet.
I edged forward and it came again. I reached back and grabbed an empty bottle. Pity the rat that wants to take my food.
I approached slowly, grabbed the bag containing bread and biscuits, and raised the bottle in my other hand as I whipped it away.
A squeak made me jump. The baby rat stared up at me for a split second, wide-eyed, then bolted up the wall.
I’d let my guard down since Lonny had joined me in the pit. I’d slept deeply. I couldn’t afford to do that again.
Chapter Thirty-Nine
Jackman felt a rivulet of sweat trickle down his back as he stared at the photo that filled the screen. Lonny Cheung was leaning against the side of a car, one ankle wrapped over another, hands pushed deep into the pockets of his jeans.
“God, can somebody open a window?” Janus said. She wafted her face with her hand. “It’s like an oven in here.”
Russell squeezed through the bodies that filled the briefing room and undid the latch. The window creaked as it opened. “What do we know about him?” Jackman asked.
“Lo Cheung, known generally as Lonny,” Keane said. “Son of Chinese shipping magnate, Miu Cheung, from Hong Kong. Twenty-year-old student, came over here to study the access course at Stratford College last September.”
“I’ve spoken to the college principal. He’s one of the so-called lazy rich kids, given a generous allowance from his father to get him out of the way. Drives around in a Subaru Impreza, attends just enough lectures to ensure he’s not kicked off the course. Hence he wasn’t reported missing. First we knew about his disappearance was the contact from his father.”
“What about friends, relatives over here?” Jackman asked.
“Nothing. Seems he’s a bit of a loner. Rents a flat off campus, lives alone.”
“Off campus?”
“Yeah, apparently the rich kids prefer to organise their own accommodation. Means they don’t have to share.”
“We need to find out everything about him,” Jackman said. “Get back out to the college, interview everyone who knows him and everyone who’s ever taught him. What’s he doing when he’s not at college? Take a look at his flat. Find his mobile number and run a check on his calls. See if you can site his phone. Who is he associating with? Who was the last person to see him? We also need to find out about his life in Hong Kong. Has anyone spoken to his father?”
“Keane took the initial call,” Russell said, “and I called Mr Cheung back when we’d got an interpreter. His English is sketchy, but he’
s going ballistic from what I can make out. Talking about sending his own investigators over here.”
“That’s all we need!” Janus said.
Jackman ignored her. “Okay,” he nodded to Keane. “Talk us through what we know so far.”
“It seems he disappeared yesterday. Didn’t turn up for class, but nobody suspected anything, as that’s not unusual. The first alert was an email to his father’s business at 4.30pm our time.”
Keane pressed a button on his laptop and the image of Lonny was replaced with a typed message in Cantonese. He read the translation below it:
DO NOT CONTACT THE POLICE OR THE PRESS, EITHER IN CHINA OR BRITAIN, IF YOU WANT TO SEE YOUR SON ALIVE.
We have Cheung Lo. He is safe and unharmed at the moment.
If you want to see him again, follow these instructions:
We require £40,000 in used bank notes. The notes should be tied together, wrapped in an orange supermarket carrier bag and taken to the waste bin in the lay-by on Bracken Ridge Road, Turnley Industrial Estate, BIRMINGHAM at precisely 12.30am on 23rd of May. Cheung Lo will then be released.
At present Lo has food and water and is in good health. If you do not pay we won’t kill him. We will fail to meet his basic needs and he will die a slow death of starvation in captivity.
“Same town, different industrial estate,” Jackman said. “Practically doubled the ransom. And no picture. Do we know where it was sent from?”
“Another internet cafe in Birmingham. Different one this time.”
Jackman sighed. “And nobody alerted us.”
“Same as last time, sir,” Keane said. “Mr Cheung got in touch with a contact to raise the cash and make the drop. Apparently located them through a business associate. A contact he won’t disclose.”