The police officer studied the photograph, handed it to his partner, and they exchanged a knowing look. ‘Are you up from Cornwall?’ he asked Sarah.
‘Yes,’ she said, failing to catch the recognition in his voice. ‘They came up from Cornwall. Probably stayed here a day or so. You must have seen them, surely?’
Tessa approached them nervously. ‘Any luck?’ she asked Sarah. She regarded the police officers suspiciously.
The WPC stretched her thin pale lips into an incumbent smile. ‘Maybe you’d both like to come with us,’ she said. ‘Then we can get all the details from you, okay?’
Chapter Twenty-three
Green knitted sweater, brown corduroys, white socks and underwear, and an army-green hooded parka.
Frankie was on his way to the checkout desk in Marks & Spencer when Kevin said, ‘We can’t both wear the same thing.’
‘Why not?’ Frankie asked. ‘You can be like twins.’
‘We’re not twins,’ Kevin pouted. ‘And besides, we’ll stand out more dressed like that.’
‘There’s nothing wrong with these clothes.’
‘Cords?’
‘All right,’ Frankie relented, ‘get some jeans. But cheap ones.’
He couldn’t decide if it was a pleasant experience, shopping with his son. They hadn’t done so for years. In fact, they had probably never done so at all on their own. He watched Kevin dart back towards the aisle of children’s jeans, watched him scrutinizing the labels, looking at sizes and prices. Damn that bitch of a woman for messing up their future. They should be in Enfield playing happy families, Sarah in the kitchen, baby on the way, Kevin in school, coming home with letters from his teachers saying how wonderful he’s doing in class. Frankie had wanted to make a go of it this time, wasn’t going to let his temper or the booze get in the way. But now things were different.
He resented Sarah. To have and to hold, from this day forward, as long as they both shall live. What a joke. He knew he had a hand in the breakdown of their marriage, knew he wasn’t a saint—he could admit that, that wasn’t the issue. But Sarah had her part to play, too. If she’d kept the spark alive rather than settling into the old married couple routine, things might be different. He never cheated on her, though he’d been seriously tempted on numerous occasions. There was that one girl in their local, always sitting at the bar, always thrusting out her breasts when she asked you for a light. She was up for it, he could tell. Looked like a right goer, too. But he never had her. He’d stumble home and think of the girl when he took his wife.
Thinking of someone else wasn’t she same as cheating.
Kevin came back towards Frankie with two pair of jeans draped over one arm and a blue T-shirt with long white sleeves on a hanger in his other hand. ‘Look at this,’ he said, smiling. The T-shirt’s slogan said Gonna be a rock star, and in parenthesis and smaller print, But I’ll live off Daddy for now. ‘Can I get it?’
It felt like a fake turnaround, like the boy was trying to play him, but Frankie nodded. ‘Let’s put these cords back and buy the rest,’ he said.
The checkout girl—young, ample and curvy—chatted affably as she scanned the tags and bagged the clothes. ‘Would you like to keep the hanger, sir?’ she asked as she removed the T-shirt from it.
‘No thanks. We’ve got too many of them at home and not enough clothes to put on them,’ Frankie laughed.
‘Good excuse to buy some new shirts,’ she said.
‘Good sales pitch,’ Frankie told her. ‘You need a promotion.’
‘Tell that to my boss.’
Frankie paid for the clothes, took the two carrier bags in hand, and nudged Kevin’s back. ‘Come on, Kev, let’s get some ice-cream before we go home.’ He draped an arm over his son’s shoulders and, when Kevin didn’t shy away, they left the shop together. ‘There’s a McDonalds over there.’
‘Can I have a McFlurry?’ Kevin asked.
‘Caramel?’
Kevin grinned. Maybe it wasn’t such a bad thing, Frankie thought, shopping with your son.
Kevin changed his clothes in the toilet of McDonalds and came back to sit at their table. He spooned chocolate and caramel ice-cream into his mouth and spoke while he ate. ‘Where are we going next? Should we get a McFlurry for Martin and Uncle Robert? I bet they’re probably hungry by now. What time is it? It must be nearly lunch time, anyway.’ He dripped ice-cream on his new shirt and wiped it off with his thumb.
‘Slow down,’ Frankie said. ‘You’ll get indigestion, talking and eating so fast. Here, come here; you’ve still got your tag on.’ He reached around his son and ripped off the T-shirt’s price tag that was sticking out the back of the neck. Kevin continued eating and swinging his legs, content.
He didn’t like it, and he didn’t like pretending, either. It was as if he was cheating on his mum. But Kevin realised that the only way to avoid any further arguments and—more to the point—punches from his father was to smile and nod and look happy. He stiffened and tried not to cringe when Frankie reached behind his head and pulled the price tag from the back of his T-shirt. He made a show of enjoying his ice-cream and hoped he wasn’t overdoing it.
And the T-shirt could go to hell, too. Eight pounds for a crap piece of junk with the word Daddy on it. But he thought it made Frankie happy and a happy Daddy was better than a miserable, argumentative one. As soon as he got home, he’d rip the T-shirt off and burn it.
He was worried for Martin. Kevin and Frankie had left Uncle Robert with Martin in the car nearly two hours ago. They were parked in a multi-storey car park not far from where they were now seated and Frankie had told them to stay put. Martin’s cough was getting worse and his face was getting paler. And now he was complaining of being cold and then hot and then cold again. He was ill and getting worse.
‘So,’ Kevin said, ‘where are we going next?’
Frankie turned and looked out the window at the dull grey day. ‘I’m not sure,’ he said. ‘Are you finished with that?’
Kevin dropped the spoon back in the ice-cream tub and nodded.
‘Come on, then,’ Frankie said.
Frankie picked up some cough syrup in a chemist before heading back to the car, and also bought a packet of vitamin pastilles for Kevin and Martin. ‘They’ll do you some good,’ he had said.
Kevin screwed his face up. ‘They always taste like—’
‘Don’t finish that sentence,’ Frankie said, ‘unless you want me to replace them with horse tranquillisers.’
They took the lift up to level 3 of the car park and walked back to their car. Robert was dozing in the front seat and Martin was coughing up a lung in the back.
‘Take this,’ Frankie said, opening the bottle of cough syrup and pouring some into the cap. He extended his hand towards Martin whose dry racking cough made it impossible for him to sit still. Kevin watched as Frankie leaned into the car and pulled Martin’s hands away from his face. ‘Open up,’ he said. He tipped the syrup into Martin’s mouth and caught the spillage with the edge of the cap.
Martin coughed it back up again, pink phlegmy spittle spraying onto Frankie’s coat.
Frankie cursed, poured some more into the cap. ‘Swallow it this time.’
Martin turned his head. ‘W-wait.’ When his current bout of coughing subsided, he faced Frankie again, opened his mouth. He swallowed the cough syrup, gagged but didn’t cough again, and slumped back against the seat. ‘Thanks,’ he said weakly.
‘Good,’ Frankie said. ‘Kevin, get in the car. Let’s get out of here.’
Chapter Twenty-four
Detective Inspector David Ellis of Avon and Somerset CID said, ‘We’ve spoken to Sergeant Williams down in Cornwall. Seems he’s not in the least bit happy with you both.’
Sarah looked sheepishly at Tessa who stared coolly ahead.
‘To deliberately interfere with an ongoing investigation can be looked upon as a criminal offence with harsh punishments. Not to mention the fact that you were jeopardising your own safety
and that of the public.’
Tessa attempted to speak but David Ellis cut her off.
‘What would you have done if you’d seen him? Approach him?’
‘We’d call the police,’ Sarah said.
‘I doubt you’d have had the opportunity if Catchpole had seen you.’ He pointed at Sarah and Tessa in turn. ‘You and you, and likely both your sons could be dead right now because of your stupidity. Or worse; did you ever think of that?’
‘Nothing’s worse than death,’ Tessa said flatly.
Sarah said, ‘We just want our boys back.’
Ellis sat back in his cushioned chair and puffed up his cheeks, exhaling slowly. He looked at the two women, appeared to soak up every feature of their faces, and leaned forward again. ‘I have my own kids,’ he said. ‘One’s three, the other’s six month. I know how you feel, believe me. If anything happened to my little girls…’ He shook his head. ‘But that doesn’t excuse your reckless behaviour. Public endangerment is a serious offence.’ He sighed. ‘Now, let’s admit your foolishness and move on. We won’t get your sons back by sitting here all day.’
‘Detective—’ Tessa said.
‘Call me David.’
‘David. We should call home. Speak to my husband. They’re expecting our call and will be worried sick.’
‘I knew something like this would happen,’ Graeme said.
DI Ellis had led Sarah and Tessa to a private room to make use of a conference phone. They were alone now, sitting next to each other at a round table with a deeply scratched surface. ‘It’s nothing serious,’ Tessa said. ‘We’re not under arrest or anything.’
‘But you could have been,’ Graeme said. ‘Then where would we be? We’re coming up there.’
‘No,’ Tessa said. ‘You and Alan need to stay were you are. In case Frankie calls again.’
‘He won’t want to speak to us. He’ll want Sarah.’
Sarah said, ‘Tell him I’m not well or something. Make something up.’
Tessa put a hand on Sarah’s arm to quieten her. To the phone, she said, ‘Listen, honey, this detective, he’s good. I know it. He’ll get Martin and Kevin back for us. We’ll stay here and help him as best we can. We won’t get in anyone’s way. And in a day or two we’ll come home.’ She paused. ‘With the boys.’
They heard Graeme’s sigh issue from the speakerphone. ‘One more day,’ he said.
‘Two at the most,’ Tessa replied. Sarah mouthed Alan’s name to Tessa who then said aloud, ‘Honey, is Alan there? Can you put him on?’
A mumbled acknowledgement, followed by Alan’s voice. ‘Hi, Tessa. Hello, Sarah.’ They both said hello. ‘I hope you’re both doing well up there. I heard Graeme’s side of the conversation just now, so I pretty much know what’s going on. Hurry back, okay?’
‘We will,’ Sarah said.
‘Hey, Sarah?’
‘Yeah?’
Alan paused, a low background hiss poured out of the phone’s speaker. ‘Be safe,’ he said at last.
‘You, too,’ Sarah said.
DI David Ellis unfurled a map of Bristol on the conference table and pointed. ‘This is where he made the call.’ He drew his finger in a wide circle around the city centre. ‘We’ve been concentrating our efforts in this area but we began to move further out this morning.’
Sarah drank dishwater from a coffee cup and wondered aloud where Frankie could be going.
‘His brother’s car was found abandoned near a small town called Congresbury. It was out of petrol. In the same town a car has been reported stolen and we’ve also had a report from a man saying his wheelchair was stolen.’
Tessa looked up, eyes questioning.
‘That’s not to say Catchpole was the culprit, of course, but in a town that size, two and two usually add up correctly. Local police are going to fax up the man’s description of the perpetrator. Until we get it, let’s just assume it was Catchpole.’
‘Martin will be exhausted, worn out,’ Tessa said. She turned to Sarah. ‘Would Frankie do that? Steal a wheelchair for him?’
Sarah shrugged. ‘He’s a selfish piece of work, but I’d imagine he would. Especially if he thought Martin was slowing him down.’
‘So he hasn’t gotten rid of the boys,’ Tessa said.
‘Now,’ David said, bringing their attention back to the map, ‘answering your question, Sarah, about where they could be going—based on the evidence we have of his route so far, I’d say he’s going north.’
‘But there’s nothing for him up north,’ Sarah said.
David shrugged. ‘What’s for him down here? Arrest, detention—I’d bet on the fact he doesn’t want to go inside again.’
‘But north?’
‘No other place to go, is there? South, there’s you and Sergeant Williams. East is London and the Metropolitan Police who’ll no doubt want a word with him. West, there’s…’
David paused, studied the map. ‘West, there’s Wales,’ he said, speaking slowly, mulling the idea even as he said it. ‘Wales, the Irish Sea, and Ireland.’ He turned to Sarah. ‘How stupid is this ex-husband of yours?’
Sarah leaned over the table, scanned along the map from Bristol to Wales to the eastern edge of the Irish Sea before the map ran out. ‘Very,’ she said. ‘But the ports have their descriptions. How will they get into Ireland unseen?’
David took his mobile phone from his breast pocket. ‘They won’t,’ he said.
Sarah and Tessa listened as David Ellis made a call and was put through to someone in Wales. When he finally hung up the phone and started rolling the map up, Tessa said, ‘What are his options? It can’t be easy getting across to Ireland, can it?’
‘We’re not too far from Cardiff. It’s less than an hour from here. From there, he could try to get on a plane and skip across to Dublin or Cork. But he can hardly hide two kids in a suitcase. Then there’s Holyhead, which is looking more likely. He could blag his way onto a ship, maybe even sneak into the back of a lorry if he was desperate, the way you hear illegal immigrants doing.’ He handed the rolled map to a constable and beckoned Sarah and Tessa to follow him out of the room.
They walked quickly down a long stark corridor, laminate-tiled floor, foam-tiled ceiling, grim white walls whose only feature was evenly spaced doors, all closed and forbidding.
‘What can we do?’ Tessa asked.
‘You’re going back to your hotel. I can’t have you getting in the way.’
‘We won’t be in the way. We’ll stay in the car.’
‘I won’t have it.’
‘You can’t stop us,’ Tessa said.
‘Watch me.’
‘We’ll follow in our own car. Holyhead can’t be that hard to find.’
David stopped walking, turned to face them. ‘This is not a game. We don’t even know if he’s heading that way. Do I have to lock you both up?’
‘No,’ Sarah said. She took Tessa’s arm. ‘Come on, Tessa. Let’s go back to the hotel.’
Tessa shrugged out of Sarah’s grip, stared fixedly at David. Sarah could feel the tension between them both, had time to wonder who would relent, how long the stare would last.
David held his hand out. ‘I want your car keys.’
‘You can’t do that.’
‘This is my investigation now. I can do anything I want.’ His voice softened then and he looked from one to the other. ‘Look, I’ve only got your safety in mind. And mine—you want to know what my boss would do if I took you both along for a ride? He’d sack me. On the spot. Car keys.’
‘Tessa,’ Sarah said.
Tessa stood down, nodded. ‘Take our phone number.’
‘I’ll call you as soon as we know anything more.’
David Ellis put a call through to South Wales Police, spoke to his counterpart and ensured that Cardiff International Airport was being monitored. Following his hunch, he then called DS Gwen Thomason, stationed up in Oswestry. He’d dealt with her before in a joint drug-control operation. A group of smackheads
with a back-room base in Bristol of all places were routing class-A drugs across to Ireland. From Oswestry it was a straight run up through Bangor and into Holyhead where they were hoping to pass customs unnoticed. It was that operation that stuck in his head now as he waited for her extension to answer—if a couple of dope-strung twenty-somethings could plot a viable route out of the country, so could Frankie Catchpole.
Thomason was Welsh but he’d never hold it against her. In fact, stationed in Bristol for the last six years, David Ellis had often stepped over the border himself. Of course, he could never live there, but once you got passed the accent, the people weren’t too bad.
‘DS Thomason,’ her sing-song voice issued from the phone.
‘Gwen, it’s David Ellis down in Bristol. Listen, I need a favour.’
‘Uh-oh. When a guy like you asks for a favour, it doesn’t usually involve accompanying you to the policeman’s ball.’
You gotta love her humour, David thought. ‘I’m working this case,’ he said.
‘Like last year?’
‘Well, it doesn’t involve class-As, but we’re looking at pretty much the same strategy. This one’s got form,’ David said, indicating Catchpole’s previous convictions.
‘What are we looking at?’ Thomason asked.
‘Kidnap and motor vehicle theft,’ David said. ‘He’s got two kids with him. One’s his own son, but it’s unauthorised. Got out of the slammer a few weeks back and took off with the kid. The other boy’s got muscular dystrophy and no meds; he’s a friend of the son. How are you fixed?’
‘Paperwork,’ Thomason sighed. David understood her resignation; paperwork was a killer these days.
‘Can you help me out?’
‘When was your last visual?’
‘No visual, as such,’ David said. ‘He put a call through to his wife yesterday from right here, but we’ve no reason to believe he’s passed your way, yet.’
‘I’ll see if I can get some guys out on the roads. Same as last year—I’ll stretch my men as far along the border as I can.’
The Camel Trail Page 15