by Helen Fields
‘So how did he get there with no passport?’ Graham asked.
Ava put one finger on the map and followed the road system north. She stopped at Calais.
‘So they could have driven down through England with him hidden in the boot, then taken either the Channel Tunnel or a car ferry to France. Risky though. Several opportunities for him to be found, either banging the trunk at petrol stations or passing through customs,’ Graham concluded.
‘Unless they sedated him,’ Ava said. ‘It might have been a truck rather than a car, so better soundproofed and easy enough to get him out of the country. The real risk would have been a random vehicle search on arrival in France.’
‘Private boat?’ Graham suggested. ‘Would have made it easier to have pulled up in a cove somewhere without customs.’
‘Expensive and more risky. If they’d been spotted by a customs vessel, they’d have had little chance of hiding him once they’d been boarded,’ Ava said. ‘Notify Interpol that we need the person who posted this interviewed immediately. Establish a timeline, and details of that specific location’s weather. Let’s see what the state of the photo was when it was found. Maybe we can figure out how long it had been there.’
‘It’s been doing the rounds on Twitter a few days now,’ Swift added. ‘If that helps.’
‘Sack him,’ Lively whispered in Ava’s ear. ‘Please, for me.’
‘Hey, he just got the only lead in a case that no one else has made any substantial progress in for days. If you’re not careful, I’ll end up promoting him,’ she said, dialling Callanach’s mobile.
‘You wouldn’t dare.’
Ava looked across to where the detective constable was grinning from ear to ear.
‘Yeah, maybe not,’ she said as Callanach’s voicemail message kicked in. ‘Luc, we’ve identified a photo of Bart Campbell with his father that he always carried with him. It looks like he tried a Hansel and Gretel tactic. I’m emailing you a precise map, and we’re contacting Interpol HQ to get officers to the person who found it. It means the theory is confirmed. Bart is on French soil. It seems likely he went through Calais, but there’s no support for that as yet. If someone has taken Reilly and now Campbell, they might have others, or be planning more abductions. Phone me as soon as you get this to update me from your end. I suspect Bart’s running low on time.’
Chapter Twenty-Six
There was a table and a universe between them. Azzat had greeted Callanach with an angry glare. His little sister, Huznia, was in a nearby room wrapped in a huge furry blanket and playing with a box of second-hand toys. Child Services were doing what they could, but without Azzat’s cooperation, that wasn’t very much.
‘Are you going to talk to me?’ Callanach asked the teenager.
‘I only gave your name because I knew you were a cop. It stopped them from charging me,’ the boy announced.
‘That might have worked for an hour or two, but it won’t stop the police completely. Your sister’s fine, by the way. She’s been given food and a hot drink. They want a doctor to take a look at her but that’s just standard practice when a child comes in who’s been living on the streets.’
‘We weren’t on the streets,’ Azzat hissed. ‘I take care of her. We were inside a building.’
‘With furniture, and electricity? Somewhere safe that no one else had access to?’ No answer. ‘Listen, it’s clear you love Huznia and that she loves you, but you have to realise the position you’re in. If you’re charged, you can be tried at fifteen, and if you’re found guilty one option is that you’ll be kept in a young offenders’ institution. In those circumstances, Huznia would be placed with foster carers or in a home, and no one will be able to guarantee if or when you’ll be housed together again.’ More silence, but Azzat’s lower lip was less steady than before. ‘Tell me about this burglary. Why were you there?’
‘It wasn’t a house, it was a warehouse where lorries pick up boxes of food to take to shops. I figured I’d just get some supplies to keep us going. We’d run out of money and it doesn’t hurt if it’s a big supermarket. They throw so much away. It’s safer to just go through the bins at the end of the night when the food shops close, only Huznia got sick last time we did that. I wanted to make sure what I fed her was safe. They’re making a fuss over nothing.’
‘You broke a window and got in by climbing on top of a parked vehicle?’ Callanach asked. He’d been given a brief summary of the details when he’d arrived.
Azzat shrugged. ‘So?’
‘So someone’s going to have to pay for the damage. Most of these big companies have a zero tolerance policy on prosecuting. They have to keep their workforce safe. You left a large patch of broken glass on the warehouse floor. Someone could have got hurt.’
‘Doesn’t it matter that we’re going to starve to death if we don’t eat?’
‘Of course it does. I’m just explaining to you why this isn’t being dealt with by a simple warning. You’re old enough to know better. Have you tried any of the homeless shelters? They often have hot food, at least soup.’
‘That’s fine for me, but as soon as they see Huznia, they start making phone calls, then people turn up and try to take her away from me. I promised I’d never let that happen.’
‘Okay. I’m here and I’m listening. What is it you want me to do?’ Callanach asked.
‘Stop them from charging me. Get them to let us go. You said you’d help. Are you a liar too?’
‘Actually I asked you for information, and I gave you money to get food. My phone number was there in case you suddenly remembered anything that might help me.’
A social worker entered, carrying a fast-food cartoon. The smell of hot salt made Callanach hungry. Azzat grabbed it as if he were starving. Callanach saw that his arms were stick thin as he reached for a packet of ketchup to smother on the fries, and his hair was matted. Callanach waited until the boy had consumed everything in front of him.
‘If you could help me, give me some information about how that body came to be at the building site, I could use that to persuade the prosecutor to drop the burglary case against you.’
‘I should have known you were going to use the situation to get something for yourself. That’s the only reason you came.’ Azzat licked the last of his meal from his fingers.
Callanach took his time responding.
‘This is serious, Azzat,’ he said. ‘I’m not here to argue or negotiate, not because I don’t want to help you. I intend to do everything I can for you and your sister. But turning information over to me isn’t optional. A young man is dead. He was brutally murdered, and he was only a few years older than you. If you know anything at all, you have to tell me.’
‘Do you know how many dead bodies I’ve seen? I was twelve when we left Afghanistan. By then, they were already gathering any boy over the age of ten to fight for one side or the other. They took my father, then my mother sent us here with some men she paid all their savings to, just to keep me alive and to stop Huznia from being promised for marriage by some male relative once my father died. Huznia can’t remember it, but I do. Men who refused to join whichever army came to their village first had their eyes burned with pokers, or they were pushed off buildings. We don’t even know if our mother is alive or dead. There’s no way of contacting her.’
‘That might be something else I can help with. Interpol has a worldwide intelligence network. We’ll need details. Name, date of birth, the town she was last seen in, any places she has relatives. And the people you think might have her,’ he finished quietly.
Azzat was right. Callanach had no idea what the boy had seen, or just how tough his short life had been so far. Now here they were, living in a foreign country, without security, without even the basics to keep them safe and well.
‘Give me a moment,’ Callanach said. Leaving the room, he sought out the arresting officer. It took fifteen minutes to ensure that no charges would be brought, and an offer to personally make good the damage to the
warehouse window to guarantee that the owners wouldn’t make a complaint.
He went back to Azzat, then took him through to his sister. They sat on the floor together, Azzat admiring the way she’d set all the toys out in a row and kissing the back of her head tenderly when she told him the names she’d given the stuffed animals she’d found. Callanach was impressed. In spite of all they’d been through, Azzat had combined being a brother with being a stand-in parent, making ends meet and improvising to keep them both fed. If he’d had to steal along the way, then who could blame him?
‘Now, I’m going to liaise with Child Services to make sure you’re placed together. I understand after all you’ve been through that it’s vital you’re not separated. Huznia would suffer if she was taken from you.’
Azzat gave him a look that was largely suspicion with a dawning element of hope.
‘You have to be careful to comply, in the future, with France’s laws. I don’t live here all the time, and next time you get in trouble, I might not be able to help out. So no more stealing, okay?’
The boy gave a single, brief nod.
‘Huznia needs you with her, not locked in a cell. You did a good job, Azzat. You got her all the way from Afghanistan and you kept her safe. But she needs proper food, access to doctors, and a warm bed to sleep in. It’s time for you to let others help. Immigration services will make sure you’re allowed to stay here for as long as it’s not safe for you to go home.’
Callanach bent down, picked up a small puppy toy, and waved it at Huznia.
‘You’ll be all right now,’ he told her. ‘You can trust these people to help. Make sure your big brother reads you bedtime stories, okay?’
The little girl gave a smile that would have broken the hardest of hearts. Callanach felt a pain in his chest at the thought of all she’d experienced. If there was any natural justice, her mother would be found and they would be reunited as soon as possible. Callanach exchanged a few quiet words with the social worker who was making notes in a corner of the room, asking to be notified when the children were placed, and contacted if there was any difficulty in ensuring they were kept together. As he put his hand on the door knob to leave, he felt a hand on his shoulder.
‘That’s it?’ Azzat asked. ‘No strings? You want nothing in return?’
‘I want to know what you saw at the building site. I need to find that boy’s murderers and keep other people safe from them. But you were right, I should never have seized the moment to get something from you. If you’re going to help me, it has to be voluntary, not least because anything you tell me has to be real and true, not just so that I do you a favour in return.’
Azzat stared at his trainers quietly for a few seconds.
‘There was a van,’ he said. ‘White, old, its bumper was coming off.’
‘At the building site?’ Callanach asked.
‘Yes.’
‘What were you doing there, so late at night? Shouldn’t you have been looking after Huznia?’
Azzat frowned.
‘I was getting money to buy her breakfast. One of my friends was looking out for her that night. Our gang was given a few euros a week to watch the building site, and to call the boss if we noticed anything. He didn’t want to pay for proper security while no work was getting done, but they had a lot of machines and building supplies there. He knew it was our turf, so he offered us the money if we didn’t screw him over and break in ourselves. Different people in our group took turns hanging there at night. Three of us were watching when the van turned up. It was dirty, old dirt, like it hadn’t been washed for a year, and there were no words or pictures on it, but there was this one area that was bright white, in the shape of a large leaf.’
Callanach looked at the social worker, poised with pen and paper.
‘May I?’ he asked. She held both out to him.
He handed the drawing materials over to Azzat who turned the paper landscape and drew a rough outline of a generic van. Along it, filling about one-third of the van’s side area, he drew a large leaf, tipped as if it was falling in a breeze, not yet landed, stalk dipping towards the bottom of the van.
‘This is the best I can draw it,’ he said, passing the paper to Callanach. There was no mistaking the shape. ‘It’s like they’d just taken a big sticker off the van, so that area hadn’t had a chance to get dirty yet.’
‘That’s really helpful, Azzat,’ Callanach said. ‘Thank you. What about the people from the van. Can you describe them?’
‘It was dark and they were dressed in black. They were both men, quite tall, but they had big coats on and hats, so I didn’t see their faces clearly. They were white, though. I could see from the backs of their necks.’
‘Could you hear them talking?’
‘We were too far away to hear anything and there was music from the floor below us. We were in the high-rise building, in the corridor that runs along the outside. They just pulled the van up, took something – the body, but I didn’t know that then – into the building site, then came out and left. Quickly though. They didn’t hang around.’
‘You didn’t see the licence plate?’
‘No.’
‘So did you ever call the boss to report what you’d seen?’
Azzat shrugged. ‘No, I mean, we were there to stop thefts or vandalism, you know? Those men dropped something off, they didn’t steal anything. We made sure they didn’t have anything with them when they came out so we figured they hadn’t done anything wrong, and …’ he stopped talking.
‘And what?’
‘One of them had a gun over his shoulder. A big one, semi-automatic I guess. I was getting ten euros for the night and I had Huznia to think about. I wasn’t going to get involved with the sort of men who carry weapons like that. The others felt the same. Nothing was stolen, no harm done, better to keep quiet. If I’d known …’
‘You couldn’t possibly have known, and you were right to think of Huznia first. It wasn’t your responsibility, Azzat,’ Callanach said.
‘We didn’t know you were police when we first started throwing bricks at you and the other man. We thought you were there to steal,’ Azzat offered quietly. ‘I would never have done that.’
‘I believe you. You know, Interpol needs agents like you. Men who understand how the world works, who want to make it a better place, who’re responsible enough to keep a little girl safe even when it feels impossible.’
Azzat pulled back his slumped shoulders, and drew himself up taller. The smile on his face was priceless.
‘Really?’
‘Really,’ Callanach replied. ‘You’ve already learned a second language fluently. You’re fit and strong, and you’re never going to have a criminal record, right?’ The boy grinned wider. ‘So get yourself to school and work hard. Whatever has happened in your life so far doesn’t have to define your future.’
The boy was against his chest in a moment. The hug so brief Callanach hadn’t the opportunity to return it. Huznia beamed a smile at the two of them. Callanach figured he couldn’t beat that for an outcome, said his goodbyes, and left.
Chapter Twenty-Seven
The intended dinner was a burned mess in the frying pan. Ava glared at it as if the food had left itself unattended, then dumped it in the bin.
‘I’m getting dinner delivered,’ she shouted into Natasha’s hallway. ‘Is Chinese okay?’
‘Sure,’ Natasha shouted back. ‘Nothing too spicy for me. My stomach’s not up to it. What’s that smell?’
‘Sorry, can’t talk, I’m on the phone,’ Ava replied, pulling her mobile from her bag.
Natasha appeared in the doorway.
‘Home cooking. You should go on one of those food shows.’
‘MasterChef?’ Ava asked, punching a number into the dial pad and swearing at the screen.
‘No, I meant one of those programmes about nightmare kitchens where they do a sort of forensic investigation and discover that if you’d eaten there you’d have died from so
me awful bacteria,’ Natasha laughed. ‘Here, use my phone, there’s an app that lets you order online without calling.’ She passed it over.
‘You’re supposed to be sitting down and taking it easy,’ Ava said as she scrolled through food images and a price list.
‘I’m supposed to be married with kids, watching soap operas and deciding where to go on holiday this year. Unfortunately I’m gay, easily bored in relationships, prefer horror movies, and I have cancer so my holiday this year is most likely to be spent in a chemotherapy unit. Want to get into an argument with me?’
‘Just grateful you’re so good at taking advice,’ Ava noted. ‘I’ve ordered. It’ll be twenty minutes. Will you at least sit down and let me make you a delicious green tea?’
‘In lieu of a vodka and tonic.’ She took a seat and Ava put the kettle on. ‘Have you heard from Luc?’
‘We’ve had some progress in the case he’s working on. He’s busy and his partner was hurt on duty, so there’s a lot of pressure on him at the moment. We’re mainly communicating through voicemail or email.’
‘But you spoke to him at the airport, right? It’s just that you haven’t mentioned him since.’
‘It’s all fine so there’s nothing to tell you. Whatever misunderstanding we had has been put aside. He’s worried about you, obviously, and has demanded regular updates.’
Natasha yawned, throwing her head back and making a whining noise in the back of her throat.
‘God, you’re exhausted, you should have said. Look, why don’t you go and lie on the couch? I’ve put a blanket there already. If you fall asleep, I’ll wake you up when …’
‘Oh no, sorry, I’m not tired at all, I’m just incredibly bored of listening to your bullshit. But go ahead, I interrupted, which was rude.’
Ava put her hands on her hips.
‘Do you suppose it’s more serious to assault a cancer patient? I mean, would a judge give me a longer sentence for, say, giving you a black eye now rather than before you were diagnosed?’