by G D Sanders
Potts looked back at Borrowdale who was only too ready to expand.
‘A guy on Hollowmede said he came back Friday night just after ten and there wasn’t a space. He was really pissed off. Claims there’s an unwritten rule among the locals. Some use the spot by the grass and others use their driveways. He always uses a space by the grass and was furious he couldn’t park there.’ Nat winked across the table at Jenny and added, ‘I bet the rubber from the road will match his rear tyres.’
‘Did he notice a vehicle he’d not seen before?’
‘We pushed him but he wasn’t clear. Said he was tired. Couldn’t wait to get home. Eventually he said there must have been an outsider’s car but he couldn’t be specific.’
‘Nothing else at all?’ asked Saunders.
‘Well … he did say that one of the parked vehicles may have been larger than a normal car.’
‘How about the other houses, especially those near the grass and those near the junction of Victoria Road and Cogans Terrace?’
From a grunt and movements at her side, Ed realized Potts was revving himself up to take over. About time – he was the senior officer responsible for house-to-house questioning.
‘Nothing of any value, Brian, but we’re asking about ten o’clock on a Friday evening. People were at home or in town. Only one person admitted looking out. A woman on St Mildreds Place. She was putting her milk bottle out. Said she saw nothing unusual.’
Saunders let out an exasperated breath. ‘So, nobody saw anything remotely significant?’
Ed trod carefully. ‘There was the guy on Elham Road …’
‘About the right time,’ agreed Potts. ‘He wasn’t clear. Nothing precise to go on.’
‘At the moment we’ve nothing to go on.’ Saunders turned to Ed. ‘What did he say?’
‘He’d just walked back from the pub. He was putting his key in the front door when somebody drove by. He glanced round but didn’t pay much attention.’
Saunders leant forwards. ‘What time was that?’
‘About 22.00. He aims to get back for News at Ten.’
‘What about the vehicle?’
‘That’s the problem. He thought it was a van. Then he changed his mind. Said it was like a van but different. He was very apologetic. Didn’t think it important at the time and didn’t pay attention.’
‘Colour?’
‘It was dark, the street lighting’s poor, grey was the best he could do. But there was one thing he was sure about. The vehicle was coming down Elham Road, going towards Hollowmede.’
‘At last.’ Saunders sat up with a look of satisfaction. ‘It’s not much but it’s the right time and the vehicle was going in the right direction.’
‘That would tie in with the guy on Hollowmede. A vehicle larger than a car parked in his spot by the grass,’ said Jenny.
‘So there was a vehicle in the area at the right time that was larger than a car and like a van but not a van. Maybe it was a minibus. What would you do next, Ed?’
Saunders had put her on the spot again. If her reception hadn’t been so frosty she’d believe he was giving her a chance to shine or, at least, to show she was competent. Ed looked round the table. Saunders was the reliable professional but his nose must be severely out of joint. They all blamed her but the transfer had been out of her control. She could have turned it down but, at the time, she didn’t know what was happening in Canterbury. And if she had? Would she have sacrificed her career for his? Unlikely. Ed looked at the others. When Saunders left, Potts, Borrowdale and Eastham would be her team. She had to get to know them quickly and get them on her side if she was to make a success of her transfer.
‘Ed?’ It was Saunders prompting her.
‘Sorry. I was thinking. I’m new here.’ Don’t state the bleeding obvious. ‘I’ll talk it through in the light of my experience on the Met.’ Brilliant, remind them that the big boys parachuted you in and spoilt their family party.
‘Abductions without a ransom demand are usually a nasty business. To be successful we need to find the victim within a day or two. If that doesn’t happen, should they ever be discovered they’ll be dead and we can only hope death came quickly.’
At these words, Jenny compressed her lips and frowned while Ed continued with her disturbing prognosis.
‘With Lucy Naylor the signs aren’t good. A ransom demand is unlikely; the Naylors aren’t in that league. If it’s sexually motivated then we’re probably already too late. She’ll turn up traumatized or we’ll find her body. If it’s not rape then we may have longer to find her but God help her.’
That was better, but she was telling them what they should already know. If they were going to have any chance of finding Lucy quickly she needed to motivate them.
‘Think of her, Lucy Naylor, just 17, young for her age, a bit naive perhaps, one close girlfriend, no boyfriends, not much of a socializer. This young woman was poised between school and university, about to make her way in the world. Right now should be one of the great times in her life but where is she? Raped? Dumped in a ditch? Something worse?’
Ed paused, looking at each of her future team. Potts and Borrowdale were sitting up and taking notice. Jenny Eastham looked concerned, almost upset, but determined.
‘And it’s not just Lucy. Think of her parents, Simon and Rachel. Think what they’re going through. They’ve lost a daughter. It’s our job to find her. For Lucy’s sake and her parents, we have to find her fast.’
Saunders’s face was expressionless. Had she gone too far, doing his job for him? Sod it, he’d asked and she responded. The Super wanted it cleared up quickly. Of course she did – she was thinking of her statistics. Ed and Jenny, perhaps Saunders, and now maybe Potts and Borrowdale, were thinking of the girl. This is why they were in the job. They were doing it for the girl and if, God forbid, she turned up dead they were doing it for the parents, to get them justice. Ed glanced at Saunders and he nodded for her to continue.
‘So far we don’t have much to go on, but there are four lines to follow. First, we need to speak to all close friends and family. The perpetrator is often somebody close to the victim. Second, this may be the abductor’s first but often they’re serial attackers so we should check for similar cases in a reasonable radius, say 30, perhaps 50 or even 75 miles.’
‘We’ll do Kent and East Sussex,’ said Saunders.
‘Third, we should check the register of sex offenders for any likely suspects, and fourth, assuming it could be serial and local, have you had any similar cases in the last five to ten years? I’ve not included the vehicle because the description’s so vague – larger than a car, van-like and grey when seen in poor light – but, if we get a suspect, we should check ownership or access to something like a minibus.’
‘I’ll go along with that,’ said Saunders. ‘If we don’t solve this quickly it’ll be your case anyway and the Super will be on your back because I’ll be away to Maidstone. I’ll put a call out to neighbouring forces for information about similar cases. Nat, search records for any local cases. Also check the sex offenders register. Mike, start organizing interviews with friends and family, use Jenny to help. Ed, come Monday, go to Lucy’s school. See if the Head knows anything the Naylors and Shaxteds don’t. Or maybe something they’re keeping from us.’
Saunders gathered his papers together but, before rising from his seat, he added, ‘All of you take a break for a couple of hours. Back here at 20.30 when we’ll take Ed on a tour of Canterbury’s less than salubrious bars.’
12
The circular route via Ashford, Maidstone, Chatham, Gillingham, Sittingbourne and Faversham took him more than five hours. He didn’t shop in Canterbury but at each of the other towns he visited supermarkets, buying a few items at each, always using the self-checkout and paying with cash.
At the building in the woods he slipped the reed into his mouth, knocked on the door and called out, ‘I’m back and coming in.’
There was no reply. He opened the
door and reached to put two bags in the entrance. ‘I’ll get the other shopping and then I’m coming right inside.’
There was still no reply. Feeling a twinge of anxiety, he grabbed the hood from its peg behind the door, pulled it over his head and went to look through the chain-link partition. Lucy was lying on the bed, headphones on her ears, listening to the iPod he’d left in her room. Relieved, he went back to the car and returned with the other shopping bags. This time he shut the door firmly behind him and she looked up as he came into the room. She was making an effort to compose herself in his presence but it was clear she’d been crying. He got the impression she was struggling to look defiant but lacked both energy and determination. The face she presented was one of resigned submission. When she spoke her voice carried little conviction. He took these as very good signs.
‘You said you’d warn me before coming in.’
‘I said I would and I did. You didn’t hear me because of the music.’
She was silent and then, with an obvious effort, retorted, ‘More likely your funny voice. Why don’t you speak normally?’
‘I intend to release you. Your parents and the police will ask what happened and where you’ve been. They’ll ask about me. I’m breaking the law but I don’t intend to get caught. The less you can say the better. I have a distinctive voice so I use this device to disguise it.’
‘If you don’t want to be caught, why kidnap me in the first place? Why keep me here?’
‘That’s my concern.’
Turning his key in the padlock, he opened the chain-link door and placed three plastic bags within her reach. Before she could move he left and locked the door behind him.
‘Check those bags and make sure I’ve got what you need.’
While she looked through the shopping he unpacked the food, selected a large pizza and put it in the Calor gas oven. He was dividing a pre-packed salad between two bowls when she called out.
‘Where’re the jeans?’
‘I got skirts. They’re easier for me to wash and iron. Have you’ve got everything else you asked for?’
‘Yes.’ There was a pause and then, in a soft voice, she added, ‘Thank you.’
He felt good. This time he’d chosen well. She really was a very sensible girl. After they’d eaten he asked her to change into a set of new clothes and give him the ones she was wearing to be washed.
‘Where will you be while I change?’
‘I’ve things to do in the other room. It’ll take me 10 to 15 minutes so you’ve got plenty of time to change. I’ll warn you when I’m coming out.’
‘I can’t change my clothes with this handcuff and chain on my wrist.’
‘Come to the slot and I’ll unlock it. Tomorrow’s Sunday. I’ll be here early to give you breakfast. If you’re sensible we’ll do without the handcuff for longer.’
‘What d’you mean, sensible?’
‘When you’ve changed your clothes, I want you to put the handcuff back on and let me lock it.’
‘And if I don’t?’
‘I’ll leave you without food or water and I won’t return until tomorrow evening. Believe me, by then you’ll be hungry and very, very thirsty.’
She came to the slot and held her arm up so that he could unlock the handcuff. He left her to change and went to his private room. With the door closed he pulled on latex gloves and began decanting the cloudy preservative from Nos. 4, 5 and 6. With each jar he slid the contents into a shallow dish and refilled it with fresh formalin before returning the specimen and screwing the lid into place.
He imagined Lucy behind the chain-link partition. There was no image of the young woman in his head, just a logical analysis of what she must be doing and thinking. She’d be hurrying to change her clothes before he re-emerged. His irregular comings and goings must unsettle her. He wished he could avoid that but he had to fit caring for Lucy around the face he presented to the world. If she was beginning to think beyond her immediate predicament she must be wondering what he was doing in his private room. Wondering what it had to do with her. Wondering what was going to happen to her. Hoping but still unsure she’d be released.
Lucy was changed and sitting on the bed reading well before there was a loud knocking and his strange Mr Punch voice called, ‘I’m about to come out. Are you ready?’
‘Yes.’
He came to the slot in the partition. She passed him her clothes, folded so that her underwear was hidden between her top and her jeans. Without being asked, she held her wrist and the handcuff near the slot. He locked the handcuff in place, put her clothes into a plastic bag and left.
Alone in the dark, listening to music, Lucy was overcome by a sense of despondency. At first she couldn’t understand why. Nothing had changed. She was totally dependent on him for food and drink and had little option but to do as he said. He was in control but she was coming to terms with that. She had a plan and she drew strength from that. Trying to read him, searching for the best thing to do, for a way out, would occupy her thoughts and prevent the horror of the situation taking over her mind. But, if nothing had changed, why was she feeling sad?
Turning on the bed to get comfortable, Lucy sensed her bare legs and was reminded of the new clothes. Something had changed; he’d taken her own clothes, her last contact with the real world. Now she had nothing of her own, nothing but things he had given her. Everything, even the most intimate things, had come from him.
It was long before Lucy tried to sleep, and longer still before she succeeded.
13
Ed registered names and places as Mike Potts drove her around the streets of Canterbury cataloguing the local crime scene. When they arrived at the Brewers Tap, DI Saunders was talking to a man behind the bar. Borrowdale and Eastham were sitting at a table with near-empty glasses. Ed took the opportunity to build bridges.
‘What can I get you?’
‘We’re still on duty,’ said Nat.
Perhaps the edge was harder than he’d intended. Either way the message was clear. We may be with you in a pub but that doesn’t make it a social occasion.
‘Mine’s a Diet Coke, Nat’s on orange juice.’ Jenny spoke with a softer tone, attempting to pour oil.
‘Alcohol-free beer for me,’ said Potts as he pulled out a chair beside Nat.
With no ‘please’ or ‘thanks’ ringing in her ears Ed walked to the bar alone and asked Brian Saunders what he was drinking. Before he could reply there was a shout from the far end of the room.
‘Well, if it ain’t Potty Potts! Who’s a brave boy then, coming in my boozer?’
A thickset man stepped out from a group of companions at the far end of the bar. His neck was as wide as his head with hair razored to a grey stubble. If his nose hadn’t been broken and poorly re-set then he’d been an unfortunate child.
‘Ah … but y’re not s’brave are ya? Y’got yer slag of a daughta f’protection.’
Ed saw Potts stiffen and turn.
‘Nah … can’t be yer bleedin’ daughta cos yer bleedin’ daughta’s bleedin’ dead. Ain’t she?’
The speaker looked at his target with malevolent contempt.
Potts’s ruddy face turned white and he struggled for control.
The thickset man continued to goad him. ‘Cummon then, Potty, y’wanna tek me on?’
‘Fynn McNally, you bastard!’ Potts got to his feet and stepped forward raising his arms.
At this, McNally moved towards the DS. Closing in, he pulled a knife and lunged at the detective’s stomach. Potts was inclined to be slow but this time he was on the front foot and even slower checking his forward momentum. With his failure to pull back and his assailant’s inability to check his own lunge, the knife seemed destined to bury itself in Potts’s body.
After the event nobody could agree quite what happened next. There was a flash of legs as Ed launched herself like a fullback, making a flying tackle on the edge of the area. There was the slap of a break-fall as her right hand and forearm made contact
with the floor while her right foot hooked behind McNally’s right ankle and the sole of her left foot struck his knee.
With his forward movement abruptly checked, the look on McNally’s face changed from a snarl of rage, through a flash of surprise, to a yell of agony as his knee dislocated and he collapsed in a heap at Potts’s feet. Ed flipped McNally over and pinned his arm high behind his back, forcing his face into the floor and the knife from his hand.
‘Cuff him!’
Nat was first to reach her. He grabbed the free arm and snapped handcuffs in place. McNally’s companions turned back to their drinks at the bar. They made no move to intervene as Saunders called for back-up.
Uniform arrived quickly. Fynn McNally was arrested and taken into custody. The landlord offered drinks on the house but Potts was clearly upset and Saunders said they’d call it a night.
‘That was unorthodox, Ed, but very effective.’ Saunders paused to let his praise hang in the air. ‘I’ll drive Mike home. Nat, you and Jenny drop Ed back at her hotel.’
Ed was silent in the car. Saunders was right: her actions had been unorthodox. Much of what happened in Brixton when she was younger was unorthodox. Ed recalled the incident which had led to the move she’d used to take out McNally. Those distant events were behind her decision to join the police. She might have been on the other side of the law but she’d separated herself from that scene.
Whenever she heard female voices raised in threat, Ed knew she would see a circle of girls around their victim. Ten years ago she’d been that victim, cornered after closing time in the entrance to Morley’s. They’d wanted her cash and cards. Her mother’s repeated advice came instantly to mind. If ever you’re mugged, God forbid, just give them what they want. Your health and your life are worth more than they will ever take from you. Ed had been about to hand over what her attackers wanted when there was a shout from across the street. It came from the corner of Electric Avenue.
‘Oi! That’s my girl Eddie.’ Like Superman without a phone box, Craig, all supple swagger and a voice that carried distance and authority, was by her side. The young muggers slipped rapidly away.