The Message

by Hylton Smith

  Chapter 8

  Olivia had picked up her Mum and taken her to the hospital. She sat her down with Gladstone, and explained the situation. “Mum is a bit upset with me, because I told her that dad was staying over at my place. Now she’s really worried that he’s in intensive care. Can she stay with a nurse or someone for a while? I have to go back to the police station for some reason. I shouldn’t be long.”

  Gladstone knew of Pauline’s condition and nodded. “Leave it with me. Something else has come up though, let me get my secretary to take Pauline for a cuppa.”

  All Olivia’s mother wanted to do was to comfort her husband, and she started to weep. Olivia patiently explained that nobody but the surgeon and his team were allowed to see Peter for now. “Dad needs undisturbed rest. I can’t see him yet either, so we’ll both have to be patient. Now please go with Katherine, just for a few minutes.”

  As her Mum trailed out of Gladstone’s office, Olivia’s mouth tightened. “Don’t tell me it’s more bad news, I’m running on empty as it is. I have to hope that the TV appeal is going to shed some light on this utterly bizarre nightmare, I can’t seem to be myself.”

  “Oh, so when is the appeal going out?”

  “Tonight on local TV, but there’s no definite slot yet for national screening.”

  “I see, well let’s go to your office, we’ve got something which may or may not be relevant.”

  Lying on Olivia’s perennially spotless desk was a package. Gladstone pointed at the address. It was hand-written and simply stated her full name and the hospital address. ‘Radford’ had been underlined. “It was from the internal mail system, there’s no stamp or franking pattern. We don’t know where it was deposited in our system, but the girl who was distributing the internal mail had the presence of mind to think it was very unusual. She contacted security and they agreed. It might be nothing Olivia, but it is of concern precisely because of what has happened to your father, and Kieron’s disappearance. I think we should inform the police, rather than just open it.”

  She stared at the box. It was roughly twelve inches by nine, and four inches deep. It was sealed clumsily with light brown tape and the writing had been applied with a broad, red-ink felt pen.

  She spoke with Prentice and he told her to leave it alone until he got there. He took Jones and a forensics man with him, telling Martha to keep trying the hospice, as he hadn’t been able to speak with Tom. “Just ask him to come back as soon as possible. Nothing else, just stonewall, do not tell him about Wallace or anything else. You can give him the heads up on the appeal only being on local TV.”

  *

  The hospice provided a stark reminder that the ageing population was getting bigger. The place was in serious need of refurbishment. Peeling paint, spent light bulbs which hadn’t been replaced, alert beepers constantly intruding on every corridor, and the background odour of urine all conjured up a desire to leave.

  Ernie Wickham had passed away, never regaining consciousness since Tom’s short vigil had begun. Having studied but never practised medicine, Tom was utterly taken aback by witnessing the moment of peaceful passage from life to death. From someone to something. His control fractured, but not in the usual direction of losing his temper, rather he felt he was losing part of himself. An avalanche of guilt engulfed him. Ernie had been widowed for more than three years, and his brother Michael had found the time to be with his father, and share their common interest in architecture. Michael was in demand as one of the finest stonemasons around, in an art which was rapidly disappearing. Tom had picked up the Balliol letter of acceptance which his dad had obviously treasured as a substitute for a son. Michael had left Tom by Ernie’s bed to tell the matron of his father’s struggle coming to an end. They briefly talked about what was to happen next. She embraced Michael and said they would help with the arrangements. On returning to Ernie’s room, there was just a corpse. No Tom. He couldn’t be found anywhere in the building. His mobile was switched off. Michael went back to his flat. No luck there either. He began to get really worried.

  *

  Prentice insisted that only Jones needed to remain in Olivia’s office with the forensics man. He then got rid of Gladstone, saying he had some personal stuff to discuss with Olivia. He found her and they hunted for a quiet spot, eventually stumbling on an empty prep room.

  “I haven’t been able to reach Tom. The hospice told me his father had died, and Tom must have wandered off somewhere, leaving his brother to deal with everything. I need to get him back here. Has he contacted you?”

  “No, I drove my mother here, but my phone hasn’t been switched off. Why has his return become so urgent all of a sudden?”

  “Mmm, well, we’ve been told that Kieron may have been with a man at the spot where your father was assaulted. It has to be treated as a maybe at the moment, but it can’t be ignored. Also, I now have a forensics report which links the scarf, which was found in the bushes, to the fibres found on the rear car door locking mechanism. Neither your prints, nor those of Tom match the two found on Kieron’s tablet. I think we have to be careful about knitting a pattern of circumstantial evidence, but we have to responsibly explore leads. The telephone call to your father, however, was made from the public box outside your house. I’m sorry Olivia, but we have to speak to Tom urgently.”

  “Surely you can’t suspect him of being involved in this? He’s damned hard to live with, but he’s not a criminal.”

  “Maybe not now, but he has a record. Jones told me about the drugs. He also said Tom claimed he was innocent.”

  “Oh that, yes it was a long time ago, but it’s been the source of a lot of Tom’s disillusionment, and he never really lets me forget it. He doesn’t refer to it directly, just that his life has become that of a carer for a sick boy. Nothing more. He took the blame for drugs being found in the dorm I shared at University with two other girls. The three of us were facing expulsion and police charges for supplying illegal substances. Like I told you, he does make impulsive decisions, and he took the rap, believing it was some form of gallantry, rescuing a stricken princess. It was the boyfriend of one of the other girls who brought the stuff to the dorm, but he said things would get heavy if the people who supplied him got dragged into the police investigation. Threats were issued to all of us, and Tom just let them believe the drugs were obtained on the street. The police warned him that was no defence against the charge of distribution. I got disciplined and a suspended sentence for using. Never again. So, yes he’s got a record, but it’s completely unjustified. Why is it important now?”

  “We have to weigh up the balance of his mental state, in relation to his domestic life. He had the opportunity to have made the call to Peter, or got someone else to do it. He obviously loves Kieron, that’s been his anchor point for many years. You admitted your marriage is unstable and he might believe he has no chance of getting custody if he left you.”

  “I don’t believe he is mixed up in this Inspector, but I agree that he needs to get back here to hear these allegations, because that’s all they are!”

  They were interrupted by Jones. “You need to see this, sir. The scan of the package.” He then whispered to Prentice, “It looks like a gun. Cartwright doesn’t want to open the box until you’ve seen it.”

  “Olivia, can you keep trying Tom’s mobile, I’ll catch up with you shortly.”

  She flopped into a chair, buried her head in her hands and told herself she must get a grip.

  The scan showed the outline of a pistol, but as Cartwright pointed out, there was no normal trigger guard.

  “So,” said Prentice, “what does that suggest? I can see by the smirk on your face you’ve seen something like this before.”

  “Indeed I have, something exactly like this, in fact. I know what it is, I just don’t know if it has been doctored. It might be part of an explosive device.”

  “Bloody hell,” said Jones, “hadn’t we better get it out of here and get the bomb disposal boys to faff ab
out with it?”

  Prentice noticed the sudden appearance of sweat beads trickling down Jones’ brow. “Not until I hear what ‘it’ is. Well, Cartwright?”

  “It is in fact a bolt pistol, commonly used in slaughterhouses, for the humane killing of cattle. Let me explain. A captive bolt pistol or gun is a device for stunning animals prior to slaughter. The purpose is to inflict a forceful strike on the forehead using a bolt to induce unconsciousness. The bolt may or may not destroy part of the brain. This bolt consists of a heavy rod made of non-rusting alloys such as stainless steel. It’s held in position inside the barrel of the stunner by means of rubber washers. The bolt is not usually visible in a stunner which is in good condition. It is actuated by a trigger pull and is propelled forward by compressed air, or by the discharge of a blank round ignited by a firing pin. After striking a shallow but forceful blow on the forehead of the animal, spring tension causes the bolt to recoil back into the barrel. The captive bolt pistol was invented in 1903 by a certain Dr Hugo Heiss, who was a former director of a slaughterhouse in Staubing, Germany.”

  “Thanks for the lecture, but can you tell if this one uses a blank round? I can’t see a compressed air source on the scan.”

  Cartwright nodded. “It doesn’t have the compressed air coupling. That’s why I suspect a blank round could be employed to detonate something. Of course, we won’t know until the box is opened, and I agree with DI Jones here…”

  They turned around to see Jones, his fingers unable to stem the flow of vomit cascading to the floor.”

  “Queasy are we?” muttered Prentice. “Get to the toilet and clean yourself up Jones, I’ll call the disposal squad. Can you hang around with me Cartwright, at least until they get here? I doubt that I could recite your lecture to them, verbatim I mean.”

  “Trying to get rid of me now DCI Prentice? No chance.”

  Chapter 9

  Michael, Olivia, Martha, and Prentice had all failed to reach Tom by phone. As if by some telepathic force, Michael was almost despairingly driven to Smithfield Market. His mother had often taken the boys there to see their dad, and to pick up a bargain. At such a young age, the place enthralled them. Michael’s enduring memory was one of pieces of an organic jigsaw, hanging on hooks, being moved on trolleys, or even being sawn into smaller portions. The concoction of olfactory bombardment oscillated from slightly rancid protein to waves of roasted coffee beans. He caught sight of Tom, talking to some of Ernie’s old friends, presumably telling them of his passing. As he got closer, he was quite surprised by the good humour in which Tom was seemingly suspended. The talk was all to do with those early days, family outings to Margate by coach, boat trips on the Thames, and particularly the infrequent but neighbourly street parties.

  Michael tapped Tom on the shoulder and was greeted with a tearful smile, and recognition by his father’s mates. They visited a few more of them before discussing the inevitable funeral. “Apparently, according to the hospice staff, the Old Bill have been trying to reach you all day. Maybe there’s been some developments.”

  “I switched my phone off Michael, it seemed appropriate, especially as I wasn’t here at the end, well at least Dad didn’t know I was. I know you’ve been a rock for him since mother died, and I’ve always been missing. I didn’t need to be missing, I just thought I did. You must think I’m a selfish twat, always have been. Murphy’s Law isn’t it? I’m actually on the verge of coming back to live here. Too late again to do any good though. Could you put up with me sharing the flat? And by the way, it ain’t purely out of guilt, but I’d like to cover all of the funeral costs. You’ve done more than your bit bro, and I owe him big time. Think it over please, don’t decide now, just you and me need to know. Anyway, you’re right, I have to get back up north, hopefully for the last time. If you don’t want me in the flat, I’d understand, but I am coming back for the funeral, and that’s goodbye to the northeast forever. Can you keep me posted about the arrangements?”

  “Sure, but you have to go and find your kid Tom, he can’t help himself. He needs you more than he needs anyone else. Dad understood why you had to spend so much time with Kieron, we both did, and he knew the rest of it, we weren’t supposed to be part of the Radford clan. That’s what really hurt him. Listen, I’ll have to check with the funeral service as to whether it has to be held until after the Christmas period. Nobody is supposed to die so sodding close to Christmas Eve. Now go on, get your skinny arse to the airport, and let me know about Kieron, Ok?”

  They hugged, and Tom felt he’d begun to shed a huge invisible burden. His stomach churned repeatedly, but he couldn’t seem to look back. He’d made a vow.

  *

  Gladstone took a call and immediately went on the hunt for Olivia. She was with her mother. “At last I have some better news for you. Peter’s condition appears to be stabilising. I don’t need to go into specifics with you Olivia, but suffice it to say he’s in better shape than he was yesterday.”

  She opened her mouth but didn’t get the chance to ask. “No, you shouldn’t see him just yet, but rest assured I’m keeping watch on him, and as soon as I feel we can allow the IC staff a decent break, I’ll let you know. If he was heading the other way I would be telling you to go and see him and prepare for the worst. Please trust my judgement for a little while longer.”

  She smiled, knowing her mother was a factor in this. She wouldn’t want to be excluded, and there was a worry that she could unwittingly bump into the plethora of equipment to which Peter was hitched. Inwardly, Olivia also feared what she might see herself, at this time a little distance was a kind of shield against confronting another situation outside her control. It would have been totally different if she had carried out the surgery.

  *

  The disposal squad simply advised a controlled explosion to neutralise any threat from the package. Prentice wasn’t happy about that. “I asked you guys to come here and recommend how we could open the box with minimum risk. Surely you have equipment which can tell us more about the contents than Cartwright’s hand scanner. I want to know whether this package was intended to harm Olivia Radford-Wickham. Her son’s life is at stake but it’s possible that she’s the real target. You haven’t said why you think we should simply destroy the package. Think about it again please.”

  The commander of the squad wasn’t one for backtracking, but one of the operatives pulled him to one side. After a few minutes of animated whispering and gesticulation, agreement was reached. As was often the case, money was at the root of decision-making. The Commander was persuaded to take the package back to base, place it in a steel box with three-inch thick walls, explosive vents, and robot arm access to the interior. The operative had emphasised that if it had been his son who was missing, and he’d received the package he would want to know if it involved some kind of ransom demand. In addition, controlled neutralisation sometimes contained evidence that the object in question was harmless. That was precisely why the ‘blast box’ had been developed. The operative made the point that he wouldn’t want to be the man who screwed up, indirectly causing the boy’s death, all because of endorsing a quick fix to comply with cost-saving targets.

  Prentice was relieved, asked if Cartwright could attend the blast box operation, and felt his phone vibrate. He saw the name ‘Tom’ on the screen and declared that he needed to take the call. Cartwright was delighted that he might learn something more about the stun gun.

  *

  “Inspector, sorry I ain’t called you before now. I’ve spoken to Olivia and she told me you’re a bit pissed about that. She also warned me that there was some progress with other stuff, but nothing about Kieron. What’s going on?”

  “Where are you?”

  “I’m just boarding the flight back, why?”

  “You should’ve kept your word and checked in with me. The local TV appeal will be broadcast shortly, so you’ll probably miss it. Other than that I want to speak with you face-to-face. I’ve told Olivia that it’s looking like
ly that your son was taken. So, you, the parents, need to be available to me twenty-four seven from now on. No going AWOL again. There is some stuff from forensics and an eyewitness account that I need to bring you up to date with, so come straight to the station from the airport. There’ll be a police car waiting for you.”

  “I knew it, I knew some bastard had snatched my boy. Olivia didn’t mention this when I spoke to her a few minutes ago. This all sounds a bit draconian, your manner seems to have changed, what’s it you’re not saying? There’s a fucking elephant in the room wouldn’t you say? It’s me ain’t it?”

  “Don’t make things worse for yourself Tom, just calm down, get back here and I’ll explain everything. We all have to change gear if this is an abduction, and that includes you. So far, there hasn’t been any contact about ransom, Olivia has been checking your home phone for new messages, so that should be good news. Are you hearing me?”

  “Yeah, yeah, would you have expected some contact by now if Kieron has been abducted?”

  “Depends on the reason for taking him. Now you’re beginning to see why we need to pursue other lines of inquiry. Enough said, just get on the bloody plane.”

  Prentice had alerted the London airport police, to check the manifest and confirm Tom had taken his seat. If he had tried to skip the flight, he’d be detained.

  *

  The appeal was watched by all three detectives, sitting together in a pub, blending in, observing. They each had their own take on how it would stir up public response. Olivia came across as succinct, focussed, but still tearful. Jones thought she was brilliant, Martha thought she was too much surgeon and not enough mother. Prentice thought it had been slightly edited to fit time slot constraints. The punters within earshot seemed to direct their empathy to the lovely little boy, to whom life had already delivered a serious challenge. Prentice was hopeful that this accent would drive people to care enough to phone in and ask what they could do to help, even if the next day was the Eve of Christmas.