Before It's Too Late (22 page)

“Well, get back here,” she interrupted. “Now. Reilly needs your help.”

The line went dead. Another kidnapping. Another student from the college.

Jackman recalled Janus’ words, ‘Reilly needs your help.’ What did that mean? There was no reason for Reilly to be involved. Surely he was tied up with the new leads on the Readman case?

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.”

“What about the drop location? Was that changed again at the last minute?”

Keane scratched his chin. “Doesn’t seem so. I asked the father if the people that made the drop saw anything, but he said the location was too open. They were afraid to hang around in case the kidnapper might see them and be scared off.”

It was a risky move to keep the drop location the same as in the ransom note. If Mr Cheung had contacted the authorities they could have staked out the place, or watched from a distance. Jackman thought back to his conversation with Ken yesterday. How suspicious the Chinese were of their own authorities, how they preferred to police themselves wherever possible. “So, we have two students taken from the same college. Same method of contact, both ransoms met and nobody released. Where are they? Did they know each other?”

“Could be a love pact they cooked up to enable them to elope?” Russell said.

Jackman considered this. “At least that gives them more chance of still being alive.”

“I’ve already sent a request to the Embassy for information on the family,” Russell said, “although I’m not holding my breath. If past experience is anything to go on, we’ll hear back by the end of next week.”

“Have you tried International Liaison?” Jackman said. “They might be able to help us speed things up a bit. They don’t have a presence for China, but they might still have a desk for Hong Kong. If not, they might have some old files or contacts. See what you can find out. We need to know if the parents’ businesses are linked in any way. And see what you can dig up on the Cheung family.”

“Any news on tracing Min’s uncle?” Janus asked.

“He’s very elusive,” Jackman said. “We know he’s still around the Chinese Quarter. He was spotted in the supermarket a few days ago, and he’s been in the casino. We’re still working on it.”

Jackman thanked his team and glanced around the room as they retreated to their desks. His eyes landed on Reilly who was stood at the back beside the window. He’d been conspicuous in his silence during the briefing. Jackman was just wondering why Janus had brought him in when he felt a presence beside him and turned to see her staring up at him.

“Will, I… ”

“We need to decide how to handle the media with this one,” he interrupted. “Take it national. That way we can appeal for witnesses at the drop locations.”

“Sir?”

Jackman looked across to see Russell calling him. “Excuse me,” he said, but Janus caught his arm as he moved forward.

“Meet me in the conference room in ten minutes,” she said, then walked out of the room.