Fallen Angel (22 page)

Collins walked down the corridor towards Woods with Blackwell's words ringing in her ears: ‘It's going to be impossible for him to get away.'

She knew that up to this point, everything Jenkins had done had been planned down to the very last detail. He wouldn't have overlooked the most important part: the collection of the money. Something didn't add up.

And all at once Collins realized that there was a truth in those words that even Blackwell himself had failed to see. It
was
going to be impossible for Jenkins to get away, and it always had been. In the Daniel Eliot case there had been a massive team assigned to watch and track the money. If Jenkins had gone within half a mile of the drop zone, he would have been spotted immediately.

This time it was going to be even more difficult. Jenkins knew only too well that there was no way he could get near the money without being caught. And that was the point that they had all missed.

She looked at Woods, who shrugged in response to the look of confusion on her face. Collins quickly turned and began to run back towards Room 3000, reaching the door just as Blackwell stepped out.

‘You're being set up again,' said Collins. ‘He's not in it for the money. I'd be surprised if he even calls.'

‘What are you talking about?'

‘He's going to kill Michael Dawney, if he hasn't already.'

‘How can you possibly say that? Of course it's about the money. It's obviously about the money. That's why the first ransom was so small, that's why Daniel Eliot was killed. He wanted to make sure that we took him seriously. He wanted to make sure the parents didn't hesitate when it came to handing over the cash.'

‘But,
sir
,' she said, emphasizing the formal title, ‘it's like you said, it's impossible for him to collect it without being caught.'

‘But that's because he's underestimated our response times, our ability to follow the cash once it's been handed over –'

‘He hasn't underestimated anything else so far. In fact he's always been one step ahead. What makes you so certain that he's going to fall behind now?'

Blackwell paused for a few moments, considering the point before dismissing it out of hand. ‘You're wrong. He's just called. And he wants you to do the drop-off.'

‘What?' She looked confused. ‘Why me? That doesn't make any sense.' Blackwell's news had completely thrown her.

‘What you're suggesting, Collins, doesn't make sense. Why ask for a ransom if he has no intention of collecting it?'

‘He's playing a sick game with Peter Dawney. He's trying to break him in every way – emotionally and financially. In a nutshell, and excuse my language, but Jenkins is fucking with Dawney's head. He wants him to think that there's still a chance that Michael is going to be found alive. But there isn't. Please, sir,' she said, pausing to
compose herself, ‘I know we've had our differences in the past, but we have to get beyond them.'

‘Okay. Let's say you're right about this. What are you saying I should do?'

‘Call his bluff. Don't play the game. Just grab him the minute we see him and get him to tell us where Michael is.'

Blackwell shook his head. ‘When he collects the money, he'll call with the whereabouts of Michael Dawney. This isn't like the last time. We're talking about £3 million. No one is going to be able to resist that kind of cash. I believe your man is going to turn up for it. I've been dealing with kidnaps for over seven years. I know what I'm doing. We're going to catch him at all costs.'

‘Even if that cost is the life of Michael Dawney?'

‘That's not going to happen, Collins. Apart from Daniel Eliot, we've never lost a victim.'

‘You're more concerned with saving your own reputation than with saving that boy's life,' Collins hissed. ‘You're saving your arse. By handing over the full ransom, you know that if he then kills the boy, no one can blame you for the death of either Michael or Daniel.'

Blackwell said nothing. He didn't need to. The guilt was written all over his face.

‘No price on a child's life, eh? It's just not true, is it?' continued Collins. ‘Your career is worth much more to you.'

Anger rose up from within Blackwell. ‘You're bang out of order, Collins. I've served in the force for nearly thirty years. I'm gonna make sure that you're reprimanded for your conduct towards me and your fellow officers, and for your blatant disregard for procedure on this case.'

Collins just glared at the DCI. He took a deep breath and sighed as he turned and keyed the entry code on the pad beside the door. ‘Right now the only thing I'm concerned about is the money-drop. So you'd better come in.'

It was like a miniature version of NASA's mission control.

A screen the size of a small cinema covered the far-end wall. Collins saw that it was filled with a mixture of CCTV images and GPS map coordinates from Temple underground station and the surrounding area.

The room was a hive of activity. Between her and the screen were three tiered platforms, each containing four interlocking desks filled with a bank of computers. Each desk had an operator.

To her right a group of officers was scanning banknotes in order to record the serial numbers before stacking them into a large black wheeled duffel bag.

Blackwell led Collins to a spacious single booth on her left. ‘This is the command post where I'll be based throughout the operation.'

Collins nodded a greeting at the supervisor sitting in the booth, who politely nodded back.

‘You'll be using my phone, and we'll be able to listen in to everything that's said. It's being modified at the moment, so it'll work even if it's switched off.'

Collins raised an eyebrow.

‘We can do some pretty clever things here.' He glanced at the supervisor and smiled. ‘Most of which I'm not even allowed to talk to you about. All you need to know is that we can listen in on any phone call in the UK.'

‘Don't you need a warrant for that?'

‘Technically yes, which is why the room is closed off. Nothing we hear can be used as evidence, but in a kidnapping case it can give us a real edge. We'll be able to hear everything, and we'll know exactly where you are from the phone's signal. Also, we're plugged into the CCTV centre at Piccadilly, and there'll be undercover teams on the ground following close behind.'

‘If he sees them, he's going to kill Michael.' ‘He won't. Not even you're going to see them.' As Blackwell continued to explain how the operation was going to be run, Collins could not help but think that it was all a massive waste of time. If she was right, then Michael was in more danger than any of them realized, because if they produced every last penny of the ransom, Duncan Jenkins was not going to be anywhere near the drop-off. He wouldn't be going to get the money; he'd be too busy killing an innocent child.

Everyone in the Dawney house had spent the morning waiting for the kidnapper to call, only to learn that he had telephoned Scotland Yard direct and provided them with the details of the drop-off.

Peter had gone to his study, but Alice chose to remain in the living room. The revelation that her husband had fathered an illegitimate child, and that that child had been Daniel Eliot, was an extra burden she found impossible to cope with. She kept her distance from him, knowing that as soon as Michael was safely home, it would be just the two of them.

When Peter heard a knock at his door, he hoped that it was Alice, coming to check on him. Instead he found himself face to face with a police officer.

‘Sir, there's a young lady at the door and she needs to speak to you urgently.'

‘You've got to be kidding. At a time like this? I don't want to see anyone. Are they from the press?'

‘No, sir, not from the press. She said her name was Martha. Martha Day.'

It took a moment for a flicker of recognition to cross Peter's face. ‘My secretary?'

‘That's what she said, sir.'

‘You'd better let her in.'

Peter walked into the hallway as Martha entered; he
embraced her warmly. Martha's dark hair was neatly tied back, and she wore a plain grey skirt and white blouse. She looked round nervously at the bustling members of the police team, then back at Peter, barely managing to force a smile.

‘Martha,' said Peter in a low voice, ‘I appreciate the sentiment, but this really isn't the best –'

‘Peter, they wouldn't let me in, couldn't get past the cordon. The police are holding back so many journalists. But it's important, Peter. I'd never have come around at a time like this if it wasn't. But it's also' – she whispered the next word into his ear – ‘private.'

‘But the money-drop is supposed to take place in less than half an hour.'

‘Please, Peter,' said Martha, her eyes becoming moist with emotion. ‘It's really important.'

Peter stared hard at Martha, trying to work out what on earth could take precedence over the current situation, then pointed the way to his study. ‘Come on in.'

Once they were alone, Martha shut the door, pulled a small silver phone out of her pocket and handed it to him. ‘I had a phone call a few minutes ago. On my mobile. The man said he would call back in ten minutes and speak only to you. I think it's something to do with … Michael,' she said hesitantly, looking terrified. ‘He said not to tell the police, not to talk to anyone except you, otherwise he'd kill him. He said he was an old friend.'

It was clever. Very clever. Every one of Peter's phones and all of those belonging to members of his immediate family had been bugged and linked up to the call-tracing system back at Scotland Yard. But no one had thought to
tap the phone of his secretary. It was as close to a secure line as the kidnapper could get.

And at that very moment the phone in Peter's hand began to vibrate softly and flash. The name on the screen said simply WITHHELD.

‘Martha,' he said quietly, ‘make sure nobody comes in.'

The secretary moved to the door as Peter hit the answer button and put it to his ear in one swift movement. ‘Hello? Hello!'

The voice on the other end was calm, thoughtful. Steady. ‘Hello, Peter. It's been a long, long time.'

‘Duncan. Where's my son, you animal? Where's my son, you sick fucking bastard?'

The only response was silence, and Peter soon realized his mistake. Duncan was the one with all the power. He had his son and had already proved his willingness to kill in the most brutal manner possible. The last thing Peter wanted to do was piss him off even more.

Peter took a deep breath before speaking again. ‘Look, I'm sorry. The police have got your money. Every last penny of it. You can take it. It's yours.'

The sound of a snigger. ‘That's better, Peter. That's much better. I think you should be nice to me. Much nicer than you were when we were young. You wouldn't want me to ruin your life the way you ruined mine.'

‘It was an accident. You know it was an accident. How can you hold a grudge after so many years? How can you do such horrible things to innocent children?'

‘How can I? How could you? I was an innocent child once. But you robbed me of that innocence. You ensured I would live a life of misery and loneliness. You took
absolutely everything from me and kept it all for yourself.'

‘I'm sorry, I was just a kid.'

Peter heard Duncan breathing slowly. ‘Tell me, was it hard to get the money?'

The question threw him for a moment. ‘Of course! My God, nobody has that kind of cash available at such short notice. I've had to beg, borrow and steal, call in every favour and pull every string you can possibly imagine. I don't know how I'm ever going to sort out the mess it's put me in. But none of that matters. The only thing that matters is getting my little boy back safely. Please, Duncan, I'm begging you, please don't hurt my little boy. Please don't hurt my little boy.'

Another snigger. ‘Begging now, are we? That's good, Peter. That's very good. Now you listen to me and listen well. I'm going to do something for you. I'm going to give you the chance to save your son. I'm going to tell you exactly where he is. But there are conditions. You have to find a way to leave the house without the police knowing.'

‘But they need me here. How on earth can I slip out at a time like this? They'll notice I've gone right away …'

‘You'll find a way. You'll have to; otherwise Michael dies.'

‘Okay, okay, I'll think of something. Just don't hurt my son, please don't hurt him.'

‘Stop repeating yourself. It's getting boring. Shut up and listen.'

Peter took a deep breath and fought to control his emotions. ‘What do you want me to do?'

Five minutes later Peter Dawney told the police officers
that he needed some fresh air and headed out into the back garden alone. When he was sure no one was watching, he ran through the gate and into the woods, then down the steep hill to where Martha was waiting for him in her car, the boot already open so he could climb in. Once he was inside, she slammed it shut, got behind the wheel and immediately sped off.

DI Collins sat down on the wooden bench in the corner of the small park and glanced at her watch. Just five minutes to go before the drop-off was due to take place.

It was another scorching day, and the park was busy with city workers sunning themselves during their lunch breaks. With one hand she tightly held the large black duffel bag at her side; with the other, she gripped Blackwell's mobile. All she could do now was wait for Jenkins to call.

She scanned the area around her to see if she could spot anyone from the back-up team, but if they were there, they had blended into the crowd perfectly. That made her feel comfortable. If she could not spot them, then neither could Jenkins.

She made sure she didn't move her head as she spoke into the microphone attached to her lapel. ‘I'm in position,' she whispered, while constantly looking all around her. ‘Do you have a visual?'

‘Yes,' came the reply through her earpiece.

She had butterflies in her stomach. She didn't want to be right about Duncan Jenkins. She wanted to hand over the money and get Michael Dawney back home safely. She began to doubt herself. Perhaps Blackwell was right after all. Why would Jenkins be going to all this trouble over the ransom if he didn't intend to collect it?

Her thoughts drifted to her daughter, and how distraught she had been when Sophie had gone missing overnight. She knew now more than ever that she must find a way to restore the bond between mother and daughter.

Her mind was still drifting when the phone in her hand began to vibrate. She pressed it against her ear. ‘Hello?' she said cautiously.

‘You're Detective Inspector Stacey Collins, aren't you?' said the voice.

‘And that's Duncan Jenkins, isn't it?'

There was a pause. ‘Very clever. I knew you would find out who I was once I'd taken Michael.'

‘You're not doing this for the money, are you?'

He didn't answer.

‘I know what all this is really about. I know what you're playing at.'

‘Actually, Stacey, I don't think you know very much of anything at all.'

‘Well …'

‘How's that little girl of yours? Sophie, isn't it? What's it like to have her back home? You must have been out of your mind when she went missing. There are a lot of bad people out there.'

Collins was speechless. She had expected to be the one with the upper hand, having found out his identity. Instead she was dumbstruck and immediately on the defensive. ‘How the hell do you know about my daughter?'

‘Forget about that. Do as I say and don't interrupt me; otherwise I'll hang up and Michael will die.'

There was a pause; then: ‘I want you to empty your
pockets, your handbag and everything else. I want to see you take out your purse, your warrant card, your keys and any other items, including your earpiece and radio. There's a rubbish bin opposite the station entrance. Throw everything in there. Keep nothing but the duffel bag and the mobile phone.'

Silently, Collins got up and walked across the park to the bin – her eyes flitting about nervously, wondering just how close Jenkins was – and did what she was told.

‘Good,' said the voice when she had finished. ‘Now I want you to turn right and start walking up the street to your left towards the Strand. From there I want you to turn left and head towards Trafalgar Square. You're being watched every step of the way. I'll call you back to provide further instructions.'

Collins paused, waiting for Jenkins to speak again. But the line was dead.

Back at the control room, the image of DI Collins walking towards the Strand filled half of the large screen.

‘Are all the cameras along the route to Trafalgar Square ready?' asked Blackwell.

‘We're just lining up the last couple now,' Dixon replied. ‘Should only be a few more seconds. Do you want me to get someone to collect her items out of the bin?'

‘Get someone to keep an eye on it, but don't move in yet.'

Both men watched the screen as images of Collins from many different angles divided the other half of the screen. Some of the operators were busy scanning other cameras for signs of suspicious activity. All had a copy of the
photograph of Duncan Jenkins on their desks. Other operators wore headphones and listened in on phone traffic, trying to pinpoint Jenkins's location.

Five members of the SO10 undercover team were also following Collins. One was dressed in the tattered and torn clothes of a homeless man, the others in more conventional attire.

‘Sir, don't you wonder about the psychology of it, what's driving him to do this?' asked Dixon, his eyes focused on the screen in front of him. ‘I mean, why does he inflict so much pain on these children?'

Blackwell shrugged. ‘I don't know, but you're beginning to sound like DI Collins. She had some hare-brained theory about this not having anything to do with the money.'

‘Could she be right?'

Blackwell gave the junior officer a hard stare. ‘Listen, his motives don't change a thing about the way we're going to catch the bastard. All that psychobabble is just a bunch of crap. This man hurts kids because he wants money. Lots of money. And that's his one big weakness. If he wants to get his hands on it, he's going to have to come out to get it, and that's going to put him right in the middle of my trap.'

Blackwell held out the flat palm of his right hand, then snapped his fingers together into a fist. ‘And just like that, we'll have him.'