Snatched From Home: What Would You Do To Save Your Children? (DI Harry Evans Book 1) (22 page)

Evans was struggling to contain his feeling of excitement. At last, a decent case had come his way. If his career was going to end, then he wanted it to end on a high, and rescuing kidnapped children would be the highest of highs. Solving Armstrong’s murder had been good, but most of the credit would and should go to the lab technicians who had analysed all the samples.

It wouldn’t be easy though, he and the team had just thirty hours before the deadline. While he didn’t believe the kidnappers’ claim they had a police informant, he was experienced enough to know that it could and did happen. Naive fools took a few quid to share information or look the other way. After they had done it once, the second and third times became easier. Savvier criminals took pictures of the exchanges and used blackmail to turn the screw ever deeper into the bent coppers.

As he entered the office, he noticed that Lauren’s mobile was ringing, the screen registering Campbell’s name. Wondering what the man wanted, he answered the call.

‘What do you want, Jock?… We’ve got the pub thieves, but it’s more complicated than you think… They were doing it to raise a kidnap ransom… What about your wife and bairn?… Well, if you’re sure, an extra pair of hands won’t go amiss. Be here in fifteen minutes as we have to go search the house.’

After disconnecting, Evans looked at the phone. There were five missed calls from Campbell.

Bhaki entered the office as Evans was instructing Chisholm to keep the news of the kidnapping off the system and within the team.

Evans fished his car keys from a pocket and passed them to Bhaki. ‘Go and fill it up for me will you. I have a feeling I’m gonna cover a lot of miles in the next few hours.’

Heading downstairs again he met Lauren.

‘Go home and get changed into something more appropriate, lass. It’s one thing flashing yourself to criminals but I’m not having you dressed like that when talking to folk who’ve had to watch their daughter in those videos.’

‘I’ve only got short skirts, guv.’

‘You must have a pair of trousers or jeans even.’

‘No. Only skirts and dresses. And they are all above the knee.’

Evans raised a questioning eyebrow, unable to believe that she only ever wore short skirts or dresses. Thinking about it, he realised he’d never seen her wear anything else.

‘I’ve got nice legs and if I show them off then there’s a better chance of getting someone between them.’

‘You’re a right little slapper, aren’t you?’

‘I prefer the term sexually liberated, guv, but I’m not gonna split hairs.’

‘Here.’ Evans held out a twenty-pound note. ‘Nip to Asda and get a pair of trousers and a blouse that hides your tits. If you can’t do that, go home. I’ll have you transferred off my team in the morning.’

Leaving Lauren standing mouth agape, Evans consulted the admissions file and went to Nicholas’s cell.

‘Where did you run up the gambling debt, Nicholas?’ Evans was struggling not to punch the stricken man.

The contempt he felt towards Nicholas bubbled through his veins. He was self-aware enough to keep his distance from the man, in case the wrong answer fell on his ears and caused him to lash out.

‘I asked where you ran up the gambling debt, Nicholas. I want an answer and I want it fast. Your children’s lives may depend on it.’

‘Blackpool.’

‘Where in Blackpool?’

‘Aces High Casino.’

‘Whereabouts is that located then?’

‘Opposite the Pleasure Beach.’

‘You got a membership card or something?’

Nicholas handed over a piece of plastic with his name and the casino’s logo embossed on the front.

‘Is it the casino you owe the money, too?’

He nodded and then hung his head, overcome with more tears and protestations of how sorry he was.

Evans returned to the office and spent ten minutes in conversation with Chisholm and Bhaki until Campbell arrived.

Satisfied Chisholm could and would do his bidding, he instructed Bhaki to take Lauren’s place on the stakeout that night and report for work at lunchtime the next day.

‘Are you sure, sir? Isn’t the kidnapping more important?’

‘’Course it is, lad, but the brass’ll want to know why, if we don’t show face. Then we’d have to tell them about the kidnapping and maybe put those kids at risk.’

And we’ll be forced to hand over the last good case I’m likely to be involved in.

‘What have you learned about the website, Jabba?’

‘Nothing good, I’m afraid. The site was built using free online software that could be accessed from any laptop or computer. The IP address of the source material belongs to a laptop registered as stolen.’

‘You must be able to track it back.’

‘I could. But not in time. I’m sorry, guv.’

Evans felt a pang of sympathy for Chisholm. He knew the computer geek would hate being unable to give him the answers he needed.

‘What about the contact form?’

‘Another dead end. The message goes to a Gmail address. The account was set up from the laptop a week ago and hasn’t been accessed since. I reckon they’ve linked the Gmail address to a smartphone, but I don’t have a way of tracing it.’

Evans scowled, before grunting at Chisholm to trace the number plate of the van the kidnappers had used. He doubted they had used one they owned themselves, but if he’d learned anything about criminals during his years of policing, it was that the majority of them were stupid.

‘Put the word out that I need to speak to Tommy and Terry. Mebbe they can shed some light on things.’

With aching fingers, Samantha kept drawing the broken piece of disc along the plaster. This groove was the harder to do than the first two, as she had to stretch above her head to reach it. She closed her eyes to the falling plaster dust, working by feel alone. Time and again she gouged a track into the soft plaster until her makeshift tool broke through and found the supporting lath. By sliding the sliver between the plaster and lath, she managed to pry loose a section above the groove.

Now she had a makeshift ladder of grooves carved out of the bedroom wall, which would now allow her to start work on the ceiling. When she had first broken through the lattice framework, she’d hoped she would be able to cut her way straight through the wall into another room. Praying for a possible easier method of escape, her probing fingers had found only the thick stone walls of the old farmhouse.

The door into the room was recessed back into the wall so she knew that she’d be unable to get through that way either. The bathroom was tiled floor to ceiling with ancient ceramic tiles and offered no soft surface to exploit. With a tender care Samantha climbed up the grooves she’d cut. Her bare feet and soft hands were scratched from the rough timber and coarse plaster of the wall. At any moment she expected the door to swing open and hit her back or the fragile supports she’d created to give way. Reaching up, Samantha began to attack the ceiling. Luck was on her side: the ceiling plaster was much softer than the wall’s. After five minutes scratching she had created a hole large enough for her to feed a hand through.

Hearing movement outside the room, she returned to ground level, scooped up the towels she’d been using as dustsheets and threw them into the bathroom.

Footsteps thudded around but the door never opened.

The stairs creaking as someone descended. Samantha retrieved the towels from the bathroom and prepared for another assault on the ceiling. She wanted to wrap the towels around her feet as they were bloody from the rough steps she created, but the need to leave no trace if they were surprised was more important than her own comfort. Gritting her teeth against the pain she resumed her attack on the ceiling. Slipping her hand through, she groped around, trying to determine where the ceiling supports were, so she didn’t waste time making a hole beneath them. She located a joist with her fingertips, then used the disc shard to mark out the area she needed to work on. Samantha pulled down on the laths supporting the ceiling, which helped to speed up her progress.

After ten minutes of pulling and gouging, she had created a gap large enough for her body to pass through. The cold air blowing down caused her to shiver, but she paid no heed to the change in temperature or the musty smell accompanying the draft. Her hands were scratched and bloody and they itched from contact with the loft insulation she’d had to keep pulling free. Reaching as high as possible, Samantha tried to grasp the top of a joist. Her fingertips found one, but she couldn’t get a firm grip. She was too low.

Instead of despairing, she folded the towels over and deposited the detritus from the ceiling into the bathroom. Then, summoning her strength, she went back to the wall and started to cut out an extra step to allow her to climber higher.

Campbell was back with the team, leaving Sarah at the hospital to recover from the effects of the caesarean section. The midwifes and nurses had sent him home, telling him to get some rest as he would be needed to look after both mother and baby when they returned from hospital. However, upon hearing of the kidnapping he’d offered his services without hesitation. He disagreed with Evans’s insistence that only the team should be in the know and had listened aghast when Evans outlined his plan. The idea he was pitching was preposterous. It flouted dozens of protocols and if the brass got a sniff of it then it could end all their careers.

‘No way am I getting mixed up in that. It’s madness.’

Evan’s had sneered at his protestations. ‘Just listen to me, will you? You know what’ll happen if we report this. A SOCA team will be sent from Manchester. They’ll bring a dozen officers and will be as subtle as a terrorist attack. Within an hour of their arrival, the kidnappers will know they’re involved. What do you think will happen then?’

It was a good point. Campbell would give him that. SOCA would turn up with their Enterprise vehicle. A ‘red centre’ would be established and they’d be sidelined from the investigation.

‘It’s too risky. Even if your plan works, which I doubt it will, there’ll be hell to pay when the brass find out. We’ll be lucky to stay out of jail, let alone keep our jobs. It’s all right for you. You’re retiring after tomorrow. I have a long career in front of me.’

‘I don’t give a shit about your career. All I care about is saving those kids. I’ll take any rap going and tell the brass it was my idea.’ Evans’s voice was unexpectedly pleading. ‘We’re the only chance those kids have. Without us, they’re doomed. If SOCA waltz in with their hostage negotiators, they’ll just frighten the kidnappers off. The kids will be killed and their bodies dumped. I don’t want that on my conscience. Do you?’

‘It’s illegal, immoral and a long shot at best.

‘True. But it’s the only shot we’ve got. You’re a father now. How far would you go to save Alan?’

Campbell winced at Evans’s use of his son as a bargaining tool. The simple answer was that he’d do anything for his son. Take any risk to protect him.

‘That’s a low blow.’

‘Well?’

‘Are you sure Chisholm won’t get caught?’

‘Positive. He can get into places you can’t begin to imagine. Raising the ransom will be a walk in the park for him.’

Weighing up the options and hearing Evans’s repeated insistence that he’d bear the brunt of any fallout, Campbell made his decision. If Evans managed to save the kids, then he’d get some of the glory. If not, they’d at least have given it their best shot and he could lay all the blame on Evans.

‘I’m in, provided that no shit sticks to me. I’ve got Alan and Sarah to think about.’

*    *    *

When they reached the Foulkes’s home on Park End Road, Evans took Victoria’s keys from his pocket and unlocked the door. The house was neat and tidy as Evans had instructed the search team to make as little mess as possible. This wasn’t some drug dealer’s house where they were ripping everything apart. This was a middle-class home, thus both the house and its owners were treated with more respect. The house was a large semi, with a steep roof cut around gabled dormer windows. The outer walls were rough-cut white sandstone, with keystone, lintels and sills of pink sandstone.

The lack of electrical goods in the house amazed Campbell. The house didn’t have a TV, DVD player or a stereo in any room. Empty spaces and indented carpets spoke of recent furniture removal. Remarking on it to Evans, he learned that the Foulkes’s had sold everything of saleable value in an attempt to raise money.

Checking the attic, he saw an area where the dust had been disturbed. He lifted the loft insulation. There was nothing but the plasterboard of the ceiling below.

‘Is it there?’ Evans’s voice carried up from below.

‘No. They must have found it.’

‘I’ll give them a call. Buggers should have been in touch wi’ me though. What’s the point of searching a property if you don’t report what you’ve found?’

‘You better phone Chisholm as well. Call him off.’

‘The fuck you talking about? I’m not gonna call him off. I’m gonna tell him to adjust the amount he needs to collect. The numbers are irrelevant as far as I’m concerned.’

*    *    *

Evans piloted the BMW along the A66 and down the M6 above his usual excessive rate of knots. Taking the M55 towards the seaside town of Blackpool, they discussed their planned approach. Evans was to cause a distraction so Campbell could install a remote programme on one of their computers. Once the software was uploaded, Chisholm would be able to access the casino’s network. Campbell knew that he’d have to guide Evans safely between his own renegade methods and correct procedure. He didn’t fancy his chances of success though.

Parking at the South Shore car park, they walked across to the casino. The salty tang of sea air was carried by the evening breeze which threw tiny droplets of rain at them. They paid the admission fee, entered the casino floor and looked around. The casino was similar to the ones Campbell had been in, in Glasgow. There was a main floor with roulette tables, blackjack tables and various other small-stakes games. There were the ubiquitous slot machines lining every available inch of wall space. Two bouncers flanked a doorway below a flickering neon sign advertising a VIP suite where higher-stakes games would take place. The atmosphere was charged with nervous excitement tinged with desperation. The patrons all seemed intent on their gambling. The odd glance was thrown towards the waitresses dressed in showgirl costumes cut to show a lot of leg and generous amounts of cleavage.

Painting a smile of wonderment on his face, he looked up and spun through 360 degrees. He counted twenty obvious cameras and knew that there would be at least as many again. Evans nudged his arm and nodded towards a door marked private. There was a keypad to the left hand side of the door. Pretending to be choosing between the various gaming tables, Campbell waited until a waitress went through the door and memorised the access code she typed in.

When she returned, he gave Evans a wink and watched as the older man sat down at a blackjack table at the opposite side of the room. After a few minutes of gaming, he saw Evans summon a waitress. When the girl approached him with a smile, Evans leapt to his feet. Even from across the room, Campbell could hear Evans’s words as he pretended to recognise the waitress as his daughter. Bouncers moved in towards Evans as he tried to haul the girl along by her wrist. Evans was demanding that the manager be called to explain why the girl he
knew
was his daughter was there.

One of the bouncers pulled a walkie-talkie from his pocket and put it to his mouth. Seconds later a well-dressed woman emerged from the door marked private. That was his cue. Campbell hit send on his mobile to alert Chisholm and typed the number into the keypad. He walked through the door, expecting to be stopped at any moment. Following a bland corridor, which held none of the cheap furnishings the public areas sported, Campbell found an open door. He slipped inside. In front of him was a desk with a PC and all the usual desk accoutrements; beyond them, the walls were lined with file laden shelves.

Campbell jiggled the mouse to see if the computer was active. When the screen came to life he sent a blank email to Chisholm who replied within seconds. There was an attachment with his reply. Campbell opened the attachment and watched as the screen went black for a microsecond before returning to the mail service. Closing the mail service down, Campbell exited the room and returned to the main room without incident. He couldn’t believe the ease with which he’d breached the casino’s security.

Campbell scanned the room for Evans and not finding him, he checked his phone and saw that there was a text from the older man.

Thrown out. In pub across road. If safe stay put. Keep me posted
.

Ordering a bottle of beer from a waitress, Campbell took up station at a blackjack table which allowed him to keep an eye on the door he’d been through. He had been playing the game with minimum bets for less than ten minutes when he saw Evans approaching the entrance. As the bouncers moved to eject him a second time, he flashed his warrant card and walked across to join Campbell.

‘That fucking bastard lied to us. According to Jabba, he’s nearly a grand in credit with the casino.’

‘Why would he do that?’

‘Fuck knows. But I’m gonna use his guts as a washing line for wasting our time and endangering his kids like this.’

‘Now what do we do?’

‘We go and talk to the manager. See what he has to say about the lying prick.’

Campbell approached one of the bouncers, asking to speak to the manager. Again a walkie-talkie was used to summon the well-dressed woman. She was frowning to see Evans again and the expression did nothing to improve her looks.

‘You again.’ The woman’s thick Liverpudlian accent grated on Campbell’s ears and he struggled to make out what she was saying.

‘DI Evans and DI Campbell. We’ve a few questions for you, Miss…’

‘Hughes. And it’s Mrs.’ She brandished her left hand to emphasise the point. ‘Will I need my lawyer present?’

‘Not at all. We just need some help with our enquiries.’ Campbell took the lead as Mrs Hughes watched Evans with evident suspicion.

‘OK then. Come with me.’

They followed her to a quiet spot at the bar. Taking up station on a stool, Evans reached for a handful of the salt-coated nibbles on offer, while Campbell began the questioning.

‘Do you have many VIP members?’

‘I’m not at liberty to give specifics. All I can tell you is that we currently have between two and three hundred members. We cap membership at three fifty so the casino doesn’t become overcrowded. If customers want to bet on sport, they can do it via our secure website.’

‘How much is it to join?’

‘It is two thousand pounds to join and one thousand pounds a year after that.’

‘How often does Nicholas Foulkes come here?’

‘I will handle that question, thank you, Rachel.’ Unnoticed a suave man in his mid-fifties had arrived behind them. Dressed in an expensive three-piece suit, he looked every inch the successful businessman. Campbell guessed he was the real power behind the casino, and that Mrs Hughes was his daughter, employed so he could maintain control over her. He walked towards the two detectives, right hand extended and introduced himself. ‘Gerry Potter. If you would like to come through to my office, I will help you in any way I can.’

Potter’s office was both grandiose and functional. There was an ego wall featuring pictures of him with various Liverpool footballing legends. There were two different mayors, along with people Campbell supposed were local dignitaries.

Gesturing at the two seats on the opposite side of his desk, Potter settled into his own chair. ‘I am afraid my daughter can be very protective of our little empire. Our customers are often influential people and we pride ourselves on our discretion. However, we understand that there are occasions when we are required to be more forthcoming. I feel it would be a dereliction of duty to not help you wherever possible. To summarise, tell me what you want to know and I’ll answer any questions you have to the best of my ability.’

‘You have a member called Nicholas Foulkes.’ Campbell ignored the man’s evident love of his own voice. ‘We want to know everything you can tell me about his gambling and specifically how much money he owes you.’

Potter consulted his computer for a couple of minutes, before a printer click-clacked into life and spat forth five pages of headed paper. ‘I am breeching client confidentiality by giving this information to you, detectives. However in consideration of the circumstances, I am of the opinion that I would be guilty of neglecting of my morality code were I not to facilitate your request with the utmost expediency.’

He sounds like the love child of a thesaurus and a dictionary.

‘You what?’

‘He said he’ll help us, you imbecile. D’you not understand the Queen’s English?’ Evans took the offered sheets and moved his arm back and forth until the top sheet was in focus.

‘That is correct, detective. If you look at his account history you will see that he is very lucky when selecting horses, but whenever he comes in to play cards he loses all the money he has amassed.’

‘That’s fishier than a North Sea trawler. No way can he win on the horses and lose at cards. There’s got to be a con somewhere.’

‘Detective, I resent the insinuation that my establishment would engage in confidence tricks with our customers. We merely provide comfortable amenities where our clients may fulfil their desire to take a financial risk. The very suggestion that either I or my staff are obtaining money from customers by unfair means is abhorrent to me.’

‘It’s transparently obvious to the appreciative observer that there is a serious anomaly in the finances displayed here.’ Campbell bit his lip as Evans played Potter at his own linguistic game. Looking up from Foulkes’s account statements Evans locked eyes with the man. ‘Pursuant to our investigations, Mr Potter, our mandate is crystalline in its opacity. We have authorisation to procure a warrant to impound the previous and incumbent year’s accounts for your organisation. Our intention is not to cause unnecessary disruption to your business. However, we will be consulting with all of your customers, to seek illumination upon our enquiries. I should imagine those conversations will have a detrimental effect on customer perception of your confidentiality practices. Now will you please tell us what the
fucking
score is, before I have Blackpool’s finest rip your business apart!’