Mike Fowler was like a cat, waiting to pounce the moment Gray sat down. He dropped a file in front of Gray.
“French police have responded,” said Fowler, almost purring, leaning over Gray’s desk. “We’ve got a name for our mystery man. Adnan Khoury. And they’ve identified the other corpses too.”
“That was remarkably fast,” said Gray, taken aback. “Clearly, for once, they weren’t on strike.”
“Seems not.” Fowler, in his enthusiasm, missed the joke. Gray had to admit to himself it was a lame one anyway.
Hamson joined them, greeting Gray. She sat on the corner of the desk, one leg swinging. “Something to go on, at last,” she said. “How did it go at the hospital?”
Gray updated them with brief details from the post mortem and his subsequent conversation with Natalie about Rachel’s altercation with Khoury.
“He’s still in town then,” said Hamson.
“So it seems. Interesting that rather than running away from his pursuers, Khoury went after them with a knife.”
“Yes.”
Gray opened the file.
“Don’t expect much,” said Fowler. He and Hamson left Gray to it.
Gray started up his PC. There would be emails waiting, reports to file, the usual stuff. But his interest was in the French information. Even though Fowler had prepared him, Gray was disappointed by the scant data.
There was barely a page for each, comprising names, photos, country of origin. The other two appeared to be named Najjar and Shadid, all were from Syria. Najjar was the stabbing victim. An addendum stated that the French police believed there was a high probability that the names were false identities. And there were fingerprints for each of them.
There was no chance of obtaining records from their apparent homeland — Syria was more concerned with civil war and unrest than law and order. The only credible data was their temporary location in Calais (now out of date, of course) and the crimes they’d been accused of committing on French soil — robbery and indecent assault.
All had been residents in the area on the edge of Calais called the Jungle. A mix of temporary and semi-permanent accommodation where refugees, mainly men, sheltered while trying to cross into Britain — whose welfare system, the apparent wealth of employment, and its liberal attitude made it a magnet for migrants.
The Jungle had been a constant source of tension between the UK and France and was rarely out of the news. The Calais residents hated it too. Travel through the area to the ports became harder and harder. Night time was particularly hazardous with trucks and cars regularly stopped and boarded. About a year ago, the French finally had enough and shut the Jungle down and dispersed the refugees. It wasn’t clear where they were supposed to have been sent.
At the back of the report was a final page stating the details for a contact in the Calais police, Inspector Jacques Morel. Sounded like a mushroom to Gray. He thought about what Carslake had told him yesterday. Tom had been seen on the way through Dover to Calais. Maybe Morel could help here as well?
Two birds, one stone. Gray picked up the phone and tapped in the numbers. Someone had even helpfully provided the international dialling code. The connection was made and the single tone vibrated in Gray’s ear.
“Oui?” A woman’s voice. Then an intelligible rattle of vowels and consonants Gray was unable to decipher.
Gray asked for Morel, adding a s’il vous plait at the end.
The woman switched to accented English. “Who is calling?”
“Sergeant Gray, with Kent Police in the UK.” The two police forces spoke a lot, particularly the coastal divisions.
“He is not here right now.”
“When will he be back?”
“Sorry, I do not know. Would you like to leave a message?”
Gray sighed, left his details, said au revoir and, frustrated, ended the call.
“Unable to reach Morel?” said Fowler.
“Yes.”
“Join the club. Neither could I or Yvonne.”
Gray had an idea. The witness to Tom’s disappearance was a few miles outside the Dover ferry port. Carslake had said he’d arrange for Gray to see them so he could combine that with a trip to France.
A couple of minutes on his desktop showed him the Calais police station was in the town centre and that there were plenty of tickets available on the Dover ferry. The sooner he went, the sooner he could be in Dover.
He entered his credit card details. A mouse click confirmed he’d bought a ticket which would be sent to him electronically.
Minutes later, he found Hamson at the murder board in the incident room. The section had been updated to include Khoury’s name and details.
“I called Morel,” said Gray. “I couldn’t reach him.”
“Surprise, surprise.”
“I think I should go over there, see the inspector for myself.”
“You’ve got be joking, Sol. No free holiday for you.”
“We need to know what we’re dealing with. The dossier gives us nothing other than a name.”
Hamson paused, thinking about it. “I don’t disagree, but we’re short on manpower right now, and I’m not convinced you’ll learn much more anyway. Everything French police had was on those pages. So, it’s a no. I need you here, helping with the case.”
“There’s other stuff going on, Von.” Gray could feel his anger growing. He was fighting to keep his voice even.
“Ma’am or boss please, Sergeant. And it’s still a no.”
“I’ll talk to Carslake if I have to.”
“Go ahead. I doubt he’ll be any more willing than me.”
“Okay.”
“Seriously?” Hamson appeared ready to say something else but gritted her teeth instead. Gray left the incident room, Hamson trailing just behind. He went upstairs, walked straight past Sylvia, knocked on Carslake’s door, and entered without waiting. The room was dominated by a large window overlooking the North Sea. Carslake was seated at his desk, silhouetted by the back lighting. He was talking on his mobile. He frowned at the intrusion. Gray stood before his desk, Hamson beside him, her arms crossed. Carslake ended the call and put his mobile down.
“Bloody wait for me to say you can come in next time, Sol,” said Carslake.
“I want to go to Calais to see the French police about Khoury, the missing man.”
“I know who he is. DI Hamson has been keeping me up to date. Why?”
“The information we have from them is useless. I’m sure knowing more will help us track him down.”
Hamson stepped in. “Sir, this is a waste of time. I’ve already refused DS Gray’s request because the loss in time travelling to and from France versus the potential benefit is minimal. Having his focus here is the best use for him.”
“Sounds perfectly reasonable to me. So why are we having this conversation?”
“Because DI Hamson said I could take it up with you,” said Gray. “And here I am, taking it up with you.”
Carslake sighed. He waved for Gray and Hamson to be seated. “Go on, Sol. Tell me why I should override a senior officer’s order.”
“Because she’s wrong.” Hamson sucked in a breath. Gray could feel her anger, but he ignored her; there were bigger issues at stake. Tom issues. “Tom went through Calais, and I want to meet the witness.”
“Ten years ago, Sol. The trail is cold.”
“I have to try, Jeff. You told me I could meet the witness.” Frustration was now creeping in. Why wouldn’t either of them understand?
“What’s going on?” asked Hamson.
“Somebody saw Tom being taken on a ferry to France.”
Carslake stood up and stared out the window. Gray struggled to keep quiet, to let Carslake consider.
Eventually Carslake said, “It’s a no to France.”
“I’ve already booked a ticket on the first ferry crossing tomorrow morning!”
“Then you’ll have to get a refund!” Carslake sat down. “Look, I know you’re disappointed but Yvonne is correct. You’re best used here.”
“This is bullshit, Jeff!”
“You forget who you’re talking to, DS Gray.”
The atmosphere was brittle. Gray realised he’d gone too far, though he wouldn’t be apologising. “What about the witness?” he said. “I have to see him.”
“I’ve already said I’ll arrange it. Now get out of here, both of you.”
Dismissed, Gray left the office, Hamson on his heels. She stopped him at the top of the stairs.
“I fully appreciate how important Tom is to you. But why don’t you try working with me rather than attempting to steamroller your way through whatever obstacle’s in front?”
“Yes ma’am.”
Hamson stared at Gray for a few moments before she spun on her heel and headed back to Carslake’s office.
Gray would be going to France, and he would be seeing the witness.