As soon as Sir Ben had rung him to relay Nicola’s message, Tony Evans made some calls of his own. His cab made the perfect office, complemented by his secure phone which he ran through a virtual private network. He kept on the move and always used WhatsApp to call. So long as he didn’t lose the handset, he reckoned he was below most radars. It didn’t bear thinking about if he was wrong.
He and Ben had discussed how they needed to not only flood the streets with drugs and kill off enough of those in treatment to make it appear high risk, but also sap the morale and capabilities of the police to act.
He’d made it appear as though Saturday’s shooting was not the hardest thing to set up, but in fact it nearly hadn’t happened. Knowing that Nathan Challenor was one of the targets, however, had given him extra impetus to find the right sniper. He’d predicted it would create a vacancy for him to fill.
The previous night’s drugs deaths were child’s play. Just accessing some high-strength heroin and getting his men to make it look self-administered was all it took. 141
If he was to meet the conditions of his seven-figure contract, he’d need every ounce of his ingenuity and willing brains and brawn to make the more challenging sabotages pay off. He knew that cutting the police station’s power would only have a temporary effect but by chipping away like that, he’d distract them enough to give him time to rock their foundations. Or at least Chief Superintendent Jo Howe’s foundations. And to get to her, he needed to get to those she loved, or those who did her bidding.
Now was the hiatus that came with a hands-off approach, but which he found the most frustrating of all. He’d given his orders. All he could do was wait.
He pulled away from the Brighton Marina car park and joined the conga of traffic heading up the slope and back into the city, hiding in plain sight as usual. He guessed that one of the reasons Ben had asked him to replace Challenor was his reputation. There were plenty of people out there able to make life a tad uncomfortable for the odd business or who could unearth a scandal or two on a public official, but Tony was the go-to person if you wanted creativity combined with utter brutality.
He wondered how long it would be until he got the call that the job was done. He didn’t doubt that it would be, it was just the waiting that was unbearable.
As the Brighton Aquarium roundabout came into view, the three police cars overtaking him, sirens blaring and lights flashing, together with the helicopter swooping in from the north told him things were happening.
PC Wendy Relf was first on the scene and wished she’d not been. Missing children reports were always chaotic and getting any reliable information was nigh on impossible.
The George IV swimming centre was smack in the middle of town, which meant that access, even on blue lights and sirens, would test the patience of the Dalai Lama. Unlike many police drivers though, Wendy had become hardwired to bully her way through congestion and was 142not averse to flicking the odd finger at any dickhead who didn’t shift themselves.
She ran into the foyer to be greeted by a hysterical woman, wrapped in a peach and yellow beach towel, and half a dozen skinny teenagers whose blue T-shirts proclaimed them as lifeguards even though they were behaving like frightened puppies. One slightly older but no more in control woman in yellow had the word Manager emblazoned on her back.
Wendy headed straight for the frantic woman, who was the boy’s mother, Mrs Spencer.
She took the woman by the shoulders and turned her so she could lock onto her. ‘Listen to me. I know you’re frightened but we’re all looking for him …’
‘Leo. His name’s Leo.’
‘Leo.’ Wendy ventured a smile, to reassure rather than to minimise the gravity of the situation. ‘We need to know what happened and what Leo looks like. Shall we go in here?’ She turned towards an office and guided Mrs Spencer in, gesturing to a soft, high-back chair behind the desk, in which the mother reluctantly sat.
‘Can you get the lady a robe or something? And can you get your lot to do a thorough search of the building?’ Wendy asked the manager, who nodded and left. Turning back, Wendy said, ‘Now, tell me what’s happened.’
Between sniffs, Mrs Spencer managed to explain that she’d brought Leo swimming as she did most Thursday mornings. They’d been there for half an hour, playing in the water and her teaching him to swim a few strokes to the side, when she needed the toilet. She stood Leo outside the cubicle but when she came out he was nowhere to be seen.
‘What happened then?’
‘I-I-I looked for him all over. He never runs away. Oh please find him, don’t let anything happen to him.’
‘Every available officer is looking for him as we speak. The helicopter’s 143up and we’re doing everything we can to find him.’ No promises. That was lesson one in police college.
‘Please, please.’ The woman collapsed forward and her shoulders shook uncontrollably. The wail that came jolted Wendy. She needed to get more information, but there was no consoling this mum. Thankfully the call handler had managed to eke out the basics, enough for a search. How many three-year-old blond boys in Spider-Man swimsuits would be wandering the North Laine, after all? Suddenly, the mother heaved a deep breath. ‘My husband. Is my husband coming?’
‘Er, I don’t think so. I’ll check but I’m not sure we have his details. We can get him if you tell us his number.’
Mrs Spencer glared at her. ‘Luke Spencer. DS Luke Spencer. You work with him don’t you?’
‘One minute.’ Wendy dashed out of the door. She tapped her inspector’s number on her Airwave radio and, thankfully, she answered immediately.
‘Yes, Wendy, have you got an update?’
‘Not as such, ma’am, but did we know this is Luke Spencer’s boy who’s missing?’
‘Christ, no we didn’t. Leave it with me. I’ll restrict the log. Do you want him over there?’
‘Yes please. Unsurprisingly, his wife’s a wreck.’
‘Roger that,’ said the inspector and they both ended the call.
Wendy walked along the corridor and the sirens coming from outside hit her like a wall, in stark contrast to the huddle of lifeguards to her right chatting and gazing at their phones. ‘I thought you were looking for Leo?’
The group looked as surly as her thirteen-year-old brother. The manager ambled round the corner. ‘We’ve got half the police force out looking for this boy. The least you could do is get your shower of shit motivated to do a proper search,’ said Wendy.
‘There’s no need—’
Wendy cut her off with a scowl and fully loaded finger. ‘Just do it.’ 144
Wendy took a breath and stepped back into the office. Mrs Spencer was on the phone.
‘Sorry, Mum, I’ve got to go. No, no, I’ll be OK.’ She put the handset down on the table.
‘Luke’s on his way, Mrs, er, sorry what’s your first name?’
‘Judy.’
‘Judy, Luke’s on his way. Sorry no one made the connection. Now can I get some details from you?’
Wendy tapped away on her mobile data terminal as Judy answered her questions between sobs. Updates chirped through Wendy’s earpiece, but none so far were the good news she was desperate to hear. Judy might not know, but Luke certainly would: the longer a child is missing, the less likelihood of a happy ending.
Suddenly the door burst open, and for a moment Wendy thought she was hallucinating. DS Luke Spencer filled the threshold with a small boy in his arms, enveloped in an oversize suit jacket.
‘Oh my God,’ said Judy as she leapt to her feet, flicking the chair over as she did. In a second, she grabbed Leo from Luke’s arms and squeezed him so tight, Wendy feared for the little boy’s ribs.
‘Where have you been, darling?’ she said, nuzzled in his neck.
‘He was walking up Barrack Yard outside,’ said Luke. ‘Why the hell didn’t anyone see him?’ He wrapped his arms round both mother and child.
Wendy gave the update everyone was waiting for into her radio, then stood back while the touching reunion played out in front of her. As the hug released, Leo said, ‘The lady looked after me.’
Luke and Judy exchanged a look. ‘What lady, darling?’
‘The lady. She’s your friend, Daddy.’
Judy threw Luke an accusatory glance.
‘Leo, darling,’ Judy cut in. ‘How do you know she’s Daddy’s friend?’
‘She told me to give him the picture.’
Wendy was about to take over but Luke’s outstretched arm barred her way through. 145
‘What picture darling?’
Leo fiddled in the pocket of his swimsuit and pulled out a folded photo, handing it over to his dad.
Luke opened it and his face took on the colour of ash.
‘What?’ said Judy, taking hold of Leo again, but Luke handed it over to Wendy.
‘You don’t need to see it,’ he told his wife.
Wendy opened the picture and saw an image clearly focused but almost certainly taken with a zoom lens. Luke was walking out of the police station front door, talking on the phone. Superimposed, smack in the centre of his forehead, was a single bullet hole. Underneath was the text, You have been warned.