Chapter 74

Tim cursed his luck as the plane touched down at Gatwick. At some point when it was flying over Eastern Europe, for a reason not adequately explained by the captain’s announcement, it had been diverted to the other airport. The passengers had been advised to collect their luggage and catch the bus. Dog tired and desperate to get home, Tim had queued dispiritedly for a voucher to cover the cost of the bus ticket, incensed by the airline’s smug assumption that such largesse offered adequate recompense for ‘any inconvenience’.

Having obtained the ticket and a bus timetable, he established that the next bus wouldn’t arrive for another fifty minutes. This would seem like an eternity if he just hung around, so despite his weariness he headed for the nearest W.H. Smith, thinking that he might as well make good use of the time by buying a couple of newspapers and reading the press accounts of the search for Margie Pocklington.

At the newsagent’s, he joined, with a very bad grace, yet another queue. Belatedly, he realised that he was probably dehydrated and scanned the shelves on either side of the queue to see if he would be able to reach for a bottle of water without losing his place. He spotted a wire basket of bottled water near to the cash desk and his spirits lifted a little.

The queue shuffled forward. As Tim moved along, his eye fell randomly on a ‘true crime’ magazine. He had nothing but contempt for such publications: the accounts of the cases they covered were anything but ‘true’, and invariably painted the police officers involved as blackly as possible. Descendants of the Victorian ‘penny dreadful’, they shrieked sensationalism. This one was no exception: on its cover was the luridly tinted silhouette of a woman’s body hanging from a gibbet.

Tim looked again. He must have exclaimed aloud, because the woman standing ahead of him in the queue turned round and glared.

“I’m sorry,” he said. “I just saw something I recognised.”

The woman raised her eyebrows and faced forward again. Tim seized the magazine and scrutinised the picture. There could be no doubt: it was the same disturbing outline that he’d seen in the upstairs window of the house in Ilford. Had he been suffering from some kind of psychotic episode or was there a simpler explanation? He opened the magazine and began to read avidly.

“Move along,” muttered a voice behind him.

“Sorry,” Tim said. He was nearly at the checkout desk now. He closed the magazine and added it to his pile of newspapers, just remembering to grab a bottle of water before it was his turn to pay.

Once outside the shop, he hurriedly found a bench where he’d be able to read the magazine in relative comfort. He’d just sat down when his mobile rang. He was surprised to see Derry Hacker’s number flashing up on the screen.

“Derry? I didn’t expect to hear from you today.”

“I’ve just been talking to Superintendent Thornton. He said he thought you’d be back in the UK later this afternoon. I take it you’re here already. Are you at Heathrow?”

“No. I was supposed to be, but the plane was diverted to Gatwick. I’m waiting for the bloody bus to take me to Heathrow.”

Derry chuckled briefly before becoming businesslike again.

“I reckon I can save you from that bus. I think I’ve got enough information to bust the Khans. I’ve had permission to deploy an armed officer unit and I’m waiting for them to arrive. Then we’re going to arrest the Khans at the hotel they run. Do you want to come?”

“What? I guess I’d love to at any other time, but I have to put my own case first. That’s why I’ve come back from India early: to join the search for Margie Pocklington.”

Derry’s voice when it came again was grave.

“I think we may have found her. That’s why I called you. We think she’s being held prisoner by the Khans.”

“Why would you think that?”

“A tip-off. Probably from the guy you told us about, Peter Prance. And we’re pretty certain we have CCTV footage of him with Margie, too.”

“I’ll be with you as soon as I can get out of here.”

“Stay put. I’ll send a car for you. I’ll give them your mobile number, get them to call you when they’re ten minutes away.”