“So then, Ricky Thomas. . .”
PC Ian Shaw burst into the briefing room slightly out of breath, spilling coffee from his polystyrene cup on to himself in the process. A crowd of people – a mixture of uniformed officers and plain-clothed detectives – were seated on chairs and perched on desks in an informal semicircle. The scene looked more like a sixth-form classroom than the heart of a massive police operation. At the front of the room, the Superintendent stood next to a whiteboard covered in various photographs. He was clearly in the middle of a speech, and stopped pointedly as Shaw entered the room. Shaw cursed himself under his breath. If only he hadn’t made that blasted coffee! The Super didn’t tend to forget things like that.
“Sorry, guv,” he mumbled.
The Super glared at him.
Feeling everyone staring at him, Shaw shuffled red-faced through the ranks of officers to the back of the room. Even the aroma of stale cigarette smoke and sweat couldn’t mask the sense of anticipation in the air. Every policeman in the room knew that this could be the case that made their career. One lucky break, one discovery, one arrest: that would be all it would take. There was more than enough media attention surrounding the case to guarantee promotions for those who did well. Even on a dreary Tuesday morning, there was a gaggle of reporters and photographers gathered around the entrance of the police station. PC Shaw watched them from the window, chatting away on their mobiles under brightly-coloured umbrellas, and wondered what he would look like on television.
“Now that everyone’s bothered to turn up. . .” said the Super. Shaw winced. “As I was saying, we’re in a bit of a fix here, ladies and gentlemen. We need a quick result, or believe me, we’re all going to get it in the neck.” He took a biro from his top pocket and tapped the first photograph. “This unfortunate young man is thirteen-year-old Ricky Thomas. He travels down to London on a school trip. In the middle of Trafalgar Square he wanders off. No one has seen him since. Broad daylight in one of the most popular tourist destinations in the country, and no one sees a thing.”
PC Shaw took a sip from his coffee. It was scalding hot. With a great effort he managed not to yelp out loud, but his coughs and splutters still made the Super shake his head in disbelief. He moved on to the next photo on the whiteboard. “This is the only clue we’ve got, for all the good it’s done for us.”
Shaw leaned in closer, struggling to make the photo out.
“It was taken by a young Japanese woman at the scene. Now, she was in Trafalgar Square at the same time that Ricky disappeared, but she doesn’t remember seeing him. However, if you look in the bottom corner of the photo, he’s there.”
It was definitely Ricky. He was scurrying towards the steps that led out of the square. His face was pale and there was a hunted look in his eyes. There were people all around him, but no one was taking any notice of him.
“The lad’s clearly terrified. It looks like someone’s after him. Could be bullies from his school. Could be something much worse than that. The thing I want you to think about is this – why doesn’t he ask for help?”
The Super paused, and then referred to a sheet of paper.
“And last night we came across a bad traffic accident on Upper Thames Street that had ripped the passenger seat door right off a car. The driver says it was done by a man who was chasing after the son of a friend of hers: a fourteen-year-old called Jonathan Starling. So far we haven’t been able to track down the kid, but he’s got a history of truancy as long as your arm, so be careful not to make any assumptions. We’re checking it out to see if there are any links, but our witness is flaky to say the very least.”
Seemingly upset by the unfairness of it all, the Super sighed. These really were unusual incidents. With most child abductions there was usually a host of witnesses clamouring to give statements, especially in public places. Parents and teachers tended to keep an eye on anything looking suspicious involving children. Not this time, though.
“So, to conclude: we’re in a right mess. We’ve got two suspected abductions, neither of which we can be absolutely sure are actual kidnappings. They’re also linked by the fact that a) both lads are roughly the same age, and b) there are no leads at all. We have to change b) in the next couple of days. The press are screaming for us to get a result, and saying that heads should roll if we don’t. They have a nasty habit of getting their way, so keep your eyes and ears open for anything that might get our investigation going. It could be the smallest thing. The first thing I’m going to do is split you all into teams and send you back to the crime scenes. There’s got to be something there, people!”
At that moment a young female officer stuck her head round the door. “Sorry, sir. Someone wants to speak to you. Says it’s important.”
The Super threw his hands up in exasperation and left the room. Noting the dark coffee stain on his tie, PC Shaw slipped out after him, and headed to the toilet to splash some water on to it. He had finished dabbing at the stain, and had just nipped into a cubicle, when he heard two men entering the toilet. They were arguing, and with a jolt PC Shaw recognized the Super’s voice.
“You’re damn right we’re going to talk about it here!” he roared. “This is a bloody disgrace!”
“If you insist,” a voice replied delicately. “There’s not a great deal to talk about, though. The Chief’s asked me to take over operational responsibilities for the case. You’ll stand down. That’s it.”
“And has the Chief been kind enough to explain his reasons for this change?”
“With all due respect, I wouldn’t have thought he’d need to. Two disappearances in two days, and you don’t have a single clue to go on.”
“That’s because there are no clues to go on,” retorted the Super. “I can’t make things exist that aren’t there. But with a bit of good old-fashioned police work, we’ll turn something up. I know it!”
“Personally, I’ve never been much of a fan of old-fashioned things.” There was a note of amusement in the other man’s voice. “It is the twenty-first century, you know.”
“That’s why you’re perfect to lead the Special Investigations Unit. No appreciation for proper police work. Spend all your time mucking around on the internet and hobnobbing with the top brass. None of the coppers in this nick trust you, you know.”
“I don’t need them to trust me. I only need them to do what I say. I think my results speak for themselves. I’m not sure that the Biloxi Brothers would have been banged up with just ‘old-fashioned police work’.”
“Everyone knows there was something fishy about that case,” hissed the Super. “Don’t think that we don’t know what happened there.”
“What exactly are you saying?” The amusement had abruptly disappeared from the man’s voice. “That sounds remarkably like an accusation. A man in your position should be more careful about what he says, don’t you think?”
The Super said nothing.
“Now, do you think we could go and tell your men about the situation? Or would you like me to personally deliver your letter of resignation to the Chief?”
“This isn’t over.”
“You’re quite right. It’s just beginning.”
The two men left the toilet. PC Shaw got up and hurriedly buckled up his trousers. He shouldn’t have heard any of that. Whatever was going on, it was pretty serious. The Super had never sounded that rattled before. He rushed out of the cubicle and back towards the briefing room, only to find himself late for the second time that morning. This time, the Super couldn’t even be bothered to glare at him. Standing beside him was a sharply-dressed blonde man wearing a pair of sunglasses.
“Right, listen up! The Chief’s demanded some operational changes. He’s brought in the Special Investigations Unit to work alongside us.” He nodded at the blonde man. “Carter Roberts, the head of the SIU, will now be heading up the case.”
There was a murmur in the room. The SIU was an elite crime-fighting unit which had gained a fearsome reputation in the past couple of years. Big-name criminals, big-name busts. The capture of the Biloxi Brothers, three siblings who had been terrorizing South London for decades, had been a real feather in their cap. If it was difficult to like them personally, their results demanded respect.
Carter Roberts stepped in front of the Super and addressed the room. “Thank you, Superintendent. I realize that this is a bit sudden but I’m sure that we’ll work things out quickly enough.” He gave a dazzling smile. “Oh, just one more thing, Superintendent. I’m going to need one of your men to personally assist me while I work on the case.”
The room automatically stiffened to attention.
“Is there anyone in particular that you had in mind?”
Carter Roberts smiled and said, “I haven’t worked with anyone here before, but I have been given one recommendation.” He flicked through a spiral-bound notepad. “Ah, yes. I’ll take PC Shaw, if you don’t mind.”
The Super gaped at him. “Well, of course . . . I mean, anything that you need if . . . you know . . . if you’re sure that you want him.”
“Absolutely.”
PC Shaw gulped. Wherever the SIU went, danger followed hot on their heels. He was going to be close to the action, all right.