Connie was out when I let myself into the flat. She had left a note saying she had gone shopping with Steve Harrison (I had made sure she had sufficient funds to re-equip herself with clothes) and as it was late-night shopping she wouldn’t be back for some time. So I twiddled my thumbs for a while and made a couple of telephone calls. Eventually I took myself off in the direction of Bilston – a small town on the outskirts of Wolverhampton.
The house I was heading for was situated in the heart of the Caribbean district, and the man I wanted to speak with was a native of that part of the world. I was lucky; I’d already checked that Henry was at home that evening.
“Unexpected pleasure, Sergeant,” he grinned at me when he opened the door. “Is this a social call?”
“Piss off, Henry,” I grinned back at him. Henry was the local fixer – a black, five foot six piece of dynamite, bursting with energy. If ever you wanted anything, either hardware or information, he was the man to see. He was also something of an outrageous character, with his bright, colourful clothes, eccentric mannerisms and exaggerated West Indian accent. And he had the whitest set of teeth I think I had ever seen – something he was constantly displaying. What was not commonly known about Henry was that he held an honours degree in electronics from Wolverhampton Technical College. Had he pursued a worthwhile career, by now there is no doubt he would have been a senior executive with one of the computer companies. But Henry preferred his own way of making a living; he insisted it was less boring!
I followed him into the house and along a darkened hallway into a dimly lit lounge. He appeared to be alone in the house, which suited my purposes. Beckoning to one of the lounge chairs, he asked, “So, how can I be of service to me favourite policewoman?”
“I’m the only policewoman you know, Henry, so you can cut the bullshit. I want something from you.”
“Well now, why I am not surprised? Are you calling in old favours, Sarge?”
“You’re damned right I am. What I am after is a tracer, but one with an extended range. Does such a thing exist?”
“You mean like a personal ‘bug’?”
“You’ve got it.”
He scratched his chin thoughtfully. “It depends whether you want it on a vehicle or on someone’s body. Now, a car be no problem, ‘cos you can carry the receiver in your own vehicle. But a long-range transmitter on a person is quite another t’ing. I’d have to think about that, Missy Crossley. When are you needing it?”
“Yesterday, Henry. That’s how long you get to think about it. And for a person, not a vehicle. Can it be done or not?”
This time he played with his Rastafarian locks for a few minutes, and then rolled his eyes as if he had just emerged from the jungle and was glimpsing civilisation for the first time. “Anything’s possible, I suppose,” he continued. “But there ain’t nothing available like that on the market, right now. I got to modify something for you. It won’t be easy.”
“I realise that, Henry. That’s why I’m here. When can you get it done for me?”
“Fuck me, Sarge; you wanna miracle? ‘As quick as I can’ is the answer. Is that soon enough?”
“Tomorrow, Henry, dear Henry. I’ll call by late afternoon tomorrow. Don’t let me down, will you? This is very important.”
“And very illegal,” he commented, with yet another of his wide grins. He held his hands out defensively as I made a move towards him. “Joke, Sarge; just my lickle joke. I’ll do me best for you, I promise. You come on by tomorrow; I’ll have somethin’ for you.”
* * * * * * * * * *
In fact, my visit to Henry had not been entirely prompted by the DCS’s dictates about Connie; it was something I had given thought to for some time, in particular my concern at the paedophile’s ability to penetrate the police screens almost at will. I was worried he might go for Connie by way of another abduction, probably when we least expected it. What I needed from Henry was a device that, in the event Connie was snatched, she would be wearing that would assist me in tracing her over an extended distance. I just prayed that Henry could produce the results.
When I let myself into the flat, Connie was already there with Pauline Wilkins. So was Jim, which surprised me; I didn’t expect we would have a full complement after today’s instructions. Not surprisingly, Jim looked absolutely exhausted; he could hardly keep his eyes open.
“I’ve arranged for Pauline to spend the night here with Connie - purely as a friend,” he informed me. “But from tomorrow you and I are on our own; I’ve put Connie in the picture, so we all know what we’ve got to do.”
“Thank you, Jim,” I said, genuinely meaning it. “Has the DCS left?”
“Has he hell! He intends to stay put for the duration to make sure we don’t fuck up any more. From now on he handles all press statements and interviews, and he insists on overseeing our progression of the case. It’s going to be like having Dracula permanently on our shoulders. You’re okay, though, Ange; you’re well out of it. But I still expect you to keep involved, even if it’s only at the end of the telephone.
“Now, if you don’t mind, ladies, I’m going to bed before I collapse. And if the phone rings, Ange – don’t answer it.” He pointed towards Pauline. “And that goes for you too, young lady; none of you are supposed to be here.”
“Night, Jim.”
I made sure all the doors were locked and bolted, the CCTV Cameras were functioning as they should be, then quickly followed him, feeling a little guilty about depriving him of the master bedroom. But I was whacked myself, so I left Connie and Pauline to their own devices.