Tom sounded cheerful, as well he might, given the imminent arrival of his and his partner Louisa’s baby. Becky was about to ruin his evening.
‘Sorry, Tom. I know this is probably not such a good time for you, but I thought I should let you know that we’ve got a potential kidnap on our hands, or at least, until we know more then I think that’s what we should assume it is. Everything’s in place, I’m following protocol, and I’ve spoken to Superintendent Stanley. She’s making sure we have people ready and waiting, so no need for you to come out.’
‘Tell me.’
Becky gave Tom all the details she had – such as they were – and he listened quietly.
‘That’s a very unusual MO,’ he said when she’d finished. ‘Fake police? Surely they would realise that at some point the victim would have had to phone us?’
‘Exactly what I thought. Clever, though. Most people wouldn’t question the police too much and wouldn’t doubt that it was all above board. They had at least three hours to get well away by the time Jo Palmer called us and we checked everything out. Perhaps they were planning to contact her as soon as they left to tell her not to report it, but something went wrong.’
‘I don’t like to think about that, or what it might mean. Where are you meeting her?’
‘At the training centre. An officer is picking her up from a hotel in Salford Quays and driving her to us. We can keep her safe there and monitor any calls to her mobile. We need to get a team into her house to check for forensics, but I’ve not worked out how best to do that yet.’
Tom didn’t need reminding that it wouldn’t be appropriate to have a team of CSIs roll up in their white Tyvek suits if the house was being watched, but they did need to collect evidence. None of it was going to be easy.
‘Anyway, I just wanted to keep you up to speed. Any sign of action with Louisa?’
‘Not yet.’
Becky heard a voice in the background, but she couldn’t hear what was being said.
‘Are you sure?’ she heard Tom ask. ‘Louisa says I should join you. She says I’ll be like a cat on hot bricks if I don’t, and I’m not officially on paternity leave yet.’
Tom had been to the funeral of Louisa’s grandfather the day before so was spending a day at home, and Becky felt bad about dragging him out of the house, but he brushed her concerns aside.
‘Louisa’s okay. Her grandad was ninety-three and he’d been suffering for a while. She’s just sorry he couldn’t hang on for a bit longer to meet his great-grandchild. Lucy’s here, so they’ll keep each other company.’
Lucy was Tom’s teenage daughter, and she’d been living with him and Louisa for a few months – initially because her mother, Kate, was having treatment for cancer, but most recently because – with Tom and Lucy’s blessing – Kate had decided to live life to the full and had taken herself off on a prolonged holiday.
‘A round-the-world cruise,’ Tom had told Becky with a shudder a few weeks ago. Being cooped up on a ship – even if the ship was the size of a small village – was his idea of hell, he said. Most people Becky knew would be green with envy.
‘It’s up to you whether you come in or not, Tom – I didn’t call you for that.’
‘I know, as does Louisa. I’ll be there as quickly as I can. Who’s picking her up?’
‘DS Rob Cumba. I don’t think you know him, but I met him on a course a few months ago. He’s a bit hyper – does everything at double speed – but he’s got a kind face and a great smile. And she’s going to need all the reassurance she can get.’
‘You’re right. I’ll see you soon. Hopefully I’ll be there before our victim.’
In a kidnap, those taken were referred to as hostages. The one left behind who was in theory responsible for securing their freedom, was the victim.
Jo Palmer.
11
It takes every ounce of my self-control to keep my head down as I hurry to my car. The urge to look over my shoulder to see if any cars are parked on our quiet road is almost impossible to resist.
Don’t look round, don’t look round.
I mutter the words under my breath as I dash to the far side of the car and press the key to unlock it. I wince as the lights flash their confirmation. Will they come for me? Do they know where I’m going? Will they try to stop me?
I fumble with the door handle, my trembling fingers struggling to grasp the cold shiny metal, but finally I’m in the car, the engine starts, and all I have to do is reverse out of the gates. It’s a tricky driveway with a bend halfway down and decorative stones along each edge. I feel like a learner. The last thing I need is a puncture. I give a little moan of panic but force myself to take it slowly.
The rain has been relentless for the last few days, and the roads are wet and shiny with huge puddles in places where the drains have been unable to cope. The headlights of passing cars strike the sheets of water falling from the sky, creating zigzags of bright light, and I lift a hand to my brow so they don’t dazzle me. I stare too long into the rear-view mirror, wondering if the headlights behind me are from the same car that has tracked me since I left the house. Police or kidnappers? I have no way of knowing.
I have the route planned in my head, but at each junction I question myself. Am I going the right way? Should it be taking this long? Shouldn’t I be there by now? I choke back the sobs. If I cry, I won’t be able to see, and getting there safely is critical.
I take the exit from the final roundabout, and the hotel I’ve been told to come to is in front of me. The car park is busy close to reception, so I have to park at the far end. I turn up the collar of my red raincoat, wrap the bright turquoise scarf tightly around my neck and make a run for it.
The reception area is huge and brightly lit, with sofas and comfortable chairs arranged around low tables. I spin round, peering in all directions, but I don’t know who I’m looking for, and I must look slightly deranged, my eyes wild, frightened.
‘Jo?’
I turn to see a mixed-race man with a shaved head, dressed in jeans and a dark jacket. He’s about Sami’s age, and he gives me a solicitous smile.
I realise I haven’t answered, but he takes one look at my face and touches my arm.
‘My name’s Rob. Come with me.’
We walk quickly side by side, not speaking, towards the back of the hotel. Rob nods at a girl in a dark skirt suit, who punches some numbers into a keypad and pushes open the door. We are in the back of the hotel – the staff-only part. People in uniforms – waiters, chefs, cleaners – are milling around, and we get some curious looks as we push through to the goods-received area, a covered tunnel with empty metal cages on wheels lining each wall – no doubt waiting for tomorrow’s deliveries.
In the space that I guess is normally reserved for lorries sits a dark blue car. Rob ushers me towards it, opening the passenger door for me.
As he climbs in, he turns to me. ‘Are you okay?’
‘No.’
He seems to have half-expected this answer and he gives a brief nod as he starts the engine. ‘Won’t be long. We’ll be there in about fifteen minutes.’