‘Clear,’ came the response, echoed by an identical response from the officer at the other end of the alley.
‘Follow me,’ she said quietly.
Sandie set off along the path, her footsteps making barely a sound on the cobbles, listening in her headset for any warnings. The two CSIs followed, almost as silent as she was, staying close to the hedges at the side of the path.
They made their way softly down the alley, keeping to the side closest to the houses. The only sound was water trickling from a broken gutter onto the paving slabs, masking the patter of rain.
As she reached a side gate, already standing open, a voice came through Sandie’s headset, fast and low.
‘Dog walker approaching from the east. Two minutes till he reaches you.’
Sandie stood back and urgently waved her arm low and close to her body, indicating to the two CSIs that they should head into the house without delay. Heads down, they speeded up. They weren’t so quiet now as fabric rubbed on fabric and feet splashed in puddles. The officers followed, crouching low. Sandie slipped through the door behind them and turned to close it silently.
‘We’re in,’ she muttered into her headset. ‘Let DCI Douglas know, please.’
As gently as she could, she turned the key to lock the door behind them.
Safely inside, Sandie checked that all the curtains downstairs were carefully closed with no gaps.
‘The lights have been on since the victim left the house, and anyone watching will think someone’s been home the whole time. So it’s fine to switch lights on wherever you need to,’ she told Jumbo. ‘I’ve left the curtains in the front bedroom open so I can watch the street, but all the others are closed.’
‘We’ll start in the hall,’ Jumbo said. ‘DCI Douglas is keen that we pay particular attention to Rajavi’s study too, and we need to check the living room, where I believe the so-called social worker and the third man went. Let’s hope one of the bastards has dandruff. We’ll keep you up to speed with how things are going.’
Sandie nodded. She had positioned one of her men at each door, but they would get good warning from the outside team, should anyone approach the house. At the moment all was quiet. It seemed unlikely that the kidnappers would return to the house, but they could be watching, so discretion was everything. They were all aware of what could happen to hostages when kidnappers discovered the police were involved.
Her greatest concern was the house opposite. It was the only property that had a direct line of sight to this one, and she didn’t like that. She stood in the shadows of the master bedroom, well back from any borrowed light from the street-lamps, watching to see whether there was any activity in the house, their one vulnerable spot.
From everything she had been told, the kidnappers seemed highly organised and it was unlikely that they would leave the Rajavi house unwatched if they were planning to issue a ransom demand. Sandie’s team had discovered no evidence to suggest there were any eyes on the house, and no cameras – other than theirs – hidden in the bushes. That only left one option: the house across the road. She knew the owner was a single woman – Tessa O’Hanlon – living alone and therefore vulnerable, but for now everything over there seemed quiet.
She stood and watched. And she waited.
Lights were still on downstairs in the O’Hanlon house, but the front room upstairs – presumably a bedroom – remained unlit, the curtains not yet drawn in spite of the fact that it was after midnight.
She could hear Jumbo and his partner moving around downstairs, but she wasn’t worried about the noise and was confident that no one could see in.
Sandie stiffened. Someone was moving in the bedroom across the road. She caught a glimpse of something light – clothing, perhaps – and she waited, keeping to the gloom at the back of Jo’s bedroom.
The light patch was moving towards the window. She pulled out her monocular and pressed it against her right eye. In spite of being told that the woman lived alone, she was in no doubt that there was a man in the bedroom, and he was doing nothing – just watching. She expected to see a hand reach out to draw the curtains, but she didn’t.
The man was close to the glass and she could see that both hands were thrust deep into his trouser pockets. He was staring, apparently transfixed, at this house. At this window. If she hadn’t known better, she would have thought he was looking directly at her.
Without moving the hand holding her monocular, she pulled out her radio. DCI Douglas needed to know about this.
21
Tom’s eyes had been glued to the monitors showing Jo’s home since Jumbo and his colleague had disappeared inside. The dog walker had gone, and now everything was quiet. He could do nothing but wait until Sandie or Jumbo had some news.
Becky was staring at the whiteboard where photos of all those involved were displayed, and Tom walked across to join her. Images of Steven Allman and Darius Rajavi – Ashraf’s father – had been grabbed from the Internet. Allman had messy blond hair and designer stubble. Rajavi senior looked like an older, rather arrogant version of his son.
‘This has been so well executed,’ Becky said, ‘but I’ve still got no idea what’s going on.’
Tom looked at her frown, which reflected his own thoughts. It had been a sophisticated operation, and the team who had turned up at the house were certainly not your regular Manchester thugs.
Tom tapped his finger on Darius Rajavi’s image. ‘Given that we still have to take precautions in the event that this is a kidnap, Keith’s checking on this guy to see if he’s wealthy – not so easy as he lives in the UAE.’
‘Is anyone else in a position to pay a ransom?’ Becky asked. ‘Jo says Steve Allman has money, so should we be considering him as a potential victim, as well as a suspect?’
‘Possibly. Either way, we need to find him. And quickly.’
‘We’re on it. I’ll check where we’re up to in a few minutes. But if it’s a kidnap, why hasn’t there been a ransom demand?’
Tom didn’t answer. He didn’t want to voice his darkest fear – that somehow the kidnapper’s plans had gone awry and there might never be a ransom demand. And that could mean the hostages would never be seen again.
There was something more sinister than normal about this crime. Had it been just the child who was taken, he would have expected a ransom demand to her parents. Without one, he would have assumed an abduction – potentially a much worse fate for Millie. Abducted children were normally plucked from the street, although Tom had to acknowledge that he wouldn’t fancy anyone’s chances of stealing Millie from under Jo’s nose. He guessed she would be a warrior when it came to defending her child. But as the girl had been taken from the house, could they conclude that this complex plan had been devised because they wanted this child, and this child only? And had Ash been taken because it was the only way they could get to her?
But why? Why Millie?
Or had the whole thing been engineered by Ash – faking his own arrest so that he could take the child he loved?
Tom could feel Becky’s eyes on him.
‘I don’t know what you’re thinking, Tom, but your face says it’s not good. I still fancy Allman for this.’