She was almost spitting with frustration. She needed to do about twenty things – as did Keith – and they couldn’t pass any of them down the line until they knew who they could trust.
‘While you’re speaking to Superintendent Stanley, I’ll see where we’re up to with tracing the fingerprints in the house,’ Keith said. ‘And I’ll get the telephone records for Rajavi again. We looked at them when he and Millie were first missing, and there was nothing obvious, but that was before we knew about his affair. I’ll cross-check them against any other information we have.’
‘Okay, but I think you should collect what you need and work in here until DCI Douglas is back. And you can get me on my mobile at any time.’
As an acting DI, Keith was the same rank as Becky, but she knew he was in a vulnerable position, appearing to liaise with the team while knowing there was a suspected informant in their midst. She didn’t have time to worry about him, though. She picked up the phone to call Philippa.
To Becky’s surprise, Detective Superintendent Stanley volunteered to come down to Tom’s office.
‘It sounds as if you’ve got a lot on your plate, Becky. I’ve spoken to Tom, and it seems Louisa needs an emergency C-section. She probably won’t be home for a day or two, so Tom’s paternity leave doesn’t have to start yet.’
Only Philippa could see an emergency operation as a blessing, and Becky hoped everything was okay with both Louisa and the baby. Tom must be out of his mind with worry.
Philippa had just walked through the door of Tom’s office when Keith returned with his laptop and files.
‘Ma’am,’ he said, straightening his back. ‘I’m sorry to disturb you.’
‘I imagine you’re here for a reason,’ she replied, her brisk tone causing Keith to flush slightly.
‘DI Robinson suggested I work in here until DCI Douglas returns. And I wanted to update her on the fingerprints and DNA required for elimination.’
‘Carry on then.’
Keith nodded. ‘We have two holes in our information, and both relate to members of the theatre group. A Donald Hoyle, who we understand from Tessa O’Hanlon left on Saturday for some sort of retreat in Nepal, and Shona Brown.’
‘Why can’t we find Shona?’ Becky asked. ‘She was at Jo’s house when I took her home, with a woman called Faye.’
‘That would be Faye Nunn. We found her prints upstairs and on the bannister. They were on the doorknob of the master bedroom too, and a full handprint on the door itself. Almost as if she’d turned the knob and pushed the door open.’
Sinister or just nosy? Becky wondered.
‘Anyway, the only person who has Shona Brown’s address is Donald – who is the theatre group’s membership secretary. And he’s thousands of miles away. We’ve tried calling her on her mobile, but we’re not getting any answer at the moment.’
‘Have you considered that this woman – Shona Brown, you said – might not accept calls from an unknown number?’ Philippa asked. ‘Perhaps you could ask Jo to call her, as she knows her.’
‘I’ll give Jo a ring and ask her to get in touch with her friend,’ Becky said, wishing she had thought of this herself.
‘And I’ll get on to Professional Standards,’ Philippa responded. ‘But a word to you both. If you do discover that someone is passing information and you find out who it is, you must do nothing.’
Keith’s head jerked back slightly as if this was an outrageous suggestion. ‘Shouldn’t we arrest him – or her?’
‘I assume there’s an open line of communication – somehow or other – between the informant and the kidnapper. If that line closes down, we might be putting the child’s life at risk. The kidnapper needs to believe that she – as I understand you now believe it to be a woman – has everything under control and is receiving any and all information.’
This made perfect sense to Becky, but she could see Keith wasn’t comfortable with it.
‘Problem, DI Sims?’ Philippa asked.
‘Information will continue to be passed. How do we prevent that?’
‘We control what our informant knows. When we know who it is, we give them a thrilling task like looking at hours of CCTV that we know will lead nowhere. You are going to have to be inventive, and – above all – plausible. I want to know the minute you have a clue who it might be. Understood?’
‘Yes, ma’am,’ Keith said.
Philippa glanced at Becky.
‘Of course, ma’am.’
Philippa turned and walked out of the room.
74
Ash was struggling. His arms ached from supporting his weight on the crutches, and the pad under his right shoulder had rubbed the skin raw. First he’d had to hop his way to the Lowry, then along the platform to the tram, pushing past football fans heading to the match. They had left the tram at the first stop and were now in a car – not the black Volvo, but a dark red Discovery driven by a young black man with close-cropped hair who didn’t speak to either Ash or Terry as they pulled away from the station. He had clearly been given his instructions and knew exactly where to go.
Terry pulled the scarf from around his neck.
Ash turned to him. ‘Are you taking me to Millie?’
Terry gave a short bark of laughter. ‘Oh, I don’t think she’s going to agree to that. She doesn’t trust you yet. If she did, she’d have let you switch off your phone and bring it, and we wouldn’t have had to go through all these bleeding hoops to get you away from the police. They were following, but I’m sure you know that.’
Ash was horrified. They would never trust him now. ‘I said nothing to the police!’
‘Do you seriously know nothing about police procedure? I know you’re a doctor, but for Christ’s sake, surely you know the police can track your mobile.’
‘Yes, of course I do. But why would they? They don’t suspect me – I’m certain of it.’
‘They suspect everyone. It’s their job. The minute you left home you hoisted a red flag, and they will – I’d put money on it – have asked for authority to get location data from your phone. That’s why we dumped it. I’d have stuck it in the nearest bin, but if the police know you’ve lost it, they’ll trust you even less than they do now. Don’t worry – I told the barman I’d found it and I was sure someone would ask for it.’
Ash tutted. He suspected that was the last he would see of his phone. But Terry surprised him. ‘He’ll keep it. Not everyone’s bent, you know.’
Ash turned to look at him. What a strange thing for someone who was clearly a criminal to say. Terry was staring straight ahead, and for a moment Ash wondered what had driven him to a life of crime. Was it his choice, or something that had been forced upon him?
‘Where are we going?’
‘As always, to the middle of nowhere. Her default location.’
‘Is that where she lives?’
‘I don’t know, and stop asking fucking stupid questions, will you? No one knows where she lives, except she has more than one place.’