Snatched From Home: What Would You Do To Save Your Children? (DI Harry Evans Book 1) (25 page)

Campbell was rereading statements when Lauren and Evans returned to the office. Lauren’s face was shining with triumph while Evans wore a mixed expression of self-loathing and smugness.

They’ve got the result they were after. Brilliant. Now we’ve got a lead, we can maybe crack this before Chisholm steals the money.

Something wasn’t right though. The disgust on Evans’s face indicated not all the news was good. Before he could ask, Lauren started to tell him of the interview. Evans was scratching his backside with a miner’s attention to depth, while Chisholm was busy writing a programme to collect the ransom money. When Lauren had finished, Campbell turned to Chisholm. ‘What’s the score with the father’s mobile?’

‘Those numbers were from pay-as-you-go phones, sir. Bought for cash at various places in the Liverpool area.’

‘Shit.’ Buying pay-as-you-go phones was step number one for criminal gangs who didn’t want to be traced. If by some miracle they could identify the buyer and track them down, he knew they’d only be told that the phone had been sold to a stranger in a pub, and no, they couldn’t remember the pub or what the stranger’s name was.

‘That speaks of organised crime to me.’

‘Well, duh.’ Campbell regretted using the slang term as soon as it left his lips. It was both immature and insulting to Bhaki.

Evans glared but cut off his apology with a waved hand. ‘Of course it’s organised crime. It’s a kidnapping, for fuck’s sakes. However, it does tell us they are properly organised, not some bunch of amateurs. Those phones were bought at different places on different days. Half-arsed chancers would have bought a bunch of them from one shop on the same day.’

‘Can we ask Merseyside police to take a look and see if they can trace the sales from CCTV footage? Maybe they’ll at least be able to identify someone who is known to them and then we can trace the gang that way.’ Campbell knew it was a long shot but they had to do everything they could.

‘I doubt it’ll work but it’s worth a try.’ Evans thumbed his mobile, scrolling in search of a number. ‘Chisholm, put all the dates and locations into an email. I’ll give you the address in a minute.’

‘Mike? Harry Evans here…’

While Evans was on the phone, Campbell gave Bhaki a quick apology and listened to Lauren recount the rest of the interview. Then he detailed Bhaki to speak to all the venues for the card games, while Lauren took a call from control.

He didn’t fancy Bhaki’s chances of success. He’d bet good money the venues lacked CCTV and had been paid for in cash. False names would have been given, but still they had to try. It was usually silly mistakes by criminals that gave them their best leads.

‘Guv, Tommy and Terry have been spotted.’

Evans finished his call and turned to Lauren. ‘Where? When?’

‘Heading towards the Railway Inn, about twenty minutes ago.’

‘Get whoever spotted them to keep an eye out until I get there. Jock! C’mon.’ Evans’s jacket swirled in his wake as he strode to the door.

‘Who’re Tommy and Terry?’ Campbell looked around the room waiting for an answer.

‘You’ll see,’ Bhaki gave a cryptic grin as Campbell ran after Evans.

*    *    *

‘So who are Tommy and Terry then?’

Evans gave a tight smile. ‘My best snouts. But whatever you do leave the talking to me as they hate Jocks.’

Looking at his watch as Evans navigated his way along Eastern Way onto Warwick Road. ‘It’s too early for the Railway Inn to be open. Where will they be going?’

‘The Railway Inn. The landlord opens the back door at eight, for railway shift workers.’

‘Why haven’t they been closed down then?’

Evans took his eyes off the road long enough to throw Campbell a knowing glance. ‘Because half the cops on nightshift go there for a pint after work. Anyone stupid enough to close the Railway down would be treated like a leper.’

Upon entering the Railway Inn via the back door, Campbell could see the pub’s name was redolent throughout. Everywhere he looked was railway memorabilia, from the pictures of trains to the signal lamps that provided the lighting and framed timetables mounted on the central supporting column.

Evans told Campbell to get the drinks in as he made his way over to a corner table occupied by a wiry little man in his mid-forties. Opposite him were a full pint of Guinness and a half-drunk pint of Jennings bitter. Their conversation could be overheard from the bar, but the few patrons were too consumed with their own tired thoughts to listen.

‘What do you want, pig? I thought you’d’ve been busy fitting up some bugger for a crime they didn’t commit.’ The Cumbrian accent was broad and harsh.

‘Fuck off, Terry.’ The man in front of Evans drained the Jennings, eyeing him with suspicion. ‘It’s Tommy I want to talk to.’

‘Aye, well, he’s not here, and if he was, I don’t know why he’d want to talk to the likes ov you.’ Abruptly, the man’s voice changed into a Geordie burr and he addressed Evans with a smile. ‘Howway, Harry, how you doing?’ Any trace of hostility was eradicated from the booming voice. Tommy’s politics were very different from Terry’s.

‘I’m fine, Tommy. Is your mother still in her flat or did she get moved to the secure housing I told you about?’

‘The old girl is doing grand now she’s moved. Thought she was gonna end up in a home though. I expect you’ll be wanting to pick my brain about summat that’s gan doon.’ He took a mouthful of Guinness, leaving an off-white moustache on his face.

Campbell took a tray bearing three pints across and sat down beside Evans after handing a pint across to Tommy and Terry.

‘Is this yan ov your copper mates, Evans? If it is, he can stick his pint up his bacon-flavoured arse.’

Without reacting to either the tone or Terry’s words, Evans introduced the two men and again asked for Tommy.

‘Who’s he, Harry?’

‘This is DI John Campbell. He’s part of my new team.’

Tommy stood up and proffered his hand for Campbell to shake. ‘Alreet?’

A bemused Campbell struggled to keep his face inscrutable as he shook the hand of the man before him. He was amazed at the man before him. Both Tommy and Terry appeared at random and seemed to co-exist inside one body with awareness and acceptance of each other’s presence. Although he was aware of multiple personality disorder, he couldn’t shake from his mind thoughts of Dr Jekyll and Mr Hyde.

‘Diven’t worry about Terry. He’s all talk and no trousers.’ He turned to Evans. ‘So, Harry, what d’you want to know?’

‘We want to know about a kidnapping in the area. Two kids have been taken and their parents have been told to pay up or else.’ Evans let that sink in before showing Tommy a photo of Kyle and Samantha. ‘Apparently the father has run up huge gambling debts and the kidnappers want them settled in full.’

‘Poor buggers’ll have no chance if you are investigating it. Ah reckon you pigs’ll just nick the parents for illegal gambling.’

Campbell saw Evans’s neck flushed red as his temper flared at Terry’s jibe, but his voice was more or less even when he pressed for more information. ‘What have you heard, Tommy? Are any of the local boys in on this or is it someone new coming onto the manor?’

‘I diven’t know owt about any kidnappings, but I do know that the Leightons are on the warpath. They diven’t like the fact that there’s been all them pubs and hotels robbed on their patch without them getting a cut. There’s also all the stuff gan missing from the farms. They aren’t in on that either. If they find out who’s responsible before you do, there’ll be bodies to bury for some poor sod.’

Campbell digested this information for a few seconds before Evans tried a different question. ‘I take it the Leightons are looking into it themselves?’

‘Aye, they are. And if they diven’t know who’s behind it, then it’s nobody local.’

Evans drained his pint and stood up indicating the conversation was at an end. ‘Thanks, Tommy. I’ll leave a few pints behind the bar for you.’

‘Cheers, Harry. I hope you get them bairns back safe and sound.’

Evans had bullied the secretary of Teller Construction into giving him Frankie Teller’s mobile number. A quick conversation with Teller saw the heavens align for once, as Evans found out Teller was visiting a construction site half a mile from the Westmorland General Hospital. He arranged a time to meet and powered south.

Arriving at Westmorland General, Evans parked in the staff car park and entered via the door beside the cafeteria. Although the kidnapping was his priority, he also wanted to check in on the woman in the faint hope he could point that investigation at a specific target. Approaching a nurse’s station on the orthopaedic ward, he made enquiries as to Frances’s location and health.

The duty nurse appraised him with a tired expression. ‘She is not too badly hurt, but you can only speak to her for a couple of minutes. She has a mild concussion and is on a lot of medication for the pain in her shoulder. She’ll be going down to theatre soon to have it rebuilt.’

‘Hello, Mrs Elliott. I’m DI Evans. Do you think you can answer a few questions for me?’

The old woman on the bed fixed her rheumy eyes on Evans. ‘Of course I can. It’s my shoulder that’s buggered not my brain.’

Knocked off-balance by the fierce life force emanating from her, Evans tried to justify himself. ‘I just wanted to make sure you are up to it. That’s all.’

‘I’ll be fine so long as you’re quick. They’re taking me down for an operation soon and they’ll need to dope me up first.’

‘Can you tell us what you saw?’

A scowl of concentration furrowed across Frances’s brow. ‘I didn’t see owt much worth the mentioning. A few bodies running about helping themsel’s to my stuff.’

‘Did you manage to count how many there were?’

‘I was just about to tell you when you interrupted me. I counted seven of the buggers.’

‘Would you be able to identify any of them?’

A gentle shake of the head. ‘It was dark and they were at the other end of my yard. All I could see were shapes.’

‘What about a vehicle? Where were they putting the stuff they stole?’

‘They had a cattle wagon. I could see them taking stuff into the back of it. I couldn’t tell you what colour it was though. It was too dark.’ A wave of disappointment washed over Frances’s face.

Recognising there was nothing else she could tell him about the robbers, Evans sought to give her what comfort he could. ‘Thank you for your help, Mrs Elliott. Your answers have confirmed our suspicions about the methods used.’

A wan smile touched Frances’s lips. ‘Don’t flannel me, young man. I know that my answers have been next to useless. Just catch them will you? Farming is hard enough these days without being robbed.’

The nurse came in asking them to leave as they were bidding her goodbye. Evans left his card in case she remembered anything else and set off back to the car.

*    *    *

Campbell and Evans pulled up beside the Portakabins that housed bait rooms and offices on building sites the length and breadth of the country. All around, men bustled back and forth: joiners carrying timber, electricians with rolls of wire and foremen with sheaves of plans. Every person they could see was dressed in the uniform of the site worker: hard hats, checked shirts beneath hi-vis vests, jeans and steel toe-capped boots. Noise assaulted their ears from various generators and power tools. Every vehicle was reversing, if the cacophony of beeps was any indicator.

Evans led the way into the site office and asked for Teller.

‘He’s just out inspecting the site. Can I get you a cuppa?’ Even the receptionist-cum-secretary was wearing jeans and boots, although hers were more stylish and much better fitting than any others they had seen.

‘
Now that what I call a builder
’
s bum.’ Evans frowned, but ignored the whispered comment from Campbell and instead studied the various plans and working regulations, taped or pinned to the walls of the office. He didn’t like the way Campbell was turning out. Now that he was settling in a little, he seemed to be sex obsessed. The younger man had everything he’d lost. Evans was aware it was his own jealousy that was starting to turn him against the younger man. It was not a trait he was proud of.

As they were finishing their teas, a party of what must be architects and engineers came into the office engaged in a debate about fitting two pieces of roof together and the necessary cranage required. Recognising Teller, Evans levered himself from the chair he’d slumped in, waiting until the man caught his eye.

‘Hi, Harry. Shall we go through here?’ Teller pointed to the next office.

Evans introduced Campbell and asked Teller about Aces High and Nicholas Foulkes’s gambling habits. Teller didn’t pull any punches. ‘Nicholas is a decent man but a terrible gambler. I never liked Morgan, though. I couldn’t understand how Nicholas could be taken in by him when he was so clearly dodgy.’

‘Do you know where Morgan lives?’

‘No idea, I’m afraid. The less I know about him the better. I can spot a wrong’un a mile off and when I do, I steer clear.’

‘What about the card games with Morgan?’

‘What card games?’

‘High-stakes poker games. Organised by Morgan.’

Teller looked bewildered. ‘I don’t know anything about any high-stakes poker games. Sorry, I can’t help you about that.’ A frown crossed Teller’s face. ‘Is there something wrong? Is Nicholas in trouble?’

‘Not at all. He’s helping us with our enquiries, that’s all.’

Evans bade Teller goodbye, leaving him a card and instructions to call if he thought of anything else. Another dead end. It did not sit well with Evans. Never one for clockwatching, he found he was now constantly checking the time. Every minute was now precious and the ticking clock in his head was getting louder with each passing second. If only he’d made the connection sooner, the team would have had more time to find those children.