The Missing Hours (32 page)

‘You were looking at passenger manifests for Tuesday the twentieth?’

‘I was. I’m interested in the Newark to Gatwick flight, lands 7.20 a.m.’

‘No.’

‘Sorry?’

‘No, we don’t have one at that time. It lands at 9.05 a.m.’

Okay, two hours, give or take. Easy mistake for Seth to have made, I guess.

‘Okay, no problem. Can you just confirm that you have a passenger by the name of Seth Britten on board that flight.’

‘No.’

‘Sorry?’

‘No, there was no passenger by the name of Britten on that flight.’

I am momentarily floored. I sit with the phone to my ear and try to think of the next words that should be coming from my mouth. Leah is watching me, frowning.

‘There was a Mr Seth Britten on an earlier flight.’

‘How much earlier?’

‘That flight … Newark to Gatwick, landed at 10.36 a.m. on Monday the nineteenth.’

He lied. The sonofabitch lied. He was in the country. He had almost eight hours to make it to Dominic’s workplace in time to pick him up coming out. He could have killed him.

‘That was a connecting flight.’

‘Sorry? What was?’

The woman on the phone sighs noisily. ‘The passenger, Mr Britten, he connected through Newark on to that flight.’

‘So … he wasn’t in New York.’

‘No. The origin of that first flight was Bogotá. Colombia.’

Case No. 79

Victim: Gerald Breen

Location: Prague, Czech Republic

Company: EuroTech

3 October 2013

Initial event

Mr Gerald Breen, an employee of EuroTech and a UK national, left his home in the Vinohrady quarter of Prague 2 at 7.36 on the morning of Thursday 3 October. He said goodbye to his wife and informed her that he was heading straight in to EuroTech’s offices, located in the Nove Mesto quarter of Prague 1.

At 8.31 a.m., Mrs Cynthia Breen placed a call to EuroTech asking to speak to her husband, and was greatly alarmed to discover that he had not yet arrived. His supervisor was, at this point, however, unconcerned, and expressed to Mrs Breen that it was not unknown for her husband to be late.

Mrs Breen, unconvinced, began a search of the surrounding area in the hope of locating her husband. She also contacted EuroTech’s head office (based in Madrid) and informed them that her husband had been receiving threats for a number of weeks, and that over the previous days he had expressed to her a concern that he was being followed.

Upon returning to their apartment, Mrs Breen found a letter waiting for her confirming that her husband had in fact been kidnapped and requesting a ransom of £500,000 for his safe return.

Response

Immediately upon notification of the disappearance of Mr Gerald Breen, the head office of EuroTech placed a call to their insurance provider (Triumph Global). The Cole Group were immediately asked to respond to the scene. The response group consisted of myself (Ed Cole) and Mr Seth Britten. We were on site within twelve hours of Mr Breen’s disappearance.

We immediately attended the residence of Mr and Mrs Breen, where the local police had already assumed control of the case. Mrs Breen handed over the ransom note, and also provided a full and graphic account of the threats that had been levelled at her husband in the preceding weeks.

I served as liaison with EuroTech and the local authorities, whilst Mr Britten acted as liaison for Triumph Global.

It should be noted that this case prompted no small degree of speculation. Whilst kidnap for ransom is not unheard of in the Czech Republic, it is not considered to be a high-risk area. In fact, this was the Cole Group’s first case within the Czech Republic. Human trafficking must always be considered a possibility in this region. However, given Mr Breen’s age – fifty-three – and his fairly obvious health issues (he is both medically obese and has cartilage damage in both knees, and so is physically quite compromised), he seems to be an unlikely candidate.

The ransom note itself was typed and gave no signifiers indicating its point of origin, or any clues as to the identity of its author.

After seventy-two hours, no further contact had been received from the kidnapper, thus making it impossible to establish proof of life or begin any kind of negotiation process.

Mrs Breen was, by this point, tremendously distressed and began, despite our efforts to restrain her, to repeatedly contact Triumph Global herself in the hope that she could convince them to pay the ransom in full. Myself and Mr Britten (and eventually also an operative from Triumph Global) explained to Mrs Breen that this would not be policy in such cases, and that she would first have to raise the £500,000, which would then be refunded to her by the insurer.

Mrs Breen appeared to lose her enthusiasm for a quick payment after learning this.

Investigations into Mr Breen’s background also caused us no small measure of concern. It was revealed by his supervisor at EuroTech that Mr Breen had been due to attend a disciplinary procedure on the day of his disappearance. His work record, performance and levels of non-attendance were such that he would have been fired at that meeting. Moreover, the seriousness of his situation had been made abundantly clear to him.

After ninety-six hours during which the kidnappers had remained resolutely silent, the local police began an examination of the Breens’ home computer. There they discovered the original ransom note, plus an extensive history of researching kidnap-for-ransom cases. They also discovered a booking in the name of Mr M. Jones for a room in the Hotel Merkur in Prague’s historical district.

Mr Breen was later located in said hotel.

Both he and Mrs Breen were immediately arrested for attempted insurance fraud.

Note

This is by no means the only case of faked kidnapping that the Cole Group has dealt with (see case nos. 12, 47, 60). In each of these cases, the insured individual has vanished without explanation, only for a ransom demand to come in to a family member or employer some time later. In the vast majority of these cases, the fraud is recognised as such and the plan foiled. However, there are cases on record (most notably the Swain kidnapping, 2005 – dealt with by Empire Security) in which the perpetrator has successfully managed to create the impression of a kidnapping, to the extent that the insurer pays the ‘ransom’. In the Swain case, the deception was only identified some four years later, when an eagle-eyed associate noticed that the Swain family had suddenly become far wealthier in the aftermath of Mr Swain’s ‘ordeal’.

Whilst the industry has good safeguards against such criminality, the system is not foolproof and it remains an ever-growing problem. As the general public’s awareness of K&R insurance grows, it is likely that these issues will only become more pressing.

What comes next

Orla Britten: Saturday, 9.43 a.m.

ORLA SAT, HER
head resting on her sister-in-law’s outstretched hand, the hard wood of the kitchen table cold against her cheek. She was crying. Could she even remember the last time she had cried? In truth, it felt like a relief, that the tears might have some shot at washing clean all that had become so corrupted.

‘Let me get you something to eat.’ Selena’s voice was soft, her hand stroking back the hair that had fallen into Orla’s eyes.

It felt like being at home again, in the old days, when it was her and Ed, before Mum’s cancer, Dad’s stroke. That was what she wanted now, when it came right down to it. She wanted to be a child again, to be taken care of and to know that there was a clear run ahead, that her life hadn’t already been destroyed by myriad bad decisions.

‘They fed me.’

She missed Ed, missed him with a fierceness that seemed to eat through her insides. She had never known a world without him, not until that Brazilian day. Her big brother, a knight at arms, he would protect her, he would make everything well. He always had.

‘Some tea, then?’

What would he say, that brother of hers, if he could see where they were now? A husband with a parade of gay lovers. An arrest for murder. He wouldn’t know them.

Orla pushed herself up, her head swaying with exhaustion, the suddenness of the movement. ‘Yes,’ she heard herself say. ‘Tea. Tea would be good.’

She watched as Selena stood, her hand gripping Orla’s own, one tight squeeze and then gone. How fast it happens, she thought. There and then gone again. Like Ed. And now Seth.

‘Have you heard from him?’ Selena asked, her voice quiet.

No need to ask who she was talking about. ‘Not since my …’ Orla stopped, felt tears catch at her throat. If she said it, then it would become so. She would become the kind of person who could possibly be arrested for murder. ‘I thought he would be here when I came out. I thought he would have come for me.’

Selena made a small noise in the back of her throat, dropped a tea bag into the teapot, rattling the china lid more than she needed to.

‘I think he believes I did it.’ Orla hadn’t known she thought that. Not until she said it. But now that the words were out, she was sure. Her husband thought her a murderer.

The kettle thundered to a boil, a click, the silence afterwards deafening. ‘Then he’s an idiot,’ said Selena shortly. She poured the water into the pot. ‘Why don’t you stay here with us? Just for a little while? Until you figure out your next move.’

Her next move. What would that be? What could it possibly look like? Where could you move to when you had so neatly boxed yourself into a corner that seemed to have more sharp edges than could ever be feasible?

‘Have
you
heard from him?’ It irritated Orla how plaintive her own voice sounded, how needy. That in spite of everything that had gone before, she could still cling to this man, her husband in the thinnest of all senses.

Selena shook her head. Or was she simply trying to pull back from the steam escaping from the kettle? ‘No,’ she said, killing all hope. ‘I’m sorry.’

It should be over. That would be what her mother would have said. That would be what her brother would have said. And Orla herself? What would she say?

That she was thirty-six years old, that relationships before Seth had been pale, uninspiring affairs, that it had seemed inevitable that she would remain alone, towed along in the shadow of her brother’s family, a tug behind a cruise liner. She wanted children. She had always wanted children. It had been one of the constants of her life. And marriage would allow her that, wouldn’t it? That was, after all, what it was for. And yet … I don’t want kids, Seth had said. It’s just not me. I’m not the fatherly kind. She had cried, not in front of him, but privately, had watched as her future landscape shifted, an earthquake of staggering proportions. In the end, she had taken it. Had traded one future for another. A husband for children. She was a grown-up; it was all about compromise.

Without him, what did that future look like?

‘I’m out of sugar.’

‘What?’

‘Sugar. I don’t have any.’

‘That’s okay. I can do without.’

‘It’s okay. I forgot the shopping bag. It’s just in the car.’

‘Honestly …’

Selena turned towards her, smiled. Planted a kiss on her forehead. ‘I’ll just be a sec. The girls are upstairs. They’re playing. You … you’ll keep an eye on them, won’t you?’

Orla nodded. Wiped a tear from her cheek. Perhaps Seth had returned to London. He always preferred it there, said he needed to be around people, to feel part of things, was never entirely comfortable down here in the sticks, with just the mountains and the quiet for company. He said it was his background, that the military got you used to constant company, made silence seem suffocating. He would have gone to the flat in London. For some breathing space.

She picked up her phone, pressed the home button, the screen lighting up, screen saver of her, Seth, the girls. Of course he hadn’t called. She would have heard it. And if she hadn’t heard it, she would still have known, instinctively.

Dimly, somewhere on the edge of her awareness, Orla heard a car engine.

She studied the picture. The girls. Daughters to replace the ones she would never have. And yet they weren’t, were they? They were her brother’s, they were Selena’s, but they were not hers.

She tapped the phone with her finger’s fleshy pad. She could call Seth. He was her husband after all. Surely that was the very least privilege that such a relationship should allow.

She stared as the screen gradually darkened, it too tired of waiting.

Dr Minieri, he said that he was comfortable that Selena was well. They were communicating regularly; he had no real concerns at this point. Would he say the same about Orla herself if he could see her now?

Her stomach had begun to flip, inelegant somersaults that brought with them a sharp sting of pain. What was that? She breathed out slowly, an effort to re-establish control. Something had frightened her, something had set her nerves on edge. What was it?

Then she remembered the sound, the dim throaty rumble of a car engine, and her stomach stabbed at her, a throb of pain that lanced to her hip bones.

Was it him? Was it Seth?

She sat at the kitchen table, barely able to breathe, let alone move, and listened, straining to hear above her own heartbeat. The girls were playing upstairs, childish voices raised into faux adulthood. She listened for a car door, for footsteps on the path. But there was nothing, just the children.