The Unseen (26 page)

“Now,” Sean said, over the mike of his body set. “I want him with no place to go.” Chad and Simmy stopped, so the target almost bumped into them and was forced to step towards the road. Jan pulled to the kerb, Diane throwing the rear door wide. The target again looked to side-step, unable to do so when Chad and Simmy boxed in the space. Sean was instantly behind him.

“Police, Mr Stratton.” Sean showed his warrant card. “Please get into the car without fuss, all will be explained.” He placed a hand on Stratton’s shoulder, pushing down and sideways so the man’s crowded body was forced into the rear seat. He went obediently and without protest while Diane slid to the opposite door; Sean came in beside him while Chad went to the front passenger seat. A moment later Jan had them out in traffic.

Sean again showed his warrant card. “Excuse this intrusion, Mr Stratton. I’m Detective Inspector Fagan, Serious Organised Crime Agency. Could you tell me where you were last weekend?”

Stratton’s mouth hung wide. “At home with my wife.”

“Can you produce an independent witness to verify that?”

“Yes.” He looked between them. “The woman said one of my staff has been stealing.”

“Unfortunately, Mr Stratton, Travelpath and members of your staff have entered our enquiries regarding a serious crime. Two of your recent customers have been burgled, Darley and Bradshaw. Who in your company would know they were absent from home?”

Stratton’s brow furrowed and his jaw closed. “My staff are the best.”

Sean grimaced. “Answer the question, Mr Stratton, please.”

“I have thirty-one staff, we work shifts. Eight till eight or the last customer. Lots of different people could be involved.”

“You make life difficult, Mr Stratton,” Diane said. “We have some photos of your staff, but not thirty one. You have company photos, staff parties, company outings?”

“Yes, I suppose, somewhere.”

Chad turned in the seat and smiled with pitted, white teeth. “Kind of you to let us have them, Mr Stratton.”

“I’ll have to find them first.” He looked to Sean. Sean gave his best friendly policeman smile.

“No hurry,” he said. “Finish your lunch. I’ll come to collect in one hour. Jan.” The car pulled over.

Sean leaned back and stared at the padded roof. “When you return to the office, Mr Stratton, collect what photos you can. I want a list of all staff who had time off since last Thursday. I also want a list of every staff member who had dealings with Bradshaw and Darley. Circle them on the photographs. I also want all their addresses.”

“Am I a suspect?” Stratton’s lip jutted.

“’Course not. That’s why we’re being kind. We have an interrogation cell for suspects. But I do want your silence, Mr Stratton. If you mention a word of our conversation to anyone, including your wife, we’ll know. We’ll wonder why you did that, why you betrayed our confidence. Then you become a suspect.” He stood from the car, letting Stratton slide out. “We appreciate your co-operation, Mr Stratton. One hour.”

“I’ll do my best.” Stratton looked at him.

“We’ll be watching.” Sean smiled for the man’s departure. “Follow him, Chad. For all we know he’s Zoby and anything he provides is bullshit.” Chad nodded and climbed out, leaving Sean in the front seat. He lifted the car phone. “Heidi, ask Red Team for spare members, ask Cobbart for all the help he can send. I want every suspect followed home and put under surveillance.”

“Everything as requested.” Stratton passed the package, glancing either side, his voice lost amidst the chatter of sales staff and customers in the busy, open office. “The group photo is a year old. Unfortunately, about five employees are not included. Two of those are presently absent. One with flu, one at his mother’s funeral. Including accounts, bookings and sales, six people in this office knew our clients’ itineraries. But most of the work is done from head office in Birmingham. I’ve no idea how many are involved there. I trust this co-operation results in total discretion?”

“Absolutely, Mr Stratton,” Sean said. “As I also trust you will say nothing to any staff member until we have identified a suspect. Staff are loose lipped. Imagine the consequences if the press discovered someone in Travelpath sent clients on holiday, then burgled their homes.”

Stratton showed teeth in an uneasy smile. “I am positive my staff are blameless.”

“We’ll be very close, Mr Stratton.”

On returning to the car Sean pushed into the back seat, squeezing Diane towards Simmy. On the kerb behind them, an unmarked van with a periscope surveillance camera held six members of Red Team. The three parking bays were suspended. Sean opened Stratton’s package.

“We have two principal suspects, so we can eliminate from the top down.” Sean began to copy addresses. “One, Dave Hardy, Croydon, supposedly sick with flu since last Wednesday. I want him interviewed.” He handed the note to Diane. “Get down there immediately. If he can’t produce an alibi, bring him in. Chad, I want you up in their Birmingham head office, I want a list of all the people involved with our two files. I want their addresses; I want them questioned. Red Team works from here.” He handed Simmy the photos. “Four possible suspects are on the premises now. Have them identified and followed. If Zoby’s on a mission, he’s going to get active. Jan and I will check number two main suspect, Mark Harrison. Seems his mother just died.”

During the drive to Holloway Road, Sean stayed within his own thoughts, grateful Jan gave him space but knowing her questions would come eventually. She drove with aggression; her long, lean body laid back in the seat, her movements wafting a light, girlish scent. On her left index finger a silver Claddagh ring showed the heart turned outwards. No romance or partner. He revitalised his vision of Victoria’s soft nakedness, her body entwined in total surrender. He had no worry about Danielle and Jan. Jan was a professional. Danielle had a partner. But like it or not, he couldn’t shake his worry over Victoria entering Caswell’s web.

“Sleeping at your place, boss, I should know what I’m watching for. You had home contact from the opposition?”

“Nothing so dramatic. It’s me being over cautious. Along with thousands of others, Danielle is an agent for PKL games. Last night she received an e-mail about some prize. The next two days look like long ones and I won’t be home for at least forty-eight hours.” He shrugged. “She’ll be at uni and you’ll be working most of the time. It’s the evenings and nights I’m concerned about.”

“Fine by me, boss. What about your girls?”

“Staying the weekend with their mother.” He looked at her. “You watching over Danielle, it’s strictly unofficial, not even the team can know.”

“I understand, boss.” They drove in silence. He preferred it that way.

Concrete steps led to an upper balcony and accessed one of ten, drab utilitarian ex-council flats. Mark Harrison’s property was central.

“He’s out.” The informant sprouted a De Gaulle nose with grey bristles beneath. His face was motley and heavy with wrinkles. Sean walked to where he sat in a folding chair. Jan repressed Harrison’s doorbell then followed.

“How long?” Sean asked.

“Since eight this morning.”

“You sure?”

The man tapped his nose. “I’m community watch.”

“His mother died. Did he say the funeral was today?”

“We don’t talk. He’s army, SAS.” Again he tapped his nose. “Less said, know what I mean?”

“How do you know he’s SAS?”

“His uniform, the insignia, the winged dagger.”

“Have you any idea when he’ll return?”

The old man shrugged.

“Was he in uniform when he left?” Jan asked.

“No. In jeans and shirt like everyone else.”

“Not dressed for a funeral?”

“No. Who shall I say called?”

Sean handed over a plain card bearing just his name and mobile number, wondering if he had discovered a useful watchdog or a nuisance. He suspected the latter.

The old man scrutinised the card, then tapped his nose. “Secret Service, I can tell.”

“You’re sharp. I’d appreciate you letting me know when he’s back.” Sean winked. “Tell no-one. Not even Mark.”

Jan came beside him as they returned to the car. “There’s a lot to do when a relative dies, sorting legalities, family and funeral. It’s all stress.”

“I agree, but if he’s wearing a SAS beret, he’s either Territorial Army or fantasising. Soldiers go on missions, and Zoby’s on a mission.”

“Want a search warrant?”

“Get on to Heidi. But first we put a watch on this place. This could easily blow up in our faces. If Mark Harrison is genuinely grieving his dead mother and we raid the flat, the press will slaughter us. I don’t want to be bogged into politics but I do want bodies.” Sean took out his mobile and dialled up John Cobbart.

“I need at least twenty additional men, some in Birmingham. I also need people on telephones to follow enquiries, at least six, plus ghost shift.”

“This is supposed to be a minor, a preliminary investigation. You’ve already got one extra team.”

“We’re a leap ahead, sir. The next three or four days we need to concentrate.”

Jan clutched his arm, listening on her own mobile before speaking. “Lab boys at Forensic Science have been on to Heidi. The DNA at the Bradshaw’s crime scene, it matches with Poor Girl.”

Sean went back to his own conversation. “We have six lead suspects, plus a possible twenty on the fringes. Our burglar has provided positive DNA linking Poor Girl. Zoby is poised ready to kill again, no time to fuck about, John. We have to do this.”

“Give me an hour.”

“Appreciate it, sir.” Sean switched off. Jan was leaning on the car roof, still talking. “Is that Heidi?” he asked and took the mobile. “Heidi, get on to the War Office, Territorial Army, SAS and Special Forces. Ask Records if they’ve got a Mark Harrison listed. I need addresses.”

He listened to a falter in Heidi’s voice. Stress. “Guv, I’ve got Jill from Red Team but our telephones are getting hot. I need more lines, I need more people.”

“Cavalry’s coming. Six people, plus a ghost shift. The troll is gathering forces via the Old Boys’ Club.”

The Dobbs’ home was a single storey gatehouse, a mile off the A1. The original old manor was converted into offices and its grounds now a sprawl of light industrial buildings scattered between unsold plots. Not the ideal setting, Zoby thought, but isolated. No other domestic buildings meant no neighbours to interfere. A hedge and trees gave shelter.

He left his van on the industrial estate and walked back along the road carrying a fuel can. He walked unhurriedly, thinking that to any observer he would appear some jackass driver who had run out of petrol.

He entered the Dobbs’ place by a side gate and stood in a well-kept garden with trim lawns and weedless flowerbeds. The Dobbs clearly gave it time. Dobbs’ little haven, he thought. A plaque beside the door read, Hollyoaks. Zoby spat on the black polished wood and watched his phlegm slide down over the white lettering.

Round the back, a chewed rubber ring and punctured ball meant a dog in kennels. No cat flap, no rabbit hutch, so no neighbours to call around for pet feeding. The burglar alarm was an irritant rather than a deterrent. Zoby switched on his head radio.

“Enemy base deserted, Colonel. Moving forward to test security.”

“Steady as you go, Zoby.”

“Steady it is, Colonel.”

Zoby walked the full perimeter, checking each window and locating the bell box. He saw no phone number and recognised the logo as a DIY warehouse product. That meant the system would probably be unmonitored. At the back he pulled on gloves and using a bayonet prised loose the glazing beads on a sash window. The small double-glazed unit came out easily and he reached to unfasten the latch. Holding his breath he slid the sash upwards and broke contact on the closed-circuit alarm system. When the electronic sound went off, panic clawed his brain, the high-pitched screech piercing the air and surrounding trees. Instinctively he cowered, then steadied himself. He was combat proficient, strong. “Going to sit this one out, Colonel,” he said into his head radio. “Going to see what reaction we have.” Zoby walked back through the garden and returned to his van. The screeching alarm faded with distance. He waited twenty minutes for the bell-stop timer to cut in and silence the noise nuisance. To pass the time he hummed Kay-ling’s battle hymn, drumming his fingers on the steering wheel and figuring what he’d do to her when he reached level ten. When the alarm finally stopped he knew that unless someone came to reset the system, the auto cut-off and the broken contact would leave the alarm inoperable. He could now return with impunity.