Child's Play (29 page)

Dave sniffed. ‘Reckoned he was Jack-of-all-trades, didn't he?'

Sarah narrowed her eyes.
Jake
-of-all-trades was what he'd actually said. For Jake Portman read Jack Bolton? Portman was about the right age and they'd still had no joy tracing him. Could he be hiding in full view, as it were? ‘What if Portman's been keeping an eye on the place?'

Dave voiced what half a dozen looks said. ‘How does that work?'

‘Not sure.' She was still working on it herself. ‘Let's get a pic of Portman. Flash it round the estate. Start with Ray Castle.' If Portman had been hanging round recently …

‘If Mr Neighbourhood Bigwig had the number plate, ma'am, how come he didn't call it in?' Twig asked.

‘He reckoned he only took it on the off-chance,' Sarah said. ‘He caught the witness appeal on the news just as I turned up.'

‘Much bloody good that's done us so far,' Twig chuntered. He was one of the few who knew the release was a tissue of lies.

She thought about picking him up on it but ceded that – as far as the bigger picture went – he had a point. The abductor had yet to make a call, let alone a move. Logic dictated he'd make contact with Nicola Reynolds sooner or later. Beth and Holmes hadn't let the woman out of their sight. Reynolds was at home sitting on the phone, tearing her hair out according to Beth. Sarah intended heading out there straight after the brief. It had to be the place to be and she certainly wouldn't be knocking off any time soon.

‘I've been thinking, boss,' Harries said.

‘Bad for the health that, lad.' Twig winked at Hunt.

‘About the deadline.'

‘Even more fatal.'

‘Zip it, Twig,' She heard him mutter something about Baker. Sooner the chief's back, something like that. The older guys, Twig particularly, didn't like having strips torn off them by a woman. The fact that Baker would have their bollocks off was neither here nor there. The chief would be a hard act to follow and right now only Sarah knew he'd likely be making an early exit. It was another pressure she could live without. ‘Go on, Dave.'

‘The abductor set twelve hours. Said he wanted an end to it. I kind of assumed that meant for Walker to die. Then he'd let Caitlin go. Surely, he has to know the woman's dead by now? What if he's changed the goal posts? Has a different end in mind?'

‘For Caitlin?' She raised an eyebrow. ‘I don't think he's changed a blind thing, Dave.'

Sarah had never regarded the girl's release as an option.

T
he call came at 19:00. Jed Holmes had alerted Sarah, who had been en route to Reynolds' home anyway. Beth had a transcript ready and the recording cued for when the DI arrived. Harries had gone along for more than just the ride. He'd been here with Sarah at the start, told her he wanted to be around for what could be the end-game. If the recent exchange on the phone was anything to go by, it sounded that way too.

‘One more time please, Jed.' Sarah slipped off her coat, the heat getting to her.

‘No,' Nicola wailed. ‘I can't bear to hear it again.' The DI nodded at Beth who put an arm round the woman's waist and steered her out of the sitting room.

Sarah needed a second listen: the voice wasn't immediately Portman's. On the other hand, if he suspected for a second the police were in on the act, it wouldn't be. Like he'd be thick enough not to disguise it. She lifted her pen. Jed took his cue, hit play.

A five-second silence was broken only by Sarah's pen scratching the paper.

The final words sent a chill down Sarah's spine. In marked contrast to Nicola's screamed abuse, the abductor's delivery was utterly devoid of emotion.

‘Cool bastard, isn't he?' Harries folded his arms.

‘Dry ice.' She lifted her gaze. ‘And deadly.'

‘Bloody crackpot if you ask me.' Jed sniffed.

‘That's the last thing he is.' The perp wasn't a step or two ahead of the cops; he was so far in front he was out of sight.
Like Caitlin.
There'd still not been a single sighting of the teenager since her last day at school.
School. Jake Portman. A caretaker with keys. Access to the entire building.
The DI shook her head. Queen's Ridge had been searched twice. If Portman was their man, he couldn't have Caitlin holed up there.

‘What is it, boss?' Harries heard her out, then: ‘There's no way she's on site now but …' He narrowed his eyes, imagining scenarios. ‘I guess it would've been easy enough for him to grab her, spirit her away in a store room, an outbuilding, somewhere like that.'

She nodded. ‘Or just come up with an excuse for her to show him where he could find … God, I don't know … a book or a classroom or something.' Portman was good-looking, plausible. Caitlin would have no reason to fear him.

‘All he'd need do is bide his time until everyone left.'

‘Before bundling her into the back of a motor.' And taking her God knew where. She glanced over at Holmes. ‘Get on to the incident room, will you, Jed? See if Jake Portman's pic is ringing any bells. And ask if Leicestershire Social Services has come up with anything yet.' Jack Bolton had been in a couple of its children's homes, hopefully there would be a photograph on file.

‘I still don't get it, boss.' Harries frowned. ‘If Portman was there last night, doing what he did probably saved the old girl's life.'

‘I think the answer's here.' She showed him the transcript, pointed out what she'd underlined.

‘“You didn't kill her.”' He glanced a query at Sarah.

She shook her head. ‘“
You
didn't kill her.”'

His eyes widened as the implication sank in. ‘Nicola had to do it herself?'

‘I think he drove the yobs away so they
couldn't
kill her. He wants Walker's blood on Nicola's hands.' Make that
wanted
. Sarah reckoned the option no longer existed; time had passed for that – and for Caitlin was still running out.

Harries cracked a knuckle. ‘Sadistic bastard.'

She nodded, wondered if the original deadline held. In which case, they had two and a half hours to play with. Or Caitlin did.

T
he congealed remains of lamb rogan josh lay in foil dishes on the concrete floor; the air stank of cardamom and coriander. Caitlin reclined on the mattress, playing a strand of hair through her fingers. ‘What time is it?'

‘Why?' Smiling, he propped himself up on an elbow.

She parted her lips a fraction. ‘It feels like bedtime.'

‘Again?' He laughed. ‘I'm knackered.'

‘Good.' She giggled artlessly.
Fucking good.
That had been the general idea, even though she felt she'd never get rid of his smell. She made a playful grab for his wrist, checked his watch. ‘Hey, it's only eight. We've not seen the film yet.' Kneeling now, hands on thighs, she asked what he'd brought.

He pointed to an Asda bag on the far side of the room. ‘Take a look.' She knew he just wanted to ogle her naked body as she padded over. She bent over, threw in a wiggle or two. Feast your eyes, monkey man.
I Know What You Did Last Summer.
Sodding joker. Straightening, she clutched the DVD to her boobs. ‘Hey, I love this movie. Ace choice.' She sashayed back, reached down for her glass, tilted it towards him. ‘Cheers.' The cheapskate hadn't run to champagne but the Chianti wasn't bad. He'd downed a couple of lagers as well, didn't look particularly out of it though.

‘Wanna stick it in?' She cocked an eyebrow, angled a toe at the laptop.

‘Sure, and the disc.'

The film had barely started when he slid into her from behind. The booze hadn't touched his sex drive.

‘A neighbour's fingered Portman, ma'am.' Holmes covered the mouthpiece with his hand. ‘Want a word? It's Huntie.'

Sarah took over the phone. ‘John. What've we got?'

Ray Castle. The one-man Neighbourhood Watch had clocked a guy mooching round on the pavement outside his house several times in the last month or so. The man paced up and down, smoked a fag often as not. Castle went out once to ask what he was playing at. The guy told him he was an undercover cop and Castle was jeopardizing an operation.

‘Almost got to admire the bloody cheek,' Hunt said.

‘Castle's a hundred per cent?'

‘Recognized the photo straight off, ma'am. Portman was definitely the driver last night.'

‘I want it out there now, John.' Social media, TV news, web sites, press. Bloody sandwich boards if need be. “Have You Seen This Man?”'

Huntie knew the drill. Pensive, she handed the phone back to Jed. She wished to God they had more to go on. But if Portman had nothing to hide, surely he'd come into the open?

‘Reckon Portman's our man then, boss?' Harries asked.

‘Who the hell's Portman?' Nicola stood in the doorway, Beth just visible over her shoulder.

‘He's a person of interest. Someone we need to talk to.' She brought the picture up on her phone. ‘A caretaker at Caitlin's school.'

She stared at the screen then shook her head. ‘Never laid eyes on him.' Sarah recoiled at the sour smell of vomit; Reynolds didn't just look sick.

‘Why not go and lie down, Mrs Reynolds? Try and get some rest?'

‘I'm waiting for a call, remember?' Her voice dripped with contempt. ‘To say goodbye to my daughter.'

Caitlin hardly dared breathe, let alone move. She felt the rise and fall of his clammy chest against her spine, fancied she could feel the beat of his heart. Out of the corner of her eye, she saw his eyelids droop. His phone lay just out of reach.
Sleep, you bastard, sleep
.

Linda Walker slowly opened her eyes. Each time she regained consciousness she'd seen things more clearly. Not just the sterile surroundings of the side ward; her own ghostly reflection in the window. She knew she had to act quickly before her resolve weakened. She had to talk to DI Quinn, the detective who'd touched her in more than one way. She rang the buzzer. A nurse popped his head round the door. She asked him to bring a phone and pen and paper.

‘Where are you? We have to talk.'

Sarah sighed. ‘Not now, Caroline.' She was en route to the hospital, Harries behind the wheel. The summons from Linda Walker had sounded serious. Reynolds had refused point blank to go with them. Beth or Jed would make sure the DI knew when anything moved. It was now 20:05 – sooner the better.

‘I've seen him before. Jake Portman.'

‘Where?'

‘In person or not at all.'

She rolled her eyes, no time to argue, knew King wouldn't budge a gnat's anyway. ‘Can you be at the QE? Ten minutes.'

‘Main entrance. Don't be late.'

Caroline had a head start. She was there already. Nothing ventured, nothing blah-blah. She'd turned up halfway through visiting time and tried – again – to blag her way in. The reporter had moved on by now from just seeing Walker as her ticket to the top; she was genuinely fascinated by the story, convinced she could do it and the woman justice.

She'd actually given up the blag as a bad job – just for the night – and was sitting in her car when she checked the cops' Twitter feed. Portman was a dead ringer for a pic she had on her phone. What you might call a snatch shot. One of several taken during her comfort break at Crawford's pad. The landing walls held more family snaps than the National Portrait Gallery. It's not just old habits that die hard; Caroline never missed a digital trick these days. One of her mantras being: you never know …

She didn't know what Jake Portman was doing posing with Ted Crawford at a barbecue but the picture would be worth a lot to Sarah. Far more than a thousand words with Linda Walker.

‘Why the hell didn't you let me see this earlier?' Sarah snapped, handing back the reporter's phone. The question was stupid – she knew that. Until this evening, the cops themselves had no idea of Portman's POI status. King had only realized twenty minutes ago, couldn't have contacted Sarah any quicker if she'd tried. Harries was back in the car calling in the new intelligence to the squad room; soon every available detective would be working the angle. Even as she stood here arguing the toss with King an unmarked car should be en route to Worcester to pick up Crawford. Initially at least, he'd be helping police inquiries.

Caroline's tapping foot echoed in the hospital corridor. ‘You just can't stand the fact I've bailed you out yet again, can you?'

‘Bailed me …?' The DI wasn't often speechless. With Caitlin Reynolds' life still at stake and the deadline ever closer, bailed out was the last thing Sarah felt. Floundering up a creek with a paper paddle maybe. She watched Caroline raise a finger, knew what was coming.

‘I hand you the Reynolds-Bailey link on a plate.' A second finger. ‘I tell you Walker's retracted her confession.' A third. ‘I pass on info from the abductor.' A fourth. ‘I place Portman with Crawford. Four-nil, DI Quinn. Strikes me a bit of gratitude wouldn't go amiss.'