Child's Play (6 page)

‘That narrows it down then.' The drawled aside came from a balding skinny guy at the back. Sarah could never remember his name.

‘You.' Baker snapped his fingers at the clown, pointed at the door. ‘Now.' The chief swept his gaze over every member of the squad as the detective slunk out. ‘We pull together on this. No taking pops. No dicking around. Got it?'

Sarah glanced through the window waiting for the shuffling and throat-clearing to subside. A blank slate of a sky, not even a glint of sun. Said it all really. ‘Dave, can you get a copy to the audio boys?' Maybe they could shed a ray or two.

‘Already in hand, boss.'

Fingers crossed then.
If specialist equipment picked up anything extraneous, it could provide a pointer. Sound of a train maybe, church bells, seagulls, call to Mecca. Straw being clutched? She sighed, supposed a talking parrot big in neighbourhood watch was out of the question.

‘You'd think she'd sound terrified, wouldn't you?' Beth Lally's smooth cheeks hollowed as she sucked a pen, slowly circled a slim ankle. Talk about cartoon pensive. To Sarah, the DC was playing to an audience again. The pose screamed ‘look at me', and the blonde's customary wardrobe of power suits and pearls was doubtless part of the act. Maybe if Lally ditched the dramatics, Sarah would have more time for her occasional pearl of wisdom. ‘Go on, DC Lally.' The prompt was long overdue.

‘I don't know … It's worse somehow, isn't it?' She tilted her head at the player. ‘Her … acceptance, almost? Like she knows time's running out.'

Sarah's patience was on the same page. ‘Your point being?'

Two blobs of blusher deepened a shade: pique-pink. ‘It was just an observation … ma'am.'

The pause was deliberate. Sarah let it go this time; she'd played the same game often enough with senior officers. ‘Thanks for sharing.' And if she believed that … ‘Right, if there's nothing else?' Sarah slipped an arm into the sleeve of her jacket, watched as they all took their cue. Most would join the teams out in Moseley establishing Caitlin's last known movements, sightings.

The chief hadn't budged. Sweat beaded his pale face; he really didn't look too hot. Out of the corner of an eye, she caught him lift his cuff, glance at his watch. It was usually a get-on-with-it-woman warning. Not this time. Like her, like everyone on the case, he was chomping at the proverbial for the woman of the hour's late arrival. Nicola Reynolds hadn't been in when uniform turned up at the house first thing. Out walking, clearing her head, apparently. God knew why when her daughter was missing. Not that it was Sarah's most pressing question. It barely made the cut on to an ever-lengthening and increasingly urgent list.

‘Should be any time now, chief.' Sipping from a bottle of water, she saw a tiny muscle flex in his clenched jaw. It was Baker's only perceptible response. Maybe, like Sarah, he was thinking on Caitlin's words:
He's contacted my mum. She knows everything.

If Caitlin had it right, Nicola Reynolds had it in her grasp to help them solve the case almost before it got off the ground, not to mention save her daughter's life. So why the hell hadn't the bloody woman opened her mouth last night?
And why the hell
, Sarah thought,
hadn't I pushed her more?
Baker probably sensed she was giving herself a hard time; even she had to admit the old dinosaur displayed the occasional sensitive streak.

‘Yeah, well.' He sniffed, slid off the desk, paused in front of Caitlin's photo on the whiteboard. ‘For her sake, Quinn, you'd best hope I get a damn sight more out of the mother than you did.'

W
ith Baker in the lead interview chair, pussyfooting around was rarely an option; with a girl's life at risk a pulled punch wasn't even on the table. Sarah checked the audio and video gear then sat back, glanced at the chief, who was running through his notes, last-minute homework. They were in Interview Room One's metaphorical starting blocks, ready to roll soon as Nicola Reynolds showed. ‘We're good to go, chief.'

‘Bring it on.' Straightening, he pushed back a shirt sleeve. Hirsute or what? She reckoned you could plait the hair on his arms. ‘I'll give her five minutes to come clean, Quinn.'

Before you play dirty?
The carp was unjustified. ‘Fair enough.' Her kid glove treatment last night hadn't worked. And Caitlin sure needed someone on side. The mother hadn't exactly pulled her weight. If Reynolds had even an inkling of what …

‘Look, just what's going on here?' Nicola was in fine voice in the corridor. Finer than Caitlin's for sure. ‘Get your hands off me. You said …' As little as possible had been uniform's brief. Forewarned and all that.

Sarah had shot out of her seat to open the door. ‘Mrs Reynolds. Come in, sit down.'

‘You again?'

The DI caught a whiff of sour flesh and eau de smoke as Reynolds brushed past, headed straight for the chief. God help her if she thought he'd be a softer touch. ‘What's this all about? I was on the verge of putting in a call when your lot turn up and drag me down here.'

The chief held out a chair, gave her his name and rank, and a tight smile. ‘Call us about what, Mrs Reynolds?'

‘Caitlin, of course.' Still standing, she tugged a fleshy ear lobe. ‘She's absolutely fine.'

‘OK.' Baker stretched the two syllables. ‘Take a seat please.' Sarah would give a lot to see his expression but her brief was to watch Reynolds and she hadn't shifted her gaze from the woman's face. The lines appeared deeper and the red-rimmed amber eyes looked sore.

‘So where is she?' Baker laced podgy fingers in his lap.

‘I … I'm … not sure.' Head down, she picked a bit of loose skin near her thumb.

‘But you know she's fine?' The smile was not warm. ‘How does that work then?'

‘She rang.'

‘Course she did.' Like it went without saying. ‘And when was this?'

She glanced up, mouth turned down. ‘Couple of hours ago?'

‘You're asking me?'

‘I never wear a watch, like, but it'd be around seven.'

‘Right.' The grating noise was the scratching of stubble, the chief clearly not in a hurry. ‘Remind me, DI Quinn, what time did Caitlin call us?'

Sarah held the woman's wide-eyed gaze. ‘A little after seven.' She saw shock for sure and something that could have been fear. ‘Thirteen minutes past, to be precise. And quite frankly, “fine” isn't a word that springs to mind.'

Reynolds dropped her head in her hands, kneaded the scalp with her nails. Through her jagged sobs and heaving breaths, Sarah caught muffled words: God. Help. Forgive.

The big man in the sky might, she thought, but the big man at the desk would need a hell of a lot more persuading.

‘You're not just wasting my valuable time; your daughter's is at a premium too.' A puce-faced Baker paced the floor, hands jammed in trouser pockets. Sarah reckoned the distancing was deliberate: it kept Nicola Reynolds out of arm's – and harm's – way. Even the DI itched to shake some sense into the woman. Baker had suspended the earlier session, had to wait until Reynolds calmed down: PACE had a lot to answer for in the chief's book. The Police and Criminal Evidence Act, not the speed of his questioning. After being brought back to the interview room, Reynolds had slumped in the chair and, almost without prompting, opened her mouth and belatedly handed over her mobile. Comms were now examining the phone; copies of the photographs and emails lay on the scuffed desktop.

Reynolds wiped snot from her nose with a crumpled tissue. ‘Please believe me. I've told you everything now.' The self-pitying wail grated on Sarah. It was Caitlin who needed the pity and a parent who wasn't a congenital liar.

‘Like you told DI Quinn everything last night?' Baker re-inforced the remark by pointing at his watch. ‘More than twelve hours ago.

‘I was scared.'

‘
You
were scared?' Lifting the pic of a cowed, shackled Caitlin, he studied it for a few seconds then slid it across the table. Enough said. But not by Reynolds. If Caitlin was correct, her mother knew more, knew everything. She'd already been caught out withholding crucial evidence and could face charges down the line. Baker had guessed correctly that if the woman wasn't under arrest she'd not feel the need for a lawyer or, as Baker invariably put it, a bollocking time-waster wig-wearing brief. He'd trotted out the old ‘helping police inquiries line' – not to keep Reynolds sweet but because he wanted full disclosure soonest. And Sarah knew that if the woman continued holding back, he'd play the tape of her daughter's voice.

‘I was protecting her. Can't you see that?' Reynolds, perhaps unwittingly, was shredding the tissue, and white flecks of paper joined ground-in ash on her skirt. ‘He said I'd never see her again if I showed you the stuff he sent.'

‘Said?' Sarah snapped. ‘You've spoken to him?'

She waved what was left of the tissue. ‘Figure of speech.'

‘Slip of the tongue?'

‘You're twisting my words.' She jabbed a finger at the printout. ‘I meant what he says in that.'

Baker picked up the paper, read the last part of the message aloud: ‘
The pictures are our secret. Savvy? Play ball with me, and I might play ball … or something … with Caitlin. Mum's the word, eh, Nicola?
'

Going by Reynolds' reaction, it could have been a shopping list, or a phone book. Sarah played a pen between her fingers. Incongruous laughter from the corridor broke the near silence.

‘He calls you Nicola,' Baker mused. ‘Sounds pretty pally to me.' Her shrug provoked his jaw's tell-tale twitch. ‘Are you sure you've no idea who sent it? Why he's doing this?'

‘I wish.' The tone sounded glib.

‘So do I, love.' Mr Nice Guy, but the twitch in his jaw was like a burrowing maggot. He leaned in as close as he could get, lowered his voice even further. ‘I wish your daughter wasn't being held by a psycho. And I wish you had the sense you were born with.'

‘That's not fair. I want to help, but—'

‘Good. Here's your starter for ten: where's your daughter being held?'

‘Here we go again.' She sighed, shook her head. ‘Do you not think I'd tell you?'

‘Got it in one, Mrs Reynolds. It's a bad habit. Lying.' Bane of a cop's life, Sarah reckoned. Like a lot of people, Reynolds had looked them in the eye and lied through her bridgework. Hardly surprising their trust in the woman was in short supply. ‘And for the life of me, love, I don't know why you're doing it.'

Nor Sarah. If it were her child, there was nothing she wouldn't do to help.

‘I'm not lying.'

‘Easy for you to say.' Baker sighed, sat down again, smoothed his tie.

‘Look, I know I should've been straight before, but—'

‘You weren't.' He pulled a file closer. ‘What if I tell you I have evidence from someone who says you know where Caitlin is?'

‘Bollocks to that.' She clamped her arms across her chest. ‘Whoever it is, they're lying.'

‘You reckon?' Baker tilted his head. ‘Let's hear it, inspector.' Both detectives had hoped it wouldn't come to this, but Reynolds' intransigence plus a ticking clock limited their options. The edited version contained only Caitlin's voice. Even without the scream, Sarah had found it distressing. God knew what it would do to the mother.

‘My name's Caitlin Reynolds. The man. He's holding me prisoner. I've sneaked his phone. I've not got long. He says he's going to kill me. He says he's contacted my mum. He says she knows everything. I'm really scared. Please, come and get me.'

Nothing. Then Reynolds' breathing became more laboured as her eyes narrowed to dark slits. Shit. She was about to pass out. Sarah half rose, ready to grab her before she hit the tiles. ‘Keep away from me.' She spat out the order, dragged the back of her hand across her mouth. ‘What are you trying to do?' Saliva glistened on the desk.

Baker shifted in his seat. ‘Meaning?'

‘That's not Caitlin. I've never heard that voice before in my life.'

‘She's still a lying bastard, Quinn.' En route to their cars, Sarah had to lengthen her not-inconsiderable stride to keep up with the chief's single-minded strut across the tarmac. The rattling pace would do him no harm if the size of his paunch showcased by the flapping jacket was anything to go by. ‘If she'd not withheld the emails and the photos …' He jabbed a finger in the DI's direction.

Sarah nodded. No need to spell it out. With Reynolds' co-operation from the get-go, conceivably the inquiry would be further forward. As it stood, Operation Vixen wasn't even back to square one: the shock revelation pointed to a whole new board game. Less Clue-do, more Clue-less. It seemed now as if the perpetrator wasn't just pulling Reynolds' strings, he clearly believed he could jerk the police round as well. Quite the comedian. And part of a double act? No wonder the girl on the tape didn't sound scared: if she'd been reading his script cracking a laugh would be a bigger fear. Mind, if the cops decided to release the tape to the media, joker man and his straight girl might laugh on the other side of their faces.

What concerned Sarah most was the use of a stand-in to make the call. Did it mean the original was no longer available? Was Caitlin not up to it? Had she – God forbid – already been silenced? She'd certainly not phoned home. After further questioning Nicola had broken down again, admitted the call from Caitlin had been a fabrication, another cack-handed attempt to buy time to protect her daughter.

‘What kind of mother is she, for fuck's sake, Quinn?' Finding out everything they could about Nicola Reynolds, plus background on other players – main or not – were lines being actively pursued by the squad. Given that motive was key to most cases, they needed to put flesh on these people's bones to establish why Caitlin had been abducted. It was almost inconceivable the perp had just picked the Reynolds' name out of a hat.