White is the coldest colour: A dark psychological suspense thriller (26 page)

He reevaluated the relevant facts in his mind for the umpteenth time, searching for a positive… Was there something he’d missed? Was there anything he hadn't done? If only it were that simple: stranger abductions were rare, but it looked as if this was one of those cases. There just wasn't much to go on unless they came up with something and quickly. Fuck it! Things were not looking good. The chances of finding Anthony Mailer alive were diminishing with every minute that passed.

He picked up a pencil, and snapped it in half before hurling the pieces at the wall… Raising the teams moral wasn't going to be easy.

When DI Gravel entered the incident room a few minutes later he was attempting to exude an air of confidence he didn't feel. He looked around the room, gratified that all relevant officers were ready and waiting, with the exception of Bethan Williams, whom he wasn't expecting to attend.

The loud chatter stopped abruptly when the inspector stood at the front of the room and raised a hand high above his head. He casually surveyed the limited resources under his command and swore silently under his breath… They were inadequate, but would have to do. The curse of small rural forces.

You could have heard a pin drop as he began speaking. ‘Right people, listen carefully.’ And then a joke to reduce the tension. ‘I'll be asking questions later.’ Everyone laughed. They felt they had to.

He raised his open hand in the air for a second time, effectively silencing the room. ‘Listen up, everyone. Time to get serious. Siân Mailer found her injured mother and discovered that her brother was missing approximately seven and a half hours ago. Time is moving on, people. In this type of investigation rapid results are essential for a successful outcome. Molly Mailer is in South Wales General. She's had surgery, and Bethan will let me know if and when she can be interviewed. But I'm not holding my breath. It's not going to be anytime soon. So I hope you lot can offer me something. Anthony Mailer is still missing. Mrs Mailer's attack was a vicious, sustained assault. It is highly likely that the same perpetrator, or perpetrators, snatched Anthony. I do not need to tell you what that could mean. We need to find him, and fast.’ He paused for breath and then continued. ‘Let’s hear what you've got. Clive, you kick off. Anything from the hospitals or the boy's known contacts?’

DS Rankin shook his head.’Nothing sorry, boss.’

‘What, nothing at all?’

‘Nothing, boss.’

‘DC Hawkins, what of the nonces?’

‘I've made a good start, sir, but we're talking over three-hundred known paedophiles in this county alone. I'm looking at M.O.’s and putting a shortlist together, but as you know it takes time. Up to this point there’s no standout suspects. And there's the robbers as well, of course. A few housebreakers have attacked householders in recent years. They'll have to be looked at.’

‘Thanks, George, concentrate on the nonces for now, and get the shortlist completed by nine tomorrow morning. We’ll talk and see what we've got then.’

DC Hawkins nodded… It was going to be a long night.

DI Gravel turned to the scenes of crime officer. ‘Anything useful?’

‘Nothing new to report I'm afraid, sir. I think we can safely say that whoever did this was forensically aware.’

‘Okay, we know what you didn't find, now tell everyone the good news.’

‘Will do, sir. As you know, we did find several faint footprints at the back of the building. We’re talking about what appear to be fresh prints leading to and at the obvious access point. They exited the building somewhere else, probably the front door. There are two different size prints: one pair of size eight and the other size ten. The prints strongly suggest that the perpetrator with the size eight feet is significantly heavier than the other. That's as good as it gets, I'm afraid.’

DI Gravel nodded. ‘It doesn't give us a suspect, but it’s a start. If you're left with any interesting prints after the obvious are excluded let me know immediately. Thanks Ben.’

‘Your’e welcome, sir.’

‘Right, let’s move on. The search team, what have you got for me?’

The search officers glanced furtively in each others direction, but nobody responded.

‘Come on, let's hear it.’

A long serving career constable seated at the back finally spoke up. ‘Nothing, sir.’

‘What, nothing at all?’

‘No, sir, the dog did pick up on something at the back of the building, but he lost the scent on the road just outside the cottage.’

‘Right, we'll widen the search at first light. I want you all back here at five a.m. sharp. I'll talk to the uniform chief super and make sure additional officers are available to help you. Let's move on. Door to door, anything to report?'

PC Kieran Harris moved closer to the edge of his seat… This was it. This was his moment in the sun.

He cleared his throat theatrically, and held his hand up like an enthusiastic child in a classroom; but he lowered it quickly when the room erupted in laughter… This wasn't how it was supposed to be.

DI Gravel guffawed along with the others… But enough was enough. The young constable had experienced some difficulties settling in, but he showed significant promise that was worthy of encouragement.

He clapped his hands together hard. ‘Back to business, people. We need to get on. Right, son, what have you got to say for yourself?’

PC Harris swallowed hard.

‘Come on, son, don't be shy. We're all on the same side.’

This is it, Kieran. This is your moment. ‘Sir, I've got something to report…’ Glory was imminent. They wouldn't be laughing after this.

He took his pocket book from the top right hand pocket of his tunic and turned dramatically to the relevant page, which he’d earlier marked with an oversized paper clip. He made an unnecessary show of referring to his notes, cleared his throat loudly, and began. ‘Sir, at seventeen-thirty hours I interviewed eighty-seven year old Mrs Rachel Evans at her home, Rose house, located almost exactly opposite the Mailer’s cottage.’

‘Come on, son, your’e not in court now. Get on with it, for fucks sake. What did the old dear have to say for herself?’

PC Harris took a deep intake of breath, puffed out his chest and continued. ‘Mrs Evans informed me that during the early hours of this morning she saw a large white van, which was covered in rust, parked directly outside the Mailer’s home. She couldn't give an exact time, and she didn't know the make of the vehicle.’

DI Gravel knew the answer was going to be no before asking the question. ‘Did she see the number plate, son?’

‘No, sir, I did ask, but no.’

‘I suppose that would have been too much to ask for. Right son, anything else?’

‘Mrs Evans saw two men leave the cottage and drive off in the van. One of the men was carrying something on his shoulder. She said it could have been a child.’

‘Description, son, did you get a description?’

How could he forget the description? He swallowed hard. ‘That's the strange thing, sir, she said they were dressed from head to foot in white, even their heads.’

The inspector looked perplexed. ‘Right son, is that it?’

‘She said one man was tall and muscular and the other shorter and slightly overweight. The shorter one was carrying what could have been the boy.’

PC Harris sat back in his seat and awaited his plaudits.

‘That's great, son, but why the fuck didn't you tell me all this earlier? Every minute matters, son. You've got a fucking radio, haven't you? Use the fucking thing.’

The DI paused briefly to collect his thoughts. ‘Right, Clive, you heard what the boy had to say for himself. Get yourself over to the old dear's house and take a full statement from her. Hawkins, check the system, find out if any of the local nonces own or have access to a white van meeting the description. This could be the break we need. I'm going to be in the station for another hour or two and then you can get me at home if you need to.’

He focussed on PC Harris, who actively avoided his accusing gaze. ‘I don't want anyone else making the same mistake as the boy here. Pick up the fucking phone or use your radio immediately if you find out anything useful.’

There was a chorus of, ‘Yes, sir!’ from every corner of the room.

DI Gravel was about to bring the meeting to a timely close when PC Harris put his hand up for a second time. This time nobody laughed. ‘Sir, there is one more thing, I don't know if it's significant.’

This had better be good. ‘Come on, son, let's hear it.’

PC Harris reopened his pocket book and frantically searched for the relevant page. ‘Sir, at ten-to-four this morning I stopped a van meeting the description given by Mrs Evans in Eden Road.’

‘Oh, for fuck's sake, son, you have to tell me this stuff. Right, bollocking over. Did you by any chance get the index number?’

‘I requested a PNC check, sir. The registered keeper has a history of dishonesty offences, but he’s not currently wanted.’

‘What’s his name, son?’

‘Fisher, Wayne Fisher, I issued him with a HORT1.’

‘Did you look in the van, son?’

PC Harris looked suddenly paler. ‘I didn't give it any thought to be honest, sir.’

‘No worries, son, you've done well.’

The thin smile that crossed the young constables face quickly became a frown… This wasn't going to go down well. ‘Sir, I need to inform you that there was a second man in the van with Fisher.’

‘A second man?’

‘Yes, sir.’

DI Gravel shook his head discontentedly. ‘I’m assuming they weren't dressed in white?’

‘The young constables face reddened. ‘No, Sir.’’

‘Did you get the second man’s details?’

‘No, sir.’

‘Did you get a look at him, son?’

‘I’m sorry, sir, it was dark, and the passenger didn't turn to face me. I was focussed on checking the driver’s documents. I just didn't think it mattered at the time.’

‘Don’t beat yourself up, son. You couldn't have known it could be important. Things seem a lot clearer after the event. You've done well, keep up the good work.’

Chapter 35

D
I Gravel handed Rankin a chipped mug containing a generous tot of cheap blended corner shop whiskey. ‘Well, Clive, my boy, we’ve been friends a long time, tell me what you think?’

The DS took a swig of whiskey and grimaced as the malty spirit burned his throat. ‘It's a long shot, boss, but you never know your luck. It is one hell of a coincidence: same description, same night, small town, not much traffic? It's possible, I guess.’

The inspector refilled both mugs and shook his head. ‘What the fuck was Wayne Fisher doing in Eden Road at that time of the morning? You've had recent dealings with him, Clive. What do you make of it?’

‘I’m not sure, boss, he’s got a long history of theft, burglary, receiving, that sort of thing, but no history of violence or anything involving kids, as far as I’m aware. It’s got to be worth a look I guess, but I can’t see it to be honest.’

DI Gravel leant back in his seat and rested his feet on the desk. ‘Right, Clive, I've got one or two things to mull over, but no doubt we’ll be paying our friend Mr Fisher a visit in the morning. The way I look at it, we've got fuck all to lose. Sort out a search warrant and I'll see you at five. Now, piss off home and get some sleep.’

DS Rankin got up to leave, glad of the opportunity to finally see his family… Police work could be extremely hard on relationships.

He turned to the inspector as he left and casually touched his head with the side of one hand in reflexive salute. ‘Will do, boss, see you in the morning.’

The second Rankin left the office DI Gravel poured the remainder of his whiskey into a plant pot, kicked his office door shut, and picked up the phone… What the hell was Trevor Simpson’s home number?

He flicked through his contacts book… Trevor Simpson? Trevor Simpson? Yes, there it was.

He dialled the number… Get a move on, Trevor, answer the fucking thing.

‘DI Simpson,’

‘Hello, Trevor, it's Grav. About fucking time. Sorry to bother you at home, mate, but you know how it is.’

‘I certainly do, Grav, no peace for the wicked, eh. What can I do for you?’

‘I could be wrong, Trevor, but am I right in thinking that Wayne Fisher has been mentioned as part of your paedophile ring investigation?’

‘It was all a bit vague to be honest, Grav. He's only been mentioned by the one child, and she couldn't be certain of his identity. The description she gave doesn't match aspects his appearance. He may or may not be involved. I’ve got my doubts. We’d need a lot more before pulling him in.’

‘But it’s a possibility?’

‘Well, I guess it’s a possibility. I haven't ruled it out completely. Why do you ask?’

‘It's a long shot to be honest, Trevor. You know this Mailer case I'm working on, GBH to the mother, and a missing seven-year old boy?’

‘Yeah, of course, Grav. But where does Fisher fit in?’

‘I doubt if he does to be honest, Trevor. But it's worth considering. I've got fuck all else at the moment. An old dear living opposite the crime scene is saying she saw a white van matching the description of Fisher's vehicle parked outside the house on the night of the abduction.’

DI Simpson laughed loudly. ‘There’s a lot of white vans about, Grav. You're not getting desperate are you?’

‘One of our young probationers ran a PNC check on Fisher’s van in Eden Road in the early hours. It meets the description, large white van, rusty, right sort of time, and there was someone else in the vehicle.’

‘Any idea who?’

‘No’

‘Got a description?’

‘Nothing of any use.’

‘Eden Road? That's well out of Fisher’s usual stomping ground. Eden Road? Eden Road? It rings a bell?’

‘Come on, Trevor, get a grip for fuck's sake. Spit it out, I've got a bed to go to.’

There were a few seconds silence before DI Simpson responded. ‘It’s probably nothing, Grav, but Galbraith lives there, the psychiatrist.’

‘I don’t like coincidences, Trevor.’

‘Oh, come on, Grav, I don’t see Fisher and Galbraith as friends, do you?’

Grav laughed. ‘No, you’ve got a point there, Trevor. I can’t see them having too much in common.’