Dead Man's Grip (41 page)

Grace sat in silence for some moments, thinking hard and fast. He looked at his watch. ‘The appointment is for 11.30 a.m.?’

‘Yes.’

‘Has anyone checked with the dentist to see if he’s turned up?’

‘Someone’s on that now. He hadn’t as of a couple of minutes ago.’

‘Where’s the dentist?’

‘In Wilbury Road.’

‘St Christopher’s is a private school, right? On New Church Road?’

Branson nodded.

‘That’s a five-minute drive. Ten, max. He was picked up just before 11 a.m.?

‘That’s right.’

‘Are you on to the taxi companies?’

‘All of them. I’ve got Norman Potting, Nick Nicholl, Bella Moy and Stacey Horobin making calls right now.’

Grace thumped his desk in anger and frustration. ‘Shit, shit, shit! Why wasn’t I told about this dental appointment?’

Branson gave him a helpless look. ‘We guarded her house with the boy and her mother – the boys’ gran – in it all night. And we had a friend of Carly Chase, who was doing the school run, tailed – to make sure he got there safely. We were going to do the same this afternoon when he came out of school. No one said anything about him having an appointment.’

Grace shook his head. ‘She was vulnerable. That meant anyone close to her was vulnerable, too. We should have had someone at the school today.’

‘Hindsight’s easy. Most people wouldn’t get out of bed in the morning if they knew what was going to happen.’

Grace stared at him bleakly. ‘Knowing what was going to happen would make this job a damned sight easier.’ He picked up a pen and began making notes on his pad, his brain going into overdrive. ‘OK, do we have a photograph of this boy?’

‘No. I have a description of him. He’s five foot tall, looks a little like a young Harry Potter – floppy brown hair, oval wire-framed glasses, wearing a school uniform of red blazer, white shirt, red and grey tie, and grey trousers.’

‘Good, that’s fairly distinctive,’ Grace said. ‘We need a photo PDQ.’

‘We’re on to that.’

‘Has anyone spoken to the gran?’

‘She’s at a doctor’s appointment at the Sussex County. I have someone on their way there.’

‘Do we have the make of the taxi? Was it a saloon or an estate car or a people carrier?’

‘I don’t have that yet.’

‘Why not?’

‘Because I haven’t had time. I wanted you to know right away.’

Grace looked up at a map of East and West Sussex on his wall, then at his bookshelf, where he could see a copy of the official
Kidnap Manual
, which contained all the procedures and protocols for kidnap and abduction. He knew a lot of them by heart, but he would check carefully through it. Before that he had some urgent fast-time actions to carry out. He grabbed the phone off his desk and, as he dialled, he said, ‘Glenn, we need to plot an arc around the school – how far away someone could be in any direction now and in thirty minutes’ time. We’ve got to get the make of vehicle. Is someone going to see the teacher?’

‘Two officers from the Outside Inquiry Team should be at the school now.’

‘We need more officers down at that school immediately, talking to everyone around it, in houses, walking their dogs, cats, goldfish.’

Grace dialled the number for Ops-1 – the Duty Inspector in the Force Control Room, Becky Newman. He gave her a quick summary and asked her who the Force Gold was today. The Gold Commander was normally a Superintendent or Chief Superintendent who would take control of any Critical Incident that happened on his watch.

He was pleased to hear it was Chief Superintendent Graham Barrington, the current Commander of Brighton and Hove, an exceptionally able and intelligent officer. Moments later he was on the line. Grace quickly brought him up to speed. Barrington said he wanted a Detective as Silver and suggested Chief Inspector Trevor Barnes. He quickly reeled off the Bronzes to complete his command team: one a POLSA for searches, then one for Intelligence, one for Investigations and one for Media. In all child abductions or kidnaps, the way the media was handled was crucial.

‘I think because of the gravity we should have an ACC handle the media. ACC Rigg is on call today.’

Grace smirked. He liked the idea of the very slightly arrogant Peter Rigg being given a role down the pecking order, beneath the Chief Superintendent.

‘I think we should make your deputy SIO the Investigations Bronze, as he’ll be up to speed. Who is that?”

‘Glenn Branson.’

‘He’s a DS?’

‘Yes, but he’s good,’ Grace said, turning to his colleague and winking.

‘OK.’

‘I think our very first priority, Graham, is road checks.’

‘Yes, we’ll get them on all major routes. What do you think? Forty-five minutes’ or one hour’s drive away?’

Grace looked at his watch, doing a calculation. It would take time to get cars in place.

‘An hour’s drive, to be safe. Can we scramble Hotel 900.’

Hotel 900 was the call sign for the police helicopter.

‘Right away. Get me a description of the taxi as quickly as possible to give to them. What about utilizing
Child Rescue Alert
?’

‘Yes, definitely. I’m about to do that,’ Grace said, although he was aware of the deluge of calls his team would receive from this, most of which would be false alarms.

Child Rescue Alert
was a recent police initiative, modelled on the US’s
Amber Alert
, for getting descriptions of missing or abducted children circulated fast, nationwide. It included mobile messaging, social-networking sites, news bulletins and posting descriptions on motorway signs. Its use always generated thousands of responses, each of which would have to be checked out. But it was a valuable resource and ideal for this current situation.

‘We need an all-ports alert out, too,’ Grace said. ‘No one’s leaving this country with a young boy until we’ve cleared them. We need to throw everything we have at this. We need to find this bastard and we’re going to have to find him fast, before he has a chance to hurt the kid.’

Grace hung up, leaving the Chief Superintendent to get started, and turned back to Branson.

‘OK, you’re Investigations Bronze. Chief Superintendent Barrington will brief you shortly, but there are three urgent things you need to do.’

‘Yes?’

‘The first is to get the boy’s computer – I assume he must have one – down to the High-Tech Crime Unit for analysis. Find out who he’s been talking to and engaging with on Facebook, chat lines, email.’

Branson nodded. ‘I’ll access that via his gran.’

‘The second is to get every inch of his house and garden searched, and his immediate neighbours’, and the homes of all his friends. You may be able to draft in some locals as volunteers to help search his entire home area.’

‘Yep.’

‘The third is to keep checking with the dentist and the school. I don’t want egg all over my face if this kid turns up safe and sound because his mum forgot to tell you something.’

‘Understood, but that’s not going to happen. Not from what she’s told me.’

‘It had better not.’ Then Grace shrugged. ‘Although I wish it would, if you know what I mean.’

Branson nodded, getting up to leave. He knew exactly what Roy meant.

As the door closed, Grace grabbed the
Kidnap Manual
off the shelf and laid it on his desk, but before he opened it he scribbled down several more actions on his pad as they came into his head, then sat in silence for some moments, thinking. His phone rang. It was his MSA, Eleanor Hodgson, asking if he had the amended draft of his press statement ready for retyping.

In the panic of the last few minutes he’d forgotten all about it, he realized. He told her he was going to have to rewrite it totally because of the latest development and that the press conference might need to be delayed by half an hour.

He felt very afraid for this young boy. This man who had killed Preece and Ferguson was a cruel sadist. There was no telling what he had in mind for Tyler Chase, and all Grace’s focus now was on how to get the boy safely out of his clutches. Thirty minutes had elapsed so far. They could be in a lot of different places in thirty minutes. But a taxi was distinctive. A man and a young boy were distinctive – particularly if Tyler was still in his school uniform.

He felt a deep, dark dread inside him. This was not his fault, but he still had overall responsibility for providing the protection Carly and her family needed, and he was angry with himself for letting this happen.

At least the timing of the press conference could hardly be better. Within the next hour, combining
Child Rescue Alert
, the press and the media, he could have nationwide blanket coverage on the missing boy.

Then he picked up his phone and made the call that he was not looking forward to.

Assistant Chief Constable Peter Rigg answered on the first ring.

Carly walked around her hotel room in a black vortex of terror, tears streaming down her face, desperately wanting to get back to England. Her brain was jumping around all over the place and she was feeling physically sick.

How could she have been so damned stupid leaving him at home, unprotected like this? Why, oh why, hadn’t she thought everything through more carefully before making this dumb decision to come here?

Was she forgetting something? A simple explanation for the taxi? Was there something she had overlooked in the chaos of the past weeks? She regularly ordered taxis to take him places when she was tied up at work. Had she double-booked Tyler for another appointment somewhere else? With whom? Had she perhaps ordered this taxi weeks ago for that and forgotten all about it? Perhaps the taxi had picked up the wrong boy? That could be it, a mix-up at the school!

She felt a fleeting moment of relief.

Clutching at straws, she knew.

She tried to shut the images of Fernanda Revere in the wreckage of her car from her mind. Some of them were intertwined, horrifically, with Tyler’s face. She shivered and thought about getting into a hot shower, but she did not want to risk missing a call. She had to get home. Someone helpful down at the front desk was looking into flights to England for her. She had to get back today, somehow had to, had to. She looked at her watch but could hardly read the dial. Her eyes felt as if they weren’t working properly. Everything she looked at seemed out of focus.

She had to think straight. Had to think clearly. But the only thing that came to her mind was the image of Tyler getting into a taxi.

Driven by a monster.

She walked over to the window and looked out again. It had been a blue sky a few minutes ago. Now it was grey. The landscape was all washed out. She watched a man on a dumper truck.
Has your son been kidnapped?
She saw a woman get out of a small car. Starting her day. Just a day like any other, for her.
Has your son been kidnapped?

She went into the bathroom to brush her teeth, but her hands were shaking so much the toothpaste fell into the sink each time she tried to squeeze some on to her brush. A coiled spring felt as if it was being wound tighter and tighter inside her. She filled the kettle, but then could not find the switch on the damned thing. All the time she kept her phone beside her, willing Tyler to ring. Desperately praying he would ring.

And suddenly it began ringing. The display said, blocked.

‘Yes-hi-hello,’ she blurted.

‘Carly? It’s DS Branson.’

‘Yes?’ she said, trying to mask her disappointment. But maybe he had news?
Please, please have news.

‘I need to ask you some questions, Carly.’

Her heart sinking, she rushed on, ‘I was thinking – I don’t know – is it possible there was a mix-up at the school and the taxi was for another boy? Have they checked he’s not somewhere at the school. He likes science, history, stuff like that. He often just goes into the labs and works on his own. He can be a loner. Did they check? Did they?’

‘They’re searching the school now. The taxi was definitely there to collect your son, Tyler.’

‘Did he turn up at the dentist? Do you have any news at all?’

‘So far not, but we’ll find him, don’t worry. But I need your help.’

‘DON’T WORRY? YOU’RE TELLING ME NOT TO WORRY?’ she shouted.

‘We’re doing everything we possibly can, Carly.’

‘I’m going to get the first flight home. Maybe I can get a daytime one and be home this evening.’

‘I think you should get back as fast as you can. Let me know your flight details when you can and we’ll meet you at the airport. We’ve heard about Mrs Revere.’

‘This is just a nightmare,’ she said. ‘Please help me. Please find my son. Oh, God, please help me.’

‘One thing that could be significant. Can you tell me who might have known about Tyler’s dental appointment?’

‘Who? Only – only his school – and my friends, Sarah and Justin Ellis. He – Justin – was going to take him. I – I can’t think of anyone else.’

‘Our High-Tech Unit’s done some searches. Tyler’s on a number of social networking sites, which I presume you know,’ Branson said.

‘Well – some.’

‘Did he Tweet it? He had put that he was going to the dentist up on Facebook, making a joke of it. Did he talk to you about any of the responses he had?’

‘No,’ she said. ‘These past two weeks since my accident he’s been in a really strange mood. I – I-’ She was fighting off tears. ‘Tyler’s a – he’s a very special child. He’s incredibly resourceful. He wouldn’t get into a car with a stranger. You may wonder how I know that for sure, but I do, I can promise you. He’s streetwise. Have you checked he didn’t go home?’

‘We’re keeping a round-the-clock watch on your home. There doesn’t appear to be anyone in. But he definitely went off from his school in a taxi.’

‘Please find him,’ she said. ‘Please find him.’