Hard Time (12 page)

It was one of the reasons why Maxwell had been among the first suspects questioned after the hit-and-run that killed Crawford. Robbie had been Byford’s passenger that night. Doug Edensor,
if Byford remembered rightly, had been one of the officers who’d broken the news to Maxwell.

The detective returned to his desk, reread a transcript of the interview he’d copied first thing. According to this, Maxwell had been flying back from India when Crawford died. Travel
documents and holiday videos corroborated the alibi. Byford sniffed.
So what?
The crime boss never got his hands dirty: he hired heavies for that. Mostly Asian.

It didn’t mean he was clean.

Byford picked up a pen, tried to marshal his thoughts. He’d been surprised Maxwell had agreed to see him. It wouldn’t be an easy meeting – assuming all hell didn’t break
loose and he could get away from Highgate. He sighed, rubbed his chin. God, he could do without this. The priority had to be Daniel Page. He couldn’t afford to get sidetracked.

Unless Harry Maxwell did know something about the kidnap.

Glare on the glass? Trick of the sunlight? For one glorious second, as she neared the Page house, Bev was convinced the little boy was back. The green eyes she’d glimpsed
at a downstairs window were the spit of Daniel’s. But they were Jenny Page’s, now full of loathing before she turned and vanished from sight. Bev took a deep breath and girded mental
loins. No one said it’d be easy. At least the hangover was history.

Colin Henfield opened the door before she knocked. She’d never seen the FLO in anything but a neat suit and tie. He dealt with messy lives, people at the lowest ebb; maybe it was his way
of showing respect. The job was about connecting, communicating; Bev reckoned he could wear a bin liner and people would open up. Which could explain his pained expression as he blocked her
path.

“Can’t let you in, Bev.” It was Jenny Page’s order and clearly difficult for him. Though Highgate’s finest liaison officer, Colin held the rank of constable.

“I’m not leaving, Col.” She folded her arms.

He smoothed a cap of short black hair. “She’s adamant. Doesn’t want you here.”

“Tough.”

She felt sorry for Col, a tad sorry for Jenny Page, but the real compassion lay with a little boy she’d never met who was being held by strangers God knew where. Unpalatable though it was,
she’d live on humble pie for a month if it got her near the mother.

No need. Jenny Page loomed into view behind Colin’s shoulder, eyes flashing distaste, lank hair in disarray. “What do you want?”

She ignored the spittle on the woman’s chapped lips. “To help you.”

“You’ve got a nerve.”

“Damn right I have.” It was out before she knew it.

“You as good as...”

“Get over it.” She’d not got the hang of this humility lark. Jenny Page looked as if she’d been slapped in the face – and it crumpled.

Bev raised hands in surrender mode. “I am truly sorry.” Then bit the humble bullet. “I was out of order. I’ve got a big mouth and no tact.” She paused, willing the
woman to open her mind as well as her ears. “But I’m not a bad cop, Mrs Page. And I swear I’m trying to do everything on God’s earth to bring Daniel home to you.”

She meant every word. Maybe it showed in her eyes and Jenny Page detected it. Without speaking, she gave a tight nod, retraced her steps. Bev nipped in before her mind changed. Everything else
about Jenny Page already had. Scruffy and listless, she slopped about the place in a stained dressing gown, bare feet filthy. Her make-up consisted of stale mascara and a trace of eyeliner. There
was no vestige of the immaculate ice maiden.

Bev shot a quick glance round. The posh sitting room had an impersonal feel, as if people just passed through. Jenny now sat in the middle of a massive settee, hugging her knees, looking lost.
There was plenty of space. Bev took some close by. “Is your husband here, Mrs Page?”

She shook her head.

“He’s looking for Daniel.” Colin kept his voice low. “Says it helps to be out there.”

Bev sniffed. It wasn’t helping his wife a bunch. Jenny’s glassy eyes gazed into the distance, seeing nothing. Desultorily, she wiped a tear as it trickled down a hollow cheek.
Physically she was there, but her thoughts were in the past, maybe the future, anywhere but the here and now. The woman needed support.

“Is there anyone you’d like us to call, Mrs Page?” Bev asked.

Maybe she hadn’t heard. Bev rose, gestured the FLO to one side, asked him to get Richard Page back to the house. She wanted him there when the package was opened. Waiting a while longer
would make no difference. Far as the kidnappers knew – assuming it came from them – the package was still languishing at the agency. As for what it contained, that was anyone’s
guess. Could be innocuous; could, God forbid, be a body part. Either way, Jenny Page was in no state to face it alone.

“How do you get through it?” Still staring ahead, Jenny could’ve been talking to herself. “The endless waiting. Hoping for the best. Fearing the worst.”

The voice was unrecognisable. Bev had heard the question before. Most people who’d been there said ‘take it a day at a time’. From what Bev’d seen of it, taking a breath
at a time was problematic. She moved back to the settee, slid even nearer. The woman deserved more than platitudes.

“I can’t begin to imagine what it’s like, Jenny.” Having kids had never been on Bev’s agenda; she’d too often seen what it meant to lose them. “But
I’m pretty sure I’d want the people I love around me.” Her face softened as she pictured her mother, Emmy. “My mum...”

“My mother died years ago.” Jenny turned her head, a catch in her voice.

Bev closed her eyes. Emmy could drive her up the wall but Bev couldn’t imagine life without her. “I lost my dad a while back,” she offered. “Hurts like shit.”

She sensed Jenny’s glance, sudden spark of interest. Bev bit her lip, milked the fledgling connection. “That’s why I joined the police,” she said.

The notion lit another spark. “Your father was a police officer?”

English lecturer, actually, but Jenny had opened her mouth, was engaged at some level. Bev busked it, made up stories on the hoof; she’d juggle bubbles if it kept the woman’s
attention, diverted her from the nightmare. Jenny might not be hanging on every word but at least she was listening, appeared slightly less lethargic.

Colin clocked the situation as he re-entered the room. From the doorway, he held up ten fingers, then left them to it. Ten minutes, then, till Page returned. Bev sneaked a glance at Jenny,
brought her gently back to reality. She talked her through Operation Sapphire: the ongoing observation and surveillance strategies, the covert inquiries, the extensive interview programme, a
possible Wayne Dunston link. “We’re doing everything we can to get Daniel back, Jenny.”

She nodded acknowledgement, gave a long shuddering sigh, clasped arms round her stomach. “God, I feel so sick.”

Bev rose, held out a hand. “Come on, let’s take a turn in the garden.” The air inside was stale and stifling. “Blow away the cobwebs.”

The strategy, such as it was, had the desired effect. Jenny hesitated, then pulled herself up reluctantly. “I’ll put some clothes on.”

Bev smiled encouragement and watched as she left the room. The high-speed rifle through Jenny’s Prada handbag revealed nothing incriminating. Not that she’d really expected it. On
balance, she tended to think that the woman was innocent of involvement in her son’s kidnap. At least the trauma appeared genuine.

Still, a sliver of doubt remained in Bev’s mind. What if the grief was down to remorse? Either way, she needed Jenny Page on side. And sweet.

She checked the time. Where the hell was Richard Page? The door opened as Jenny returned in casual slacks and t-shirt. A spot of exercise had the desired effect. The simple act of stretching the
legs, taking in oxygen, feeling the sun’s heat, added a hint of pink to her cheeks.

They circled the lawn a few times, then sat on a bench in the shade of an apple tree. Bev asked Jenny to talk about Daniel: his favourite film, TV show, superhero, football team, chocolate bar,
breakfast cereal. What made him laugh, was he ticklish, did he like school? It hit the right buttons. Jenny smiled as she painted a word picture. The animation and the way the light hit her face
evoked a shadow of the natural beauty that had so struck Bev at their first meeting.

Jenny halted suddenly. “Why do you need to know all this?”

It gave insight into the mother-son relationship and brought Daniel alive in Bev’s imagination. But she gave Jenny a different reason. “So I’ll know what to talk to him
about.” The meaning was implicit. Not put into a promise she might not be able to keep.

Jenny nodded, circled her wedding ring. “Thank you. I...”

“Mrs Page!” Colin hurried across the lawn, mobile in hand. “It’s your husband. He’s seen Daniel!”

Richard Page had seen his son in the back of a car on the Pershore Road, heading out of town. This much Bev gathered from a near-hysterical Jenny before putting a clarifying
call through to Highgate. The guv was on another line, liaising with control, but according to the duty inspector Don Wainwright a city-bound Page had spotted Daniel in a Fiesta travelling south.
Page had turned, tailed the vehicle before losing it at the Edward Road lights. He’d had the presence of mind to clock the number. The PNC had thrown up an address; the car was registered to
a female owner in Longbridge.

“The guv’s deploying the troops now,” Don said.

“I’ll hold, thanks, Don.” Bev tapped impatient fingers, waiting for a word with the big man. Jenny paced the sitting room, barely able to control herself.

“Guv?” Bev said. “Where’re we at?”

“Watching brief. No sign of the car. We’re in position, ready to move as soon as it arrives.”

It was eleven-fifteen. She could be there in quarter of an hour. “Want me out there, guv?”

“No. Mike’s there with Carol.” Powell and DC Pemberton. “I’ve got plain-clothes teams in place, couple of unmarked cars. Whichever way this develops, you’ll
be more use where you are.”

She glanced up; Jenny was out of earshot. “Is it a goer, guv?”

“We’ll know soon enough.” She heard a voice beyond Byford: a police radio. “The Fiesta’s just turned the corner.”

The hasty covert operation centred on a modest Edwardian villa in Regent Street: two pints of gold top on the doorstep, ‘Troops Out’ poster in the window. Having established no one
was in the property, plain-clothes teams were in position front and rear. Powell and Pemberton were parked opposite, trying to get a good look at the kid in the back of a clapped-out Fiesta that
was pulling up outside number seven.

“What you reckon?” Powell asked.

Carol shrugged. She thought he’d have a better idea himself without the aviator shades. From her position, only the youngster’s profile was visible, but if the hair was anything to
go by they were on a winner. The shaggy blond thatch, almost too long for a boy, was identical to Daniel’s. Shame Richard Page wasn’t here. It’d make ID easier.

As to the operation, she thought it was overkill. Page had glimpsed a kid who looked like Daniel and they were out here like it was the second coming. In a way she understood the rapid response.
The inquiry was stalled, the squad frustrated. But a fleeting glance was hardly conclusive. On the other hand, if the woman behind the wheel had kidnapped the kid in the back seat, they had to play
safe, take it gently. If she were culpable and caught wind of anything, the risks were incalculable.

Powell straightened his tie, made for the door. “Let’s go have a little chat.”

The sitting-room door flew open as Richard Page, oblivious to Bev’s presence, ran to his wife. “It was Daniel, Jenny. His hair, his eyes – I’d know him
anywhere.” The couple stood a little apart, searching each other’s face, the distance and brief silence saying more than a torrent of words. Page’s conviction was absolute. Maybe
Jenny was afraid to question it.

“Did Daniel see
you,
Mr Page?”

Richard, frowning, registered Bev for the first time. “And you are?” Had he poshed up the voice a tad?

She approached, hand out. “DS Morriss, Bev Morriss.”

Richard shot a glance to Jenny, who nodded what must have been approval.

Page’s palm was damp and clammy. “To answer your question, I think he might have seen me.” Definitely a touch of the Bow Bells in there now, Bev reckoned. “Not a great
answer, I guess. But I think he did. It’s just that it all happened so fast.”

He bore no relation to the mental picture Bev had built of Mr Smoothie Ad Man. His eyes were puffy, the chin stubbly and the hair lank.

“Understandable.” She smiled. “Shall we sit while I run through what’s happening for you?” She explained about tracing the number through the police national
computer and that a team was now on the spot. “They’ll call here soon as.”

Jenny whispered, “So it’ll be over soon?”

One way or the other.
“Let’s hope.”

If the waiting was bad before, it was interminable now. Page’s compulsive pacing left a track in the carpet. Jenny, back in her comfort zone of the sofa, buried her face in Daniel’s
t-shirt. Timing the mating calls between ardent wood pigeons in the garden was as exciting as it got. Bev sighed, wished she were in on the action. Hopefully it was superfluous now – but the
parcel was still in her bag.

“Jenny.” Bev showed her the plastic wallet. “This came to the agency for you. Can I take a butcher’s?” Jenny nodded, detached, other things on her mind. Bev was
already peeling on latex gloves.

As she eased the flap open, she struggled to mask her shock. Her heart skipped a beat, then leapt two more. She glanced at the Pages, both unaware, still reason to hope. The sudden ring made her
jump; she grabbed the mobile, took a deep breath before answering. But even without the call from Highgate, she knew beyond doubt the child Richard Page had seen couldn’t possibly be his
son.

As they neared the Fiesta, Powell issued instructions to Carol from the side of his mouth. “You concentrate on the kid. I’ll take care of the driver.”