My Name Is Not Jacob Ramsay (27 page)

"Shit!"

"Ah man!"

The youth struggled to control the vehicle and tried to steer. He grappled the wheel as if he had caught a Great White shark with a regular fishing rod on the back of a tiny rowing boat.

The car slammed into the undergrowth and suddenly sank into the ground, due to the dip on the bomb-crater-like part of the Common.

The youths jerked forward and winced with pain.

The driver's head whipped forward and his forehead made contact with the steering column. The rear passengers were flung into the front seats and headrests.

Their shoulders smacked one side, really hard.

The front passenger, bizarrely, was the only one with a seatbelt on, which locked the moment the front of the car hit the low level ground that forced it to a sudden stop.

It was 18:26 and the bright blue lights of a fire engine swirled around fast, accompanying its siren, as it headed down Winn Common Road to where a silver Volkswagen Golf burned amongst the mass of bushes in the large dip of the Common. It was Michael's car and it was on fire: a fire that burned ferociously.

The fire spread to the petrol tank.

BOOM!

The silver Volkswagen Golf exploded into a ball of flame and continued to burn as the fire engine closed in.

"It was at 18:18 when a sixty-one-year-old Tibetan woman telephoned for a fire engine to put out a burning car. Once the fire had been put out, the reg came back as Michael's," continued Geoff, speaking on the telephone to Edward, who was nodding as he sat at the desk in the office-type room.

"Still no sign of Michael?" asked Edward.

"No. It is possible that he went to a garage and when he came back, the car was being broken into. I mean, it's wise not to get involved with kids round there," Geoff posited, trying to come up with a plausible scenario.

"Yeah, but the police station is just down the road from where he left the car. He would have gone inside and mentioned his police connections. Any report of that at all?"

"Nothing, Edward, no. Listen, I'll put a call out and description and have it attached to the pick-up of the yobs who the uniforms took in earlier on, as well as the car fire call. It's likely your boy's phone battery has died and he's on the bus home," Geoff said, in a comforting manner.

"Maybe, Geoffrey, but Mike would get a taxi or get in touch with me. OK, I'll wait for you to call if you hear anything more and I'll give his girlfriend a ring to see if she's heard from him. Thanks Geoff."

"No problem. Keep me posted, Edward."

"Will do. Cheerio, Geoffrey," Edward hung up the landline phone. He sighed and closed his eyes briefly, tightening his mouth, thinking, biting his lower lip as he stared into space. He turned to the door to see a worried-faced Violet in the doorway.

"Where is he?"

"I'm going to call Rebecca to see if he's home," Edward announced, taking up his mobile phone again. However, it buzzed in his hand, signaling the name. "Geoff?"

"Just been told that the chav kid who was trying to nick your boy's car stereo is still in custody," said Geoff on the other line.

"Oh right," replied Edward.

"D'you want me to put a word in to keep him overnight?"

"Oh, yes please."

"Will do. Bye Edward," Geoff said, hanging up the phone.

"Nothing too important. I'll tell you in a minute," Edward told Violet as he pressed a button on the phone for Rebecca's number. It didn't even ring twice before she answered.

"Hello?"

"Hello Becky?"

"Yes, Ed, it's me. It's me. Hello," she said, with keen anticipation for news of her boyfriend. Her love.

"Is Mike home?"

"No. No he's not. Oh, oh, no, he-" her voice quivered.

"It's OK. Hold on. We'll get him back to you, d'you understand, Rebecca?" Edward said, with positive passion.

"It's nine o'clock at night. He would have told me if he was going out or was stuck somewhere!"

"I know. I know, and I'm sure there's a very simple explanation as to why he's not turned up yet. Now, do you want us to come round and be with you or did you want to come here and stay?"

"I - I have to be at work. I have to go to Bath tomorrow to see a client. I can't be late for the train. What if he's not back? What do I do?" Rebecca asked, worrying that Michael's absence would interfere with her work.

"Rebecca, you continue going to work and living your day to day life, do you hear? Like you said, it's nine o'clock. We'll play it by ear and if he's not back tonight, I'll get in touch with some people I know, OK?" Edward said, firmly, keeping Rebecca focused.

"Yes. Yes, OK," she sniffed.

"Now, did you get that glass of wine?" Edward asked her in a different, more relaxed tone, but still playing the role of a good cop. It caused Rebecca to form a slight smile.

"Yes. Yes I did," she said, eyeing an opened bottle of Piccini, a Tuscan Chianti Reserva and the filled glass of red.

"Right. Well, you watch something relaxing on TV and any news that I receive, I'll give you a call. Text us if Mike arrives home."

"I will. Thank you, Ed. Thank you."

"Speak soon. Love to you, Rebecca."

"And to you. Bye."

Rebecca reached for her glass of wine. Her eyes became more and more glassy as her quivering lips touched the rim of the glass to take a sip of the Chianti. She swallowed and clutched the glass, staring blankly ahead into nothingness. She began to rock her body back and forth.

"Please be all right, my love. Please be all right. I love you so much. Please be all right."

The front door to Edward and Violet's neighbour's house opened and Simon found Edward standing on the doorstep outside.

"'Allo Ed, what's up?" asked Simon.

"Sorry it's late, but I wondered if you could get in touch with your gang unit," Edward asked politely.

"What's that? Erm - why?" frowned Simon, stepping outside and pulling his door to.

"My son, you know, Mike, hasn't returned home after his day at work. I've been in touch with the local Met and his car's been found abandoned. Some joyriders burned it out. It's all on the PNC," Edward said.

"Right. So, what can - what can I do?"

"Your gang unit patrols the area where Mike was last and where his car currently is. It's on Winn Common, in Plumstead. I was thinking if your boys could make a few inquiries, speak to their snouts, they might unearth something new," Edward said, in a rehearsed manner, bordering on the desperate.

Simon sensed the urgency and nodded his head, understanding Edward's thinly disguised angst. "I'll give them a call. I got the envelope by the way and passed it on. What's the make of the car?"

"Thanks for that. A VW Golf. Silver."

"And where was it last?"

"Winn Common. Where he left it. Where it was also found on fire."

"OK."

"He called his girlfriend at ten to four this afternoon to tell her he had a flat tyre," Edward briefed him.

"Ten to four. OK."

"His phone's no longer ringing and that was the last we've heard."

"Local garage, tyre fitter or something like that?" asked Simon, fixing his look constantly on Edward.

"No. I called all the ones in Plumstead and Woolwich, and the ones that border Welling and Erith, asking if anyone of Mike's description had come in regarding a flat tyre. No reports at all," Edward shrugged.

"OK and what - what was the name of his code? What's the listed name that Mike goes under as an informant?"

"Jacob Ramsay," answered Edward.

It was midnight and Rebecca was in her pink pyjamas and a black vest, lying on the sofa with a thin, grey airline blanket loosely draped over her. She was lightly sleeping, with her glasses on her chest and her hands still gripping her phones. It was dark in the living room and the only light that was being cast was from the glow of her MacBook on the coffee table.

Her Samsung mobile phone rang, making her jolt and widen her eyes, forming the briefest of smiles of joy which disappeared in similar split second time when she saw that it was Michael's mum and dad on the display.

"Hello?" she answered, wearily.

"Hello Rebecca. It's Ed. I'm not waking you, am I?"

"I was just on the sofa. Have you heard anything?"

"I was calling to ask if Mike's returned home yet," asked Michael's father, quietly.

"Oh. No, no, not yet. I don't know what to do." She had cried herself out of tears and simply shook on the sofa. Her body shivered and trembled as if she had just been plucked from an icy lake.

"It's all right. We'll find him. You go to bed. Get some rest for work tomorrow and if either of us hear anything new, then we'll contact one another, does that sound all right?"

"Yes," Rebecca whispered.

"Remember, don't answer the door to anybody unless it's Mike and you know it's his voice."

"I won't," she promised, obeying Edward's comforting voice on the other end of the line.

"I'll speak to you tomorrow. Night Bec. Night. Love to you."

"Night," she said softly, as the line went dead, with Rebecca trembling further. Her lips quivered and suddenly she found more tears. They streamed from her eyes and down her cheeks as she wailed. She sat up and rocked herself in the dim light of the room. "Where are you, baby? Where are you? Please come home. Please. Please. I love you. I love you so much. Don't leave me. Please come home," she sobbed.

Edward's eyes were glassy. Sitting at his desk in a white towelling dressing gown, he pondered his next move and put his gold-rimmed glasses on. He unscrewed the cap to a bottle of still Evian water and swigged a mouthful, gulping it down before wiping his mouth with the back of his hand. He pressed the tip of his forefinger to the corner of his eye, sliding away some sleep that had built up within. He yawned and turned around to see Violet, also in a white towelling dressing gown, holding a fluffy pink hot water bottle against her stomach.

"Has he come home yet?" she asked, with a pained expression.

"No," he answered softly.

"Have you heard back from Simon?"

"No. He's quite unreliable really. How he's a DCI I just don't know," Edward digressed.

"Yes, I know. As you always say, Ed. So, what are we going to do? I want to know where my son is!" she said, raising her voice.

"Do you think I don't? Bloody hell, Violet! Goodness me."

"All right, Edward!"

"Crikey, I'm doing all I can."

"No you're not. No, you are not."

"Oh Violet, please. I have to go through the correct channels first," he explained, calmly.

"Like you always do - tip toe, tip toe, ever so softly," Violet said, criticising her husband.

"Oh don't. Please."

"Oh, I was just wondering if you knew where my son was. Doesn't matter if you can't find him. It's all right," she said, mimicking him and suddenly letting loose her tears.

"Violet, it will be all right," Edward said, reassuring her.

"I can't help it. He's such a good son. He's just like you, always helping people and never taking from anybody. Always putting himself last all the time. Where the bloody hell is he?" Violet sobbed, turning to walk away, but stepping back to continue. "And that poor girl. Is Rebecca OK on her own? I don't like her being on her own and worrying all night. That dear, dear, sweet girl. Oh God," she cried and turned away.

Edward pulled on a pair of jeans and then a pair of thick black socks. He buckled a brown leather belt around his waist. He removed his dressing gown and retrieved a dark green polo shirt from the back of the chair, which he put on. He stepped out of the room and grabbed a dark blue fleece from a hook in the hall and entered the kitchen to see Violet sitting in a chair in the corner, clutching a mug of boiling water with a slice of lemon floating in it.

She looked up at him as he put on a pair of brown leather shoes.

"I'm going to where Mike's car is in Plumstead."

"Not on your own, you're not," she commanded.

"Oh I'll be all right!" he snapped back, lovingly.

"Come here and let me tie your laces."

"I can't get down there. Thank you," he said in a different, much more gentle, child-like manner, shuffling a couple of steps to her.

Violet tied the lace to one shoe.

"Give Jason a call. He'll go with you," she said, tying the other lace.

"I'm not waking him up now. I'll be fine."

"He'll want to go with you. You call him and meet him there," she instructed, letting him straighten his legs and sigh.

"Right. I'll give him a call," Edward agreed, stretching out his hand, clutching his mobile phone and scrolling to a name that read "AAJASON'.

A Blackberry phone vibrated on the dashboard of a black Suzuki Vitara jeep. The vehicle pulled to the curb of a residential street.