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T
he streets around my home were near deserted. I was therefore totally conspicuous. I tried as much as possible to stay in the shadows, ducking into doorways and behind hedges when a car approached.

I part walked and part jogged towards the city centre. It was crazy. My best friend had been murdered and my family kidnapped. And yet I was the one running from the police.

As I moved through the streets I told myself that I had to hold on to the belief that Maggie and Laura would not be killed or otherwise harmed. I couldn’t allow myself to think the worst or to imagine them suffering any form of abuse. That would only drag me down and paralyse me with fear and dread.

Laura was a sensitive child, and shy. An ordeal as terrifying as
this would almost certainly scar her mentally for life, even if it turned out not to be protracted. Maggie, on the other hand, had never been shy and sensitive. She could be headstrong and
opinionated
. And that bothered me. She might conceivably try to make things difficult for the kidnapper and in so doing make him even more dangerous.

A picture of Maggie entered my head. It was of the day I first set eyes on her. She walked into the office with the advertising manager who was taking her on a tour of the building to introduce her to the staff. It wasn’t actually love at first sight, but it was close to it, I’m sure. She looked magnificent in a white summer blouse and black, hip-hugging trousers. When I shook her hand I made up my mind to find out everything I could about her. And later, when Vince told me that she’d had the same effect on him, I resolved to be the first to ask her out.

But I couldn’t hold on to that picture of Maggie because my resistance cracked and I was suddenly confronted by an image that showed her lying on a cold, concrete floor in the semi dark, her face wet with tears, her eyes filled with terror. The image caused a hard knot to twist inside my chest.

What was actually happening to her now? I wondered. Was she in pain? Bleeding? Crying? Unconscious? I had no way of knowing and it was tearing a hole inside me.

And what of Laura? What kind of state must she be in? Six years old, for Christ’s sake. Innocent. Vulnerable. Naive. And trapped inside a real nightmare. In my mind’s eye I saw her curled up on the floor paralysed by fear. It was awful.

But thankfully the shriek of a police siren wrenched my thoughts back to my own plight and the image faded. I ducked down behind a parked van as the patrol car screamed by, going in the direction of my house. Then I was on the move again, a stitch in my side slowing me down. I knew these streets, but they seemed strangely unfamiliar. Darker and more foreboding than I remembered. I felt like I was intruding. As a young reporter I had gained an extensive knowledge of the city and its people. I’d written about the social problems on the council estates, I’d profiled the recession-hit home-owners, I’d
covered the planning issues, the business failures, the influx of immigrants. And yet now I felt like an outsider who wasn’t welcome. It was just a feeling, but it had seized every fibre of my being.

The nearer I got to the city centre the more people and cars there were. Saturday-night revellers heading home or waiting on
pavements
for taxis. I began to feel less conspicuous, but at the same time I felt more alone than at any time in my entire life. There was no one to go to for help, no one to share my desperate concern for my family, no one to tell me what to do. I had little choice but to follow the kidnapper’s instructions.

I came to the Bargate, a large archway that used to be the main entrance to the medieval walled city of Southampton. The high street opened up at this point and there were a few people hanging around, clearly drunk and in no hurry to go home.

I looked around for a temporary sanctuary, somewhere I could go to collect my fractured thoughts and catch my breath.

But at that moment my phone rang, shooting me with adrenaline.

I whipped it out and hurried towards the shadows of the Bargate.

In the gloom of the archway I peered at the screen and experienced a surge of disappointment when the words ‘anonymous caller’ flashed at me.

It wasn’t Maggie’s phone. So who the hell was calling me at this hour? The kidnapper had warned me not to answer unless the call was from my wife’s phone.

I stood with my back against the cold, ancient stones of the Bargate walls, staring at the pulsating letters.

It dawned on me then that it must be the police. Having found the house empty DCI Temple and his colleague were now trying to contact me. Obviously they wanted to talk to me about Vince. Did I know he was dead? When had I last seen him? Why was I not at home at this ungodly hour?

‘Shut that fucking thing off.’

The voice barked at me from the shadows on the other side of the archway. For the first time I noticed that there were two figures standing in a narrow alcove about ten feet from me. Their faces were just visible in the soft glow from lighted cigarettes, or maybe they
were joints. They both had cropped hair and were wearing short jackets over jeans.

‘Did you hear what I said, you fucking moron?’ one of them shouted.

A cold sweat leapt all over my body. My phone was still ringing and I didn’t want to switch it off because I didn’t want the police to know that I had it.

I thrust it into my jeans pocket and mumbled an apology. This prompted one of the youths to say, ‘Why don’t you answer the bloody thing?’

I didn’t respond and that proved to be a mistake.

‘You trying to be funny?’ one of the youths said as they both stepped out of the shadows and started towards me.

The phone stopped ringing but now my heart was hammering so fast that I swear I could hear it slamming against my ribcage. I felt threatened suddenly. The youths were obviously drunk or off their heads on drugs. I was about to say something but thought better of it. Instead, I started to turn, intending to run away, but I wasn’t quick enough. Both youths came at me suddenly like tigers leaping on their prey.

The first blow caught me on the left side of my face. The fist hammered into my cheekbone, hurling me against the wall. Then I felt a hard boot make contact with my left shin bone and my leg buckled. I stumbled sideways as both my attackers started yelling abuse at me. The next blow was a heavy punch to the back of the head. I lost my balance and fell to the ground. This was followed by a sharp kick to my stomach.

I tried to get to my feet but the blows came thick and fast. I didn’t stand a chance. I resorted to curling up on the ground in the hope that the attackers would quickly tire or be scared off by a passer-by.

But they were in a frenzy and I didn’t have the strength or the cunning to escape. So I just lay there as the blows rained down. It seemed to last for ever, although it was probably less than a minute.

‘He’s had enough,’ one of them said at last. ‘Let’s fuck off.’

‘Grab his phone,’ the other responded. ‘And see if he’s got any cash.’

I felt them searching me, rough hands thrusting into my pockets,
and I tried to resist. But my arms were heavy and painful and I couldn’t keep their claws at bay.

After a few seconds I sensed them step back from me. One of them stamped on my chest for good measure, forcing a searing gasp of air from my lungs.

I opened my mouth to plead with them not to take my phone, but the words that came out were barely intelligible. I rolled on to my front and watched helplessly as they bolted away from the Bargate down the high street.

I was suddenly oblivious to the pain that was exploding all over my body and the blood that was pounding in my head. All I could think about was my phone. It was my only link to the kidnapper and my family.

And it was gone.

J
ennifer Priest lived in a small block of modern flats close to the city’s football stadium. Each flat had a balcony and a bay window overlooking the road out front. Some of the balconies had pot plants. Others had small bistro tables and chairs.

Before going inside Temple phoned Angel for an update. She told him they’d got Danny Cain’s mobile number and had called it, but there was no answer.

‘Keep trying,’ he said. ‘Has DC Patel got anything new to report from the cottage?’

‘I just spoke to him,’ Angel said. ‘There’s nothing yet, but he has it under control. I’ll call you as soon as I have something.’

‘So what have you turned up at the Cain house?’

‘I checked the garage,’ she said. ‘There’s a second car inside. A Mini. Probably the wife’s.’

‘That’s curious,’ Temple said. ‘The family vanish but without their own transport. What about neighbours?’

‘The uniforms are doing the rounds now, but so far there’s been no joy.’

‘All right, keep at it. We’ll talk later.’

Jennifer Priest’s flat was on the second floor. Her father, Superintendent Priest, answered the door to Temple and showed him into a compact living room that had off-white walls and was packed with trendy Ikea furniture, including a huge crimson rug and a round glass coffee table.

Priest looked pale and worried. His features were taut and his brow was deeply furrowed. He was a heavy set man in his mid fifties with broad shoulders and a thick neck. He had receding grey hair and a prominent brow.

Priest was an old-school copper. Gruff, cynical, dedicated to the job. Temple was able to relate to him for that very reason. He
considered
that they were from the same mould, shared the same values and fought the same battles with bureaucracy.

Priest was essentially a private man and Temple was one of only a few officers who socialized with him outside work. Neither of them was into big, raucous CID get-togethers down the pub, preferring instead a quiet chat over a glass of Chablis in the nearest wine bar.

They both liked football and occasionally went along to the St Mary’s stadium to see the Saints play. And they were both interested in firearms. Priest had an impressive collection of replica guns, including a valuable Western revolver that he’d bought at auction for £3,000. Temple just liked firing the things down at the range. They gave him a buzz and had earned him the nickname
Billy
, as in Billy the Kid.

Over the past year, as Priest went through a bitter divorce, their get-togethers had become more frequent: two fifty-something men putting the world to rights and dreading the prospect of retirement. Priest was still recovering mentally and financially from a
long-drawn
-out and bitter divorce. Temple was still trying to come to terms with being a widower and having no kind of life outside work. They found a curious comfort in each other’s company.

Temple knew that Priest would be badly shaken by what had happened. He often talked about his daughter and clearly worshipped her. He would take Vince Mayo’s murder personally, that was for sure.

‘You want tea or coffee?’ Priest said.

Temple shook his head. ‘I’m fine, sir. Mind if I sit down?’

‘Go ahead. Jennifer will be out shortly. She’s in the bathroom. I’m afraid there have been a lot of tears.’

Temple sat on a black leather sofa while Priest, dressed in
loose-fitting
jumper and Wrangler jeans, stood in front of the fire, his face gaunt with concern, his cheeks flat. The air of authority that always commanded so much respect had disappeared.

‘What’s your take on this, Jeff?’ he asked, his tone sombre. ‘Was this a premeditated murder or what?’

Temple leaned forward, elbows on knees. ‘It’s too soon to call, sir. However, there were no obvious signs of a break-in at Mayo’s cottage, and his belongings appeared to be in order. It doesn’t mean, of course, that we should rule out a burglar or burglars.’

Priest sucked in a lungful of air and exhaled slowly with a hissing sound through his teeth.

‘As you know, I didn’t approve of Vince as Jennifer’s boyfriend,’ he said. ‘I felt the same way about him as you and the others did after George Banks died. But my daughter adored him and wouldn’t hear a bad word said against him. In fact, when the Banks story was published we argued about it and she defended Mayo to the hilt. Said she didn’t understand why George’s colleagues, including me, were so outraged since he was clearly in the wrong when he took the drugs.’

‘How have you been getting on with him recently?’ Temple asked.

‘Just fine,’ Priest said. ‘Can’t say I saw much of him, but then that was OK because I was always worried that he was discreetly pumping me for information, even though I made it clear at the outset that I wouldn’t be his source inside the service. Always had to be careful what I said, though. But he wasn’t a bad lad, to be fair.’

‘So was your daughter’s relationship with him pretty serious?’ Temple asked.

‘Oh, for sure. He hadn’t actually asked her to move in with him but she was hoping that he would. And who knows? Perhaps it would have led to wedding bells. I know that Jennifer is ready for that. She’s anxious to start a family.’

‘You say your daughter went to your house during the
afternoon
?’

‘That’s right. She usually comes over every other weekend. Sometimes with Vince, but mostly by herself.’

‘Did she have any contact with Mayo while she was with you?’

‘No, she didn’t.’

Temple took out his notebook and started scrawling.

‘How old is Jennifer, sir?’

‘She’s twenty-seven.’

‘And her occupation?’

‘A sales rep for a cosmetics company.’

‘And she and Mayo have been together for how long?’

‘About fourteen months. They met at a local gym where they were both members.’

‘How long has she lived here?’

‘Two years. She moved to Southampton from Andover after her mother and I split up.’

‘And has she any idea who might have killed Mayo?’

Priest gestured towards the door. ‘Why don’t you ask her
yourself
? Jen, this is Detective Chief Inspector Jeff Temple.’

Jennifer Priest was wearing a beige towelling robe that swamped her slender frame. She had long, straw-coloured hair tied back from a pale, pretty face. She wasn’t wearing make-up and the flesh around her smoky-grey eyes was red and puffy. She had her father’s nose, straight and pert, with slightly flared nostrils.

‘Hello, Miss Priest,’ Temple said, rising to his feet.

She gave a slight nod and shuffled further into the room. Priest put an arm around his daughter and led her over to an armchair. She sat down, hands in lap, and began rolling a soggy tissue between her fingers.

‘The inspector is in charge of the case,’ Priest told her. ‘He needs to ask you some questions. They’re likely to be the same as those I’ve already asked but you have to answer them.’

Jennifer lifted her head and looked at Temple. Her eyes searched his face. They were brimming with tears, but there was a hardness in her expression too.

‘Are you one of the officers who refused to have anything to do with Vince after he exposed that crook George Banks?’ she said.

Temple blinked in surprise. For a moment he was lost for words.

‘I told you not to go there, Jen,’ Priest said to his daughter. ‘Now is not the time to bring this stuff up.’

‘Yes it is,’ she said ‘Because I want to be sure that your people will do all they can to find whoever did this. I know they all harbour a grudge and I wouldn’t be surprised if certain people are pleased that this has happened.’

‘You have nothing to worry about, Miss Priest,’ Temple said. ‘We’ll treat this crime as we do every other. I can assure you that any ill feeling towards Mr Mayo among officers in Southampton
evaporated
a long time ago. Your father can testify to that.’

‘Vince showed me the letters,’ she said. ‘All the hate mail.’

‘As I remember they were anonymous,’ Temple said.

‘Yeah, right. We both know who sent them.’

There was an awkward silence. After a few seconds Priest cleared his throat and said, ‘Look, Jen, I know you’re upset and felt the need to make a point. Well, you’ve made it. Will you now please answer the inspector’s questions?’

She blew her nose and rubbed her eyes. Then said, ‘Can you tell me what happened to Vince?’

Temple sat up straight and took a breath. ‘He was attacked in his home and suffered two fatal blows to his head.’

Jennifer swallowed and wiped her face with her sleeve.

‘Where was he found?’ she asked.

‘In the kitchen. That’s almost certainly where the attack took place. His body was discovered by his neighbour, Mr Nadelson.’

Jennifer closed her eyes briefly.

‘Do you mind if I ask what car you drive, Miss Priest?’

She opened her eyes, but other than that there was no emotional reaction to the question.

‘It’s a Peugeot 207.’

‘And the colour?’

‘White. Why do you want to know?’

‘Mr Nadelson saw a car driving away from Mr Mayo’s cottage about ten o’clock last evening. A dark vehicle, perhaps an Audi or BMW. Does that description mean anything to you?’

‘No, it doesn’t. And besides, I was nowhere near the cottage last night. I thought my father told you that.’

‘He did, Miss Priest. It’s just that I have to ask certain questions anyway, even though I might already know the answers.’

Jennifer looked at him doubtfully and lowered her eyes.

Temple could see that she was on the verge of losing it. A single tear slipped out of her right eye and trickled down her cheek.

‘Do you know of anyone who might have wanted to see Mr Mayo dead?’ Temple asked.

She raised her eyes. ‘But I assumed it was robbery. That he was killed by burglars.’

‘That’s a possibility, Miss Priest. But there were no signs of a break-in. It could be that he knew his killer.’

This shocked her. She looked at her father and started sobbing.

Priest stood behind her, placing both hands on her shoulders. It looked to Temple as though he too might be about to break down.

‘I know this is difficult for you, Miss Priest,’ Temple said. ‘But I have to ask you more questions.’

Jennifer blew her nose again and cleared her throat.

‘I know,’ she said. ‘I’m all right.’

He allowed her time to compose herself, then went on, ‘I gather you stayed at Mr Mayo’s cottage on Friday evening?’

She nodded. ‘Yes. We watched a film,
Mama Mia.
’

‘Mr Nadelson said he saw you briefly this morning.’

‘He popped over with Vince’s lottery tickets. Vince invited him in for a cup of coffee but he was in a hurry so he didn’t come in.’

‘So what did you and Mr Mayo do during the rest of the day?’

‘Not much really. By the time we’d had breakfast and got ready it
was almost lunchtime. Vince did some work and I read a book and watched television. Then in the afternoon I went to my dad’s house for dinner.’

‘And Mr Mayo stayed at home?’

‘That’s right, but that wasn’t unusual. Vince liked my father but he always felt a little awkward spending time with him. On this
occasion
he had a proper excuse, though. He said he had to wait in because a man he owed money to was coming to the cottage to collect some of it. It was part of his gambling debt.’

‘Was Mr Mayo a serious gambler, then?’

‘Very serious,’ she said. ‘Trouble was he wasn’t very good at it. That’s why he was in so much debt.’

‘Do you know how much he owed?’

‘Not exactly, but it was well over twenty thousand pounds.’

Temple and Priest looked at each other. Priest shrugged his
shoulders
, as if to say that it was news to him.

‘So who was the man who was coming to collect the money?’

‘His name is Dessler,’ she said. ‘Joe Dessler. I know because Vince mentioned him a few times.’

Temple glanced at Priest. ‘There’s a Joe Dessler on the patch, sir. He’s a small-time pimp and loan shark.’

‘I know of him,’ Priest said. ‘The vice lads have had him in from time to time. I’m sure he’s got form.’

Temple turned back to Jennifer. ‘So what do you know about Dessler, Miss Priest?’

‘I know that Vince didn’t like him much,’ she said. ‘And I know that he and Danny were planning to do some kind of exposé on him through the news agency.’

‘What do you mean?’

She shrugged. ‘That’s all I know really. He talked to Danny about it a few times when I was with him.’

‘You mean Danny Cain, his partner?’

‘That’s right.’

‘So tell me about this exposé they were working on. What’s it all about?’

‘Well, apparently Dessler wanted his money back from Vince and
had made some threats against him,’ she said. ‘But Vince was always short of cash and on one occasion he even borrowed from me to service his debts. So he came up with the idea of doing a story on Dessler and selling it to a Sunday newspaper. Vince was keen on it because he thought it might solve his cash problems if Dessler got put away. I know Danny was a bit worried about it but as far as I know he didn’t object.’

‘So why didn’t you tell me about this?’ Priest said, aggrieved.

Jennifer looked up at her father. ‘Vince told me not to mention it to anyone, especially you.’

Priest turned to Temple. ‘We need to talk to Cain about this article. It could be significant.’

‘We will when we find him,’ Temple said.

‘Is he not at home, then?’

‘His house was empty when we got there, although the lights were on. There was also a car on the driveway and DS Angel swore she saw someone moving around inside as we arrived.’

‘What are you saying, Jeff? That you think he did a runner?’

‘I don’t know, sir. He might have ducked out the back. He has a wife and daughter and they’re not around either.’

‘Do you know if there were any problems between Vince and his partner?’ Priest asked his daughter.

Jennifer shook her head. ‘Not that I’m aware of. They always seemed to get on.’