What i left behind, p.20
What I Left Behind, page 20
I still missed my apartment in London. My shabby chic furniture and the Persian cat who lived next door. She never went out. The beautiful polished walnut floors and the way that, when you looked out of the window, your vision was level with the tops of the trees on the street below. The musical cocktail cabinet and the ringing laughter of the happiness there. The way I could walk less than a mile in any direction and find an excellent restaurant. That place had my stamp on it and the shock of leaving left its mark, on top of everything else.
But I love Manchester and I had to return. I couldn’t go back to my apartment, so I had to find another home. I was on autopilot and my soul was telling me to go back to what I know. The rolling hills and the craggy outcrops that, in the darkness, look like monsters. The dark purple moorland that I am sure is the colour of my heart on the inside. The smell of the mint my grandfather let grow wild across the end of his garden. The sound of beating wings and scuttling feet with every footstep through the brittle heather. So, I ran back home and hid away. I ran back to my former friends who I hoped would take me back. I made the cottage my home not by replicating my London heart, but by riding the tides of discomfort until one day it welcomed me.
I’d gradually begun to love it and its garden. I furnished it from instinct instead of choosing the matching pieces the rote of my mind told me to. Mustards and green, deep browns and burgundy, the colours of the countryside. I forced myself to get to know the neighbours and to shop in the village so that my home widened and eventually joined hands with the city. The resulting bridge had served me well. Still ever vigilant, I’d found a way I could be comfortable at the same time. I ran back to somewhere safe and secure, where I’d sprung from. Where I’d roamed the hills alone in my childhood and I knew. Knowing. Home. I’d roamed again with Kirby to reacquaint myself with the subconscious maps I’d built as a child, to connect with the steadfast trust of the never-changing landscape.
I toss and turn, trying to sleep and listen for the buzz of the comms phone all at once. There’s a text from Salvador, Sal for short, an Italian chef I met a few months ago and I’d been out with a couple of times. I doze in and out of half sleep, thinking about a raven I rescued and helped to mend its broken leg. On the day I’d set it free, up on the black crags of Indian’s Head, I’d realised what would happen to me one day. That I’d be an adult and free to fly like the raven. I’d watched it soar high above the hills and then disappear to the west.
I must have dreamt about Maisie and Tina, and them setting out across the moor on foot. Tina holding Maisie’s hand tight and the heather snapping under their feet as they run faster and faster. Maisie looking back towards her parents’ house and crying for her mummy. Amy and Marc reaching into the darkness and grabbing at the shadows as their daughter slips away from them. Then Kirby is running with them, looking back at me for her stick like she does when we’re playing on the moors. They’re ever running and when my dream changes perspective, it’s me running. Running for my life. Tripping through the dust and cobwebs, birds scattering in front of me. I must have dreamt all this just before waking, because the first thought I had when I awoke was the remnants of a dream.
The second thought I had was much clearer. I know where Tina is going. I know where her desperate journey is taking her. She’s going home.
CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE
I get up and dress. As I hurry to the shower room, I check both phones in case I’ve slept so deeply that I haven’t heard them. Nothing. It’s seven forty-five when I arrive in the SMIT suite room. The day shift has arrived and Steve is watching Keith’s screen as he gives him a rundown on the search that took place last night. Lauren is sitting at her desk reading the case report and updating the files so that the Met has a two-way data conversation with us and we can learn about new developments quickly.
I nod in acknowledgement of several senior officers who have just met with Steve. He looks up as I hurry through the suite.
‘Morning, Jan. Stay at Petra’s, did you?’
I don’t want to lie to him. But at the moment the fewer people who know about my sleeping arrangements the better. So, I throw him a curve ball.
‘I’ve got an idea, Steve. We need to contact Tina. She’s called us, but we haven’t called her.’
Keith pulls up a log from the past two days. ‘I’ve called her on the hour every hour between nine and six yesterday. Nada.’
They both look dead beat. Keith’s desk is littered with Coke Zero cans. Caffeine to keep him awake. I expect he’s been here all night.
‘So, my theory is that she can’t hear the phone. Not with that damn story on full blast through those earphones she always wears. She probably looks at her phone every now and again. She’ll see the calls, but the moment’s gone. So, I’ll text her.’
Steve’s face clouds with worry. ‘On dangerous ground there, Jan. You know the directives on communications. Speak to them first.’
We’re supposed to get any text we send by any means cleared first to make sure it doesn’t break any entrapment rules, especially if the recipient is vulnerable. So, we usually don’t bother.
‘But I’m just going to offer her help. A way to put things right. She wants to make contact otherwise she wouldn’t have phoned.’
He thinks for a moment. He has to consider all the options. ‘Unless she’s taking the piss. Silent phone calls. She could be just making us sweat.’
He’s right. Tina could be on the edge of her nerves, waiting for the right time to blow up the car or hurt Maisie. But my gut feeling tells me that she isn’t. Keith intervenes.
‘But if she’s listening to the story on the car’s CD player then she’d hear the call. Maybe she just doesn’t want to answer.’
Again, a good point. She may just like to be in control. This could be what it’s all about, the need to be in charge. But again, I doubt it. Her life has slipped too far the other way, where she has dissolved so far into her situation that she is grasping onto who she is by a hair’s breadth.
‘Or she may be listening on a portable CD player. Mmm. Let me try. We need a way to directly appeal to her, get her to trust me.’
It’s a dangerous scenario. She’s so volatile that any mistake could cost us the case, and Maisie. Steve’s right to be cautious, but I don’t see what options we have. To me, it’s all about getting on a one-to-one basis with Tina, making her feel like I care and that she can talk to me. I’ve had all the negotiation training. We all have. But it’s more than that. It’s about the words you say and the control in your voice. Too much and the perpetrator will immediately sense that it’s a set-up. Too little and they’ll know you’re trying to be their best mate.
In my experience it’s better to try to be as truthful as possible. No massive false promises that are going to seem outlandish, although this route is sometimes tempting when a case looks desperate. No over-friendly banter. It’s not lulling the perp into a sense of false security, it’s making them think that you don’t mean what you say and, consequently, they discount it. All the calls are recorded and anyone who’s negotiating knows that any hint of entrapment could affect the final outcome of the case. We can make bargains, but we can’t push them too far.
We’re taking a big risk with Tina because the situation is so unpredictable. By talking to her we could alienate her even more. Her hatred of the police and most other forms of authority are more than evident in the intelligence pictures and the last thing I want to do is build on that until she feels like she’s trapped. Or desperate. If I push her and push her, she might begin to feel cornered. And that’s when people make rash decisions. When they can see no other way out. But what choice do we have?
The only way I can see to handle this is to open a line of communication and talk to her about what’s going on. Open and honest. Point out that she has options. Try to show her that harming Maisie will make it worse for her in the long term. And if it gets critical, where Tina sees no long term for herself, revert to Steve’s original plan. But we’ll only know all this by talking to her. Steve nods his agreement. I type out a text message on the comms phone and show it to him.
Tina, it’s Jan here. You called me yesterday. Look, I can help you sort this out. Just you and me. Call me x
He stares at it for a long second. He shifts from foot to foot a few times then nods again. I can tell that his entire police career is passing before his eyes. I’ve had moments when I know what a split-second decision can cost. It nearly cost me everything. But if I’m right on this one it could help me get some dialogue with Tina. Help me to get her to at least drop Maisie somewhere unharmed. We all hesitate for a little longer, then I press send.
In fifteen minutes, a read receipt flashes onto the phone. We’d all sat in silence. Waiting for a call. Now at least we knew that she has read the message.
‘Still the same position. Up between the Lewises and Uppermill. Possibly Denshaw.’
I scour my memory for all the places that she could be hiding, but there are so many. Boat sheds on the side of the reservoirs, ruins of ancient farmhouses, hidden from the roads. Shelters built for cattle and sheep. High dry-stone walls, built to stop the land slipping, half toppled, but enough left to hide a car behind. We’d looked at the same cameras at the same junctions as when Maisie first went missing until they ran out on the unlit high peak crossings.
She knows we’re looking for her, so she’s kept to the narrow lanes. Some of them would be only just wide enough to pass in the big silver Range Rover, but she would have known to slow down and negotiate the width and the turns. High up there, dirt tracks and lanes lead to old houses that could only be seen from the air basking in the mist settling in dips. So beautiful and surprising to see as you top the brink of a hill. But for Tina, the perfect hidey hole. I think about the gap in the calls and the time before she read the text. She would have to find phone reception.
Keith is setting up an earphone feed in case a member of the team observes anything in the conversation or needs to direct me. I smile. He believes in me. He believes that Tina will call.
I wonder how Kerry is, if she and Pete have met their baby yet. I wish I’d been there, but it’s an impossible situation. I think about Jean and Graham and how they would have fussed over the officer sent to sit with them. How that officer would have been itching to go over to my house and see if my pursuers were there. Chances are that they’ve left someone there and returned here. Someone hiding in my bedroom. Waiting for me to come home from work, all unsuspecting, or behind the back door. While they watch for me here.
I watch for a while, certain that they will appear on the road where they were parked yesterday, but nothing as yet. I pace up and down, waiting, waiting. Steve calls Marc Lewis to update him and I watch as he waves his arms about, trying to explain why we haven’t found Maisie and how Marc’s company can’t fund a twenty-four-hour helicopter search. When the call ends, he comes over.
‘It’s getting critical up there now. Marc Lewis is starting to think about taking action. It’s only a matter of time before this gets out.’
It’s a constant worry that people involved in the case take matters into their own hands. Marc’s a powerful man and I realised right from the first moment I spoke to him that the calm exterior held in a calculating mind, which even under the extreme trauma of his daughter being abducted, would work out routes to solve the situation.
‘Who could blame him? It’s horrendous. He’s under a lot of pressure. And we can’t really stop him talking to people.’
We both know what that means. We’ll have lost control of the case and Marc will just pay any ransom demanded, thinking that it will get Maisie back. Unfortunately, it’s rarely that simple. They just demand more time, more money and when their demands aren’t met, kill their detainee anyway. We go through the daily newspapers, thick with accusation about unknown car man. They’ve already been scanned for any reference to the explosives or Magellan. There are a few snapshots of Lauren, but thankfully, none of me. Although it might have been better if a few had appeared. This way it looks like I’ve run away. But nothing could be farther from the truth.
The comms phone rings at ten forty-seven. It buzzes against my chest and makes me jump. I pull it out and back into a side room so the echo from the broadcast of the call can’t be heard. On the third ring, and Keith’s signal, I answer.
‘Hi. This is Jan. Is that Tina?’
I can hear birds in the background. A few seconds pass and I start to think that this is going to be another silent call, a taunt. But eventually she speaks.
‘Yeah. It’s Tina.’
‘Good to speak to you. You okay?’
I hear a rustle and a sob.
‘Not really.’
‘Right. Do you want to tell me a bit about what’s wrong?’
She’s definitely crying. I can hear it in her voice. Like Glen said, she speaks with a northern accent, too Manchester for Lancashire. Lower vowels than Steve, closer to my own twang.
‘Is this just you or is half the fucking police force listening in?’
I stare out at the completely silent SMIT suite. I hate lying. But in this case, it’s necessary.
‘Just me, Tina. Just me. I can help you.’
I hear twigs breaking under her feet. She’s outside and walking.
‘Where’s Jennifer? Is she okay?’
I panic a little. More lies.
‘Your mum’s looking after her. She’s fine. What about Maisie? Is she okay?’
Trade an answer for an answer.
‘Yeah. I suppose.’
‘Where is she, Tina? Where’s Maisie?’
More sobs.
‘In the car. She’s in the car. I needed to get some time alone. I can’t stand it.’
‘What? What can’t you stand?’
‘That feeling. Like you can’t do owt for ’em. Screaming. Screaming. So, I went to the woods for a bit, you know, to phone you and see what I can do. I never fucking wanted this, you know.’
I look at Steve. I see the relief wash over him. At least she’s saying that none of this was intentional. None of it was Magellan. It’s personal.
‘Okay. Tell me what happened. As you can imagine, Tina, we know part of what’s happened. The doll messages and Maisie. Why did you take Maisie? That’s what I don’t get.’
She’s sobbing hard now. And running. Her heavy breath resounds through the SMIT suite.
‘I went to see him. Glen. I was going to ask him to look after Jennifer while I got me head sorted but he was with that Jane. My car was broke and he wouldn’t give me any money so I took the car keys. I knew what he was going to do. I knew what they were planning. So, I warned ’em. All of ’em. Then when I got to that big house on the tops, I took Jennifer and I was going to leave her there.’
I feel my stomach turn over. Leave Jennifer there?
‘So, you were going to leave Jennifer there?’
‘Yeah. Posh like, so she’d be looked after.’ More sobs, then her voice raises several decibels. ‘Because I can’t do that, can I? I can’t look after her. Not on my own. When she starts crying, I can’t stop her. I can’t touch her sometimes. I just want to run away from her. But she’s my baby and I miss her.’
Alarm bells are ringing loud and clear for me now. Leave Jennifer? Only someone desperate and not thinking clearly would resort to this. Tina’s an intelligent girl. If she was thinking clearly, she would know that the Lewises, no matter how wealthy they were, couldn’t just ‘look after’ Jennifer. It isn’t that simple. Unless you are at the end of your tether and need a quick solution to tell yourself. She’s sobbing loudly and needs a break. And I need to change her direction back to Maisie.
‘Is that how you feel, Tina? But Jennifer’s well looked after. Anyone can see that.’
‘What’s wrong with me? I can’t be like other mums. I can’t be happy. All I want is the night and Glen and my life in London. He gave me all this shit about being there for me and I bought a load of baby clothes with his drug money. My daughter was going to have the best. But it didn’t stop her crying, did it?’
Her heart is breaking and I feel for her. I know only too well what it’s like to want your old life back. But I need her to talk about Maisie.
‘But how did you come to have Maisie?’
She calms a little. I hope beyond hope that I’ve engaged her, gained her trust.
‘I was going to leave Jennifer in a bedroom, and then the kid woke up. The little girl. She started to cry, and I lost my bottle. That’s right. I can’t even get leaving my own kid right. So, I picked her up and before I knew it, I was in the car. Then driving off. Two crying babies. So, I blocked it out. If I don’t, I can’t stand it.’
It doesn’t seem like she wants to hurt Maisie. I take a deep breath.
‘Tina. Maisie’s parents love her. They’d like to have her home…’
‘No… I know what you bastards are like. I’ve seen you in fucking action. You know my background. Magellan. You know. And I’ve seen what you do to people like me.’
‘Tina, wait. What if I could promise you safety? If you just leave Maisie in an agreed place, or I’ll meet you on my own.’
She’s thinking. I try again.
‘Her mum and dad are heartbroken, Tina. You could just hand her over and then you’re free to go.’
I hear Steve’s voice in my ear and look up. ‘The car. Ask her if she knows what’s in the car.’
‘Besides, it’s dangerous driving around in that car. Come on, Tina. It’s over. This can’t go on indefinitely.’
She snorts and laughs loudly. ‘No, it can’t. I never meant it to go on indefinitely. It has to have an end, doesn’t it? And what’s left for me? Where do I fit into it all? I’m nowhere. No one.’
