Deadline

Forty-four

Bolt was sitting in heavy traffic on Tottenham High Road, only a few hundred metres away from where it had all gone so badly wrong. Darkness had fallen, and the sound of the sirens was becoming more sporadic. The helicopters still flew overhead, but their constant circling felt pointless and redundant. Not for the first time in his life he was left on the outside, no longer wanted on an investigation he'd helped to get started.

He didn't want to go home, not with Emma still out there somewhere. The two mobile phone calls the kidnappers had made to Andrea's landline had come from round these streets, and he doubted that the guy with the money had gone far. Much easier to disappear into a nearby house, away from the helicopters, the pursuing cops and the prying eyes of the CCTV. It would take some nerve to organize the ransom drop so near to where they were holding Emma, but nerve had never been in short supply with these people. He was sure that suspect number one was Scott Ridgers, and if necessary he'd drive round and round hoping that at some point Ridgers emerged from his hideout. It was the longest of long shots but it had to be better than doing nothing.

The traffic was moving at a snail's pace, and the worn-out buildings around him – cheap takeaways, charity shops, a few boarded-up wrecks – felt foreboding and claustrophobic. It was on nights like this that he hated London with its noise, its litter and its gridlock, and he felt an almost physical yearning for space. He remembered back to the day he'd bumped into Andrea on the Strand, and how it had been the start of their affair. What if he hadn't been there? What if he'd been doing something different, and their paths had never crossed that second time? How much happier a man would he be now.

Which was when that old nagging thought struck him. What if their meeting hadn't been spontaneous? What if it had all been a set-up? Perhaps Andrea's lover, Jimmy Galante, had wanted inside information on the Flying Squad and had encouraged her to take up with Bolt in order to get it. He thought back, trying to remember if she'd ever pumped him for information, but nothing came to mind. But then, of course, she might not have been doing it on behalf of Galante. She might have taken up with Bolt of her own accord, using him to bring Galante down, either because she was genuinely desperate to leave him and could think of no other way of doing it, or . . . or what?

God knows. He sighed, wiping sweat from his brow and turning the air con higher.

The sound of his mobile ringing jolted him from his thoughts. He looked at the screen but didn't recognize the number. He flicked it on to hands-free and took the call.

'Mr Bolt?'

Bolt recognized the slightly officious tones of Lisa Bouchera's father and tensed a little.

'Mr Bouchera, how can I help you?'

'He's called my daughter.'

Bolt felt a sudden flash of excitement. 'When?'

'Just now. I was outside in the garden but when I came back inside she was crying. She told him she didn't want to see him any more and he started calling her all these filthy names.'

'I'm very sorry to hear that,' Bolt told him. 'We can make sure he doesn't call her again. Have you got access to your daughter's phone?'

'I can get it. Hold on.'

A few seconds later he was back on the line. Bolt asked him to go into the Calls Received screen.

'OK, let's have a look.' There was a pause. 'All right, I'm in.'

His hands shaking, Bolt pulled out his notebook and pen.

'Read me out the top number.'

The moment of truth.

Bouchera reeled off a mobile number and Bolt wrote it down. By using a mobile to make the call to his girlfriend, Scott Ridgers had effectively given out his location, and, Bolt hoped, Emma's location as well. The excitement he was feeling was so powerful it actually made him nauseous for a few seconds.

'And he was the last person who called her?'

'Yes. It was just now.'

Bolt looked at his watch. Five to eight. Just under an hour since the money had disappeared.

'Thank you, sir,' he said, 'you've been a great help.'

'And you. Let me know when you've got the bastard in custody.'

'Course I will,' Bolt said, ending the call.

He took a deep breath, brutally aware that he was suspended and that unless he played things right this lead counted for nothing. He had to do something, and fast. Mo or Tina – who did he call? Who did he trust?

Mo was the colleague he'd always trusted the most, but things had changed between them these past twenty-four hours, possibly irreversibly. Tina, meanwhile, was the person on the team with the best access to the phone companies, and he remembered the look she'd given him in the meeting that morning. Was it empathy? Some kind of understanding? He was stepping over a line by contacting her, he knew that. Asking her to put her own job in jeopardy as a favour to him. And she was such an enigmatic person, so difficult to read, that he had no idea whether she'd help him or not.

There was only one way to find out. He dialled her number, willing her to answer, concentrating so much on this latest development that he didn't even notice that the traffic ahead of him was moving until he heard the horns blaring. As he touched the accelerator and moved forward, her voice came on the line. Clear and businesslike as always.

'Tina Boyd.'

'Tina, it's Mike.'

He heard her sharp intake of breath.

'I didn't expect to hear from you. There's no more news. Matt's in surgery at the moment.'

His thoughts returned to Turner. Poor sod. If only he'd stayed behind at Andrea's house.

'Listen, sir, we're snowed under here. I'm going to have to go.'

'I need a favour.'

'But you're suspended.'

'I know that, but this is urgent, and it's to do with the case. I've got a mobile number for Scott Ridgers – that suspect I was talking to you about earlier who turned out to be one of Andrea's gardeners. He's just used it, literally minutes ago, to make a call. If we can get a trace on that number, it'll lead us straight to him.'

'How did you find this out?'

Bolt explained as briefly as he could.

'I can speak to Steve Evans, but I'm not sure he'll be able, or willing, to authorize it.'

'No, don't speak to him. I can tell you now, he won't authorize it. Just do it. Please.'

'I can't, sir. You're suspended. It could cost me my job.' She sighed. 'I'm sorry.'

'She's my daughter, Tina.'

'What?'

'Emma Devern. She's my daughter. Check with Mo if you don't believe me. It's why I've been so highly strung since this all began.'

'God, I . . . I don't know what to say.'

'Don't say anything. Just help me, please. If we don't act fast, Emma could die.'

'I can't believe you're putting me in this position, Mike.'

'Do you think I want to? Look, there's no way on God's earth I would ask you to do this unless I absolutely had to.' He could hear the desperation in his voice, hated it.

Tina was silent for two, maybe three seconds.

'OK, let me have the number.'

He reeled it off for her.

'I'll do what I can, but it might take some time.'

'This is my daughter. There is no time.'

'If you're lying to me,' she said evenly, 'I'll kill you.'