Deadline

Fifty-four

Whatever doubts Bolt had about Pat Phelan's involvement in the kidnap of his stepdaughter, the fact remained that they were largely irrelevant. He was off the case and, for the moment at least, off the team.

It had been a long night. He'd been at Enfield Nick until the early hours, giving his statement to two of the local CID and taking their questions. He'd stuck to the story he'd told Steve Evans about why he'd been on the scene in the first place, but made sure he told the truth about everything else, and it soon became clear that they were treating him as a witness rather than a suspect in the murder of Scott Ridgers. Formalities complete, he'd eventually made it home a little after three a.m. and collapsed, exhausted, into his bed straight away, able to relax for the first time in close to forty-eight hours.

He slept late. It was gone eleven when he finally rose from his bed, cleaned himself up, and put on a fresh pot of coffee. There was a message on his mobile from Mo telling him that Matt Turner was still on the critical list but that the operation had been a success and the doctors were confident he was going to pull through. He also added that Emma had been debriefed and had confirmed Bolt's version of events, then finished by wishing his boss luck and hoping he'd be back on duty soon. He sounded a little contrite, and Bolt guessed that this was his apology for the way he'd been the previous day.

It was good news about Turner. He'd go down the hospital to visit him as soon as he was well enough to be seen.

As he poured the coffee and made himself a couple of slices of toast, his thoughts turned to Emma. It was a strange feeling knowing that he had a daughter who for fourteen years had grown up only a few miles away. But he felt happy about it, and hopeful too. He wanted to become a part of her life now, although he knew that this would have to wait a while, at least until she'd recovered from the worst of her ordeal.

But at the very least he needed to know how she was getting on, and when he'd finished his toast he called Andrea's landline. Marie the liaison officer answered. She sounded tired, but brightened a little when she recognized Bolt's voice.

'It's great news that we've got Emma back,' she said. 'Andrea's ecstatic, as you can imagine.'

'Is Andrea there?' he asked.

'Yes, they're both here. Do you want to speak to her?'

'Please. Just tell her it's a quick courtesy call.

I'm sure she's busy.'

'I'll go and find her. Hold on.'

Marie clearly didn't know about his suspension. In fact, it didn't seem that she'd been told much, which under the circumstances was probably no bad thing.

A few seconds later he heard the receiver being picked up. But it wasn't Andrea. It was Marie again.

'She says she's very busy at the moment, Mr Bolt. Can she call you back later?'

He tried to keep the disappointment out of his voice. 'No problem. I'll wait to hear from her. But Emma's fine, yeah?'

'She's asleep at the moment, but yes, she's bearing up well, although the doctors say she's quite dehydrated.'

He wanted to ask something else, to keep the conversation going in the hope that Andrea would change her mind and take the call, but he wasn't sure what, so reluctantly he said his goodbyes and hung up.

He turned on the TV and found Sky News. The main report was on the failed ransom drop. The man shot dead by police had not been named, but the young father he'd fatally stabbed had been identified as thirty-five-year-old Anthony Randolph of Waltham Abbey, Essex. A photo of him on his wedding day flashed up on the screen, followed by a photo of Matt Turner looking particularly deadpan, as the reporter described him as fighting for his life in intensive care. A camera panned round a largely empty Tottenham High Road, lined with strips of scene-of-crime tape, as the report continued, but it was clear that information was scarce, and there was no mention of the kidnapping, or of the separate but linked death of Scott Ridgers.

Bolt felt resentful that he was no longer involved in an investigation he'd done so much to break. He wondered whether Phelan had shown up yet, and briefly contemplated phoning Tina, but decided against it. She'd done more than enough for him already, and he didn't want to lose her respect by pushing her further.

Instead, he finished his coffee and got dressed, knowing that he had to do something, anything, to ease his frustration.

Which was when he had an idea. Outside, the sun was shining and it looked like it was going to be another beautiful day. He grabbed his shoes and looked at his watch. Five minutes to midday.

It was time to catch up with some old friends.