The Vanishing Point

16

With every passing day the soundproofed room seemed to grow more oppressive. Detective Sergeant Nick Nicolaides knew the personal scents of the other five occupants so well he could have picked them out of an identity parade blindfolded. He knew their physical tics; the tapping of a pen against teeth, the soft percussion of fingertips on desktop, the sucking of air through the front teeth, the scratching of fingernails on designer stubble, the endless fiddling with the bridge of the reading glasses. He knew who would crack which kind of joke over the contents of the emails they were working through. He knew who was tweeting his mistress instead of working, who was texting his bookie and who was ordering groceries online from Tesco. And of course, he knew more about the professional and personal lives of News International journalists than any adult human should have to.

When he’d been seconded to the team investigating the allegations of News International’s phone hacking and corrupting of public officials, Nick had been excited. It was a headline-grabbing case, and its potential repercussions for the media and the Met were thrilling. Though not in a good way.

But the glitz had worn thin pretty quickly. News International had handed over three hundred million emails. Three hundred million. Nick suspected they’d dumped everything they could find on to the inquiry in the hope that the trees would get lost in the wood. It wasn’t humanly possible to read every one. He remembered reading about a project to classify every galaxy in the universe according to shape. The astronomers involved had asked members of the public to log on to their website and take part in the process. It was the only way to get enough bodies on the case. Even then, it would take years. But that wasn’t an option here because it was a criminal investigation.

So what they had was a computer program that was gradually working its way through all of the three hundred million, primed with key words and phrases that should, in theory, mean that all the dodgy emails would be spat out into the inboxes of the people grafting away in rooms like this all over the old Wapping printworks. Every team was a mix of the company’s own watchdogs and police officers. Embedded, that was what they called what he was doing. And embedded was what it bloody felt like. Embedded up to the neck in other people’s shit.

Now, instead of actually working real cases and catching real criminals, Nick was locked in a bunker looking for evidence which, even if he found it, probably would never see the light of courtroom day. A few months ago, his career had seemed to be on an upward trajectory. But this was the backwater to end all backwaters.

He clicked on the next email in his queue. It had been flagged up because it contained the word ‘credit’. One of the ways journalists paid backhanders to sources was to list their associates in the credits book. If you wanted to pay DCI XXX for giving you an exclusive tip, you put a payment through to his girlfriend or his mum or his best mate. So every time a journalist or an executive mentioned, ‘taking the credit’, or ‘credit where it’s due’, Nick would have to read the innocuous message. Just in case.

This time, it was from an editorial executive complaining that his company credit card had been refused at the petrol station that morning. Nick sighed and sent it to the ‘checked’ folder and clicked on the next one. The ringing of his phone felt like a stay of execution. A glance at the screen revealed an unfamiliar number. But it was an American number. And there was a good reason to answer a call from America this morning.

‘Hello?’ he said, always wary of giving too much away.

‘Have I reached Detective Sergeant Nick Nicolaides?’ An American voice. Not what he expected at all. A twitch of anxiety in his chest.

‘You have. Who am I speaking to?’

‘This is Special Agent Vivian McKuras of the Federal Bureau of Investigation. I’m based at the O’Hare Airport office.’

‘Has something happened to Stephanie?’ He couldn’t help himself.

‘Sergeant, I need to confirm your ID before I can say anything further. Can you give me a landline number for the police office where you are based so I can do that?’

Now he was seriously worried. What on earth had Stephanie got herself into? He rattled off the number for the major incident team he was nominally attached to. ‘You’ll have to call me back on the mobile, I’m based out of the office at the moment.’ The line went dead.

Nick jumped to his feet and hustled out of the door. There was a shout of protest behind him. He wasn’t supposed to leave the civilians unattended. But he needed to be moving. His long legs ate up the corridors and the wind of his passage whipped his shaggy hair back from his face. Out in the car park, he paced, heedless of the misty rain drifting around him. Wiry and restless, he looked almost feral in his black jeans and untucked denim shirt. Without a guitar in his hands, he didn’t know what to do with himself.

When the phone rang again, he squatted in a corner of two walls and hunched over it. ‘So tell me, Agent McKuras. What’s up that you need me?’

‘I believe you’re acquainted with Stephanie Harker?’

‘That’s right. What’s she supposed to have done?’

‘It interests me that you jump to the conclusion that she’s the doer rather than the done to, officer.’

Nick cursed himself for his impetuosity. ‘It was a lighthearted figure of speech, that’s all. Stephanie’s not a criminal. Can we please rewind and you tell me why you’re making this phone call?’ He was so much better at the face-to-face. What charms he had never seemed to survive the phone.

‘I’m calling you as part of our investigation into the apparent kidnap of Jimmy Higgins—’

‘Jimmy’s been kidnapped? Where? How? What happened?’ It made no sense. Not in America.

‘They were separated in the security area so Ms Harker could undergo a pat-down. A man approached Jimmy and walked away with him. By the time the authorities realised what had happened, they had disappeared.’

It didn’t sound anything like the whole story. But Nick knew better than to push for more right now. If all else failed, he would get Stephanie’s version soon enough. ‘Disappeared? In one of the most heavily surveilled places around? How can that be?’

‘We’re still investigating,’ she said repressively. ‘However, because Jimmy and Ms Harker are both UK residents, we’re having some difficulty in developing any credible suspects or leads over here. Now, she seems to think that you might be able to assist us in that regard, since you are already acquainted with the boy.’

Nick’s mind was racing. There was one obvious answer to that question. What he couldn’t work out was why Stephanie hadn’t reported it herself. The only reason he could imagine was that even after everything she’d gone through, she still wanted to think the best of Pete Matthews. While it made him furious that she could waste a shred of positive emotion on that piece of shit, he had to admit it spoke well of her loyalty. But still. She should have coughed about Matthews herself, not left it to him. Clearly the bastard had done her more damage than Nick had realised. ‘I do know Jimmy’s history, it’s true. You’ve not heard anything from the kidnappers?’

‘Nothing as yet. There’s nothing to point specifically to a kidnap for ransom. Can you think of anyone who might have a motive for stealing the child? I wondered about family, on either side.’

‘I can’t see it,’ Nick said slowly. ‘His dad’s family disowned Joshu when he married Scarlett. As far as I’m aware, they’ve never set eyes on the boy, never mind wanted anything to do with him.’

‘Do they have other grandchildren?’

‘I have no idea. What are you getting at?’ If she was going to push him down this line of inquiry, let her be the one who laid it out.

He heard Vivian sigh. ‘I’m thinking cultural imperatives here,’ she said slowly. ‘Some cultures place a high value on descent through the male line. If circumstances have dictated that Jimmy is the only male heir, that could change their view.’

Nick exhaled hard. ‘I’ll check it out, if you think it’s a line of investigation that needs attention. However, I think we can discount Scarlett’s family. They don’t have the money or the brains to mount what sounds like a very well-organised operation. Even if they wanted Jimmy. Which they don’t, unless he comes with a pocketful of cash.’

‘That’s pretty much what Stephanie said. So much for where we shouldn’t be looking. What about where we should?’

‘There was an obsessive fan who kept pestering Scarlett during her final illness. She was convinced that God had told her to become Jimmy’s mother if Scarlett didn’t survive. I ran across her during the investigation into Joshu’s death. We warned her off, but she wouldn’t stay away. In the end, she lost it in the hospice day room. Ended up being sectioned. I doubt she’s got the wherewithal to pull off something like this, but I will make inquiries.’

‘That definitely sounds more promising. Is that it? I have a feeling you’ve got more to tell me, Sergeant.’

She was good, this one. Nick pushed himself upright and began pacing again. ‘Stephanie used to have a boyfriend called Pete Matthews. He was one of those insidious bullies. The kind who make out it’s all for your own good, that they’re just pointing out your shortcomings so you can improve yourself. I’m sure you’ve come across the type? In your professional life, I mean?’

‘I know the sort of thing you’re talking about. Go on, Sergeant. This is interesting to me.’

‘To cut a long story short, when Steph dumped him, he turned into a stalker. She had to take out a restraining order. She ended up selling her house and more or less going into hiding for a while. It worked, in the sense that it seemed to shake him off. But because of the publicity around Scarlett’s death and Stephanie taking over caring for Jimmy, she’s been scared that he might be able to track her down again. It’s a long shot, but this is the kind of cruelty he might perpetrate.’

Vivian sighed. Nick pictured a woman with a pissed-off look about the mouth. ‘Any idea why Ms Harker didn’t volunteer this information to us herself? Right away? Instead of taking me the scenic route?’

His instinct was to leap to Stephanie’s defence, but the caution his job had taught him battened down the urge. He didn’t want this FBI agent thinking the pair of them were hand in glove in a bad way. It would poison any possibility of him helping to recover the boy Stephanie loved so much. And that would not help their relationship to flourish. ‘You’ll have to ask her that. But if I had to hazard a guess, I’d say it might be something to do with the shame women in abusive relationships often feel. In her shoes, I probably wouldn’t want to own up to Pete Matthews.’ Or to Nick’s role in getting him off her back.

‘Do you know where this Pete Matthews can be found?’

‘He shouldn’t be too hard to find. There’ll be a last known address on the computer, I imagine. He’s a sound engineer, and he’s got a good professional rep. He’s generally in work. Do you want me to follow that up too?’ He stopped pacing outside the main door and leaned his forehead against the glass. Its chill made him feel feverish in spite of the rain soaking his hair.

‘It would be helpful.’

‘You’ll have to put a formal request in to my boss, then,’ he said. ‘You need to get me seconded to your inquiry if you want my help.’ Realising he sounded brusque, he added, ‘I’m in the thick of a major long-term investigation right now. I can’t squeeze other stuff in around it. Call that number I gave you and clear it with DCI Broadbent.’

‘I’ll do that. One more thing. You understand, I have to ask this. Because nobody is better placed than Stephanie to set up something as delicately poised as this kidnap. Have you any reason to suspect that, for whatever motive, she could be behind this abduction?’

Careful, he told himself. ‘No,’ he said. ‘She’s always seemed like a decent person to me. Nobody made her take the kid on. Social services have been all over her – even though Scarlett left instructions in her will, nobody’s going to hand a kid over to someone who’s not a family member without pretty stringent investigations. So if there was anything dodgy going on, they’d have picked up on it.’

‘I guess.’ Vivian drew the words out, as if she was reluctant to accept what he was saying.

‘Listen, get Broadbent to release me from what I’m doing and I’ll get on to this like a shot.’ He paused for a moment, remembering how hard it was for Jimmy to trust anyone after what he’d already lost. ‘He’s a good kid,’ he said. ‘I hate to think of him being among strangers, scared. All that. I’ll do everything I can to help.’

‘OK. I’ll put in a call to your boss.’

‘Thanks. And . . .’ His voice tailed off. He wanted to let Stephanie know he was there for her, but using an FBI agent as conduit probably wasn’t the best way to do it.

‘Yeah?’

‘Will you be releasing Stephanie any time soon?’

‘We’re not holding her in any formal sense. She’s a cooperative witness, that’s all. A case like this, we try to get as much background info as we can. I imagine we’ll be talking for a while yet. Why?’

It was a question that didn’t have an easy answer. ‘If she wants to talk to somebody – somebody that knows Jimmy, I mean – tell her she can give me a call any time.’

‘Sure. I’ll talk to you soon, Sergeant Nicolaides.’

And the line went dead. Nick strode back to the office to pick up his jacket. He was confident enough of Broadbent to believe he wouldn’t be back at Wapping for as long as it took to sort out whatever had happened in America. Already he was making a ‘to do’ list in his head.

The only problem was that the most important item on the list was the one he could do nothing about right now. ‘Talk to Stephanie’ was going to have to wait till Special Agent McKuras had finished raking through her past. Nick couldn’t resist a wry smile.

Given how much past there was, it could take a while.