Vanished

Chapter 40

Ridley was wrapping up for the evening, after spending all afternoon preparing his team for tomorrow’s onslaught when they were expecting thirteen prisoners to be transferred from the Drug Squad to be interviewed. Some of the prisoners had already been charged with drug offences, from importation to mixing, to distribution; and some were addicts who, after giving evidence against the drugs gang, had been charged with nothing.

However, some of them had admitted to being taken to Avril Jenkins’ home at one time or another, and so needed to be interviewed by Ridley’s team. And they still had a thick file of unidentified fingerprints. He wanted to make absolutely certain that they had all the evidence possible against the two men they had in custody for Avril’s murder. He needed to work out if they were Alpha, Beta or Gamma; and he was, of course, still looking for the third member of the trio. It was going to be a long and exhausting couple of weeks.

Anik was coordinating the transfers and the logistics of detaining so many suspects. Those who’d been charged would wait in cells and those who hadn’t would be held in the canteen under police supervision until it was their turn to be interviewed. Anik was liaising with Moley and — as far as Ridley could make out — neither of them was using the time strictly for talking about the job at hand. In fact, Ridley distinctly heard Anik use the words ‘Rainbow Six Siege’ which he knew was an online multiplayer game. Ridley called Anik into his office and asked to see the interview list.

‘I’ve put me and you down to interview the higher-ups from 9 a.m. tomorrow, if that’s OK, sir. Me, because I’ve been through all the hidden security footage we had from the house so I might be able to pick out any lies. And you, because Jack’s in Ireland.’

Ridley remained motionless. His fingers tightened around Anik’s newly printed interview schedule.

‘Remind me why Jack’s in Ireland tomorrow.’

By the forced calm in Ridley’s voice, Anik instantly knew that Ridley hadn’t known about the trip. He quickly stuttered an explanation about Jack still being on leave, so he’d taken the opportunity to go to Ireland and check out honeymoon venues. He also made certain that Ridley knew this was all second-hand information from Laura. Within thirty seconds, Anik had scurried out of Ridley’s office and Laura was now the one in the firing line.

‘I think he just needed some downtime, sir. Tania Wetlock when she was alive was enough of a threat to his career, but now she’s dead he could end up being sacked or even arrested.’

‘I know all that. I’m asking why he’s in Ireland. And don’t tell me he’s checking out honeymoon venues. Ireland is one of many onward destinations for the drugs. Ireland is one of Michael Mahoney’s hideouts. We also know Ireland forms a part — no matter how small — of Avril Jenkins’ past. So, Laura, correct me if I’m wrong... but, after being told by Hammersmith CID not to leave the country, Jack is now over there attempting to track down Adam bloody Border.’

Ridley stormed back into his office as his desk phone rang. He snatched it up. It was Steve Lewis and before Ridley could speak, he launched into an angry tirade about bringing in Michael Mahoney. He had a team waiting at Heathrow but there had been flight cancellations and it was costing a fortune to retain the armed guards and transport to bring him directly to the Drug Squad. He also complained that before they had even seen him, let alone questioned him, there were calls from his legal team demanding immediate access.

‘I know he must be aware of all the arrests we’ve made, so he must be shitting himself, but I won’t allow any fucking bigwig lawyer to get their hands on him before I have him.’

Ridley let Steve continue his frustrated vent before he interrupted to say that with all the arrests the Drug Squad had passed on to his team, they were stretched to the limit. He also said that they had not yet uncovered which of the suspects in custody had murdered Avril Jenkins. ‘Which, obviously, Steve is our priority, not the transporting of Michael Mahoney — but thank you for the update.’

Ridley slammed the phone down before Steve could reply and picked up his mobile.

Jack’s mobile silently vibrated on the bar table next to him.

He could just make out Ridley’s name on the screen, half obscured by the glare from the setting sun. He sipped on a sixteen-year-old Bushmills and watched the sky changing colour. If Jack answered his mobile, Ridley would probably order him to come home, which Jack would refuse to do. So, he opted to ignore Ridley’s call. Less than thirty seconds later, his mobile let out a single buzz indicating that Ridley had left a voicemail:

‘I presume the Garda don’t know you’re there? Be smart, be subtle and be careful. If you get caught on the wrong side of the line, either by the police over there, or by Hammersmith over here, I can’t help you. If you succeed in finding Adam Border and you need backup, you call me, understand — no one else. Anytime. I’ll send the cavalry. Again.’

Jack smiled as he listened to Ridley’s message for a second and third time. Not because it was surprisingly supportive, but because he sounded exactly like his old self.

The mattress in Jack’s Cosy Bedroom was so soft that it was impossible to roll over. He’d slept like a starfish all night and woke more refreshed than he ever did at home. But the price of sleeping alone was too high: he missed Maggie.

Over a full Irish breakfast, Jack googled what he could about hemp farms in Ireland. There were several articles in the regional and national press about the Garda raiding small holdings and farm buildings. And there was a recent interview with a local MP who promised a crackdown on the sale of CBD products manufactured in Ireland. This interview was printed in one small column, on page three of the local newspaper; whereas the opposing viewpoint supporting making the production of CBD oil legal to be used medically to counteract pain, anxiety, inflammation and seizures, was front-page news for two days running, with numerous hemp farmers insisting that the plant thrives in Irish soil, aids the economy and helps reduce climate change. Oppositional quotes from the Department of Health reiterated that CBD products containing THC were illegal. The current legislation was strict and anyone growing hemp without the correct licencing could face prosecution.

Jack was fed, showered, dressed and back in his hired BMW before half past eight. The rain started after ten minutes of driving, so torrential it made visibility poor, and the noise of rain on the sunroof was alarming. After another ten minutes, the rain stopped, and the sun came out. And the rainbow that followed was truly magical.

As Jack drove through a small village, he saw a dark blue minibus, showing no vehicle livery, stranded in a ditch at the side of the road. A burly man, wearing a tweed coat and cap, had his face out of the driver’s window and was smoking a rollup. Jack pulled up alongside to check if he’d broken down and needed help.

‘You offerin’ to tow me out in your hired BMW, are ya?’ Jack immediately saw the futility of his offer. ‘I know I look stuck. But that’s on account of the Garda. If they come along saying I’m not allowed to stop here for a smoke, I’ll tell ’em the rain drove me off the road. How come you’re out this way? You lost?’

‘I’m here on business,’ Jack lied. He couldn’t introduce himself as a policeman from England because he was fairly certain from the faint aroma that the rollup was actually a spliff. Jack nodded knowingly to the dog-end between the man’s lips. ‘My mate buys his baccy from somewhere round here. Adam Border. You know him?’

For a second, the driver said nothing whilst he sized Jack up. Then he started his engine. ‘Oh, I definitely think you’re lost, my friend. I’d go back the way you came if I were you.’ He drove off, coughing a plume of black smoke from his exhaust as the bus heaved itself out of the ditch. After a moment, Jack followed.

The roads were narrow and winding, so Jack frequently lost sight of the tweeded bus driver. As the rain came down again, he slowed to give way on a single-track humped-back bridge and, when he emerged on the other side, the blue bus was gone. He put his foot down but after a couple of minutes he still couldn’t see it. Jack pursed his lips, furious with himself for mentioning Adam’s name and spooking the bus driver.

Jack decided to head back to the village and start again trying to locate the hemp farms. He checked his rear-view mirror before pulling into a layby — and suddenly there was the dark blue bus, closing in fast. Not wanting to be challenged in a layby in the middle of nowhere, Jack quickly pulled back out onto the road and sped off.

Soon he came to a crossroads with a sign pointing back to Killarney. Perfect. He’d get back to civilisation, where he’d be more than happy to challenge the driver of the bus that was currently still hot on his tail. But Jack’s move towards the Killarney turn-off was pre-empted and the bus cut him off, forcing him onto a single-track road. If anything came in the other direction now, it would be a head-on disaster. The bus sped up, forcing Jack to do the same.

Jack was now doing 40 mph around hairpin bends without a clue what might be coming the other way. He had to find a turn-off. Up ahead, beyond the roadside hedges to the left, Jack could see a farm building and realised there must also be a track leading to it. Jack sped up, skidding into the dirt track at 60 mph, sending a spray of loose pebbles into the path of the following bus. Jack spun the beautifully responsive BMW into a tight handbrake turn and ended up facing the road he’d just turned off. The blue bus slowly came into view. It was now stationary and, by the time Jack realised that the driver was no longer inside, it was too late.

The crowbar shattered the BMW’s passenger window, forcing Jack to escape via the driver’s door. A voice shouted, ‘Why’s an English businessman following me down country lanes? Which side of the law are you on, asking about Adam Border?’

Now that the tweed-clad bus driver was out of his cab, Jack could see that he was built like a hard-working farmer should be. Add the crowbar into the mix and Jack was most certainly on the back foot. Jack could now read the name badge sewn into the man’s jacket. ‘I’m nothing to do with the police, Greg,’ Jack shouted back. ‘I’m looking for Adam because I have some news for him. That’s all.’

‘Well, you can tell me, and I’ll pass it on. How’s that?’

‘No. I need to see him for myself. I have news for Adam, good news. Connected to his family. You can check with a guy called Jason Marks if you like. He knows about it.’ Jack threw the name of Jason Marks into the mix hoping it would establish a connection in Greg’s mind between Jack and Adam. And, if the name meant nothing, then no harm done.

Greg got an old flip phone from his pocket. He stepped away from Jack and placed a call.

The rain came down again and Jack started shivering in the icy deluge. Greg, who was more hardened to the weather, didn’t flinch. Finally, Greg closed his mobile and put it back into his pocket. ‘Follow me.’

Greg’s bus snaked effortlessly along back roads and narrow lanes while Jack, following closely behind, constantly dodged potholes and dried-out tractor ridges to avoid ruining his suspension or ending up in a ditch. A chill wind filled the car through the broken window, making Jack’s wet clothes stick to his body.

They drove deeper into the countryside, passing dairy farms and smallholdings. Eventually, Greg pulled up outside a five-barred gate with thick hedgerows on either side.

Jack had no clue where he was. He pulled up a short way back from Greg’s bus, leaving enough room between them to pull out and drive away if he began to feel any more unsafe than he already did.

Greg got out of the bus, opened the gate, walked to Jack’s car and spoke through the broken passenger window. ‘Follow the track till it splits. Then go left. Close this gate behind you.’ He then got back into the bus and used the gap Jack had left between them to reverse and drive away.

Jack sat in his hired BMW with the broken side window, looking along the dirt track ahead of him. He knew once the gate closed behind him, he was on his own. Jack checked his mobile — no signal. Every ounce of common sense was telling him to drive away.

The dirt track was a network of deep tyre tracks that were impossible to avoid, so Jack drove, slowly. In his rear-view mirror, the closed gate got smaller until it finally disappeared out of sight.

The road forked and Jack turned left, as he’d been instructed. A few seconds later he saw a hand-painted wooden sign which read STUDIO. Then the track disappeared completely and was replaced by a steep but walkable path. Jack got out and started to follow it.

He trudged on, past thick hedges separating him from the lush fields beyond. After fifteen minutes of arduous walking, a slate-roofed bungalow gradually appeared.

Jack saw a quad bike and a motor bike were parked next to each other down the side of the building beneath a lean-to shelter, while an old army Jeep was parked around the rear wall.

Jack walked to the front door, again checking his mobile for a signal. Nothing. But he’d come too far to turn back now. His heart pounded in his chest. He’d made the assumption that Greg had led him to the home of the elusive Adam Border, but he’d only know for sure when he got inside.

There was no answer after the first knock, nor after the second. So Jack tried the black iron latch. It lifted with ease and the heavy wooden door pushed open. Immediately beyond the door was a polished pine wood floor.

Jack wiped his shoes on the grass, removing as much mud as he could, then ventured inside.

There were several doors leading off the hallway, but one in particular caught his eye. It was a double sliding door, slightly open, with a light shining from inside. He slid the door wide to reveal a vast room with dozens of paintings stacked along the walls. In the centre of the room was a large easel on a square of paint-splattered rubber, holding a big canvas draped in muslin. A small wooden table held a wooden tray of oil paints, brushes, glues, turps and a water jar. There was a worn, plum-velvet sofa, and two leather chairs placed within the bounds of a large Mexican-style rug. The rain rolled down the tall windows and — even as the dark clouds were forming outside — this room still looked magically bright and airy.

Jack heard footsteps behind him. He spun quickly to see a man standing between the open double doors, and instantly Jack knew he was finally face to face with Adam Border.