Vanished

Chapter 7

The streetlight outside Jack’s bedroom window part lit Maggie through a thin crack in the curtains as she reached behind her back to fasten her bra.

Jack watched her every move from beneath the duvet.

Next he looked at the bedside clock, sitting next to a newly brewed cup of tea. Half past six. He sat up and sipped his tea.

‘I took an early shift.’ Maggie whispered her explanation so as not to wake Hannah. ‘Your mum’s looking after Hannah till one. I should be home by then.’ Now dressed, she turned to Jack as she pulled her hair up into a ponytail. ‘We need to do something really special for her birthday, Jack. Your mum’s a live-in nanny, cleaner, cook, agony aunt. I don’t know what we’d do if she wasn’t here.’

‘She’s always wanted to deliver a lamb.’ The memory had come from nowhere. Jack suddenly recalled how, during summer months in Totnes, he and Penny would walk to the shops past fields of newly born lambs, tottering on their new legs. It was her fantasy to be responsible for that much joy. Before she left, Maggie suggested that perhaps some nice smellies, posh gin and a party might be easier to arrange.

Jack got himself a coffee as the squad room filled, and everyone settled at their desks. Ridley began by relaying the information he’d learnt from Arnold Hutchinson. Then he got down to business. ‘Why haven’t we found Adam Border?’ The room erupted with the sound of feet shuffling, throat clearing and deep sighing as everyone looked around in the hope that someone else had an answer. ‘That’s not a rhetorical question. All we know about him is that he was her handyman and lived in her spare room. Avril swore blind that he was her stalker, but none of her neighbours have seen him in months. His girlfriend thought he’d moved on, but his car is in Avril’s garage. And now Avril’s dead. Is he her killer, or is he potentially another victim and we should be looking for someone entirely different? Again, not rhetorical. And who the bloody hell is responsible for the ton of cannabis in her greenhouse?’

Jack thought it was unhelpful of Ridley to ask questions that he knew were currently impossible to answer, so he tried to change the subject. ‘Laura and I are looking into the possibility of a hidden safe at the property, sir. My feelings is that—’

‘Laura’s going to interview Jessica Chi.’

Ridley never interrupted! He considered it to be disrespectful and, as a do-as-you-would-be-done-by sort of man, interrupting Jack now was very out of character. Jack stared at Ridley as he continued, nodding to Laura. ‘Get a recent photograph of Adam Border from Jessica and learn everything you can about him. Anik, the cars?’

Anik told him that both cars found in Avril’s garage were registered to her. ‘I’m expecting her phone records in by 10 a.m. Nothing came from the door-to-door, sir. None of her neighbours can see Avril’s property from theirs, ’cos of the high wall and overgrown hedges. And none of them ever really attempted to be friendly with her ’cos it was never reciprocated. Oh, and I’ve tracked her brother-in-law, Terence Jenkins, in California. I’ll call him as soon as I can to inform him of her death.’

Ridley asked the room in general if any forensic reports had come in.

‘Prints are still being processed, sir.’ Laura was jotting down contact details for Jessica Chi as she spoke. ‘But due to the lack of blood or unexplained DNA anywhere else in the house, Angel thinks that Avril was either taken into the bathroom to be murdered or was already in there when she was attacked. They found no bloodstained clothes or night clothes, so whatever she was wearing before the murder could have been removed. Foxy’s doing the post-mortem this morning.’

‘Fine. I’ll catch up with Foxy later. You all know what you’re doing?’

The room started to move, which Ridley took to mean ‘yes’. He headed for his office and shut the door.

As he opened his desktop computer to go through Avril’s phone records, Anik shared his latest theory around Ridley’s mood swings: his new lover had dumped him.

Laura and Jack exchanged a look. ‘Have a word, eh, Jack? He listens to you.’

Jack knocked on Ridley’s office door and entered without being invited. Ridley answered a call on his mobile, listening intently for a good thirty seconds. Then his eyes flicked to Jack. ‘Jack’s on his way to the property now. You want to meet him there? Of course. Full disclosure.’ Ridley hung up. Jack had entered the office to ask if Ridley was OK, but, in truth, he was relieved that something else had come up. ‘That was Mal. Behind the greenhouse there were stacks of partly burnt packing crates, probably used to distribute the cannabis plants. Forensics found traces of a second drug. fentanyl.’

Jack frowned as he acknowledged the seriousness of what Ridley was saying. Jack knew that fentanyl was used as a post-operative pain medication, because Maggie had mentioned it in their numerous evening chats. He also knew that being fifty to one hundred times more potent than morphine, it was a lethal street drug.

‘Mal will meet you at the property. He wants to know everything you know about Avril Jenkins. Voluntarily or not, she was into something far bigger than we realised.’

On his way to Kingston, Jack called Arnold Hutchinson and asked if he was aware of a safe at the Jenkins’ property. ‘How big are you thinking, DS Warr?’ Jack realised that he’d not thought about size at all. ‘I have other clients in properties like Avril’s who have walk-in safes. The metal door is frequently hidden by a discreet wood-panel door, so it looks like another room when closed. I’m not aware of Freddie or Avril commissioning anything like that. Nor a wall safe if that’s more what you’re thinking. Not that they’d have had to tell me of, course. I do know that some of the big safes, or ones that require structural changes, often need planning permission, though.’

Arnold’s speculation was enough for Jack to put in a call to Kingston Council, eventually getting through to the building application manager, who promised to check into safes of any size being requested by either Frederick or Avril Jenkins at any point during their ownership of 27 Woodridge Place.

As Jack pulled into Avril’s garden through the open gates, he was met by a large white trailer with no windows and one centre door at the top of two shallow steps. From his car, Jack could see two members of the Drug Squad sitting inside the trailer drinking coffee

He got out and asked where he could find Mal.

Jack walked round the outside of Avril’s house towards the greenhouse, when his mobile rang. Kevin, the building application manager. ‘In answer to your initial enquiry, I’m now authorised to tell you that I have no record of either Frederick or Avril Jenkins requesting planning permission for a safe room inside the property.’ Jack was about to thank him and end the call when he added, ‘However, Mrs Jenkins did go on to make numerous applications throughout 2017 for external changes. A brick building towards the rear of the property to be used for the storage of garden equipment, namely a ride-on mower. And a second, similar structure beyond the garage. There’s extensive paperwork, including design plans, connected to each application if you’d like copies sent out—’

‘Kevin, you’ve been a great help, thank you. Are the design plans and paperwork digital?... Good, please email them to me straight away. Thank you again.’

Jack was suddenly eager to find and explore the recently added outbuilding.

‘Jack!’ Mal stood outside the burnt-out greenhouse. ‘I take it Ridley told you what we found?’

‘Fentanyl. Nasty stuff. Fill me in, Mal.’ Jack’s mobile pinged as an email from Kevin appeared in his inbox. ‘I’m checking out some building plans... but I’m listening. Go on.’

‘Pure fentanyl is one of our biggest problems right now. It’s relatively cheap to make, so suppliers mix it with poor quality heroin and cocaine to boost their profits. It gives a huge bang for your buck, the flipside of that being that it’s lethal in the wrong hands. Low level street dealers don’t know what they’re buying, some even go on to cut it again with counterfeit oxycodone and Xanax, so by the time it gets to the user, it’s poison. Which is why we’ve brought in our secret weapon.’

Jack glanced up from his mobile where he’d been double tapping the blueprints of the new outbuildings and expanding them so he could see every detail. ‘What secret weapon?’

In the kitchen, a large man in a blue Drug Squad boiler suit that fitted snugly on his muscular frame and a blue woollen beanie hat leant over the table picking through several evidence bags from around the greenhouse. A fancy-looking blue hearing aid sat behind his right ear attached to a thin wire disappearing beneath his hat, suggesting that he had a cochlear implant. As Jack and Mal entered the kitchen, the large man turned and Mal introduced him as Josh Logan, a DEA officer on loan from New York who, for several months, had been doing the rounds with numerous UK drug squads. He had years of experience studying how gangs moved drugs across the States, similar to the UK’s county lines problem. Josh was originally from Alabama and spoke with a deep accent. Jack smiled as they shook hands: he knew that Laura would fall in love with his voice the second she heard it.

Jack asked if Josh knew where this fentanyl had come from and where it might be heading. Josh took the sugar bowl from the kitchen worktop and spilled a tiny amount onto the table. He separated three grains from the pile. ‘That amount’ll kill ya. Mal’s boys only found traces, so we don’t know how much we’re dealing with yet. What I can tell you is that it’s pure — so my guess is that it’s come from Germany or China. And those guys don’t move small amounts. As for where it’s heading, some will continue on to another country, and some will end up on your streets.’

Jack nodded sombrely. ‘I’ve just received blueprints for two outbuildings we may not have found yet. One near the greenhouse, I think, and a second behind the garage.’

Mal told him they’d already opened the one behind the greenhouse, which contained gardening equipment and old garden furniture. It was by no means conspicuous or easy to access through the undergrowth, which made him suspicious about its real purpose. Why make storage so inaccessible? Or had the garden naturally just taken over and hidden the building from sight?

The outbuilding a hundred yards behind the greenhouse was a square-brick, flat-roofed structure with no windows, which didn’t look unlike an old coal store. And, just as Mal said, it was filled with discarded tools and junk such as broken garden furniture. The mower was parked to the side of the building. Jack got an odd feeling from the space: the broken furniture and messily stored tools just didn’t feel like something that Avril would allow. And why was the mower parked outside when this building was specifically built for it? It was pointlessly chaotic. In fact, it felt staged. Jack stepped into the centre of the eight-foot-square space. He thought for a moment then stamped his foot down. The sound told him that what he was stamping on was not concrete.

The men cleared out the building and, beneath a tool bench on wheels, they found a trap door held shut by a chain and padlock. Josh grabbed a pair of bolt cutters from the tool bench and with one gargantuan effort, he cut the chain.

Beneath the outbuilding was an unlit space. Jack took out his mobile, flicked on the torch and looked down into the darkness. He could see that the floor below seemed to be clear of obstacles, so he dropped down. Within a few seconds of searching, Jack had found a pull cord and turned on the light, then he re-appeared beneath the trapdoor.

‘We’ve got shelves full of gas canisters, heaters, strip lights, hose pipes; basically, loads of replacement kit for the cannabis farm in the greenhouse.’

‘Your dead old lady’s got an impressive outfit in her backyard, Jack.’ Josh seemed excited by their find. ‘She doesn’t happen to have a mixing lab down there, does she?’

‘No.’ Jack looked up at their expectant faces. ‘But she does have a second outbuilding.’

The outbuilding behind the garage, which was exactly the same in structure as the one near the greenhouse, was so well hidden in the treeline that it hadn’t yet been searched by the police or by SOCO. Josh, who had brought the bolt cutters with him, broke the padlock off the external door. Inside were more tools and broken garden furniture, and it was now clear that all of this junk had been purposefully collected to make each outbuilding look like a perfectly normal household junk space. Sure enough, beneath a broken picnic table was another trap door complete with chain and padlock. Josh cut the chain and Jack dropped into the darkness. This time, when the light came on, Josh took one peek into the concealed room and immediately knew what he was looking at.

‘Don’t breathe. Don’t touch anything.’ Josh dangled a vented mask down to Jack and shouted an urgent instruction: ‘Mask on, Jack. I’m coming down.’ Josh took a second vented mask from his pocket and jumped down by Jack’s side.

There were two trestle tables covered in plastic sheeting running the length of two of the walls. Beneath the sheeting were Bunsen burners, plastic bags, bowls, wooden spoons, masks, gloves... everything needed to mix pretty much any drug with any other drug. And against a third wall was a floor-to-ceiling shelf stocked high with fentanyl. Josh laughed from beneath his mask as his excitement and anticipation rose.

‘Holy moley. We’re looking at a street value of three, maybe four million. This is one smart operation, Jack. I’ve seen labs and stores before, but this... this is a careful set-up. This could have been down here for years, mixing and manufacturing streets drugs and, from the surface, you’d never know.’ Josh put his hands on his hips. ‘Well, Jack, looks like we’re partners from here on in, ’cos murder and drugs go hand in hand. You know, I’ve seen some sights back home, but this is the first time I’ve seen such a pro set-up hidden beneath a suburban backyard, owned by a dismembered pensioner. How very English!’