Читать книгу In Safe Hands: A D.C.I Anna Tate thriller that will have you on the edge of your seat - J. Carter P. - Страница 10

The paramedics who attended to Tasha Norris confirmed that her condition was serious and that it was touch and go as to whether she’d survive.

She was the only one who’d been attacked and it was because she put up a fight when they were being forced into the storeroom.

She’d received two vicious blows to the head and one to the face. Her nose was shattered and there were two open wounds below her unruly mop of dark brown hair.

As Tasha was being stretchered out of the building, Anna was approached by Sarah Ramsay, who was understandably still shocked and confused after the ordeal.

‘One of us should go with her to the hospital,’ she said. ‘We can’t let her go by herself.’

‘You and your colleagues need to stay here so that you can give me more details about what happened,’ Anna said. ‘But don’t worry. She’s in good hands and will be accompanied by one of my officers.’

‘Then someone should call her husband,’ Sarah said, as she took a mobile phone from her jeans pocket and held it up. ‘This belongs to her. His number will be on it.’

‘What’s his name?’

‘Steve. Steve Norris. They live in Salter Road.’

Anna took the phone from her and gave it to DI Walker, who was standing beside her.

‘Make the call, Max,’ she said. ‘And then phone the office and get more bodies down here, fast. Tell them to drop everything else.’

Anna returned her attention to Sarah, who was still struggling to compose herself. She was a tall, sinewy woman of about thirty, with thick, lustrous black hair and a pale, flawless complexion. Black rivulets of mascara stained her cheeks.

Just thirty minutes had elapsed since she and the two teachers who worked for her had emerged from the cramped storeroom. So far they had given only a brief account of what had happened because of the state they were all in. Anna now needed them to flesh out their story; every detail could be pivotal to the investigation and to the search for the children.

‘I’d like you to join your colleagues,’ Anna said. ‘I want to go through everything again from the moment the three men turned up.’

Sarah nodded. ‘Of course, but I don’t think there’s much more I can tell you that would be helpful. It happened so quickly.’

‘Let me be the judge of that, Miss Ramsay. I’ll come and talk to you in just a minute. There are a few things I have to do first.’

Anna asked a PC to escort Sarah next door to the community centre, which had been commandeered because the nursery was now a crime scene and forensic officers would soon be all over it, looking for any evidence the men had left behind.

Sarah’s two colleagues were already there, but Sarah hadn’t yet joined them because she’d been asked to provide a list of the children who’d been taken. The list, complete with photographs, was now being circulated, and the parents were being informed as a matter of urgency.

There were four boys and five girls. Their innocence shone through in each photograph and Anna blinked away the tears that began filling her eyes as she stared at them, desperately trying to keep her mind on the next steps of the case to avoid thinking of what awful things might soon be happening to them.

She paused for a moment to take stock of the situation. She was still in the playroom, surrounded by detectives and uniformed officers who were waiting to be told what to do.

This was a high-impact crime that was going to appal the nation and present MIT with its toughest ever challenge. As the SIO, Anna would be under considerable pressure to resolve it quickly. But she knew already that it wasn’t going to be easy. It was obvious that the gang had carefully planned the crime and had executed it with shocking precision.

She felt sure that it would have involved more than just three men. It was likely that they’d had at least one other person waiting outside while they went into the building. He or she might have been tasked with looking after whatever vehicle was used to take the children away.

Anna had already made it clear to everyone that she was in charge and had called DCS Nash to update him. Now she began issuing instructions to those around her.

‘Someone should check the security camera at the front entrance,’ she said. ‘It should have picked up the men when they arrived. I also want details of all CCTV cameras located within a half-mile radius of Peabody Street. And start questioning neighbours. I can’t believe the kids weren’t seen being led out of the building and into a large van or small coach. It would have taken time, especially if some of the children were upset and didn’t want to go.’

She was told that a couple of the parents had got in touch before being contacted because the story had broken and was being carried on TV and radio bulletins.

‘We should make preparations to talk to them in the community centre,’ Anna said. ‘My guess is they’ll be desperate to come here and see for themselves what’s going on. I know I would. It’ll suit us because we can speak to them all together as well as individually and that’ll save time.’

‘I’ll put the wheels in motion,’ Walker said. ‘Meanwhile, I just spoke to Tasha Norris’s husband. He was at work but now he’s on his way to the hospital.’

‘Well, let’s hope that the poor woman pulls through,’ Anna said. ‘If she doesn’t then we could find ourselves dealing with a murder as well as a kidnapping.’

Anna left it at that for the time being and went outside. Two support vehicles were now parked on the community centre forecourt, and more people had joined the crowds at either end of the street. Some were holding mobile phones aloft to take photos of what was going on.

Anna was gagging for a cigarette but there was no time. She needed to have another conversation with Sarah Ramsay and the teachers, then bring a semblance of order to the investigation. Right now, things were a bit chaotic and too many questions remained unanswered.

As she walked towards the community centre she spotted a Sky News van with a large satellite dish perched on the roof. It never ceased to amaze her how quickly the media managed to turn up at crime scenes. She suspected that they were regularly monitoring police radio frequencies.

It suddenly occurred to her that the sooner they appealed for help from the public, the better. The Yard’s media liaison team would probably tell her to hold fire until she had more information. But she saw no need to.

She made it known that she wanted to give the media a short statement and told uniform to allow the TV crew and any press people through the cordon.

It transpired that there were two newspaper reporters present as well as the Sky crew. Anna introduced herself and explained that she was only prepared to make a brief statement and was not in a position to answer lots of questions.

‘The facts are these,’ she said, making a point of not looking directly into the camera. ‘Three men with pistols burst into the Peabody Nursery here in Rotherhithe just before nine this morning. There were nine children inside at the time and the men herded them into one of the side rooms. The men then forced the four members of staff, all female, into a separate room. One of the women is on her way to hospital to be treated for a serious head injury.

‘The police were alerted at nine twenty-three a.m. from a mobile belonging to a member of staff. We arrived at the scene approximately fifteen minutes later to find that none of the children were present at the nursery. We are therefore treating this as a serious abduction and are appealing for anyone who might have information to come forward.

‘The kidnappers would almost certainly have put the children into a small bus or large van. Hopefully we’ll soon know more about that after we’ve examined CCTV footage. But in the meantime we’d like to hear from anyone who saw the children being led away or saw anything else that appeared suspicious this morning in Peabody Street.’

‘Have you got descriptions of the men?’ the Sky reporter asked as she thrust her microphone towards Anna.

‘They were all white,’ Anna said. ‘Two of them looked to be in their late twenties or thirties and one was older, perhaps mid to late fifties. They were wearing suits and they were posing as detectives from a local police station, which is how they gained access to the building.’

‘Is it possible this is a terrorist attack?’ This from a young fresh-faced hack who identified himself as Luke Dennis from the Evening Standard.

Anna’s expression remained neutral. ‘At this stage we don’t know who they are or what their motive is. But we’ll be liaising with the Anti-Terrorism Command as well as the Met’s Kidnap Unit. Currently the Major Investigation Team, of which I’m the senior officer, is leading the operation.’

The same reporter then asked a second question that completely threw Anna.

‘Can you please confirm that you’re the same detective whose own daughter was abducted ten years ago and who recently gave an interview to a Sunday magazine?’

Anna drew a sharp breath and felt an uncomfortable tightness in her chest.

She could see where the reporter was going with this and she wasn’t happy. It was a good human interest angle to the story, the sort of thing the papers loved, but Anna refused to let it be pursued.

‘That has no relevance to the investigation,’ she said brusquely.

The reporter raised his brow. ‘Well, I beg to differ, DCI Tate. Surely you can see—’

She shook her head. ‘All I can see is you trying to make something out of nothing, Mr Dennis. What happened to my own daughter has no bearing on this case whatsoever. And I’m not prepared to waste precious time talking about it.’

‘But the families will want to know that—’

He didn’t get to finish what he was saying because he was suddenly distracted by an ear-splitting scream.

Anna, along with everyone else, turned towards the sound and saw a woman struggling with a police officer in the road between two squad cars.

She knew instinctively that the woman would turn out to be the mother of one of the nine children – and that she had rushed here to confront what was her and every other parent’s worst nightmare.