Читать книгу Dead Man’s Prayer: A gripping detective thriller with a killer twist - Jackie Baldwin - Страница 16

After a disturbed night’s sleep, Farrell was hotfooting it down to the Major Crime Administration room after getting his usual caffeine fix when he saw Lind bearing down on him, his face set in an uncharacte‌ristically grim expression. Immediately, Farrell tensed. Had Laura taken a turn for the worse? Lind halted in front of him, his personal anguish bricked up behind a brisk demeanour.

‘Twin boys have been abducted from Happy Faces Nursery in Catherine Street. I’ll coordinate the search from here. I’ve appointed DI Moore to head up the investigation. However, being a small force, we need all hands on deck for this one. I want you to drive to the nursery and see what you can get from the woman in charge. She didn’t make much sense on the phone. Then get over to the parents. The kids are only three years old. What they must be going through …’

Lind spun on his heel, barking orders at the swarm of officers buzzing around him as he went.

Galvanized into action, Farrell grabbed his jacket and keys and took off down the corridor.

‘McLeod,’ he bellowed. ‘You’re with me.’

Mhairi emerged from the ladies at a brisk trot looking disgruntled.

‘Is nothing sacred?’ she grumbled as she trotted to keep up with her boss’s loping stride.

‘Two three-year-olds are missing from their nursery. It seems they’ve been abducted by some nutter.’

‘Who’s the Family Liaison Officer, Sir?’

Farrell thought for a moment.

‘You are, if DI Moore has no objection. That’s if you think you can handle it?’

‘I’m sure I can, Sir.’

Their eyes met in sombre recognition. Dealing with relatives was hard enough at the best of times, but when there was a possibility that some sick creep might have killed two little kids the job would be harrowing in the extreme.

The nursery was located in a sandstone-terraced house near the Ewart Library. Cheerful pictures and smiley faces adorned the windows. As Farrell and McLeod pulled up into the adjacent kerb they had to dodge a stampede of hysterical mothers bearing their offspring away. The jungle drums had been beating in the manner of all small towns. Frightened by the commotion, the youngsters were bawling their eyes out. A crowd of onlookers were already starting to gather, ready to stake their claim in what might turn out to be a tragedy.

A slender middle-aged woman with red-rimmed eyes came to the door. Wordlessly she let them in and took them into a small tidy office. She gestured for them to sit opposite her.

‘I’m DI Farrell and this is Detective Constable McLeod,’ started Farrell. ‘And you are?’

‘Janet McDougall; I own the nursery.’ Her eyes filled and she clasped her hands together to stop them shaking.

‘Who else works here?’

‘There were three of us on duty today: myself, and two nursery assistants, Fiona Thomson and Gill Brown. They didn’t see anything as Fiona was settling the babies in another room and Gill was leading story-time in the quiet room.’

Farrell asked Mhairi to nip out and take preliminary statements from the two young women waiting outside the office, one of whom was weeping quietly while being comforted by the other. The last remaining children had now clearly left. He returned to his seat.

‘Can you tell me exactly what happened when Mark and Jamie Summers were taken?’

‘This man came,’ she began. ‘He said he was from the social work department, had an ID card with him.’

‘Did you examine it carefully?’ asked Farrell, holding her gaze.

Janet McDougall flushed but didn’t look away.

‘Of course, I did. It looked absolutely authentic. He was even wearing the same tie in the photo as he had on when he came here.’

‘What time did he arrive?’

‘It was shortly after nine; the boys had been dropped off by their mum at around 8.15. She works at that firm of accountants in Irish Street.’

‘What exactly did he tell you?’ asked Farrell.

‘He told me the boys’ father had been in a bad car accident on his way to Glasgow, might not even survive.’

‘Go on.’

‘The mother had gone on ahead to the hospital, he said. He’d been asked to take the boys to join her. He gave me this.’

With shaking hands, she pulled a letter out of her pocket. It was a handwritten note, apparently from the mother, asking the nursery to hand over the boys to David Nolan, social worker.

Farrell immediately radioed the station so that they could verify whether or not a David Nolan actually existed within the social work department.

He was careful to keep any note of censure out of his voice.

‘Did you recognize the handwriting?’

‘I hadn’t had much in the way of letters from her before but I did compare her signature with something I had on file. It matched, or I thought it did …’ she added miserably.

Turning away from them she rummaged through a file with shaking hands and produced a consent form. Farrell scrutinized the two signatures. They looked alike, if not identical. The abductor had done his homework. His radio crackled into life.

‘DS Byers here. There’s a David Nolan all right. He’s been off for months on the sick.’

‘Put a call in to Cornwall Mount and request a firearms team be mobilized as soon as can be arranged to surround Nolan’s house. He might or might not be armed but I’m not taking any chances where young kids are concerned. We’ll also need uniformed backup. Bring Lind and DI Moore up to speed.’

‘This man,’ said Farrell, ‘what did he look like? Tell me anything you can remember.’

‘He was tall, very tall. About your height and build.’

‘What colour were his eyes?’

‘Green.’

‘Are you certain?’

‘Yes. He had glasses on, but at one point he took them off, gave them a wipe and put them on again. Now I think about it he had cold eyes. His mouth smiled but his eyes didn’t. Oh God, what have I done?’ she moaned.

‘What colour was his hair?’

‘Dark, very dark. He had a lot of it. And a large beard covering most of his face, but very tidy.’

‘Any distinguishing marks? Scars, tattoos?’

‘I can’t remember anything like that but, thinking back, there wasn’t all that much of his skin visible.’

‘What was he wearing?’

‘He looked very professional, had a suit on, navy I think, and a red tie over a white shirt. He looked … respectable.’

‘What made you call the police if you had been satisfied he was genuine?’

‘Their mother called to say that Jamie had forgotten his lunchbox. I knew then.’ She started to sob again. ‘If anything happens to those little boys, I’ll never forgive myself. It was my job to keep them safe.’

Farrell placed his hand on her arm and gave it a squeeze. He said nothing. What was there to say?

‘Do you have any recent photos of Mark and Jamie?’

Janet McDougall jumped up and walked over to a brightly coloured wall display.

‘Here’s one. They were playing at the sandpit out back.’ She choked back a sob as she handed it over.

Farrell’s throat tightened as he beheld the two toddlers grinning happily into the camera, each with wide blue eyes and blond hair flopping over their foreheads. They were dressed identically in shorts and T-shirts and could have been clones of each other.

‘Can I see out the back where this was taken?’ he asked.

So desperate to help that she almost overturned her chair, Janet MacDougall jumped up and showed him through the kitchen to the back door. A large tray of small milk bottles sat untouched beside a plate of home-baked biscuits.

The backyard was securely fenced, with a large sandpit area, a tree with a low-slung tyre attached to a rope, and a few ride-on toy tractors and cars. Behind the yard was a private lane opening into the gardens of adjacent sandstone houses. While the fence was too high for small children to climb out, a reasonably tall adult could see into the yard and see the children playing when walking by.

‘Do you think he’s been watching us for a while?’ she asked, eyes darting everywhere.

‘Very possibly,’ answered Farrell. ‘I must get going now but, if anything else occurs to you in the meantime, here’s my card. Someone will be in touch to arrange for you to come into the station shortly to work with an identikit sketch artist.’

‘Wait, there’s one more thing,’ Janet McDougall said. ‘He left in a grey Primera car. I noticed the make because I’ve fancied one myself for ages.’

‘I don’t suppose you happened to notice any of the registration plate?’ asked Farrell.

‘No, sorry,’ she whispered.

After obtaining a rough description of what the two little boys had been wearing that morning, Farrell sped back to Loreburn Street with Mhairi to deposit the photograph and descriptions with DI Moore. As expected the two nursery assistants hadn’t had anything material to add.

DI Moore was sitting in a large room. Information was being fed to her from all directions. Calm and serene, she projected a quiet authority that was bringing out the best in the officers under her command.

‘Have you any objections to appointing DC McLeod as Family Liaison Officer, Kate?’ asked Farrell.

DI Moore turned to Mhairi.

‘Have you been a FLO before, Mhairi?’

‘No, Ma’am, but I am fully aware of all the duties and responsibilities that go with the position. I would like to be there for the family to help them through this.’

‘You must guard against getting too emotionally involved though; don’t lose your objectivity. Either or both parents could potentially be implicated.’

‘No, Ma’am.’

‘Even though I’m SIO on this one, Frank, I’d welcome your input as the case progresses. We’re lucky to have an officer with your experience. Child abduction not linked to marital breakdown is a rarity down here.’

Her phone rang as three young constables marched into the room bearing documents and files.

Farrell told Mhairi to wait for him at the car and swung by Lind’s office on the way out. He was worried about how his friend would be coping given his own recent tragedy. However, when he walked in to Lind’s spacious office he came face to face with a wall of people to whom Lind was competently issuing orders. As the last officer ran out the door with Lind’s instructions ringing in his ears Farrell updated him, each of them conscious of the clock ticking.

‘I don’t like it,’ Lind said. ‘Bastard has done his homework. Probably been planning this for some time.’

‘Did the super sign off on the firearms team?’ asked Farrell.

‘Yes, we’re going in at 12.30. I want you there, Farrell. There’s just enough time for you and DC McLeod to get round to the parents first. The father should be back home by now. He’d been on the way to Glasgow when the kids were taken.’