Питер Джеймс - Dead if You Don’t

Kidnap. Grace thought fast. He’d done the kidnap negotiator course some years back, and handled a number since. Most reported kidnaps turned out to be scuzzy low-life on low-life jobs over small drugs debts. The last one he’d handled, just a few weeks ago, had been someone kidnapped and beaten for a fifty-pound debt. It had been over within four hours.

Another recent one, that turned out not to be a kidnap at all, was a 999 phone call from a woman in the nearby town of Burgess Hill, who had reported seeing a man bundled into a car and driven off. They were four drug dealers who had gone to the house of a fellow dealer who had ripped them off for a couple of thousand pounds, intending to give him a beating. But he’d set on them with a baseball bat, knocking one of them senseless and badly hurting two of the others. They’d pulled their unconscious accomplice into the car and raced off.

However, something about this felt more serious.

Grace’s immediate thought processes were, firstly, what kind of kidnap was this? And, secondly, what were the pros and cons of handling this covertly or overtly? Thirdly, and critically, was to ask himself the question: What is my job here?

A question to which he already knew the answer.

To recover the boy safely.

Fourthly, he mentally fast-forwarded to a potential inquest in the Coroner’s Court in eighteen months’ time. And the grilling that could face him in the dock.

Detective Superintendent, you knew a child’s life was at risk if the police were involved. Yet you ignored the request to make this a covert operation?

Policy was a generalization, just that. Policy stated that police officers should not put their lives in danger. But as earlier with the camera, sometimes tough, spur-of-the-moment decisions had to be made. The only thing ultimately that mattered, regarding breaking policy, was that you could justify your actions.

The guidelines were clearly spelled out. If the person taken was below the age of eighteen, the operation needed to be overt, rather than covert — but depending on overall circumstances. In addition, there was an established Child Rescue Alert procedure. If that button was pressed, the media would instantly begin to report it. Did he have enough resources in place to cope with the information, much of it from the public, that would flood in? The appeal would go out on local newsflashes, radio stations, advertising hoardings. Once the button was pushed, it was near impossible to stop the chain of events that would be set in motion.

But if he did that, for sure the kidnappers would know the victim’s father had gone against their explicit instruction — and in any event, he didn’t have enough information on the boy and his disappearance to instigate the process.

This had to be — for now at least — a covert operation, and he would explain his actions later if he got hauled over the coals — as was likely, knowing his boss, ACC Cassian Pewe.

One of his first priorities was to eliminate any possibility of a hoax. And his immediate thought was whether there was a connection between the bomb threat that was happening here, now, and the missing boy.

He thought it through, rapidly. What were good reasons to link the bomb threat to the kidnap?

One, the Amex had never before had a bomb threat.

Two, there had never before been a kidnap here at the Amex.

Now there was both a bomb scare and a kidnap on the same day.

They had to be connected, surely? Was the bomb scare intended to create a smokescreen for the kidnap? But something about that did not make sense to him.

‘Where’s the father now, Keith?’ he asked.

‘Currently in a toilet in the South Stand, nervous of being seen with the police. He’s called us on a second, encrypted phone, that he says he has for business purposes.’

‘We need an urgent trace on the phone number the text came from, Keith.’

A loud voice right beside him startled Grace.

‘What up, Roy — what’s going on?’

He turned to see the tall, burly figure of police Crime Scene Photographer Peter Allen standing in the tunnel entrance.

‘Hold on one sec, Keith,’ he said, then turned to the CSI. ‘Peter, I’ve got an urgent situation. My son, Bruno, is five rows down. Can you tell him I’ve been called away — and run him home after the game?’

‘Sure, Roy. I was just going out for a pee. I’m sitting only a few rows behind with my boys, I know where he is.’

Grace thanked him, then turned his focus back to the Oscar-1 Inspector. ‘OK, Keith, what information do you have on the father — who is he?’

‘His name’s Kipp Brown.’

‘Kipp Brown?’ Grace frowned. ‘As in “Trust Kipp”?’

‘Dunno, but it’s an unusual name.’

‘And this kidnap sounds real to you?’

‘Very real.’

‘I’ve met Brown before, he’s a piece of work. This could be embarrassing.’

‘Oh?’

‘Don’t worry about it.’

‘Guv, we’re using the code word apple for identification.’

Grace hurried to the South Stand toilets. Entering the gents, he wrinkled his nose at the strong stench of urine and disinfectant. All the cubicle doors except for one were open. He walked up to it, hoping he wasn’t in the wrong place, and called out, ‘Hello? Mr Brown?’

‘Who is that?’ said a deep, suspicious voice with the faintest trace of a Kiwi accent.

‘Apple,’ Grace said first. Then, ‘Detective Superintendent Grace, Surrey and Sussex Major Crime Team, sir.’

‘You’ve come fast.’

‘I was already in the grounds, watching the game.’

The door opened a crack. A tall, good-looking man, with black hair swept back, greeted him. He reminded Grace, he realized, of the actor Alec Baldwin.

‘We’ve met before,’ Brown said, tersely. He looked deeply worried and on edge.

‘Yes, we have, back in April.’

There was an awkward moment of silence between them. In April, Brown had briefly been arrested on suspicion of murder, after being incorrectly identified as a suspect, and then released. Brown had been rude and arrogant, Grace remembered.

‘Just so you know,’ Brown said, coldly, ‘I haven’t murdered my son.’

‘Shall we put the past behind us and focus on now?’ Grace suggested.

Brown nodded.

‘So, can you give me a recap of what’s happened?’ He pulled out his Dictaphone and began recording.

The Independent Financial Advisor quickly summarized, and showed him the text on his phone. Grace took a photograph of it. ‘You’ve tried texting back?’

‘Yes. It’s blocked. The thing is, Detective Superintendent, I don’t know what to do — I can’t risk Mungo’s life by involving you openly.’

‘Without looking into all the facts, sir, there seems to be a pretty clear kidnap motive here. You are very high profile in this city, known to be wealthy, and whoever sent this has stated there’ll be a ransom. The absolute priority is to get your son back safe. Don’t try to deal with this alone, whatever your views on the police. We will deal with this covertly for as long as we can.’

‘What if these people kill him?’

‘The text you’ve been sent is unambiguous: whoever has taken Mungo is after your money, that’s what this appears to be about, not harming your son. Would you be prepared to pay a ransom? We would do our best to protect your money and recover it, but it could need an initial outlay.’

‘Ordinarily, yes. But a ransom could be a problem at the moment.’

‘In what way, sir?’

‘I have a bit of a cash-flow issue.’

‘How much could you raise in a hurry, if you had to?’

‘Not a lot. Look, this is confidential, right?’

‘Absolutely.’