Питер Джеймс - Dead if You Don’t

‘I’ve been going through a bad time — bit of a run of bad luck. My marriage is rocky, I’ve not been focused on work and I’ve lost some big clients. I’m mortgaged up to the hilt, I’m on my overdraft limit and my cards are all maxed out.’

‘And whoever has taken Mungo is not going to believe that, sir, right?’

‘Nope.’

‘Are you able to lay your hands on any cash?’

Brown blushed. ‘Not legally, quickly, no.’

‘Legally?’

‘I have a client account containing substantial funds, but I can’t touch that.’

‘Understood. OK, we have a team of kidnap negotiators and set procedures that work very effectively, and confidentially, but you’re going to have to trust us.’ Grace looked him in the eye.

‘Doesn’t seem I have much option,’ Brown said.

‘The text warns you not to contact the police. But your son was missing for some time before you got this text. It is perfectly reasonable to assume that before receiving it you would have asked stewards and the police here if anyone had seen your son.’

‘I guess,’ Brown said, reluctantly.

‘When exactly did you last see Mungo?’

‘About five minutes after we arrived — we were late because of the traffic. Just as we were heading towards the reception he saw a friend and started chatting.’

‘Which reception area?’

‘The one for the South Stand.’

‘Do you know this friend?’

‘Not very well — I’ve heard him mention his name, Aleksander, he’s one of his online gaming pals at Brighton College with him.’

‘Alexander?’

‘Yes, but spelled with a “k-s”.’

‘Do you know his last name?’

‘No.’

‘We’ll ask the college. Go on.’

‘Then I bumped into a client and got distracted.’

‘What’s his name?’

‘Barry Carden, he’s the managing partner of a substantial firm of accountants and business advisors in Brighton.’

Grace checked the spelling of Carden’s name with Brown.

‘I was chatting to him briefly, then I had to get to my box — where I had a number of clients as guests. I looked around and Mungo had vanished. I wasn’t that bothered — he had his ticket and he’d been a bit pissed off with me, so I figured he’d probably made his own way in, and I went on. But he didn’t appear. Then I got the text.’

‘And you haven’t seen him since?’

‘No.’

‘Your son was angry with you?’

‘He lost an iPhone I’d bought him, and to teach him a lesson I got him a cheap replacement. He was angry because he thought I was being mean.’

‘Have you tried phoning him?’

‘Of course, several times. It rings and goes to voicemail.’

Grace jotted down some notes on his pad, including Brown’s address and phone numbers, and the boy’s number. ‘How would you describe your relationship with your son?’

‘He’s an antsy teenager. I try to instil some values into him, but his mother dotes on him, spoiling him, telling me I’m being too harsh.’ He hesitated. ‘We lost our daughter in a road accident four years ago. I guess we both want to keep Mungo wrapped in cotton wool and struggle to accept that he’s nearly fifteen and growing into a young man — one of us always drops him at school and picks him up. It’s hard —’ he shrugged — ‘I guess — when you’ve lost a child.’

‘So, your relationship is — how would you describe it?’

‘Most of the time like being in a war zone. On occasions like today an uneasy truce. The truth is I love him to bits — but I’m trying to toughen him up, to face the real world.’

Grace noted that down, then looked up. ‘Where did you leave your car?’

‘In car park A.’

‘Can you give me a description of your son?’

‘He’s fourteen, about to be fifteen. Five foot seven, fair hair with a topknot.’ He thought for a moment. ‘He’s wearing a checked shirt, jeans and trainers — and a Seagulls scarf.’ Brown showed him a few photographs on his phone and Grace took them immediately onto his own, via AirDrop.

‘Do you have any other children?’

‘No.’

‘Have you informed your wife? Are you still living together — you said things were rocky?’

‘Yes, we’re together. It’s been tough since our daughter died. Hopefully we’ll eventually get through it.’

Grace smiled, sympathetically. ‘Wasn’t it Aristotle who said that the gods have no greater torment than for a mother to outlive her child?’

‘If he did, he was right. He could have added the father, too.’

‘I’m sorry.’

Kipp nodded, distractedly. ‘Thank you.’

‘Mungo uses social media?’

‘Instagram and Snapchat.’

‘With what usernames?’

Brown gave them to him.

‘Any others?’

‘Not that I’m aware of.’

‘He has a computer, presumably?’

‘Yes, lives on it. He actually doesn’t go out or socialize much, physically, with any of his friends, which my wife encourages. He spends most of his time in his bedroom, gaming with them online.’

Thinking about Bruno, Grace nodded. ‘I know what you mean. I’ve a son a few years younger, and he’s the same. We’ll need that computer, quickly.’

‘Please get him back safely,’ Brown pleaded.

‘We will, I’m sure, sir. But I’m going to need you to do exactly what I tell you. What I want you to do is go back out now, and act nonchalantly. Do what you’ve been instructed in the text and go home. I’ll contact you in a short while and I’ll get a trained kidnap negotiator to guide you.’

‘Please keep it under wraps.’

‘I’m not going to give you any information about our tactics, Mr Brown. You’ve asked the police for help, and if you want us to help you, then you’ll have to accept that we do know what we are doing and we have a lot of experience in this field. The text message about not speaking to the police is loud and clear. I see and hear it. But if you want us involved, you’ll have to trust us. Do we understand each other?’

Brown held up his encrypted phone. ‘You’ll only use this number, won’t you?’

‘Doesn’t look like the other’s much use at the moment,’ Grace said, glancing down at the iPhone on the toilet seat with its SIM card and battery next to it.

Brown gave him a thin, tearful smile. ‘You’ll get him back, you will, won’t you? You’ll find him and bring him back? I love him. He can be a right little sod sometimes, but I love him so much.’

‘We’ll do everything we possibly can to ensure he comes back to you safely and quickly. We’ll be getting an undercover team into your house to help you as soon as possible. If the kidnappers contact you again before that’s happened, stall them as best you can.’

‘How?’

‘You’re a successful businessman. I’m sure you’ve stalled people before. Think of something plausible. Tell them you have a client with you and ask them to call you back in an hour. Anything. OK?’

‘I’ll do my best.’

Saturday 12 August

17.30–18.30

Grace waited in the toilets for some minutes after Kipp Brown had reassembled his phone and left. A number of thoughts raced through his mind, the first being if someone was going to kidnap a teenage boy, why on earth do it here, where there were more security officers and CCTV cameras than anywhere else in the city. But if, as Brown said, his mother kept him wrapped up in cotton wool, and they always took him to school and picked him up themselves, perhaps there weren’t many opportunities for the kidnappers. And there was an old police maxim, that if you wanted to hide something, the best place was in plain sight. This stadium could not be more in plain sight.