Stephen Edger - Little Girl Gone

Owen offered a slight bow out of courtesy, standing and lifting his mug. ‘You want a brew?’

Ray handed over his mug with a nod. ‘Cheers.’

‘No worries. Wouldn’t want you to develop a hernia by moving too quickly.’ Owen grinned, leaping out of the way as Ray pretended to take a swing in his direction.

DC Owen Hargrove was proving to be a decent copper, and his ability to deliver banter and stir shit was second to none in the unit. Leaning back in his chair, Ray observed his own reflection in the tall window next to his desk. Although he still felt like a man in his twenties, his appearance put him at double that age. Hair thinning from the age of nineteen, he’d shaved his head clean at twenty-five, choosing not to waste countless hours of his life worrying about the developing bald patch and ways to cover it. His father had also lost his hair at an early age, so what was the point in fighting against genetics?

Of course the bulging midriff wasn’t something he could blame on his father. Too many processed meals, grabbed on the hop when time allowed, and too many nights spent sinking beer after beer to reduce stress, had taken their toll. It was lucky he wasn’t applying to join the force today, as he’d struggle to meet the fitness requirements.

‘You thinking about making your comeback as a model, Ray?’

Looking up, he spotted the detective inspector hovering over the soundboard. ‘They couldn’t afford me, ma’am.’

‘Underwear, wasn’t it?’ DI Serena Trent laughed slyly.

Ray grinned back at her. ‘That’s right.’ He paused, as he considered her statement. ‘You know I could have you done for sexual harassment for a comment like that, ma’am. I mean, picturing me in my underwear isn’t exactly professional, is it?’ He laughed to show he was kidding.

Trent pulled a disgusted face. ‘I wasn’t picturing you in underwear, but I am now. Eurgh, the image is ingrained on my eyelids. Thanks for that, Ray.’

He chuckled. ‘Always aim to please, ma’am. Did you want me for something?’

Trent regained her composure. ‘Team brief in a few minutes to check where everyone is with their caseloads. Got something big on the horizon and I’ll need all hands on deck. How was your training course last week?’

A week away from home, staying in a hotel with meals on expenses: it had been just what he had needed. The training itself had been less exciting. When he would ever need to use the hostage negotiation techniques was beyond him, but the DI had recommended he go to aid his development. Not that he could see himself climbing the career ladder anytime soon.

‘It was interesting, ma’am. I appreciate you sending me.’

‘I’ll get you to give the rest of the team an overview in the next few weeks. And if any nutcase decides to rob a bank around here and take hostages, you’ll be the first one I call.’

He mock saluted as she moved away from the desk, calling together the rest of the team. Glancing at the framed photograph on the corner of his desk, he suddenly remembered that Alex’s interview was approaching. Pulling the phone from his pocket, he typed a quick message of support and pressed send.

He grabbed the frame and held it tight. He loved this picture: Alex with her shoulderlength brown hair was positively glowing, while Carol-Anne nestled in her arms, as they both relaxed on holiday. He could still remember taking the picture, and how proud he’d been of his little family. It was the day Alex had told him she was expecting their second child. He lowered the frame back to the desk face down; so much had happened in the six months that had passed since then, yet the pain felt just as raw as the day the sonographer had told them she couldn’t trace a heartbeat. Alex had later admitted to fearing something wasn’t right.

Pocketing the phone, Ray locked his workstation and made his way to the group of ten forming a semicircle around the main board. Perching on one of the desks, Owen handed him his mug of tea, as Trent quietened them down.

‘First of all,’ Trent began, standing in front of the board allowing her to make eye contact with each of them, ‘can we welcome back DS Ray Granger from his trip to Hendon? Ray has been learning the Met’s latest negotiation techniques from an instructor who has been working in Asia and the Middle East for the past decade.’

Ray nodded as his colleagues acknowledged his return. It seemed a bit staged, particularly as he’d only been away for a week, but it was Trent’s way of micromanaging her team.

‘So, when it comes round to the annual pay review, I’ll be delegating to Ray to negotiate on my behalf, and I’ll be expecting a bumper pay rise, Ray.’

‘They won’t know what’s hit them, ma’am,’ Ray smiled.

The group laughed.

‘Onto other matters,’ Trent continued, ‘we’ve had a tip-off that a new crew are smuggling counterfeit goods through the docks. The chief super has signed off a two-week surveillance op with overtime available for those who want to be involved. It’ll mean working all hours, with a view to crashing the ring by the end of the month.

‘I’ll be leading the surveillance, and we’ll be working closely with our colleagues in Organised Crime to identify the main players and set up further surveillance on their activities. The potential return on this one could be in the millions, which is why it’s been sanctioned. I want names on the board by the time I finish today so I can coordinate who’s doing what over the next fortnight.’

Ray pressed a hand to his pocket as his phone vibrated.

‘Everything okay, Ray?’ Trent asked.

All eyes fell on Ray as the phone continued to vibrate in his pocket. Trent was a stickler for keeping work and personal lives separate. She acknowledged that her team all had lives outside of the office, though she didn’t like it encroaching on her time.

‘Sorry, ma’am,’ Ray replied, lowering his eyes.

‘Right, where are we with the armed robbery at the post office in Portswood last Friday?’

An arm shot up. ‘CCTV has four masked men making their escape in a Transit from Portswood,’ DS Jodie Crichton explained. ‘Plates are false. We tracked the vehicle as far as the M3 before we lost sight of it. Having spoken to colleagues in Dorset and Berkshire, this could just be the latest in a string of robberies. It has the hallmarks of raids in Swindon, Bournemouth and Reading. The group are heavily armed – four men and a getaway driver – and only hit post offices, focusing primarily on their foreign exchange booths. One stands watch at the main door, keeping a check on the time via a stopwatch around his neck. He seems to be the one in charge. Each time, when it gets to exactly three minutes, he signals and the rest of the group haul tail out of there. They are very efficient from what I can see, using a different van each time, always with false plates, and always abandoned and torched with no DNA or fingerprints discovered at any of the wrecks or crime scenes.’

‘Do the other teams have any idea who the group are?’ Trent asked.

Crichton shook her head. ‘None, ma’am. The group are masked in all of the footage from the post offices.’

The phone was vibrating again, and this time Ray pulled it out and dropped it into the drawer of the desk he was sitting on.

Trent fired a look at him, before turning back to Jodie. ‘What about MOs of other crews?’

‘Still checking for similarities. I’ll keep you posted.’

‘Ray, you’ve got some free time on your hands. I want you to work with Jodie on this. Okay?’

Ray nodded as the sound of the vibrating phone echoed quietly in the drawer.

‘Good. Owen, what have you got for us in terms of news on the streets?’