Phillips raised her eyebrows. ‘I thought she worked nights?’
‘It varies. We move them around the rota. Stops them getting complacent, and means we can get a better quality of operative. Security people who only work nights tend to be a little less qualified, shall we say.’
‘Can we speak to her?’ asked Phillips.
Robbins nodded, and radioed Cartwright.
Cartwright appeared anxious, and agitated, as she took her seat opposite Phillips and Jones. Robbins had left to give them privacy.
Phillips got straight to the point. ‘Do you keep in touch with your ex-military mates?’
Cartwright jerked her head back a little, clearly not expecting the question. ‘Er…sometimes. We have the odd night out when I’m not working here.’
‘What regiment were you in?’
‘The Yorkshire Regiment. Used to be the Duke of Wellington’s.’
‘And you were a combat medic, weren’t you?’
‘That’s right. I served in Afghanistan and Iraq.’
‘And when did you leave the military?’
‘June 2010.’
‘Why did you leave?’
Cartwright shifted in her seat and swallowed hard. ‘I was diagnosed with PTSD.’ She stared at the floor.
‘Do you mind me asking what caused it?’
Cartwright looked Phillips dead in the eye now. ‘I watched a good mate get blown to pieces in front of me. He stepped on an IED.’
Phillips’s tone softened. ‘I’m sorry to hear that.’
Cartwright nodded.
‘What happened after you left the military?’
‘I did a few jobs and eventually ended up here.’
‘Those jobs, were they all in security?’
‘Pretty much, yeah. I had a couple of driving gigs on and off for a while, but I didn’t fancy the long journeys. I’m not a fan of having too much time with my own thoughts. If you know what I mean?’
Phillips could indeed sympathise, having fought her own mental health battles over the last few years. It was usually when she was alone that her thoughts were at their darkest.
‘Sam, have any of your ex-military mates been in touch unexpectedly in the last few months?’
‘Not that I can think of…just the usual crew.’
‘We’ll need their names and contact details, if that’s ok?’
Cartwright shrugged her shoulders. ‘Sure, but what for?’
Phillips smiled. ‘Oh, just standard procedure. Nothing to worry about.’
As Cartwright dictated the list of her ex-colleagues, Jones scribbled the names down in his pad whilst Phillips drained her remaining coffee. ‘Well, thank you for your time, Sam. I think that’s all we need for now. We’ll be in touch if we require anything else.’
Cartwright nodded silently as Phillips and Jones stood.
‘We’ll see ourselves out,’ said Phillips, and they headed for the door.
6
November 2nd
The next morning, as ever, Jones, Bovalino and Entwistle were in early. Phillips gathered them in her office to debrief on the visit to Marstons. Bovalino had made the short trip to the canteen on the ground floor, returning with hot bacon rolls and tea for each of the team. As he handed them out, Phillips took a couple of minutes to bring them up to date on the previous afternoon’s events.
‘So we’re no further forward then, Guv?’ Bovalino asked as he took a seat opposite Phillips, followed by a large bite of his own roll.
‘No, but I’d like a full background check on both Robbins and Cartwright. It’s just too much of a coincidence that they both have military backgrounds.’
‘And you don’t believe in coincidences do you, Guv?’ Entwistle quipped with a knowing smile.
Phillips feigned surprise. ‘Have I said that before, then?’
‘Once or twice,’ said Jones.
Entwistle made a note in his pad. ‘I’ll look into them both this morning.’
‘There’s something else you guys need to be aware of.’ Phillips tapped the desk with her finger.
Bovalino stopped chewing and raised his eyebrows. ‘Oh?’
‘It looks like Hawkins has followed up on his threat to involve Whitehall. They’ve sent us a special advisor from the Met.’
‘A special advisor? That’s all we bloody need,’ moaned Bovalino.
‘I know, Bov. I know,’ said Phillips.
‘What does he look like, Guv, this special advisor?’ asked Entwistle.
Phillips brow furrowed. ‘Tall, thin, official looking. Why do you ask?’
‘Sounds like the guy who was in here yesterday, asking where he could find Fox,’ said Entwistle.
‘And what did you tell him?’ asked Phillips.
‘Well, er…I took him up to her office. I was going that way anyway, and—’
‘Jesus, Entwistle!’ Bovalino moaned. ‘Talk about letting the cat amongst the pigeons.’
Entwistle glared at Bovalino. ‘I didn’t know who he was, did I? And what was I supposed to do? Ignore him?’
Phillips raised her hands. ‘Look, it’s no use blaming anybody and fighting amongst ourselves. This is not of our making. This is down to Hawkins and his cronies in Whitehall. I called Fox last night, and she confirmed we’re stuck with Harry Saxby for the foreseeable future.’
‘So she admitted she knew about it, then?’ asked Jones.
‘Not quite,’ Phillips scoffed. ‘Let’s just say she made it clear resistance was futile.’
Bovalino swallowed his last mouthful of the bacon roll. ‘So what’s he like, this Saxby fella?’
Jones sneered. ‘Typical Met Police – a patronising prick. Thinks we’re all farmers and yokels this far north,’
Phillips chuckled. ‘That about sums him up. So I think you’re gonna love him, Bov.’
‘Well, he can’t be as bad as Brown was,’ said Bovalino.
‘I wouldn’t bank on it, Bov.’ Phillips nodded in the direction of the main office. ‘Anyway, you’ll find out soon enough. He’s just walked in.’
All three men turned as the door to Phillips’s office opened.
‘DCI Saxby,’ she said, forcing herself to be polite. ‘Let me introduce you to the team,’
Saxby ignored the faces staring at him. ‘No time for that. Sir Richard Hawkins has just received a ransom demand from the kidnappers. Fox wants us over there immediately.’
Phillips’s mouth fell open. Why was Fox talking to Saxby before her own DCI?
‘Come on, Phillips. There’s no time to waste,’ added Saxby, before turning and walking out of the office.
‘Jones, you’re coming with me,’ Phillips snarled in a low voice.
Jones nodded and began gathering his things.
‘Entwistle, get me everything there is to know on Robbins and Cartwright.’
‘No problem, Guv.’
‘And Bovalino…’
‘Yes boss?’ said the big Italian.
‘Find out exactly who Harry-fucking-Saxby is. I want to know just how well-connected this guy is – or isn’t, for that matter.’