‘Bovalino smiled. ‘It’ll be my pleasure, Guv.’
Saxby insisted on taking his own car, so followed Phillips and Jones to the Hawkins’s Altrincham home – which was just fine by Phillips. She had no desire to spend any more time than was necessary with the man.
When they arrived, Phillips pressed the buzzer at the gate and presented her ID to the small security camera.
‘Come up to the house,’ was the reply from the console, and the gates began to open.
The sweeping gravel drive up to the house snaked alongside manicured lawns through rows of mature trees and hedges, leading to a large circular fountain outside the front door, where Hawkins’s top-of-the-range silver Range Rover was parked.
As Phillips brought the squad car to a halt, the large oak front door opened and Richard Hawkins came into view. Hands on hips, he looked agitated, which was not surprising given the circumstances.
‘Whatever he says in there, Guv, don’t let him get to you,’ said Jones.
Phillips nodded. Jones did indeed know her better than anyone else on the force. Having worked together for over ten years on many challenging cases, he knew only too well the types of people who pushed Phillips’s buttons. Hawkins was one such person. Saxby was another. Rude and arrogant didn’t sit well with Phillips’s down-to-earth values. ‘Trust me, Jonesy, since I started therapy, I’m a new woman.’ She flashed a wry smile.
‘Yeah? I’ll believe it when I see it,’ chuckled Jones.
By the time Phillips and Jones stepped out of their car, Saxby had left his vehicle and was en route to the front door, arm outstretched.
‘Sir Richard. Detective Chief Inspector Saxby.’
Hawkins shook his hand.
Saxby continued, ‘I’ve been seconded to the GMP from the Metropolitan Police. I’m the kidnapping and negotiation expert you requested.’
Hawkins stared at Saxby for a moment in silence, then nodded as Phillips and Jones made their way up the steps. ‘Detectives,’ he said without feeling, ‘you’d better come inside. The ransom video is on my laptop.’
Phillips, Jones and Saxby followed Hawkins through the large reception area of the house and into the kitchen at the rear of the property. Reminiscent of those often featured in celebrity magazines, it was an enormous white and grey space with floor-to-ceiling windows on three sides and overlooking an outdoor swimming pool with its winter covers in place.
Sandra Hawkins sat on one of the tall stools, leaning against the gargantuan kitchen island in the middle of the room. Her eyes and nose were red and swollen, and a handkerchief was locked in her right hand. Richard Hawkins grabbed the open laptop on the bench in front of her, and turned it towards him.
‘This was sent to my email at 3 a.m. Sandra, maybe you don’t need to see this again?’
Sandra shook her head. ‘No, Richard. I want to hear what the officers have to say.’
‘Very well.’ He punched the keyboard with a finger. A video began to play on the screen.
The footage was dark, and initially the front page of the previous day’s edition of the Manchester Evening News filled the screen.
‘The kidnappers are providing proof of life,’ said Saxby, as if he was the only person in the room who understood why the newspaper had been featured.
About fifteen seconds passed, then the newspaper was removed and Hollie Hawkins could be seen in the centre of the shot. Her head was tilted forwards and to the right. Her eyes were barely open, and her matted hair fell over much of her face. After a long moment she spoke, as if reading from a script.
‘My name is Hollie Hawkins. So far, I have not been harmed. That will change if my kidnappers’ demands are not met.’ She paused as if trying to maintain control of her emotions, her breathing laboured. ‘In order to secure my safe return, my father, Sir Richard Hawkins, must pay four million pounds in unmarked notes. In exactly seven days, you will receive the location of where to deliver the money. There are to be no excuses…’ A tear streaked down her grubby cheek as she took a sharp intake of breath. ‘If you fail to pay the four million pounds, I will be killed, my body will be dismembered…’ Hollie stopped and broke down, her shoulders shaking as she began to sob.
From the right of the screen, a handgun clasped in a gloved hand appeared and was placed against Hollie’s temple before the hammer was cocked.
‘Read the rest,’ said a distorted voice in an evil, ghoulish tone.
With what appeared to be a considerable effort, Hollie stopped crying and attempted to read the remainder of the script. ‘…and you will never see me again. There will be no body to bury, and you will never know the pain of my final hours.’ She began to sob again, then looked up and screamed into the camera, ‘Please, Dad, give them what they want!’
The footage ended, but Hollie’s image remained frozen on the screen in front of them.
Phillips was not surprised to see Sandra Hawkins begin to sob, reminiscent of her daughter on the video.
Hawkins patted his wife on the shoulder in the same awkward manner Phillips had noted at the leisure club on the night Hollie had disappeared.
The poor woman, Phillips thought. Her heart went out to her.
Hawkins turned to face them now. ‘So, what do we do?’
‘We pay them, Richard!’ Sandra shouted through her tears as snot and saliva fell from her nose and mouth.
Hawkins ignored his wife and stared at Saxby. ‘You’re the expert. What do you think we should do?’
Saxby’s chest puffed out like a peacock’s. ‘I don’t mean to be forward, but do you have access to four million pounds, Mr Hawkins?’
‘Yes, but it will take time to raise that kind of cash.’
‘In that case, I think you should make arrangements to access the funds. Just for the time being,’ Saxby said.
Hawkins’s face twisted. ‘But what if I pay the ransom and they kill her anyway?’
‘Don’t talk like that, Richard!’ screamed Sandra. ‘She has to live. She has to!’
Phillips had seen enough of Hawkins’s and Saxby’s insensitivity, and stepped in. She placed an arm around Sandra’s shoulders. ‘Please don’t upset yourself, Mrs Hawkins,’ she said in a gentle voice. ‘We’re going to do everything we can to get Hollie back, I promise.’
Sandra continued to sob, holding the handkerchief against her mouth as tears streaked down her cheeks.
Hawkins shrugged. ‘Look, all I’m asking is, is paying the ransom is the only option? Don’t you have special forces for this kind of investigation? You know, teams that can track and rescue her?’
Saxby’s mouth opened, but he remained silent a moment, as if trying to find the right words. ‘Erm, well, Mr Hawkins, it doesn’t quite work like that, I’m afraid. Not in a civilian investigation such as this. Those kinds of teams are reserved for military extractions.’
‘Well, that’s even more reason to use one, then. My business provides weapons for most of the British military! Let’s not forget who my friends in Whitehall are.’
Phillips still had no idea who Hawkins’s friends were, but was keen to find out. At least then she would know who she was up against. In the meantime, she watched on as Saxby tried to regain control of the situation.