‘So who’s this then, I wonder?’ said Phillips.
They watched as the person, wearing what appeared to be a black head-mask and a long coat, tapped Hollie on the shoulder and began a conversation.
‘How far does the zoom go in on this?’ asked Phillips.
‘It’s at the optimum level for pixilation just now. I can go further in, but the picture quality will suffer.’
‘Ok,’ said Phillips.
The conversation continued until the person in the mask produced something in her hand and showed it to Hollie.
‘Pause it there. Zoom in on whatever is in their hand,’ said Phillips.
Robbins obliged, but as he had warned, the image blurred.
‘Is that a joint?’ said Jones.
‘Hard to tell for sure, but it looks like it to me,’ replied Phillips.
‘It can’t be. We have a zero-tolerance drugs policy,’ spat Green.
Phillips ignored him. ‘Ok, zoom out again and let's see what happens next.’
As the tape played, Hollie followed the masked individual into a darkened corner of the tennis courts, at the side of the clubhouse building, before disappearing out of sight around the corner.
‘What’s around that corner?’ asked Phillips.
‘Air conditioning units,’ said Robbins.
‘Do you have cameras there?’
‘No, I’m afraid not. There’s no real need. No windows or access into the building. There is a gate, but it only allows access to the air conditioning units. If anyone decided to make their way round onto the courts from there, this camera would pick them up,’ said Robbins. ‘Having said that, there is one on the other side of the fence, just a bit farther along at the side of the building. It points at the pro-shop for the golf course, where we keep the golf-carts. That one might be of use.’
‘Ok. We may need to check it in a moment. For now, let’s see if they come back round onto this camera.’
Robbins played the footage in realtime for the next couple of minutes, but nothing significant happened. So he fast-forwarded it at six times normal speed for a little while longer. The timestamp on screen showed that in the ensuing thirty minutes, Hollie still did not return.
Phillips was starting to lose patience. ‘Check the golf shop camera.’
Robbins pulled up the footage and located the time when they had last seen Hollie on the tennis court. This camera was secured to the wall at least twenty metres away from the air-conditioning units, and the lighting was poor. Robbins pressed play and they watched in realtime.
For a few minutes nothing happened aside from a fox trotting out of a hedge onto the concrete driveway before heading back into the bushes. Then, a moment later, the gate to the air-conditioning units opened tentatively, and a masked head peeped out before retreating back inside. Another minute passed, and a van approached. Its lights were switched off and it stopped just in front of the gates. A masked man jumped from the driver’s seat, moved round to the back of the van and opened the rear doors. He then opened the gate and signalled to someone on the other side. Two more masked men appeared, guiding someone wearing a hood over their head and with their hands tied in front of them to the back of the van.
‘Stop it there,’ said Phillips. ‘Zoom in on the person in the hood.’
She scrutinised the grainy image for a moment. ‘Flick back to the tennis court camera.’
Robbins pulled up the previous footage.
‘Can we see them side-by-side to compare?’
‘Sure,’ said Robbins.
Staring at the two images, Phillips was sure the person under the hood was Hollie Hawkins. From what she could see, the height, build and clothes were identical.
‘So, that looks like Hollie. Play the rest of the golf shop footage.’
Robbins obliged, and they watched as Hollie was lifted inside the van. Bringing up the rear, a final masked man shut the gate, then jumped into the van and closed the doors. A split second later, the vehicle roared off down the path towards the main entrance to the country club.
‘Jesus,’ said Phillips, ‘it looks like Hawkins was right. She was kidnapped.’
‘Oh my God,’ said Green – with an unnecessary amount of drama, Phillips felt. ‘This can’t be happening. Not a kidnapping. Not at Marstons.’
Phillips ignored him and turned to Jones, who was already nodding. ‘Jonesy, get Bov and Entwistle down here. And call in forensics.’
‘On it,’ said Jones, his phone already in his hand.
‘Mr Green, Mr Robbins. I need that area cordoned off immediately. Nobody is to go anywhere near it without my express permission. I’m also going to need copies of all your CCTV footage from the last twenty-four hours.’
‘I’ll start downloading the files immediately,’ said Robbins.
‘Thank you. Also, what you’ve just witnessed must remain totally confidential. You cannot say anything about this to anyone. Until I’ve spoken to Hollie’s parents, this has to remain between us. Ok?’
Both men nodded.
‘You can count on us Chief Inspector,’ said Green, regaining his composure.
Phillips and Jones surveyed the area where Hollie had been taken under torchlight. The forensic team would bring floodlights, but Phillips wanted to see if there was any immediate and obvious evidence. Sadly, there wasn’t, but she noted that the padlock was hanging on the gate, unlocked. That clearly didn’t match Green’s boast about the Marstons’s level of security, so she took a number of photos with her phone for future reference.
Her attention was soon drawn to the sound of voices drawing closer from the direction of the tennis courts, and a moment later, Senior CSI Andy Evans appeared from around the corner, followed by a number of his team.
‘We really must stop meeting like this,’ he quipped.
‘Andy,’ said Phillips.
Jones nodded his acknowledgement.
‘Can we have the space, Ma’am?’ said Evans.
Phillips nodded. ‘Sure. We’ll head back inside. Can you let me know if you find anything significant?’
‘Will do.’
Phillips and Jones made their way back through the tennis courts towards the main building. She was keen to speak to Robbins without Green and his drama getting in the way. As they reached the clubhouse, they were met by the other two members of Phillips’s core team from MCU, DCs Bovalino and Entwistle. At over six foot four and a former cage-fighter, Bovalino was a big man, and looked even bigger in his thick winter coat with the fur-lined hood bunched up behind his head. Entwistle, on the other hand, was slimmer and more athletic than his fellow DC, and dressed like an Armani model. His chiselled, mixed-race features were accentuated by the crisp collar of his overcoat, pulled up as much to look good as to protect him from the cold.
‘Here they are, “Bert and Ernie,”’ joked Jones. ‘Good of you to join us.’
Bovalino shot Jones a playful V-sign in response. Entwistle ignored the jibe.
‘Right, guys. Looks like we’ve got the kidnapping of a minor on our hands. Let’s get inside and we’ll bring you up to speed.
In the deserted bar, Phillips wasted no time in briefing Bovalino and Entwistle on the events of the evening so far. Given Sir Richard Hawkins's relationship with the Greater Manchester Police top-brass, she warned them that the pressure to get a result would be immense.