She parked the car and killed the engine. To calm her racing heart, she closed her eyes and breathed deeply, in through her nose and out through her mouth, for exactly one minute. Her nerves steadied, she stepped out of the car.
A few minutes later, she strode into the incident room hoping for positive news. Given the importance of the case, MCU’s wider support team had almost doubled, and every available desk was taken by both plain-clothes and uniformed officers. The noise level in the room had ratcheted up significantly since the previous afternoon.
She spotted Jones staring at his screen, eyes narrow, a thick frown on his face. Her interest piqued, she approached his desk, nodding to Bov and Entwistle as they looked up from their own screens. Jones still hadn’t noticed her as she stood next to his desk.
‘Everything all right, Jonesy?’ she asked.
Jones jerked his head up. ‘Huh?’
‘You look like you’re in pain,’ said Phillips.
‘He’s constipated, Guv,’ joked Bovalino, eliciting a chuckle from Entwistle.
‘Shut it, you bell-end!’ was Jones’s indignant reply.
Phillips grinned. ‘Seriously, though. What’s up?’
Jones sat back and pointed at his computer screen. ‘It’s this CCTV footage from the club.’
‘What about it?’ asked Phillips.
‘I’ve been watching it over and over, and there’s something about the gang that’s bothering me.’
‘Go on,’ urged Phillips.
Jones folded his arms across his stomach. ‘It’s the way they move when the van arrives. I’m not sure how best to describe it, but it’s…it’s…er…how can I put it?’
‘Just spit it out, man,’ teased Bovalino.
‘Ok. Well, this is going to sound weird, but it’s almost hypnotic.’
Bovalino guffawed. ‘You’ve been awake too long, Jonesy. You’re bloody hallucinating.’
Jones shot Bovalino an agitated look. ‘I’m serious, Bov. I’ve never seen anything like it. It’s as if they move as one. Like each of them knows what the other is going to do next. See, look here.’ Jones beckoned them to watch.
Bovalino and Entwistle stood and moved to join Phillips. Jones pressed play, and they watched the footage of Hollie being placed into the van as it unfolded on the screen.
‘Do you see what I mean?’ asked Jones. ‘They’re in and out in a matter of seconds, each of them knows their job, and there’s not a movement, or second, wasted.’
‘Play it again,’ said Phillips.
Jones obliged, and for the next few minutes the team watched the footage on repeat.
‘I can kind of see what you mean,’ said Phillips.
‘And look at this,’ said Jones, touching his pen against the screen, ‘When the driver opens the gate, watch his fist.’
‘He shakes it,’ said Bovalino. ‘What’s odd about that?’
‘It’s the way he shakes it, Bov. It looks so deliberate. Then, a split second later, the rest of the gang appears with Hollie.’
‘So they used hand signals. It’s not uncommon. Saves being heard,’ said Phillips.
Jones ran his hand through his thinning hair. ‘I know, but this just seems different.’
Entwistle moved back to his PC. ‘I’ve seen something like that before.’ He began typing. A moment later, he shouted, ‘Got it!’
‘Got what?’ asked Phillips.
Entwistle began reading aloud from the screen. ‘“All military recruits from all forces are taught basic silent commands…a shake of the fist is used as the command – to run.”’
‘They’re ex-military,’ whispered Phillips.
Jones clapped his hands. ‘I knew there was something special about these boys. See, I told you, Bov!’
Bovalino patted his heavy hand on Jones’s shoulder. ‘Well done, mate. You’re not as daft as you look after all.’
Phillips nodded. ‘Indeed you’re not, Jonesy. And who do we know at the club who are both ex-military?’
Jones’s eyes widened, and a grin spread across his face. ‘Robbins and Cartwright!’
‘Robbins and Cartwright,’ repeated Phillips. ‘I think it’s time we made another trip to Marstons, don’t you?’
5
As Phillips and Jones entered the clubhouse, it felt like a totally different building. The Halloween decorations had been removed, and the atmosphere was tranquil. After signing in at reception, they made their way towards Robbins’s office, but were intercepted by Mr Green. Like his clubhouse, he too appeared different: more in control, less panicked.
‘Chief Inspector. To what do we owe the privilege of another visit?’ he said, offering an outstretched hand, which Phillips and Jones shook in turn.
‘Just a few more questions for your security team.’
Green raised his eyebrows. ‘My, they are popular today. One of your team is already in with Mr Robbins.’
Phillips recoiled. ‘One of my team? I think you must be mistaken.’
Green’s chest puffed. ‘No mistake. He showed me his credentials when he arrived.’
Phillips glanced at Jones, who was frowning, before turning back to Green. ‘Would you excuse us?’ she said. Without waiting for his reply, she headed for Robbins’s office with Jones at her heel.
Knocking once, Phillips opened the door and walked inside.
Robbins, who was behind his desk facing a man Phillips did not know, shot her a look of surprise. ‘Chief Inspector Phillips? I wasn’t expecting you.’
Phillips ignored him and turned her attention to the stranger. ‘Would you mind telling me who you are, sir?’
The man stood, straightened his blazer, and held his hands together behind his back to amplify his tall, slim frame. ‘The name’s Harry Saxby,’ he said in a confident public-school accent.
Phillips forced a thin smile. ‘And can I ask why the club manager seems to think you’re part of my team?’
Saxby chuckled, exposing crooked, nicotine-stained teeth. ‘Oh, I’m certainly not part of your team. Far from it, Inspector.’
‘Well, who the fuck are you with, then? The press?’
‘Hardly,’ Saxby sneered. He reached inside an overcoat pocket to retrieve his official ID. ‘Chief Inspector Harry Saxby, kidnapping and negotiation expert with the Metropolitan Police. I’m here to advise you on how to handle the kidnapping of Hollie Hawkins. Don’t you read memos in the north?’ His tone was sarcastic.
Phillips pursed her lips as Jones shot her a furtive look she had seen many times before. His wide eyes urged her to keep her cool. ‘I must have missed that one,’ she said, just about holding her temper.
Saxby smiled, appearing pleased with himself. ‘Well, it seems Mr Hawkins has friends in very high places in Whitehall who are super-keen to see his daughter returned to him, unharmed, and as soon as possible. So they asked for me.’
Hawkins’s words now made total sense. Saxby was the ‘big bearing on the case’ he had threatened. Phillips was in no doubt Chief Superintendent Fox had been fully aware of his involvement at the time of her phone call. No wonder she had been so keen to end it. In true Fox style, she had taken the easy option of letting Phillips find out for herself.