The Child Taker & Slow Burn (14 page)

Chapter Seventeen

Tank sat in the front passenger seat of the task force chopper. The streetlights below looked like yellow jewels stitched to a blanket of jet. He had issued a code red search order, which stipulated that every police division across the nearest six counties within three hours drive had to send up their helicopters. They were tasked with searching for a white transit van being used to tow a white four-berth Lunar caravan. Grace and the evidence team had searched through police records for hours and the same description of Jack Howarth’s living quarters kept coming up. They had to assume that he was still driving the same vehicle and still living in the same model caravan. They had predicted that he would be parked somewhere remote and so the remit across the police forces was to use heat-imaging scanners to search for the twins and their abductor by scanning any mobile homes that they found. Tank commandeered the task force chopper in the faint hope that they might stumble across something. The odds on finding them were slim and becoming slimmer with every hour that passed. So far, everyone had drawn a blank, until the radio began to buzz with emergency services communications from the Cheshire division.

“Cheshire police have had a call concerning the twins.” The pilot turned to Tank as the information came through.

“Tune into their band, I want to hear what’s going on,” Tank ordered.

“Roger that, an ambulance and an armed response unit have been despatched to a caravan parked up on Chester Road, on the outskirts of Warrington.” The pilot relayed the communications as they unfolded.

“How far away are we?” Tank checked his watch.

“We are twenty-five minutes away at least.”

“Did the caller say that the twins are there?”

“Negative, he said they were there before but that they’d been taken somewhere else. The caller is Jack Howarth. ”

Tank patched the coms unit through to his helmet, so that he could listen to real time coms. The ambulance and the armed response unit were arriving on the scene. The ambulance crew were told to wait at a safe distance from the caravan until the police had cleared the area. The armed police were outside the caravan. Tank followed their progress.

“Unit one, check the van.” The team leader ordered.

“Roger that.” There was silence for a moment. “The vehicle is locked, driver’s cab is clear.”

“Unit two, enter the caravan.”

“The door is locked, Sir.”

“Roger that, force it.”

The coms went silent as the armed police unit carried out their business quickly and efficiently.

“How long?” Tank asked the pilot.

“Five minutes, not far now,” the pilot replied. Tank could see the lights of Warrington twinkling yellow to his right. They seemed to go on forever as they blended into the mass of lights that was Greater Manchester in the distance. There were golf courses and acres of farmland on the left hand side. To the left the ground below them was inky black, broken only by the odd cluster of electric lights here and there. The coms crackled into life again.

“We’re inside the caravan sir, and the area’s clear. There’s one casualty. His condition is critical. Better get the ambulance guys in here sharp.” The response team leader reported to his superior officer.

“Roger that,” the reply came. “Give the ambulance team a green light.” Tank could see flashing blue lights in the near distance as they approached the scene.

“Get me as close as you can,” Tank ordered. The pilot took the chopper over the site and then banked sharply onto the fairway of Walton golf club. Leaves and bunker sand were blasted skyward by the downdraft. Tank opened the passenger door and jumped out. He ducked and jogged towards the flashing lights.

“Who the fuck is in the helicopter?” A voice came over the police coms.

“It’s not ours, Sir,” a confused reply came back.

Tank jogged across the manicured fairway until he reached a copse of trees. A narrow path ran through them to the perimeter fence. He leapt over a wooden gate which accessed the main road and headed towards the control vehicle. It was parked two hundred yards from the caravan. Detective Inspector Alec Ramsay stood open-mouthed as he approached. He was wearing a padded bubble jacket over his sports jacket, shirt and tie. Fashion wasn’t his strong point. Tank recognised him as an officer that he’d had some dealings with previously. Their previous encounters had never been polite or pleasant and from the expression on his face Tank had no reason to believe that this encounter would be any different.

“What the bloody hell brings you here?” Alec asked. “I’m DI Ramsay, by the way, senior officer on the case. What are you doing here?”

“I need to know everything that you know about Jack Howarth’s condition,” Tank replied, guiding the detective away from his colleagues.

“The task force has no jurisdiction here and you know it,” Alec protested.

“You and I both know that I can take over this scene with one phone call.” Tank kept his voice low so as not to attract too much attention. The counter-terrorist units were always given priority access over traditional law enforcement departments, much to the annoyance of the uniformed divisions.

“Why would you be interested in this?” Alec frowned and deep lines furrowed his forehead.

“Let’s just say that we need to speak to Howarth urgently.” As Tank finished his sentence, the ambulance sped off towards the town’s general hospital, Sirens blaring and blue lights flashing.

“He’s in the back of that.” Alec pointed after the speeding ambulance. He grinned sarcastically.

“What can you tell me about the call that he made?”

“Why, Agent Tankersley?” Alec replied as he walked back towards his men, tiring of the interference from the counter-terrorist agent.

“Forget it,” Tank took out his mobile phone and dialled. “I’ll have control of this scene in thirty seconds.”

“Okay.” Alec waved his hands. Blood boiled in his head but he didn’t want his crime scene taken from him. This was a high profile case and he wanted to keep hold of it as long as he could. Careers were made and broken on cases like this one. He turned and walked towards the caravan, waving to his men as he went. The uniformed men began to move away from the scene in a well-rehearsed series of actions. The police vehicles that were at the scene were driven away and hidden from view.

“What’s going on?” Tank asked.

“Jack Howarth called us and reported a serious assault,” Alec began. He guided Tank towards the rear of the scene behind the transit van. There were six armed police officers in full black body armour ready and waiting for something. Tank wasn’t sure what though.

“What’s with all the hardware?”

“This is my DS, Will Naylor,” Alec introduced them briefly as they reached a hedgerow. Tank didn’t even look at him, let alone acknowledge him.

“Howarth gave us the name of his attacker, and he told us he was on his way back to finish him off,” Alec continued.

“You think he’s coming back?” Tank asked.

“Well that all depends on whether or not he’s been scared away by your fucking helicopter or not,” Will growled at him. “We could have put the flags out if we’d known you were coming to fuck things up.”

“Why would he return to an assault?” Tank ignored the obvious dig at him.

“Howarth accused his attacker of taking the Kelly twins, that’s why he attacked him. He must have been panicked into moving them, and now he’s coming back to finish off the only witness.” Alec explained his theory.

“I don’t buy it,” Tank said, more to himself than to anyone else. He knew that Howarth’s DNA had been found at the campsite, but he couldn’t tell the police that he knew that. Not yet anyway.

“Look, Agent Tankersley,” Alec hissed. “I don’t give a toss what you buy and what you don’t. I still haven’t got a clue what you’re doing here, but while you are here you will not interfere with my crime scene.”

“Who has Howarth fingered?” Tank knew that there were some shenanigans going on.

“The name he gave us was Alfie Lesner.” Alec didn’t give away any more than he had to.

“Have you run him through your records?” Tank pushed.

“You know, that never crossed my mind, perhaps we should do that when we get back to the station.”

“It’s a good idea,” Will added sarcastically. He shook his head in disbelief. “Of course we have, what do you take us for, fucking amateurs?”

“Look, I’m not trying to rain on your parade. I need to know what you know and then you can have your precious crime scene to yourself.” Tank tried to appease the offence that he’d caused.

“He’s a small time drug dealer from Liverpool, previous for assault, fraud, and possession with intent to supply. We don’t know who he works for, but we do know it’s not one of the Liverpool based gangs,” Alec kept his voice low.

“Doesn’t sound like your typical child kidnapper to me,” Tank commented cynically. Will was about to bite back when the coms unit hissed.

“Vehicle approaching,” a voice whispered.

“Do you have visual?”

“Affirmative, it’s a navy blue Mercedes. You’ll have an eyeball in twenty seconds or so,” the coms hissed again.

A vehicle turned a long bend and its headlights swept across the stationary vehicles. It was travelling at speed as it approached the scene. The driver brought the Mercedes to a screeching halt outside the caravan. Dirt and grit sprayed the area. The driver’s door opened and Tank heard footsteps running towards the caravan. The door opened and he heard a Liverpool accent.

“Jack.” The driver stepped into the caravan.

“Armed police!” A shout came from the officers who were positioned inside the caravan. Several officers shouted it as they swooped on the confused driver. Tank and the detectives moved out of the shadows and walked around the caravan to the scene of the arrest.

“What’s your name?” Alec asked the man as he was bundled down the caravan steps, and handcuffed roughly. His face was in the damp grass and brown goo clung to his skin, smearing his face with something that looked like mud.

“Fuck’s sake!” The man struggled violently beneath the crush of armed officers. “You’ve put me in dog shit, move me, it stinks.”

Alec couldn’t help but smile. “Unlucky, what’s your name?”    

“Alfie Lesner,” he replied. He looked shocked and weary, and stopped fighting. As they pulled him to his feet, he didn’t put up much resistance at all.

“Where are the Kelly twins?”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“The five-year-old twins that you kidnapped from the Lake District?” Alec snarled into his face.

“I didn’t kidnap anyone, fuck you!” Alfie spat and a globule of saliva hit Alec on the neck of his bubble jacket; it dribbled towards his chest. Alec raised his hand to strike him and then thought better of behaving in such a manner in front of his junior officers. The case was too big to jeopardise.

“He’s carrying a weapon.” A uniformed armed response officer searched him and discovered the concealed pistol.

“Read him his rights.” Alec ordered, and Alfie was dragged off towards a waiting police car. Tank watched as he was led away. He’d seen many men captured under these circumstances, and he’d learned to read the way that they reacted. Alfie had been surprised, that was obvious. He hadn’t expected the police to be waiting for him. Why would he? Who could have called them except Jack Howarth or him? Alfie had reacted violently when he was accused of taking the twins from the Lake District, and Tank could tell that it was genuine anger, not staged. When he’d said that he didn’t know anything about the twins he was lying, of that Tank was certain. He had to speak to Alfie before he was processed and lost in the legal system, and then he had to speak to Jack Howarth. First, he had to work out how he was going to get to them, and if the twins were being moved, he had to do it quickly.

“I want to take a look inside the caravan.” Tank walked away from the detectives.

“Do not touch anything.” Will muttered under his breath. Tank shook his head at the childish remark. Three ambulance men and at least three members of the armed response unit had entered the caravan. A defence lawyer could now challenge any evidence found in there as the integrity of the scene had been compromised. Tank had a feeling that Jack Howarth knew all about that, and that was part of the reason why he’d called the police.

He reached the metal steps which led up to the caravan and looked at the shoeprints in the soil using a small pen-sized Maglight. There were several sets of boot prints. Tank recognised deep ridges left by the moulded soles of combat boots worn by the armed response unit. There were other tracks too, including flat prints left by dress shoes. Alfie Lesner had been wearing a sharp suit and highly polished shoes. They could belong to him. The rest of the ground had been mashed by the emergency services, and there was nothing there that could help him.

Tank stepped up into the narrow doorway and had to turn sideways to navigate his way in. He located the light switch and flicked it on using the end of the Maglight so as not to smudge any latent prints that may have been left behind. The caravan was clean and tidy apart from thick dark stains on the carpet; there wasn’t a thing out of place. There were splatter marks across the pale carpet and up the lower edges of the upholstery. Tank could tell that it was blood, and that it wasn’t from an open wound. It was too dark and too thick, which indicated that it had been vomited by the secretor, and not dripped from a cut. The bleeding was consistent with a sustained attack on a prone victim, broken ribs or a stomach rupture could have caused it. There were several blood-stained swabs discarded in the sink, probably left by the ambulance men after they’d treated the victim
in situ
. Apart from that, the interior looked remarkably bland. There were no personal items, photographs, ornaments, books or magazines. Tank knew that was the classic sign of an intelligent predator, sexual or otherwise. Many of his terrorist adversaries had lived the same way, never leaving anything behind that could be used to identify them later. He opened the kitchen cupboards, and then the fridge. They were empty.