Thirty-Three
Miller pulled over before he’d reached the house. He took off his helmet, fished his phone from the pocket of his leather jacket and made the call. He wanted to get someone else’s take on things before he committed himself.
‘So, he didn’t give you any clue what it was about?’ Xiu asked.
‘Not a sausage.’ Miller leaned against a tree. ‘Just that it was urgent.’
‘You thinking it might be a trap?’
‘What, and they’re going to do me in?’
‘Well …’
‘No, I hadn’t been thinking that at all.’
‘Right. Course not.’
‘I am now though, so cheers.’
‘I just think you should be prepared for any eventuality,’ Xiu said.
‘But obviously that’s never going to happen.
Even though they know we’re on to them, they’d never dream of killing a copper.
It’s messy and dangerous and, aside from anything else, they must know you’d have told someone where you were going, right? ’
‘Absolutely,’ Miller said. ‘Standard procedure.’ As it happened, Xiu was the only person he’d told about his imminent visit to the Cutler house and even that had been a spur-of-the-moment and very last-minute decision.
‘Excellent. So, when you disappear, or if your body shows up somewhere in a few days—’
‘Can we change the subject, please?’
‘Just saying, someone would know that the last place you were headed was Jacqui Cutler’s. So they’d never get away with it.’
‘There’s nothing for them to get away with, because they’re not planning to kill me.’
‘Well, that’s good.’
‘Yes, it’s definitely a plus.’
‘So, what do you think she wants?’
‘I haven’t got a Scooby-Doo.’ Miller had been asking himself the same question on the drive over there and had been unable to come up with anything that sounded even remotely plausible.
‘Maybe she just feels guilty about being so tight-fisted with that Victoria sponge and she’s got another one in.
’ He climbed back on to his moped and eased it off the stand. ‘There’s only one way to find out.’
‘Do you want me to come with you?’
‘There’s really no need.’
‘I can be there in fifteen minutes.’
‘I’m sure you’ve got better things to do.’
‘If what she wants to see you about is connected to our case, there is nothing better I could be doing.’
‘I very much doubt that, and thanks, but I’ll be fine.’ He fired up the moped, then put on his crash helmet and switched the call to the helmet’s built-in speaker.
‘Call me when you get out of there,’ Xiu said.
‘I promise,’ Miller said. ‘And if I don’t, it’s only because I was horribly wrong and you were horribly right. About the whole … trap thing.’
‘Do you want me to say something at the funeral?’
‘I’m touched, Posh.’
‘I’m only thinking ahead.’
‘OK then, maybe just a few well-chosen words about me being the best partner you’ve ever had. An officer whose powers of detection were matched only by his scathing wit and infectious joie de vivre.’
‘Don’t you want me to say something I actually mean?’
McDougall opened the door without a word and immediately stepped aside to let Miller in.
‘This had better be worth it,’ Miller said. ‘I was halfway through dance practice.’ McDougall strode off down a corridor and Miller guessed he was being invited to follow. ‘I’m serious, Malky. I was on a roll.’
Miller was led to a smaller and rather less imposing living room than the one he and Xiu had stood in a week and a bit earlier.
He didn’t think the furnishings were cheap, but they were certainly more functional: a couple of chairs and a modest sofa; a normal-sized TV on a stand in the corner.
There was a pleasing lack of ornamental leopards.
He guessed that the other room would be where formal meetings with marijuana farmers or meth suppliers were held, whereas this was more like the one in which Jacqui Cutler could loll about of an evening in her joggers, eating beans on toast and watching A Place in the Sun.
She didn’t look up until Miller had sat down, McDougall choosing to remain standing behind him. She was panting, as though trying to get her breath back, and it was fairly obvious that she’d been crying.
Miller turned round to look at McDougall. ‘Blimey, she must be feeling really bad about that cake.’ Predictably, there was no response, and, though he couldn’t be sure, it looked to Miller as though Jacqui Cutler’s right-hand man might have shed a tear or two himself.
‘You were wrong, Miller,’ Jacqui said.
‘That would be highly unusual,’ Miller said. ‘So I seriously doubt it, but you might as well spit it out.’
‘Last time you were here … telling me that I’d got it all arse-about-face and there wasn’t anyone after me. That there wasn’t anyone coming after my business.’
‘I wasn’t wrong,’ Miller said. ‘I explained that what had happened in Claremont Park was just a stupid accident. Bad luck and things getting out of hand, that’s all. It wasn’t someone making a move against you.’
Jacqui was already shaking her head. ‘I’m not talking about any of that. The fact is there is someone making a move … a very serious one, and it’s got nothing to do with the events in the park. None of that’s important.’
‘Oh, I think it was important for that lad who drowned in the lake,’ Miller said.
‘For Ezra Simmons. Same as it turned out to be quite important for the father of two who was stabbed to death.’ He turned to smile at McDougall.
‘Did you know about that, Malky? Did you know that the bloke you carved up had a couple of young kids?’
‘Miller … please.’
He turned round. Jacqui Cutler’s voice had been ragged and desperate, and now that desperation was there on her face.
‘There’s something you need to see.’ She held up her phone and nodded at McDougall. ‘Show him, Googs.’
McDougall walked round the chair and across to the sofa. He gently took Jacqui Cutler’s phone from her, swiped and poked at the screen, then carried it over to Miller. ‘Watch.’
The footage was grainy and poorly lit. Shot from a phone, Miller guessed, propped up against something or mounted on a tripod. A figure Miller assumed to be a man was slumped against a bare brick wall. His hands were tied and there was a sackcloth hood over his head.
‘You know who that is?’ Miller asked.
Jacqui stared at the floor.
‘Wait,’ McDougall said.
Up to this point, the only sound had been a low background hiss. Now there was a brief rustle of paper before a sheet of it was held up in front of the camera, obscuring the hooded figure. It was a little skew-whiff, but the words written in black marker were easy enough to read.
PAY ATTENTION JACKIE!
‘They’ve spelled your name wrong,’ Miller said.
‘What?’ McDougall sounded about ready to rip Miller’s head off. He leaned down to pause the video.
‘It means that whoever’s doing this probably doesn’t know you personally, that’s all. Which might prove to be important later on.’
McDougall nodded, grudgingly acknowledging Miller’s point. He looked to Jacqui for the go-ahead, then restarted the footage.
WE’LL BE IN TOUCH AGAIN SOON WITH MORE DETAILS.
WHAT WE WANT AND WHEN ETC.
‘I take it they haven’t?’ Miller asked. McDougall shook his head. ‘So this is the first?’ McDougall nodded.
IN THE MEANTIME
DON’T DO ANYTHING STUPID.
There were brief glimpses of the figure in the hood as each sheet of paper was discarded, then replaced with a new one as the message continued. It was like an old Bob Dylan video Miller had seen, though he couldn’t remember what the song was.
I’M SURE YOU KNOW WHAT WILL HAPPEN IF YOU DO.
He made a mental note to look it up when he got home.
DO ANYTHING STUPID I MEAN.
When the last piece of paper had been dropped to the floor, the hand that had been revealing the messages reached across and roughly lifted up the head of the man slumped against the wall. Behind the hood, the man let out a low moan.
Jacqui let out a moan of her own and choked back a sob.
‘Don’t, Jax,’ McDougall said.
Now, the hand clutched at the edge of the sackcloth and pulled the hood off.
The young man, who had been sweating heavily beneath it, immediately began to shout, though his words were unintelligible.
His face was puffy and a half-moon of blood had pooled inside one blackened eye.
Despite these disfigurements and the thick strip of gaffer tape across the mouth, Miller recognised the hostage immediately.
He said, ‘Ah …’
Jacqui got to her feet and began to walk across, but she’d only taken a couple of steps before she stumbled. McDougall hurried to stop her falling and held her upright. ‘I need you to find him,’ she said. ‘Whatever it takes, Miller, do you understand? You have to find my son and bring him home.’