Chapter Thirty-One
Daniel
Ipass rows of suburban houses and glance at them with envy. Ordinary people leading ordinary lives like we once did, until…
The wire feels weird, and the guilt of wearing it weighs heavily on me. I should never have agreed to the police being involved, but what choice did I have? Damn Gil.
I reach the road with the phone box with five minutes to spare.
The only parking spot left is at the far end.
I slam on the brakes, manoeuvre the car into the space, ignoring the yellow line, and dash into the phone box.
I spot Lily's dark hair as she glances from the window of the pet shop.
I turn away, and at that moment, my phone vibrates.
It's a WhatsApp from a number I don't recognise. I check the screen.
Change of plan. Get on the A40.
I open the rest of the message.
Go to Waterperry Gardens. Turn off your phone. You’ve got fifteen minutes. There’s a bin in the car park, drop the money and leave.
He’s sending me to Waterperry Gardens, a landscaped garden of eight acres with a garden centre that lies just outside Oxford.
He’s twigged that the police are involved.
Sweat pours off me, and I nearly drop the phone.
I hurry out to my car. An alarm goes off in my head, and my heart hammers against my ribcage.
The wire. I need to ditch it. I can't afford any more mistakes. I rip it off, scratching my neck as I do. Without glancing behind me, I push my foot down hard on the accelerator.
***
Josie
Daniel’s car tears away from the kerb. A sharp click in my earpiece tells me he’s just disconnected the wire.
‘He’s gone rogue,’ I report. ‘He’s removed his wire.’
Roy slams his fist against the steering wheel. ‘Lily, status update. Now!’ he barks into the radio.
‘All clear since Neal left,’ she replies. ‘No one’s been near the phone box.’
‘Check it anyway,’ Roy snaps.
We wait tensely as Lily approaches the booth. ‘Nothing here,’ she confirms.
‘Shit,’ Roy growls. ‘The bastard’s betrayed us.’
He follows Neal’s car at a safe distance. I switch to another channel.
‘Neal’s gone rogue,’ I tell Dario. ‘Shadow him, but stay well back.’
I glance at my phone. Damn it. Neal has turned his off.
‘He’s turned off tracking,’ I inform Burrow, bracing for the fallout.
‘Son of a bitch,’ he snaps. ‘Is he trying to get his wife killed?’
‘No, sir. He thinks we will.’
‘Christ, he just ran a red light.’
We weave through the traffic, trying to keep up, but Neal’s already pulling ahead. The lights change too quickly, and we barely make it through the next set.
‘Siren?’ I suggest.
Roy shakes his head. ‘Too risky. We can’t alert the kidnapper, not until we know what the hell’s happening.’
I squint through the windscreen.
‘We’ve lost him,’ I say quietly.
‘Fuck, fuck!’ Roy shouts.
I radio in an APB on Neal’s vehicle. ‘If spotted, follow only. Do not engage. No sirens, repeat, no sirens.’
Twenty minutes drag by with no word from Neal and no sighting of his car. Finally, Burrow gives the order to abort the operation. As we approach the station, my phone pings. ‘He’s back online,’ I say, pulling up the location. ‘He’s on the A40, heading back.’
‘Damn him,’ mutters Burrow.
But I’m not surprised. Daniel Neal has never wanted the police involved.