“Sorry to call you at home, Will but I need to give you a bit of a heads up on Harry Thorpe,” Martin said, briskly. “I believe you were talking to him the other day.” The Superintendent was a hawkish man who didn’t suffer fools gladly. By and large, he treated Blake well but he couldn’t help needling him about the Searchlight days every now and then. It didn’t help that Blake had recently been involved in two high profile cases that had caught the attention of the nationals, bolstering Martin’s mistaken suspicion that Blake was something of a publicity addict.

  “Yes, sir,” Blake said. “His son is a suspect in the Trevor Long murder. He came in voluntarily.”

  “Tread carefully with that one, Will,” Martin said. “Thorpe has been a thorn in our side for far too long.”

  “He made me aware of his success in the courts against us,” Blake said. “Don’t worry, sir, we’re doing everything by the book.”

  Martin coughed. “Yes, well. On a need-to-know basis, Thorpe is part of a larger investigation by the National Crime Agency and the Serious Fraud Office. It seems he’s quite a big player nationally in terms of money laundering and fraud and linked to numerous other notables in organised crime. They don’t want their investigation messed up. It’s all quite covert and hush hush at this stage, apparently.”

  Blake rolled his eyes. The Superintendent sounded as though he was almost salivating with excitement at the idea of the NCA conducting an undercover operation on their patch. “No, sir, I understand. We do have to go after his son if it looks likely that he killed Trevor Long, though. I can’t tie my officers’ hands on a case this serious.”

  “Of course you can’t, Will. I’m just letting you know so you can be cautious. Thorpe has other associates. We don’t want news reports getting out and putting the wind up them.”

  So that was it. Martin didn’t want Blake to go rushing off to the media and seeking the limelight again. “We’ve been asking the public for help with locating Trevor Long, sir but only on a local basis and there have been no named suspects. It shouldn’t be a problem. You know me, sir. I’m allergic to publicity.”

  “If only that was true, Will.” Martin hung up and Blake slumped back in his chair and pushed the bowl of soggy cornflakes to one side.

  *****

  The first thing Detective Constable Alex Manikas became aware of was the biting cold. He was shivering uncontrollably and didn’t need to open his eyes to know that he was naked. He could feel damp earth beneath him and rough twigs and thorns stabbed his flesh, but he didn’t have the strength to move. He forced his eyes open a crack, wincing at the painful, dazzling light that flooded his vision. Every limb ached and his mouth felt and tasted like dry earth. Looking up, he could see a brilliant light. At first, he thought it was still night-time and it was an arc light. He shook his head and rubbed his eyes, realising that he was at the bottom of a deep pit with sheer walls.

  He tried to remember what had happened the night before, but it was a confusing mixture of images; some of them bizarre and twisted. He knew he’d really thrown axes with Bjorn, but after that? Then it all came back; Emilio giving him up, trying to get away. The mushroom tea they forced him to drink. Alex looked at his arms and legs. They were filthy as though he’d been crawling through mud. His whole body was just as smeared. How did this happen? A lead weight filled his stomach. Blake would have his bollocks for this. He was finished in the force and it wasn’t as though he hadn’t been warned. That’s if he ever got out.

  The silhouette of a head peered over the entrance to the pit. “You’re awake,” said the figure. “Eat some butties. You’ll feel better.” A packet of service station sandwiches came hurtling from above and Alex fumbled the catch. The sandwiches bounced off his head sending a stabbing pain through him.

  “You had a busy night,” the voice said and followed up the observation with a chuckle.

  “You better let me out of here,” Manikas said. “You know I’m a police officer. They’ll be looking for me. The whole thing was being recorded.”

  “Even when you were bollocko naked, howling like a wolf?” the voice said. “No. I think you came on your own and nobody is looking for you. And I think nobody will find you even if they do.”

  The silhouette vanished and Alex felt a rush of panic. He was alone and helpless.

  Chapter 27

  Rather than spend time brooding, Laura suggested that Blake joined her to search for Serafina. Blake shrugged. “It’s been almost a week, Laura. I mean if she’s trapped anywhere then she’s dead. If she’s been taken, she could be anywhere in the country. God anywhere in the world by now. I hate to say it, but I think we’ve lost her.”

  “Really?” Laura said. “So, you’re just going to sit there and mope? Was Jeff right then?”

  Will glared at her. “No,” he said, then looked at the floor. “Yes. He was right. I was so self-absorbed in those days. I was a dick. I’ve told you before, I don’t deserve to be happy.”

  “Spoken like a true dick,” Laura said. “You can’t change the past, Will Blake but you can acknowledge your shortcomings and move on.”

  Will looked at her. “Just shrug and move on? You think it’s that easy?”

  “No, but it can be done, Will. You think you’re the only one who has regrets and guilt? The past doesn’t exist anymore. Only in your own head. You can punish yourself forever, but it won’t bring anyone back or undo anything that’s happened in the past. All you can do is to try and learn from any mistakes you’ve made and not let them happen again. If you ask me, this self-pity is harming Serafina’s chances right now. Or are you just storing up things to feel bad about in the future?”

  “That’s a bit harsh.”

  “But it’s true unless you do something.”

  Blake stood up. “Okay then. Let’s go and find that bloomin’ cat.”

  An awkward cough made both Will and Laura jump. Gwen stood at the open front door, dressed in a red kaftan. “Sorry,” she said. “I didn’t mean to interrupt…”

  “No, that’s all right. Laura, this is Gwen, her cat is missing too…”

  Laura shook Gwen’s hand. “Right,” she said. “The silver tabby. We were just going to have a look around. Would you like to join us?”

  Gwen shook her head. “No, I’ve been dousing all week and the cards aren’t auspicious for today. I may go and recharge with some meditation and crystals.” She paused and looked around the hall, a troubled expression on her face. “I hope you don’t mind me saying but… this house…”

  “Yeah?” Will said.

  “It’s so full of negative energy,” she said. “Bad things have happened here. I can tell.”

  “It hasn’t been the happiest of households,” Laura said. “I don’t know how long you’ve been standing there but you could gather that from what I was saying to Will just now…”

  “No,” Gwen muttered. “Things have happened here long ago before Will’s mother and father arrived. This was a sad house before the recent incidents.”

  “Okay,” Will said. “Thanks Gwen. We’ll try our best to cheer it up by finding the cats, shall we?”

  Gwen smiled. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to darken the mood,” she said. “It’s just that sometimes, I get a feeling about a place. We all do, don’t we? Some sixth sense that tells us this isn’t a good place to stay.”

  Will raised his eyebrows but he couldn’t completely dismiss the idea; he’d stayed in a few hotel rooms that gave him the heebie-jeebies and he couldn’t explain why. Besides, Rock Lodge hadn’t been the happy home his parents had hoped. And who knew what had happened in the decades before that? It was an old house. “Yeah, well, hopefully, I’ll get it up on the market soon and be done with it.” He pulled his jacket off the pegs by the door. “We were just heading out Gwen. We’ll let you know if we find anything, okay?”

  Laura watched Gwen wander back up the road. “Now she’s a strange one. Dousing? Auspicious cards?”

  “I thought you were a big fan of all this new age crap,” Blake said, putting his jacket on and following Laura out of the house..

  “I meditate, Will,” she said, laughing. “There’s a pretty strong collection of studies that have shown meditation to be beneficial. That doesn’t mean I’m a great advocate of crystals, dousing and contacting the spirit world.”

  “Fair enough,” Blake said, with a shrug. “Anyway, she’s as mad as a box of frogs, so…”

  “Pretty, though,” Laura said, raising her eyebrows. “I can see why you jumped in to rescue her cat.”

  Blake managed a grin despite the morning’s events. “Oh, give over. Honestly, anyone would think you were jealous, Laura Vexley.”

  “No chance. You’re punching way above your weight with me, pal,” she said. Then she frowned. “Something about her is a bit off though.”

  “See? Jealous. Like you were with the hairdresser, the other month.”

  “Behave,” Laura said. “No, there was something she said that struck me as odd, but I can’t for the life of me put my finger on what it was, now.”

  An old woman wrapped in a bright red waterproof, shuffled up to them and Blake realised it was Mrs Inchley from the top of the road. There weren’t many houses but some had extensive gardens and so the road was quite long. Mrs Inchley had been a resident for more years than anyone could remember and had been a friend of Blake’s mother.

  “I’ve lost Merlin,” she said, without even a greeting. “Have you seen him?”

  “Is Merlin a cat, Mrs Inchley?” Blake said. “Only we’ve lost Serafina, too.”

  “Yes, oh I’m sorry to hear that, William,” the old woman said. “Merlin was black, long-haired. Only had him a couple of months. He went missing last night.”

  Blake frowned. “Seems strange.”

  “What does?” Laura said.

  “Another cat going missing so soon after Serafina. To my mind, that points to someone taking them or trapping them deliberately.”

  Mrs Inchley put a hand to her mouth. “Oh my.”

  “It’s all right, Mrs Inchley, Will’s just thinking aloud. Nothing’s certain.”

  “No, we arrested a man who had been stealing cats in the area recently but he’s under lock and key now, so he doesn’t have Merlin,” Blake said. “Besides, most pets are stolen as part of a burglary, sweeping them up off the street would be a bit hit and miss.”

  “Then where are they, William?” Mrs Inchley said.

  “If they’d all disappeared on the same day, I’d maybe have said they were miles away by now. But I think they’re local, maybe stuck somewhere or trapped deliberately…”

  “Oh dear,” Mrs Inchley said.

  “Don’t worry, Mrs Inchley, we’ll do everything we can to find Merlin for you,” Laura said. “Will is a detective. So, think, Will. If this was an abduction, what would you look for?”

  Blake scanned the street. “House-to-house and CCTV,” he said. “We’ll start there.”

  *****

  From feeling like he was getting somewhere, DC Andrew Kinnear now thought he was back to square one. Thor Magnussen was nowhere to be found. He wasn’t at the betting office and the woman there told Kinnear that he was ‘off on one of his jaunts’ and wouldn’t be in until Monday. Not only that but Emilio Ogden had gone missing, too. His car wasn’t parked outside his house, Emilio wasn’t picking up and ANPR spotted his Fiat Punto heading into Wales.

  “Bugger,” Kinnear muttered.

  DS Vikki Chinn sat next to him at the desk in the Major Incident Room. “It’s like herding cats,” she said. “I feel like arresting them all for… God! I don’t know… for something!”

  “Without Ogden, we can’t really lean on Magnussen,” Kinnear said. “He’d better only have gone on a day trip to Talacre.”

  “Do you really think either Ogden or Magnussen are capable of murder?” Vikki said, frowning.

  “Despite his comedy name, I don’t think Thor Magnussen is as harmless as he seems.” The phone rang interrupting Kinnear’s line of thought. He watched as Vikki nodded and scribbled on a pad.

  She put the phone down. “A body has turned up,” she said. “Male, young. Better let the boss know. It sounds like it could be Trevor Long.”

  Chapter 28

  Gorse Meadow Caravan Park in Thurstaston was a quiet settlement of around twenty-five privately owned static caravans. They stood, shielded from the road by a tall, clipped leylandii hedge. Signs all around the site reminded everyone that it was private. It was a beautiful location; right on the top of the cliffs, looking out across the Dee Estuary. Kinnear could see the Welsh hills, Hilbre Island and the distant horizon dotted with wind turbines. Most of all, Kinnear was always impressed by the sky on this side of the Wirral. Whether it was because of the buildings or just the lie of the land but even on the banks of the Mersey, the sky didn’t seem as big. Here, it dominated the landscape. He could understand why anyone would want to live here.

  A small crowd of residents, all in the twilight of their lives, stood gawping at the busy CSI officers dressed in their white coveralls.

  Kinnear, similarly clad, stood inside the caravan frowning at the scene. The mobile home was unremarkable; reminding Kinnear of many he had stayed in on childhood holidays. One end held a table surrounded by bench seats that converted into a bed. The middle of the caravan was a kitchen area with a gas hob, a small fridge and a sink. Behind Kinnear, a narrow corridor led to a bedroom and a shower room. But there was no body.

  “PC Mark Robertson was the first responder,” said a constable, who identified herself as PC Irwin. “He went with the victim to the hospital to gather more evidence. I stayed here.”

  Kinnear frowned. “Victim? Not dead then?”

  “No,” the police officer said. “We thought he was at first but then we realised he was breathing still. An ambulance had been called when they called us.”

  “Any ID?” Kinnear said.

  PC Irwin shook her head. “The neighbours heard shouting and came out to see a woman with dark hair and a man in a red hoody jump into a green hatchback and drive off. I’m afraid initial descriptions are a bit hazy, most of the residents were just starting the day and by the time they’d got to their windows to look out, the car was disappearing.”

  “Make? Model? Registration?” Kinnear said, forlornly.

  Irwin shook her head. “Sorry.”

  “So the victim,” Kinnear said. “Description?”

  “Male. Mid to late twenties. Stocky, five foot seven, brown hair, beard. There was no obvious signs of trauma, no bruising or blood loss. He was just lying on the floor, unconscious.”

  “Right,” Kinnear said. “Who’s the best witness?”

  Irwin pointed out of the window towards an old man leaning on a stick as he stood with the crowd. He had swept back silver hair and an impressive walrus moustache. “The gentleman out there, a Mr Gilchrist seems to have seen the most.”

  Kinnear left the caravan and ducked under the tape. After taking off his coveralls, he approached the old man. “Mr Gilchrist? I believe you have some information.”

  “I’ll help if I can,” he said, glancing at his neighbours. “Can we go inside?”

  “Sure,” Kinnear said. “Lead the way.”

  Gilchrist’s caravan had a similar layout to the one next door but everything seemed more permanent and lived-in. Kinnear couldn’t pin it down exactly; maybe it was the bookshelves, or the magazines piled on the table but it struck him straight away that the caravan where the body had been was a temporary residence. This was a home.

  The old man leaned his stick against the wall. A small terrier lay curled up in a basket at his feet and didn’t move other than to wiggle one ear as he settled himself into an armchair. “So,” Mr Gilchrist said. “Where do I start?”

  “Who lives in the caravan next door?”

  “Trevor Long,” the old man said, rolling his eyes.

  “I’m sorry?” Kinnear said. “Can you describe him?”

  “Who? Long? I can do better than that. I can show you one of his dozy YouTube videos. The lad’s a barmpot…”

  “So, you’re saying that Trevor Long, the conspiracy theorist, lives in the caravan?”

  Gilchrist looked puzzled. “He doesn’t live here full time,” he said. “His grandad, Len, used to own the caravan but when he died, Trevor took it over. I think Len left it to him.”

  “But I understood that Trevor lived in a flat in Birkenhead,” Kinnear said.

  “Oh, most of the time, yeah,” Gilchrist said. “Not having a car makes this neck of the woods a bit inaccessible for Trevor but he kept the caravan on. He comes down most weekends. He’s been here all week as far as I know. He doesn’t come out much. Just sits inside watching telly or playing those video games they’re all mad about these days.”

  Kinnear blinked. “He’s been here all week? Mr Gilchrist, haven’t you heard the news at all?”

  “Don’t bother with it myself,” Gilchrist said, with a dismissive shrug. “I’ve got my books and music. Gave up listening to how the world’s gone mad. Why, should I have?”

  “We’ve been investigating Trevor Long’s murder for most of this week.”

  Gilchrist raised his eyebrows. “Well, I can assure you, Trevor Long has been alive, swigging beer and watching TV in that caravan for the last seven days.”

  *****

  Blake couldn’t believe what he was hearing as he stood in Rock Lane. “Are you certain it’s the same Trevor Long?” he said.

  “Yes, sir,” Kinnear said. “Mr Gilchrist identified him as the one who made the videos. Long’s caravan was stuffed full of cans and microwave meals for one. He was clearly planning to be holed-up for some time. It looks like we’ve been had.”

  “Some kind of elaborate hoax, then. Wasting police time. Pull that girlfriend in. She’s clearly an accomplice. I’m not having them thinking they can give us the run around like that and get away with it. How about Long? Has he woken up yet?”

 

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