 
### The Message

Copyright by Hylton Smith 2014

Smashwords Edition

### Hylton Smith
No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, graphic, electronic, or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, taping or by any information storage or retrieval system, without permission in writing from the publisher,

Promethean

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters and incidents are products of the author's imagination. Any resemblance to persons living or dead is entirely coincidental.

The views expressed in this work are solely those of the author and do not necessarily reflect the views of the publisher, and the publisher hereby disclaims any responsibility for them.

# Chapter 1

Olivia was running late, as usual, and her mood darkened abruptly. The rather contrived Christmas party for her work colleagues was upon her once more. It was, in truth, a ritual, nothing more, a gathering they all pretended to enjoy. This was all she needed. Her husband Tom announced that he wasn't going to accompany her.

"We don't have a choice Tom, I don't want to go either. Why do I have to say this every damned year? I'm so close to this new post and you simply aren't going to blow this for me. Just get ready while I ring Dad."

"You never listen Olivia, do you? Not to me anyway. I've had enough of this career bullshit of yours. You just arrange the rest of us like sheep to follow your schedules. You hardly ever spend time with Kieron because there happens to be this emergency, or that seminar to attend. To you, he's just a box which has been ticked in your march to glory. Even your parents feel used, but you don't see that either. You can rant all bloody night but I'm going to the match with David, and I've got something else to tell you when you get home, but I need to be pretty pissed before I get it off my chest. David is picking me up in ten minutes, end of."

"You selfish sod. Where the hell would you be if I wasn't earning enough to indulge your pretence at becoming a writer? You sit around all day scribbling nonsense, which doesn't even make it to your laptop. You can't get the food shopping right, and I make out the lists for you. I know you spend a lot of time with Kieron, and I appreciate that, now get ready and we can talk about this later."

Tom ignored her and put on his ski jacket, checked his watch and texted David. 'Hi mate, slight change of plan. I'll get a taxi to the ground now. See you in the bar.'

Olivia stood open-mouthed as he slammed the door on his way out. She'd never failed to calm his little tantrums. Her father, Peter Radford, picked up the call from his daughter's landline.

"Are you feeling alright Olivia? You sound as if you are on the verge of tears."

"It's ok Dad, just another tiff with Tom. Are you still able to sit with Kieron tonight?"

"Yes, of course, but your mother isn't too well. She's gone off to bed with a fever. I shouldn't stay too late, so can you get back before eleven?"

"Oh, I don't know, I'll try. Anyway, Tom should be back from the match before eleven. I'll call you at about ten-thirty to check if he's made it back by then. Thanks Dad, tell Mum I'm sorry to hear she's unwell. I can call around tomorrow evening to see how she is."

"Right, I'd better get a move on and start up the car, you know the 'old banger' doesn't like this cold, damp weather. See you soon."

*

Olivia Radford-Wickham was used to hitting targets, whether they were professional or personal. Thomas Wickham used to tease her about it during happier times. He often quoted her desire to retain her maiden name as some kind of 'anti-assimilation' crusade. Tom was born in North London, Acton to be precise. He lived with his parents and two brothers until he astounded everyone by showing them the formal letter of acceptance of his application to read medicine at Balliol College, Oxford. A tall, lean and handsome young man, he felt his life path was clear. A slight complication arose when he demonstrated considerable athletic prowess in the impressive times he regularly posted over 800 metres on the track. He'd always done well at school events, but never realised he could compete with students who were being groomed for regional and national meets. This distraction brought him closer to Olivia Radford, who was also reading medicine. In stark contrast to Tom, she had somewhat lesser natural sporting talent, specifically the instinct to marry flat speed with hurdling technique. She tended to make up for the deficit with ruthless tenacity, whereas Tom wasn't driven by the same competitive edge of the sport, yet he continued to progress. He always claimed that the effort required for very fleeting celebrity in such a glamourous pursuit was not in his make-up. He liked running for the feeling of freedom it gave him. The last thing he wanted was to be 'bound' by strict training regimes. Hopefully, the journey to the pledge of the Hippocratic Oath would supply all the strictness he would ever need.

They became inseparable, and according to all tutors, both of them were perfectly on track for an honours degree. Just prior to their finals, Olivia and her two dormitory friends hosted a pre-exam 'gathering.' Letting off a bit of steam quickly mutated into a drunken riot, kicked off and fuelled by drugs. Fighting, vandalism and nudity sprung from nowhere and despite the unwanted publicity, the college had to call the police.

Had there not been hard drugs involved, things might have turned out differently. Olivia and her two roommates were to be charged with supplying illegal substances, because the real culprits denied involvement, other than getting high like everyone else. The ripples of ultimate consequences rapidly surged through Tom's mind. And despite him being the only one who had refused all on offer except for a couple of beers, he stepped forward to falsely confess to bringing the drugs to the dorm, but refused to name his source. The rest of the gathering faced disciplinary action by both the police and the college for their respective offences, but Tom was prosecuted and served a jail sentence, which was commuted to a few months. Expelled by the college, his life lay in ruins, except for his love for Olivia.

He moved to the Northeast of England to be with her, as she interned, and they settled close to her parents. She excelled in her chosen speciality, as a surgeon in the neurosciences wing of the regional general hospital. However, there was unease between Olivia and her father. Peter Radford had never seen Tom as anything but a bad influence on his precious only child, and Olivia had never told him the truth about Tom's sacrifice to exonerate her. He opposed the marriage a couple of years later, but was unable to prevent it without alienating Olivia. She deflated all resistance by telling him that he was about to become a grandfather. Everything seemed to flourish – for a while. And then it struck like an asteroid impact, a tectonic shock followed by a toxic, inescapable atmosphere. Kieron was born with neurological abnormalities. None of the family dared to mention the coincidence of the baby's affliction and the expertise of his mother. At least that was the case until Olivia finally declared that nothing would ever get in the way of her finding a means of correcting Kieron's condition.

*

Peter knocked at the bedroom door and announced that he had a hot toddy for his wife, Pauline. There was no reply, so he entered and woke her. She smiled and he told her he was off to babysit Kieron. "I won't be late, you've got my mobile number if you need anything. I've told Olivia I want her back by eleven. See you then."

She nodded, waved him goodbye and took a tentative slurp from the steaming mug.

The vintage Jaguar spluttered repeatedly then suddenly burst into life. It was only around seven miles from Axwell Park to Hamsterley Mill estate, and the traffic was light for a change. He pulled on to the drive, alongside Olivia's car, and began walking to the brightly lit porch. His sea legs had long deserted him and he struggled with the gravelled approach. Peter had served as first officer on a nuclear submarine during the Falklands conflict with Argentina, and when it was all over he gradually became disenchanted with some of the Royal Navy's plans to streamline the service, in line with the rest of the armed forces. A stint in the merchant shipping world padded out his retirement pension until he felt the family's financial future was secure. A recent knee replacement hindered his recovery to a 'normal' gait, but like his daughter, he was tenacious in pursuit of any objective, waving away all advice and patience. He rang the doorbell several times before Olivia made an appearance. Her puffed eyes failed to obscure the emotional turmoil of her spat with Tom. Her ash blonde hair was uncharacteristically messy, and her lithe figure for once faked lethargy.

"I didn't ask on the phone, but why is Tom going to the match when he should be at the dinner supporting you?"

"I don't know Dad, I suppose he has his reasons, but he didn't want to talk about it until later tonight. He just walked out."

"Well, if he's back before you, he'll certainly get a piece of my mind. I can promise you that."

"Just leave it for tonight Dad, I'll make up an excuse that he's down with the flu, or something like that. Anyway, I need to go. Kieron's on his computer, and there's some sandwiches in the fridge for both of you. If you're gone before I get back, tell Mum I asked after her."

They hugged, and he waved her on her way. He wasn't surprised to see his six year-old grandson glued to some indecipherable text on his computer screen. Few words were exchanged, that's how Kieron liked it. He would suddenly come to life when the time was right. Peter switched on the TV and found the local news channel. Finally finding a position of comfort, close to being supine, he drifted from the news to how he would tackle Tom. He wasn't going to put up with these tantrums any longer. He was startled by Kieron shouting. "Hungry Granddad, are you?"

Peter smiled and nodded. "Let's go and see what's in the refrigerator."

They took turns in selecting each sandwich, it was some kind of game for Kieron, because they always swapped one or two if the little boy found certain flavours to his dislike. Back to his computer, Granddad went into the kitchen to clear away the dishes, when the phone rang. As Peter picked up the receiver, he noticed the red recording light was on. He checked himself from switching it off, remembering that Olivia's position as a surgeon required her to have all work-related calls, whether mobile or landline, to be recorded. "Hello."

An agitated male voice prevailed over the surrounding noise. "Is that Mr Radford-Wickham?"

"No, I think you may want to speak to Thomas Wickham, he's my son-in-law. My name is Peter Radford. Tom is married to my daughter. Sorry, it must sound complicated."

"I'm afraid I have bad news Mr Radford. Your daughter has been badly injured in a road accident. She's in need of emergency surgery. You need to get to the general hospital as soon as you can. Can you reach her husband?"

"No, I can't. He's at a stupid football match. I'll come immediately."

Peter was close to exasperation. Kieron couldn't grasp the principle of someone who wasn't with him being in a different condition to when they were with him. Peter got the boy's overcoat and said they were going for a ride through the lights of Newcastle, and thankfully it did the trick.

The dimly-lit hospital car park was sparsely populated and Peter found a spot as close to the entrance to A&E as possible. He winced as he swung his weaker leg out over the seat. This old car didn't have child locks, so he told Kieron to sit still. He opened the rear door, bending to take the boy's hand, when everything turned black. He silently fell to the ground. The little boy was dumbstruck, completely unable to react. It took almost five minutes before another driver noticed the prone shape of Peter Radford. Kieron was nowhere in sight, the driver couldn't revive Peter and alerted the hospital staff. He was stretchered to admissions without anyone knowing that a child was missing.

# Chapter 2

The emergency admission department was thrown into chaos. It wasn't a heart attack or a stroke, or any known natural cause. The stretcher bearers radioed ahead to report a gaping wound to the back of Peter's head. Blood was still trickling out of the circular hole made by some sharp implement. He suffered several spasms as he was rushed to theatre. The discovery of Olivia's father's identity, as shown on his driving licence and credit cards, puzzled the registrar on duty. As the patient was finally taken to one of the very theatres where Olivia _Radford_ -Wickham performed similar procedures every day, it suddenly struck home, this was her father. He remembered that he'd actually met the man a couple of years ago, and more to the point, he also knew that Olivia was supposed to be at the annual dinner party. He immediately called Sir Ian Gladstone, the senior attendee of the function. "It's Connor Jameson, I'm sorry to interrupt the conviviality, but I thought it was a bizarre coincidence that Peter Radford was admitted to emergency surgery half an hour ago. He's in critical condition as a result of being attacked in our car park, of all places. I think you should tell Olivia she needs to get here as soon as she can."

"Christ, are you certain? What on earth was he doing in the hospital car park? Has anyone contacted the police?"

"Yes it's him. After scrutinising the admission sheet, I went to see him. I'd only met him once before, he was with Olivia in the coffee lounge. It was a while back. I still wasn't absolutely sure, but then I saw it, the tiny birth mark above his left ear. It's definitely her father. Oh, and the police are on their way."

"Right, we'll be there in a few minutes."

Gladstone gathered himself and glanced at the other end of the long table. He caught her attention and with the motion of his head, beckoned her towards him. He stood up and took her arm as she approached. "Let's go to the foyer, nobody else needs to hear this."

Olivia briefly swelled with excitement, convinced that this was the moment. Although she was generally accepted as a top surgeon in the region, it was never enough. She had to be **the** top dog, not simply one of the best. Gladstone had made no secret of his intention to retire in the New Year and she prepared herself for something to be said in total confidence. She felt it, she _knew_ now that she would ascend to Sir Ian's position.

"There's no easy way to say this Olivia. We need to leave quietly, right now. Your father has been admitted to our hospital with a serious injury."

She couldn't take it in. The world had just spun off its axis. "What? It can't be.... I mean he's at home looking aft...oh God, where is Kieron? Where's my son?"

"Your son? Isn't he at home with Tom? Even if Tom isn't feeling well you can call him. Do it now Olivia, we really have to go, your father is in surgery."

"No, I should have told you the truth. Tom refused to come with me tonight, he went to a football match with my cousin David. My Dad was already booked to look after Kieron. I'm sorry, I'm so sorry."

She was overcome with conflicting emotions and began to wobble. She couldn't rationalise what was happening. A sharp contrast to resolving a potential crisis in theatre. There was personal detachment there, even when peering into someone else's open brain tissue. Gladstone reacted by grabbing her shoulders and steadying her.

"I don't have my car and I can't drive yours because I'm probably over the limit. You can't drive in the mental state you're in. I'll get reception to call a cab, so you stay here until I tell the others there is an emergency, but there's no need for them to leave. I wasn't going to tell you just yet, but as you've just said Kieron was with your father, I'm compelled to do so. The police are on their way to the hospital because your father was subject to an attack, his head injury must have been inflicted by some maniac. You need to call Tom while we wait for the taxi. When I took the call about your father from Jameson, there was no mention of a little boy. Come on Olivia, you have to do this now, while I tell the others we're leaving."

She pressed the speed dial with a shaking finger. Her home landline rang a few times and then went to voicemail. Just typical. Her helplessness began to give way to anger. She couldn't be sure that even if Kieron was at home, he would answer the phone. He didn't like talking to people he couldn't see, the computer was different, text replaced the talking. She left a message. 'Hello darling, if you're there but didn't answer the phone, please send me an email to let me know you're ok. Can you do that for me please?' She then rang her husband's mobile, but it also shot to voicemail. 'Tom, if you can drag yourself away from the football, my Dad is in hospital with serious injuries. I'm on my way there, but as yet nobody knows where Kieron is. Do you think you could do something? Like jump off the Tyne Bridge? What am I thinking? Cancel that. I'm on my way home to check if our son is there. I left a message for him to email me but he'd have to pick up the landline to get it, and you know how he hates that. Shit, I can't think straight, to hell with you.'

When Gladstone returned, Olivia had cleared her head a little and surprised him by slipping into control mode. "I need to call my mother, she's got the flu, but she's also in the early stages of Dementia, and gets confused from time to time. I'll tell her Dad has bumped his head and he can't drive so he's staying over at my place tonight. I'll ring her neighbour and ask if she can look in to see Mum, then I'll pop over myself tomorrow and pick her up. Then I should go home before going to the hospital, to check if my son is there, I can drive, I'm calmer now. You wait for the cab please, and I'll get there as soon as I can. I can't believe my Dad would leave Kieron alone, but as we don't know what he was doing in the hospital car park I can't be sure. Kieron is different, and if Dad had suffered a funny turn, he may have left him to tell one of the neighbours. Kieron would then be quite happy on his own. I can't understand why Dad didn't ring me, or an ambulance. Anyway, we can speculate all night. My father is in expert care, but I can't say that about my son. I've left a message on Tom's phone because he didn't answer. I'll call you as soon as I've checked the house. Got to run then."

Gladstone gripped her hand as the taxi driver appeared in reception. Olivia dashed to her car and sped off toward Hamsterley Mill.

*

Tom hadn't heard the notification or felt the vibration of Olivia's voicemail, or the direct call. The noise inside the ground had been immense ever since Newcastle had gone 2-1 up against the mighty Chelsea side. Still, he wasn't feeling as elated as he would expect to be at the prospect of the score staying that way. He liked Newcastle United, but being a Londoner at heart he supported Spurs, and wanted Chelsea to lose. He was trying to think of how he was going to tell Olivia about his problem. When the final whistle blew and the home team had held on to the result, David asked if he wanted one more for the road. He nodded, feeling slightly guilty, and decided to ring home to see if his wife was back and her father had headed off home. The last thing he wanted was to have Peter poking his nose in again. When he saw that he had a voicemail, his first instinct was to ignore it, thinking it could be Olivia saying she was going to be late. He relented and made the 121 call. He almost slipped on a discarded burger pack as he took in the full implications of the message.

"Dave mate, can you drive me home please, Peter's in hospital. I need to find Kieron. He ain't at the hospital according to Olivia. How can that be?"

"Do you know what's wrong with Uncle Peter?"

"Not really, but Kieron is my concern right now. Let's go, we can go to the hospital once we've found my kid."

They were held up by the dispersing crowd and the gridlocked traffic, but arrived at Hamsterley Mill ten minutes after Olivia had left, without finding any trace of the boy. The neighbours knew nothing, and were perplexed by being asked the same questions twice in such a short time.

*

Gladstone was concerned on two fronts. He looked into the intensive care unit to check on Peter's status first, hearing from the registrar that the prognosis wasn't good. The spasms had ceased, but all of the equipment he was hooked up to was displaying negative data. He'd never shown any sign of recovering consciousness. Gladstone knew he shouldn't interfere, he'd been drinking, and he was going to have to deal with the police next. He also had to make it clear to Olivia that she couldn't interfere either, there was a conflict, because this was her father. He told the registrar that Olivia had just called him to say Kieron had possibly come with Peter to the hospital because he wasn't at home.

"So Connor, have you seen a little boy looking lost around here, or in the car park?"

"Not around here, but bear in mind there was a hell of a lot of commotion in A&E when the stretcher bearers called for serious and immediate back up. I haven't been in the car park. Consequently I didn't know anything about a little boy."

"Mmm. In that case, see if you can get somebody to arrange a search. I have to see the police, and that appears to be them arriving now. Get Olivia to join me as soon as she gets here, keep her away from theatre. Do not let her go near her father regardless of what she might say. Well, are we clear?"

"Of course, I'll tell security to get the search going immediately." Unfortunately he got distracted by another emergency.

*

Detective Inspector Alan Jones offered a very limp handshake as he introduced his sidekick DC Martha Hall, and two uniformed officers. Gladstone reciprocated by asking them to follow him to a more appropriate place to explain what had transpired.

"That can wait, I want to see where this man was attacked and get it sealed off. People are on their way who won't want anything to be disturbed or contaminated. You can tell me the rest of what you know on the way."

Gladstone wasn't used to being contradicted, especially by a scruffy, malodourous plod. He restrained himself by indicating he would find some appropriate person to show him to the scene. "I don't know exactly where it happened myself, and I'm expecting the victim's daughter to arrive any time. She's a surgeon at this hospital and I'm sure you'll agree, it's a very strange situation."

"I assumed you were in charge around here, are you?"

"I'm a senior member of the trust board which runs this facility, but my remit is..."

"Well, either get another member of your board here and we'll deal with them, or come with us. Somebody needs to facilitate what we need done, what we don't want done, and give us access to records and other information. So, as I said, make your mind up, either come with us now or get on the phone. Time is important here, we don't often get to the scene of a crime just minutes after the event, and we have to make the most of it."

Gladstone sighed and asked for the stretcher bearers to be paged to meet them at the main entrance. Jones tapped his feet for a few minutes. "How long is this going to take? They do work in this building don't they?"

"Yes, but may I remind you, DI Jones, that we have people dying, waiting for operations, in serious pain, and undergoing diagnoses all of the time? A hospital never sleeps."

"Ok, Ok, in that case let's split our resources. You can explain exactly what happened to DC Hall, and I'll go to the scene with your stretcher boys. They are the ones who found him aren't they?"

"Not exactly, someone returning to their car saw the victim lying on the ground and alerted A&E by mobile phone, I believe. The stretcher bearers attended the injured man and deduced it didn't look like an accident, oh, here they are now."

"Jesus, then where is this guy who found the victim?"

"No idea, you'll have to ask these chaps, I haven't been here much longer than you have. By the way, has anyone told you there may be a boy missing, the injured man's grandson?"

"No, of course they haven't. I was told there had been aggravated assault, and the victim was in a critical condition, nothing else. This changes the whole situation, and time is now even more important, and it's bloody Christmas Eve in a couple of days! Change of priorities I'm afraid Mr Glad...?"

"Stone."

"Yes, well, where can I find both parents? You said the victim's daughter works here. I want to speak with her and her husband if she's married, or is there a boyfriend? You know what I mean. Right, Hall, you go with the stretcher guys and wait for SOCO, then see what you can find out about the man who found the victim, and then get him back here to speak with me. You see Mr Gladstone, time is very much more important if this boy has been taken."

Gladstone rubbed his shiny hairless dome and contemplated why the police had sent a scatterbrain to deal with the case. "Yes Jones, I think I know what you mean. Olivia, the boy's mother is on her way, she needed to speak with the neighbours first, and check that Kieron wasn't left at home by his Granddad. I'd like to be present when you speak with her."

"That's not going to happen. You already told me you have other things to do, so get on with what you do best. I want to speak with this Olivia alone. This isn't a request."

Gladstone's internal pressure valve was approaching meltdown, but he caught sight of Olivia arriving and waved her over. She got started without introductions. "I've had a text and a call from Tom. The text started by confirming what I already knew – Kieron wasn't at home. Then he found out from the neighbours that I'd just been there and rang me, blaming me for everything. The bastard said if I hadn't gone out with my 'cronies' none of this would have happened. He's right in a way, I suppose."

Gladstone tried to shut her up, introducing DI Jones. Her phone rang again. "Tom, what the hell do you want now?"

Jones let the conversation continue.

"What? You're in the hospital car park and you think Kieron was in the car with Dad. How can you know that for sure?"

Olivia dropped her phone and turned to Gladstone, not having taken on board that the other person was police. "Tom says Kieron's new computer tablet is in the back seat. He's right, there's no way my son would leave that behind. He just got it two days ago and it's never been in Dad's car before."

Jones slow smile belied his intent. He rang DC Hall and asked her to bring this Tom to reception. Turning to Gladstone he whispered, "I need two separate interview rooms, can you arrange that? Anytime in the next five minutes will do. This lady will stay with me until I say otherwise."

# Chapter 3

Jones was hell-bent on speaking with the parents separately. But first he had to regain control of his hospital phobia. The sight of dozens of people being wheeled around on trollies, suffering and moaning with pain unsettled him. Added to that, the omnipresent signage gaped at him in blood red letters, pointing the way to some department or other with the potential power to admit the unsuspecting pilgrim of faith in medicine. However, the most common route to his destabilisation was the smell, a waft of antiseptic mixed with body fluids usually did the trick. He struggled to guide Tom to an empty office, while DC Hall followed Olivia to her desk, and then closed the door. Tom queried the procedure. "I don't get this detective, we're supposed to help you find our son. He's _our_ son, so Olivia needs to be here. I want her here now."

"Calm down Mr Radford-Wickham, we'll get to that in good time. Just a few...."

"I said now! And my name is Wickham. Look, when you've done your homework you'll find I already have a criminal record for something I didn't do, so we may as well get this out of the way now. I know how these things work. If I'm suspected of anything you have to explain what it is to me, if I ain't a suspect then I'm just helping you with your enquiries. In which case I'm free to choose whether or not I want to do that at this time. Kieron is missing and we need to be looking for him **now**. So, unless Olivia is present and we quickly tell you everything we can about our son, I'm walking out of here. He might be hurt, or lost, or God forbid someone might have harmed him. He was in Peter's car. He's gone, probably terrified, otherwise he wouldn't have left his computer in the bloody car. Has anyone told you he has neurological problems? For him, this situation is like a pet being forced close to a fireworks display. Are you hearing any of this?"

"Yes, I mean no. Yes I hear you, and no, I wasn't aware of the boy's medical condition. Let's join your wife and DC Hall. But we'll have to speak with you separately at some time, simply because you were apparently at two different locations when Peter Radford was attacked. Also, we can't rely purely on your supposition that because one of your son's gadgets is in the car that it is proof he was there as well. The forensics may confirm that, but we can't assume anything yet."

They marched along to Olivia's office and Jones was treated to a lecture on the technical nature of Kieron's affliction by his mother. Jones asked DC Hall to check with the uniformed officers to determine whether they had located the man who'd found Peter Radford lying injured, and if so, find out whatever else he'd noticed. Turning to Tom and Olivia, he was about to speak. Tom intervened yet again, on the verge of losing all self-control

"I apologise in advance for telling you how to do your job, detective, but if we, the parents are being prevented from helping to search for Kieron, you have to tell someone else to get on with it. He has no road sense and will just jaywalk without thinking. This is a busy area, surely you can get some of your squad cars to comb all of the hospital exits for a start. I'm talking pronto, or we may have another casualty on our hands which could have been prevented. Olivia and I can tell you our bloody life story at any time, even as we're looking for Kieron. Come on man, are you made of fucking stone or what? Well? Answer me, or I'm going to walk out of here and start asking questions myself."

Olivia recognised the pattern. Tom regularly shifted from being sanguine and calm, to some other person, threatening yet still logical. The next ramp up would probably involve kicking out at inanimate objects and becoming uncontrollably abusive, even to those he loved. In this instance however, she had to agree with him. "Inspector, Tom's right, that little boy will be distraught by now, and I'm going to join my husband in looking for him. You'll have to arrest us to prevent us. Don't you have any children yourself?"

Before he could reply, the door opened and a breathless DC Hall stuttered uncharacteristically, "S-Sir, the man you wanted to speak to ha-has had a seizure, and is with, with a special...specialist. They won't w-won't let me speak to him. You'd better come to reception."

"Ok, calm down Martha, good work. Take Mr and Mrs Radford-Whatever to the uniformed boys for now, and get back on to HQ for assistance in searching the grounds for the boy."

He raced to reception and demanded to see Gladstone. He was casually informed that the man who'd found Peter Radford had been to the hospital for a regular battery of tests for a serious heart condition. The discovery of the injured man had triggered a delayed trauma build-up, and he couldn't be disturbed at this time.

"I still want to speak with Gladstone."

"Very well, I'll page him, but Mr Wallace isn't under his supervision."

"Wallace, well that's a start. First name?"

"Let me see, aha, Derek, Derek James Wallace."

"Now please get me Gladstone, he can still help me. Chop-chop darling, we've got two punters who might not make it, and a little boy's life might be at stake. I know it's a bit inconvenient but that's what we've got. Two stiffs can't help me."

Meanwhile, Tom and Olivia joined the uniformed police and stretcher bearers in asking everyone entering or leaving the car park if they'd seen a small child wandering around alone or with an adult, or even in another car. David, unaware of all the frenetic activity, was still consuming caffeine from a machine, waiting for news on his Uncle Peter. He caught sight of Olivia through a window and she waved at him, to help in the search. It suddenly struck Tom, in one of his fleeting moments of crystal clarity, that neither he nor Olivia had made a thorough check of the house. Driven by concern for Kieron, panic had dictated their actions, independent of one another.

"Olivia, did you check the landline when you went home to look for Kieron?"

"No, I didn't want to waste any time, because I thought he must have been with Dad. I expected to find him here in the care of one of the nurses. Why?"

"Because I did exactly the same. We ain't had time to find out why your father came to the hospital. By 'we' I mean ourselves, the police, and the hospital staff. I've just fully appreciated at this moment that he wouldn't have left his grandson with anybody, whatever the reason might have been, in order to drive here. Think about it again, he should have called you at the dinner. Failing that he could have tried my mobile, but there's no missed call on my list. You found out about your father from the hospital people, and you said you left a message on our home phone because nobody picked up. You also asked Kieron to send you an email if he picked up the message later. All of our landline calls are recorded, but we haven't checked to see if anyone actually called while your father was home with Kieron. Something must have happened to convince him to drive here without informing either of us. We have to go back there and check it out, at least one of us does."

She nodded and suggested he should go. "One of us needs to stay here Tom. You're more likely to wind up Jones if he doesn't get a grip of things here, so I'll keep on his case. You'd best just sneak off quietly. Ring me when you get there. Here, take my car."

*

An exasperated Ian Gladstone confronted DI Jones. "Just what is it that you think I can do for you detective? I should remind you that I'm not here in an official capacity. I came from the Christmas staff dinner to support Olivia, in this awful business. I've had a few drinks, so for professional reasons alone, I should not be involved in any ongoing procedural activity, not even in an advisory capacity."

"Yeah, Yeah. But you still want to help Olivia and all of her family don't you?"

"Of course. In what way do you think I can do that?"

"Well, it seems as if Peter Radford isn't going to help anytime soon, but this other chap, Derek Wallace, he must have spoken to several people before he suffered a delayed seizure. The emergency switchboard for starters. Then the stretcher guys. Then he must have come back here before he had a bad turn, surely?"

"Maybe. So you want me to use my knowledge of who he may have spoken to after the stretcher bearers took Peter Radford to admissions."

"That's exactly what I'd like, we're on the same team Doc. The sooner I can establish who said what, and the order they said them in, the sooner this investigation is likely to move away from the hospital. That is, except for the forensics squad, that could take a bit longer. Oh, and I'd like anyone who has been, or will be within touching distance of Peter Radford to give DNA swabs. We have to start eliminating people so that we don't waste time later. I guess that includes this Wallace chap, and yourself of course. "

"Very well. Follow me."

DC Hall ran along the corridor and tapped Jones on the shoulder. "We've got units at every exit now sir. One of the uniform lads we brought with us has found a scarf. In the grounds. I've bagged it and given it to forensics, but we should let the parents see it."

"Great, well done Martha, do it."

# Chapter 4

The allocation of squad cars from Traffic Division had trickled up the chain of command. In the wake of this, two aspects of the case changed dramatically. The media had, until now, shown lukewarm response from their field sources over a GBH incident at one of the city's hospitals. Such events weren't uncommon, even in a hospital car park, road rage wasn't always left out there on the streets. However, links to a missing child was something entirely different. It wasn't clear if some busybody from the hospital itself had leaked Kieron's disappearance, but it directly provoked change number two. Jones' mobile vibrated, and then his demeanour became equally 'irritable.' It was his direct superior, DCI John Prentice.

"Where the hell are you Jonesy? I'm at reception, and I'm looking at a mess. There are people everywhere looking for this boy. You should be on top of this. Get your arse to the main entrance, like yesterday!"

A subservient 'On my way' was all he got across before the call terminated. He simply dumped Gladstone and hurtled along the corridor to the staircase. His new sense of urgency ruled out the elevator.

*

As Tom switched the headlights to full beam, pulling Olivia's Mercedes to the centre of the drive, he realised he hadn't actually looked in the double garage when he and David had searched the house earlier. Then, exiting the car with the lights doused, a shiver ran down his spine. The Neo-Georgian house seemed sinister, flanked by the brightly lit properties of the neighbours. The security light had been in need of replacement for months. He felt vulnerable. David had provided some kind of shield from the possibility of finding something awful. There was nothing of significance in the garage, even though the flickering fluorescent tube mimicked a horde of incessant flash photographers. Entering the house, he went straight for the phone. There was no voice telling him of new saved messages, so he switched on the recorder to ascertain if there was any 'live' conversation on the storage device. He rewound and listened to the voice several times before calling Olivia.

"Hey, I don't understand what's going on here. You rang your father to check he was coming over, at 18.36, about three or four minutes after I left. Then, at 19.59, an hour and twenty-three minutes later Peter took a call from someone to say you had been seriously injured in an accident. Dialling 1471 only says 'caller withheld their number.' I'm saying this because the first time I listened to the message, I assumed it was the hospital, your hospital. Then I thought, well, that would be right, the number would be withheld, but the call will be logged by your hospital system, you know, to this number. That's why he went there, and he must have taken Kieron with him."

"Hold on Tom, If Dad took this call just before 8 pm, I hadn't arrived at the dinner party by then, In fact, I was running late, I hadn't even got into town. Fifteen minutes earlier I would've taken the call myself. And obviously, I wasn't at the hospital, so they couldn't have made the call."

"I know that, so can you just confirm that no such call was made before you tell the police. I'm coming back now, there's nothing else to do here. By the way, I ran the message a few times, and in retrospect, it doesn't really sound kosher. What I mean is...it doesn't sound practiced or sympathetic or professional. Maybe it's my imagination but even the slight Welsh accent sounds phoney. Anyway, I'm on my way back."

During the return journey, his mind shifted back to what he had decided to tell Olivia. Despite everything that had happened tonight, this remained unchanged.

Olivia knew the routine and took little time to confirm that no call had been made from the hospital to her landline. She saw the huddle in reception, but didn't recognise the new addition. He was doing all the talking and gesticulating constantly with his hands. As she approached, she realised the rest were being ticked off big time. "And where the hell are the parents?"

He was about to despatch someone to make them appear when Olivia cut in. "I assume you mean Kieron's parents. I'm his mother, his father is on his way here."

"What do you mean he's on his way here?"

Jones and DC Hall braced themselves, and the original uniformed officers humbly suggested they should get back to the search. One of them handed the scarf to Martha. The new man nodded and turned back to Olivia.

"Well?"

"My husband went back to our house in Hamsterley Mill, because you lot didn't seem to know what you were doing. He's played back my recorded messages relating to my work here, and he found that my father, the victim of a savage assault, was asked to come to the hospital, because I'd been seriously injured. That was patently not the case, but he wasn't to know. I've just checked the call log and that call was not made from this hospital. It would appear that 'these parents' are helping you with your enquiries. And who the hell are you?"

"My apologies, I'm DCI John Prentice. I've taken over leadership of this case, and I can assure you, there will be changes in priorities. In view of what you've just said, the first will be to get out of here and lead this investigation from the station incident room. I've already instructed the senior uniformed officer that he is leading the immediate search for your son. Forensic work at the scene of the attack is underway, but they haven't found anything significant yet. DC Hall is about to leave. Martha, get on to the phone company to find out where this suspicious call was made from. Do it from the station, there are too many prying eyes around here. Jones, I understand from SOCO that the little boy's computer tablet was in the victim's car. It needs to be thoroughly checked for prints and DNA. Go with the lab delegate and set up a file of elimination of people – the parents, grandfather, the shop where it was purchased, whatever. Now then, it's Olivia isn't it? We'll wait for your husband then call at the station to take prints and swabs, before we go back to your house. I want to see and hear things for myself. I want to build a picture of your father and your son, when this bogus call came through. You and your husband are the only ones who can help me achieve that."

Before they scattered to the winds, DC Hall held up the scarf. "Sir?"

"Oh yes, do you recognise this scarf Olivia? It was found in the undergrowth between some laurel bushes in the grounds."

"It isn't Kieron's, or Dad's or Tom's, and it certainly isn't mine. However, it is vaguely familiar, but I can't think where I might have seen it. Maybe in a shop. It's unusual, garish and very scruffy."

"Ok, Jones, take it and include it in your print and DNA file."

As DI Jones and DC Hall left, the former was totally pissed off, but Martha was genuinely relieved. She wasn't the only one. Sir Ian Gladstone was now more content. He didn't want this situation to morph into a media circus just as he was about to retire. As he glanced at his watch, the digital display clicked to 02.30. He made his way toward the main entrance. Something caused him to pause at the open doors of the A&E waiting room. He wasn't often on duty in the small hours these days, and he gazed in amazement at the diverse life which filled that space. There were no free seats. His throat seemed to tighten as he unconsciously applied labels. There were drunks, dropouts, manual workers in various uniforms, women who'd obviously been assaulted in some way despite their seriously advanced stages of pregnancy, wearers of eye patches, hunched individuals obviously in extreme pain, and loud-mouthed louts hurling abuse at the world. They were all locked in a cacophony of noise. Nobody seemed to heed the notices pleading for mobile devices to be turned off. He was rather pleased that he was stepping out of this world into the invisible one of anonymity. A transient thought fluttered through his cerebral processor as he turned his back on the seething atmosphere. 'One of these people could have struck Peter Radford.' He couldn't quite command his synaptic array to shut down. Peter might have annoyed someone by parking his car erratically. It wasn't a literal conclusion, more a generalisation of how much civilisation had progressed. He stepped into the taxi and anticipated a restless night.

# Chapter 5

Olivia needed to gather her thoughts. As she'd told Tom to drive she adjusted the rake of the passenger seat, and laid back. She couldn't get comfortable, her neck was stiff and painful, and she realised it was probably stress-related. Tom asked what she made of this new detective.

"He couldn't possibly be any worse than that numpty Jones. Time will tell I suppose. Perhaps we'd better get our story straight for Prentice before we get home."

"What's to get straight? I went to the match, you went to the annual Punch and Judy show, make that the anal Punch and Judy show."

"Don't start Tom, for God's sake. We need to be cohesive in building this picture he wants. You do know that sometimes the parents come under suspicion when a child is taken?"

"Yes I do know, that was one of the reasons I refused to accept DI Jones' proposal to interview us separately."

"Ok, I just thought it might seem a bit strange if we tell Prentice the whole truth, you know, when you left for the match in a strop. Does he need to know that? It's bad enough that I had to tell Gladstone the real reason you weren't at the dinner."

"For pity's sake Olivia, don't start to weave your precious career plan into this situation. I don't care if Gladstone thinks I've got a tattoo on my arse. This is about Kieron – period."

"We need to be able to fund our son's special needs as he gets older, and the extra salary will ensure that. He's almost told me I'll get his recommendation. I'm just saying, don't rock the boat."

"What will it take for you to kick this addiction for power? It isn't about the money at all, we have more than enough. If the bloody world was a marshmallow, you'd have eaten it all by now. And your father would have helped to bulldoze it down your neck."

"It's pointless trying to knock sense into your head when you are in one of your 'Mr Hyde' costumes. Let's change the subject, you had something to tell me, spit it out."

The car slowed, he genuinely tried to change the subject, but she had her teeth into him again. "You've always been a coward Tom, a motor-mouth, but a coward nonetheless."

"Really? In that case, have some of this. I'm leaving you, I've had enough of living somebody else's life."

"Don't tell me, you've met some tart who understands you?"

"Olivia, you're so far up your own arse that you can't see what you've become. You're just a stupid f....it's nothing to do with another woman. Your private world doesn't have room for the Copernicus view of life here on Earth. I've known for a few months that my father has prostate cancer, an aggressive type. My brother rang me to say Dad was asking to see me. Apparently, he knows he ain't got long, and he's already been transferred to a hospice. Michael thinks he won't last till Christmas Day, and says he spends all of his lucid time clutching, and staring at my letter of acceptance from Balliol College. How can I not respond? I was mentally juggling how we could take care of Kieron if I went to see him. Your parents were an option before all this happened, or I could have taken him with me. The only option that I had ruled out was for you to take time off. The world would stop. Don't pretend sympathy Olivia, you hardly know my family, they were never good enough for your lot. Dad was a humble dogsbody in Smithfield Market, unlike 'Pa-par,' a big shot in the Royal navy. My Dad has only seen Kieron twice in his whole life, because he ain't never been invited to come here. Anyway, you should have known that I wouldn't leave you for another woman. Why would I want another one of those? Once the physical side got in the way of your ambition, there was nothing left in our relationship to keep it together, except our son. I'm not leaving Kieron, Olivia, it's you I need out of my life. I'm a London boy, and I only moved here to help your career to flourish. I did everything for your career, because I fell in love with you when we were so young, but it ain't ever been enough, has it? Those people we used to be have moved on, so you've got no burden to bear now. I've looked after Kieron all of his life, so he can come and live with me. He doesn't see enough of you to think of you as his mother. Just for once, put someone's welfare before your own. Surely that's possible, even for you?"

Olivia never cried, but this was 'the straw and camel' pivot, and her lips began to tremble, the salt stung her eyelids, and she almost buckled. "No, it isn't possible Tom. Not now, not until we have our son back. Not until we work out how we can get him to understand why his beloved Mum and Dad can't sort out their differences. He deserves that, and nothing less will do. If you've managed to survive my dedication to being the family provider for all these years, it isn't much to ask that you see this nightmare through. Then, do whatever you think best for yourself, but don't you dare suggest Kieron is going to leave with you. And, for the record, I'm truly sorry about your father, you must go and see him, it's just a question of when. In a practical sense there isn't much we, as two individuals, can do to physically search for Kieron. The police have looked all over the immediate area and found nothing but a dirty scarf. Our time would be better spent helping and directing the police in other ways. Such as giving Prentice all we can about our boy. I do have confidence in him Tom. You've always said I'm the pragmatic one, and I really believe that the two of us simply running around the city of Newcastle looking for Kieron is a chaotic approach. I'll book some leave tomorrow, God, look at the time, actually it will be later today."

The rest of the journey was completed in silence.

*

After only one run through the message, Olivia asked them to repeat one particular section over and over. "Well?" said Prentice.

"I'm not sure why, but the voice has me confused. It seems as if I've heard it somewhere, but not speaking with that accent, and not so deliberately. Maybe I'm just clutching at straws."

"We need to make another copy of the recording," said Prentice, "in case the original gets accidently erased, and also because we can play about with a copy, at least our audio boys can. Now, let me see Kieron's room, and just talk me through everything he might get up to in the rest of the house. I'll need an up to date photograph as well."

After an hour they were all getting a little drowsy. Prentice attempted to summarise what he'd been told, as he hadn't written anything down.

"He only stays in his room if it gets too busy or noisy downstairs. Too many people, and loud music, or conversation freaks him out. He never forgets his routines, such as cleaning his teeth, washing his hands after using the toilet. Turning off lights not in use, and closing doors is a big deal for him, he even reminds both of you to do so. He likes to help clearing away dishes after meals because he isn't comfortable with clutter, despite him only being six years old. He doesn't demand much attention unless these broad parameters aren't met. He doesn't get on with groups of other children, but is fine with certain boys or girls on a one-to-one basis. When he's on his computer, he is completely absorbed, and doesn't want to interact with anyone, but doesn't argue about going to bed when it's time. He's apprehensive when outdoors, including the garden. Pets bother him when they won't stay still. His trust in the two of you is unconditional. He rarely disputes an answer from either of you to a question he may have asked. He doesn't collect things like other kids do, such as stamps, cards, figurines etc. He occasionally recites something he's discovered on his computer, inviting your comments, as long as they are brief. He can't function in a normal classroom, and that's where you come in Tom. You can be his teacher during conventional school hours. This is a good start."

Tom asked what Prentice hoped to get out of this cursory picture of Kieron.

"Two things. First, I want to organise a television appeal, local and national. Quite often little things flush out clues. I want to do this as soon as possible because, like it or not, Christmas becomes lockdown for the police. The public isn't interested in anything else but goodwill to all, as long as it's family. I don't need to tell you that the first few days of finding a missing child are crucial. Secondly, I'd like to get one of our experts on to his computer. You may not know about everything he looks at on his browser, even with the parental lock on. Some people out there can squirm through all kinds of protective software. It needs to be checked, that's all. Are we ok with that?"

Olivia nodded a little more enthusiastically than Tom.

"Fine, it's getting late. Can you both come back to the station in the morning?"

Again there was affirmative body language. Then Tom asked about London. "My father's dying, and I have to go and make my farewell with him sometime. Ideally, I'd like that to be tomorrow, so that I can get back here as soon as possible. Olivia says she can be available for you at any time. I could take a flight tomorrow morning and be back tomorrow evening. Is that a problem? Actually, forget it, I can't leave in these circumstances."

"Not at all, just give me the hospice landline number where I can reach you, and your mobile as well. We'll take it from there. Right, I'll see you in the morning, Olivia."

"Thanks anyway, detective, I'm torn but I can't abandon my son. I'll stay."

The tears welled up in Tom's eyes, and his breathing became erratic. Olivia took his hand and told Prentice what she'd said to her husband in the car. "I think he should go to see his father tomorrow. His fate is definite, and almost upon him. We still have hope that Kieron will be found in good health, and can I ask you what else you can't get from me that you could get from Tom, if he was away for a few hours?"

Prentice confirmed her view. "Call me as much as you like while you're in London, Tom. I'll keep Olivia up to date with any developments, and she can hang around the station all day tomorrow, so that I can check stuff out with her, and she can then keep you up to speed. And anyway, uniform will broaden their search area systematically tomorrow. As long as I can reach you on the phone, I'm ok with you being down there for a while. I don't know what you'll achieve by just sitting up here fretting. It's your call."

*

Forensics had potentially struck pay-dirt. Preliminary investigation of Kieron's tablet had only two different fingerprints on the touchscreen. It was assumed that the smaller ones were his. Interestingly, there was one other isolated full print plus a partial of that same print superimposed on one of the small ones. Tom and Olivia had forgotten to mention that the boy had been taught to clean the screen after every session, before switching off. The lab had the parents' prints and DNA from their earlier visit. It was a starting point.

# Chapter 6

Prentice stared out of his office window, hearing but not seeing the traffic. The fog was taking longer to burn off than the forecast had indicated. Despite just a few hours of sleep, he'd already got agreement from the local TV stations to mount an appeal to the public that evening, for a missing boy. There was to be no insinuation that he'd been abducted at this stage. The national schedules were much more difficult to influence, and they hadn't yet been able to confirm when it could be shown. He was pleased to see Martha Hall in so early. She squeezed the door open a fraction. "Do you have a minute?"

"Is it significant?"

"Yes sir."

"Come in then."

"I'm being a total pest with forensics, but I've got a preliminary report on the little boy's tablet. There are only two sets of prints on the screen, and none anywhere else. The little ones are probably his, because they are all the same. There are two bigger ones, one of them partial, but both are almost certainly from the same person. They aren't from either of the parents. Nor do they match any in the database."

"Is that it?"

"No sir, I called the hospital and Derek Wallace, the man who found the boy's grandfather, was kept in for observation and he wants to speak with us. The doctor has agreed to it. Should I go and question him?"

"No, bring him back here Martha, we can speak with him together."

"On it sir. Oh, I almost forgot the most important part. There's a reasonably clean print on the shiny label of the scarf we found. Forensics are being cagey but think it may match the ones on the tablet screen."

"Well what are you waiting for? Get over to the hospital, but take care in this fog."

"I wasn't finished, sir. They also picked a few tiny fibres off the open rear door of the victim's car. It seems they're from the same scarf. I've been told to wait for the full report. Ok, see you later."

*

Olivia arrived shortly afterwards, looking a little older than her thirty-eight years. Prentice sent for some coffee.

"So, Tom decided to go to London then?"

"Well, he took a taxi to the airport, but he's already called me twice to say he can't get on the plane. I think I've finally persuaded him to go. I asked him what he'd achieved with respect to Kieron's whereabouts since he got out of bed this morning. So, maybe he's convinced himself. It does usually take people a while to adjust to his somersaults over almost every decision."

"Right, I'll bear that in mind. I need to ask you a couple of questions before we start preparations for the TV appeal. Amongst all of your son's fastidious habits, would he clean his computer tablet screen after every session?"

"Absolutely, and he makes sure other people do as well. If, and that's a big if, they are allowed to touch it in the first place. Why do you ask?"

"We can talk about that later. Now, don't get out of your pram over my next question. You must realise we have to be thorough. I called the landline Tom gave us and indeed it is a hospice, and his father is in and out of consciousness. I had to check this out, because if it hadn't been as he claimed, I'd have put a tail on him in London. I will do everything I can to find Kieron, including coming between parents. You'd be surprised at how many missing kids are just about domestic squabbles. So, for completeness I have to ask if there is a strain in your relationship. The body language between the two of you isn't convincing. Well?"

"You don't mince words do you? Tom and I get on most of the time, but we may split up. My work has become an issue, and I know this may sound strange but custody won't be allowed to become a problem. I can assure you of that. As I said earlier, tomorrow can be a completely different day for Tom. I sometimes think that some of Kieron's problems are easier to handle than his father's."

"Good, now, can you think of anyone connected with your work who would wish you, your husband, or your son any harm?"

"In what way?"

"Jealous colleagues, staff who feel bullied, an affair, anything. I have to understand why your father was lured to your hospital. Kieron is one possible reason, but may not have been expected to be there. What I'm getting at is that, if someone wanted to harm Peter, the hospital car park doesn't make any sense. Perhaps your reputation is the target, if not your person. Please think carefully about this because it's important to eliminate motives as well as prints, DNA, and opportunity. Right, let's get to the appeal, are you going to be ok in front of the cameras?"

"Yes, unless you want me to be hopelessly fragile."

*

DI Jones was stonking mad that Martha had hijacked preliminary results on the tablet. He wasn't going to trust her any more. He wasn't gathering enough data to keep him busy filling up the various files DCI Prentice had delegated to him. He was just being used as a clerk, not even a junior detective. He searched through his notes to see if Martha had forgotten anything, and hit on one item. He contacted the phone company without much enthusiasm, but that all changed when he was informed that DC Hall had already been given that information. He insisted on having the number confirmed, and almost fell off his chair when he was told where the call had originated. He'd been nurtured on working to a system which was rigidly enforced by his previous boss. He wasn't going to fold, even though he realised that this particular force was much more challenging than his former employ. He needed an attitude makeover.

*

Gladstone arrived to the news that Peter Radford's condition had worsened. The surgeon had elected to operate because of excess fluid, and a dangerous swelling of the brain. The risk was quantifiable because unless the swelling was relieved, massive brain damage would result, and odds of survival would become unfavourable. From prior experience, he wasn't hopeful. He wanted to prepare Olivia, but wasn't going to get ahead of himself. The next forty-eight hours would decide the fate of her father. The other outcome could be dependency on life support equipment. He would have an in-depth session with the surgeon as soon as possible.

*

Olivia made a quick call to her Mum. Pauline had forgotten that Peter was supposed to be staying over, but did remember that her daughter was coming to see her today. She was informed that it would be later than expected, perhaps even early evening. "Oh," Pauline replied, "well who will make my lunch? Your Dad makes my lunch."

"Mrs Robertson said she would pop in and have a chat. Ask her if she can make you a sandwich. I'll call you again before I set off."

"Ok darling, will you make your Dad's lunch?"

"Yes Mum, don't worry, we'll take good care of him until he's feeling better. By the way, are you managing to shake off the flu?"

"Have I had the flu? I don't think so, I'm going to watch the TV, goodbye then."

Olivia didn't really want to hear that her Mum was going to watch the television. There was at least a small chance she would hear something about either Peter or Kieron. She had told Mrs Robertson not to give her mother a newspaper.

*

Tom called both Olivia and Prentice, unaware that the construction of the TV appeal had already started, and mobiles had to be switched off. He left a text for his wife. 'Hi, when you read this you'll know that I'm in London. The fog delayed take off, and I changed my mind about this so many times. Michael picked me up and I'm bracing myself to see Dad. If there's anything, anything at all, you can tell me about little precious, call at any time, please call sometime even if there's no developments, I need to know. Michael doesn't think Ernie will regain consciousness. Strange isn't it? I always called him Ernie when I was living down here. I don't know if I can bear it if he doesn't open his eyes. Fingers crossed.'

*

Jones was waiting for Prentice when the appeal had been finalised. At first he was waved away, because there was a brief news conference lined up. "Later Jonesy."

"You will want to hear this boss. It's about the phone call which took Peter Radford to the hospital."

"I thought Martha was chasing that."

"She was, but since I'd blasted through organising those files you asked me to set up, and they're now bang up to date, I chased it up myself. And anyway, she'd gone off to the hospital for some reason, so what the hell, it's done. I probably took care of it because I thought it was a very important piece of this jigsaw. So, back to the point, it was made from a call box on Hamsterley Mill estate, just around the corner from the house."

"Jesus. That does change everything. Well done Jonesy. Go to the house and make a copy of that call. I want to hear it again."

# Chapter 7

Prentice paced around his desk, the office blinds were closed. He preferred to enact stuff without an audience. Jones was back with a copy of the message which had convinced Peter to rush off to the hospital without really thinking about it. That was important, thought Prentice. Martha was back with Derek Wallace. What would he have to say? The TV appeal was ready, and hanging in his mind in view of recent information. Olivia had gone to pick up her Mother. It didn't seem likely that Tom would come back tonight.

Prentice wanted all of the existing picture to be vivid in his mind before allowing more to come over the dam. Suddenly he opened the blinds and invited Wallace to enter. "Thank you for coming Mr Wallace, please take a seat, I'll be with you right away."

He pulled the door shut and spoke to his two subordinates in little more than a whisper. "Martha, I did tell you to bring Wallace here for questioning. I also said you shouldn't talk about the case details with him until he was here. Did you manage to do what I asked you this time?"

"Yes sir, well I didn't ask him any direct quest...questions, but he started ram...bling, rambling on about how much of a sh..shock it was for him and..."

"Stop. In that case, say nothing when we interview him now. Just make comprehensive notes. You do the same Jonesy, leave all the talking to me to start with, and when I'm done, you can have a turn. Understood?"

They were both perplexed but nodded as if this was normal. They entered the office and asked if Wallace would like a drink. He declined.

"Well now, it's Derek isn't it? Is it ok if I call you Derek?"

"Aye, of course."

"Right then Derek, I'm really sorry you had to go through this awful experience, but you know you probably saved Peter Radford's life when you called to inform the hospital so quickly. Tell me, what had you been to the hospital for?"

"Wey, I've gotta bad heart you see, and I have to get check-ups like. It's a bother 'cos I never get seen on time. It's enough to give anybody a flippin' heart attack just sittin' there for ages."

"I can imagine. How old are you Derek?"

"Just turned seventy-two. Last week it was."

"Wow, and you drive your own car?"

"Oh aye, mind me eyes get checked every year, else I would pack it in."

"So, were you parked right next to the victim's car?"

"No, about three or four places away from him. But there wasn't any cars between mine and his. At first I thought he was just checkin' his tyres or exhaust, or lookin' for a leak. I noticed the back door was open, as well as the front one. I shouted to ask if he needed any help like, but when there wasn't an answer, and he didn't even move, I went a bit closer, you know, and he still hadn't moved. When I bent over him I could see his eyes were shut tight. I was in a panic. It was lucky that this other bloke must've seen him as well, cos it was him that calmed me down like. He said we should phone the hospital reception, but he didn't have a phone with him, it was in his car at the other side of the car park. Wey I've got a phone, so I can tell the wife if I'm going to be late or somethin's wrong, like me tests are bad. I didn't know the reception number, but this bloke said he could remember it. So I rang the number and told them about this poor man who seemed to have collapsed, and they said somebody would get there as quick as they could. Mind, I've already told the hospital folk that I didn't know this other fella, and anyway when I finished tellin' the reception and turned around, both him, and his little lad were gone. I couldn't believe he would just scarper like that mind. It was great that the stretcher blokes came as quick as they did, cos the poor man had started twitchin'. I got the fright of me life. The doctor made me take some tablets to calm me nerves. They kept me in for the night, and the wife was nearly past herself."

Prentice observed the eye-rolling of Jones and Martha, then he quietly said, "Would you know this man again Derek?"

"Oh aye, he was a big-un, a bit heavy, and baldy like, and he had one of them stupid earrings, why do blokes wear them? Especially with such a big hooter."

"What about the boy?"

"Lovely bairn mind. Never said a word. His dad had him well-behaved. Bonny little face as well."

Prentice opened a desk drawer, took out the TV appeal file and picked up the photo Olivia gave him of Kieron. "Could this be him?"

"That's him! Wey aye, that's definitely the laddie. How come you've got his picture?"

"Well now Derek, you know the police have to keep some things close to their chest. I can only tell you that his mother gave it to me. But I'm sure we'll have to speak with you again, so please give your details to Martha here, and I'll arrange for a car to take you home. I bet your wife will be glad to see you."

"Aye, but she'll be on the warpath, she had to sleep on her own last night, so you can be sure I'll get the blame."

Derek Wallace trailed out of the police station to the waiting car and had no idea of the import of his testimony. That wasn't quite the same situation for DI Jones and DC Hall. The office blinds came down again.

Prentice didn't have to spell it out. "I'll leave the recriminations for now, because we've got a bloody great conundrum to solve, an immediate decision to make, and a hypothesis to test out. The appeal is the tricky one, and time is running out for a change of plan, and if that's what's needed, we have to shape plan B on the hoof. The conundrum rests on the accuracy of the testimony from an elderly heart patient, and perhaps more importantly, it's implications to match up with the message, which we know for a **fact** was made from near the house. If we accept that it can match up, either the man with the boy at the scene is the same one who delivered the message, or there is more than one person involved in the snatch. Either way, the hypothesis which looms ahead now concerns the motive. I know it's early, but so far we haven't had any kind of ransom demand. Perhaps that will come, but the man Wallace described would seem to be a very cool character, to risk Kieron kicking up a fuss, and to hang around the crime scene. Ideas, let's have it, shout up."

As usual, Martha grabbed an opportunity to impress, or make a fool of herself. "One person could fit. We know it was a man who said Olivia was in hospital, Tom could have made the call. He had apparently arranged a lift to the football game with this cousin, but cancelled it, to take a taxi. He had time to make the call and still get to the football. It would also explain why Kieron wasn't freaked out, you know, if he was with his father after Peter was struck. It could have looked like a game to him."

Jones shook his head and laughed under his breath. "Ok," said Prentice, "tell her Jonesy."

"Wallace said the guy was bald. Was Tom wearing a swimming cap or something? Ridiculous."

"We're just throwing ideas around," teased Prentice, "we'll keep Tom in mind, there could be more than one person involved, remember? Let's have your input DI Jones."

There was a slight hesitation. "I don't think it is so difficult to believe that Kieron wouldn't kick up a fuss in this situation. It's a crowd that freaks him out, or so we're told. He wouldn't necessarily know his grandfather had been attacked if he was totally focussed on his tablet. It doesn't sit right with me that this bald guy just conveniently knew the hospital reception number either. Wallace coming along when he did was unplanned, but useful, and I don't believe he didn't have a phone with him."

"I tend to agree," said Prentice. "But we have just shown how easy it is to mix facts with supposition. And you're a facts man Jonesy. Let's nail the facts to the chart and keep an open mind about the maybes. Now we need to move on. The appeal is set to omit the insinuation that Kieron was taken, it is structured to maintain hope that he's just lost. Do we have to pull it, in view of what we now know, or what we believe we know? Or do we let the written press update the status of Kieron later?"

Martha and Jones looked at each other. Prentice told Jones to go first. Martha was visibly relieved. Jones cleared his throat. "I'd let it go ahead as it is, sir. We can't risk losing any more time now that we think the boy has been taken. We can't be certain Wallace's input is accurate. He's had quite some time to think about it. He didn't even hesitate in remembering a bald man and then just as quickly he recognised Kieron from a photo, having already admitted he was in total shock."

"Martha?" asked Prentice.

"I agree with DI Jones, sir."

"Good, then we're all of the same opinion. There is another reason to let it go ahead though. We'll get much more public interest in keeping an eye out, or searching for Kieron if he's missing. If we say he's been taken, a lot of people will take that sad news to mean it's only the responsibility of the police to find him. And they will just go back to their Christmas shopping."

As Prentice ushered them out of his office, he asked Jones to get Olivia to call him. "I need to speak with Tom, and she needs to be here."

Jones told Martha to bring two coffees to his own office. When she arrived he was doodling on his notepad. "Martha, if you stop fluttering your eyelashes at the boss, your brain might just engage often enough to put your mouth in neutral. I've cut you some slack recently. I didn't smack you down when you rushed to Prentice with the forensic prelim stuff, which I'd been delegated, and you didn't even run it past me first. From now, you tell me everything first, do you understand? That's the only way it is going to work."

"Yes sir, I just..."

"I know, but now we have an abduction on our hands, and that kid's life comes before your career or mine. Heed this warning or I'll ask Prentice to take you off the case."

# Chapter 8

Olivia had picked up her Mum and taken her to the hospital. She sat her down with Gladstone, and explained the situation. "Mum is a bit upset with me, because I told her that dad was staying over at my place. Now she's really worried that he's in intensive care. Can she stay with a nurse or someone for a while? I have to go back to the police station for some reason. I shouldn't be long."

Gladstone knew of Pauline's condition and nodded. "Leave it with me. Something else has come up though, let me get my secretary to take Pauline for a cuppa."

All Olivia's mother wanted to do was to comfort her husband, and she started to weep. Olivia patiently explained that nobody but the surgeon and his team were allowed to see Peter for now. "Dad needs undisturbed rest. I can't see him yet either, so we'll both have to be patient. Now please go with Katherine, just for a few minutes."

As her Mum trailed out of Gladstone's office, Olivia's mouth tightened. "Don't tell me it's more bad news, I'm running on empty as it is. I have to hope that the TV appeal is going to shed some light on this utterly bizarre nightmare, I can't seem to be myself."

"Oh, so when is the appeal going out?"

"Tonight on local TV, but there's no definite slot yet for national screening."

"I see, well let's go to your office, we've got something which may or may not be relevant."

Lying on Olivia's perennially spotless desk was a package. Gladstone pointed at the address. It was hand-written and simply stated her full name and the hospital address. 'Radford' had been underlined. "It was from the internal mail system, there's no stamp or franking pattern. We don't know where it was deposited in our system, but the girl who was distributing the internal mail had the presence of mind to think it was very unusual. She contacted security and they agreed. It might be nothing Olivia, but it is of concern precisely because of what has happened to your father, and Kieron's disappearance. I think we should inform the police, rather than just open it."

She stared at the box. It was roughly twelve inches by nine, and four inches deep. It was sealed clumsily with light brown tape and the writing had been applied with a broad, red-ink felt pen.

She spoke with Prentice and he told her to leave it alone until he got there. He took Jones and a forensics man with him, telling Martha to keep trying the hospice, as he hadn't been able to speak with Tom. "Just ask him to come back as soon as possible. Nothing else, just stonewall, do not tell him about Wallace or anything else. You can give him the heads up on the appeal only being on local TV."

*

The hospice provided a stark reminder that the ageing population was getting bigger. The place was in serious need of refurbishment. Peeling paint, spent light bulbs which hadn't been replaced, alert beepers constantly intruding on every corridor, and the background odour of urine all conjured up a desire to leave.

Ernie Wickham had passed away, never regaining consciousness since Tom's short vigil had begun. Having studied but never practised medicine, Tom was utterly taken aback by witnessing the moment of peaceful passage from life to death. From someone to something. His control fractured, but not in the usual direction of losing his temper, rather he felt he was losing part of himself. An avalanche of guilt engulfed him. Ernie had been widowed for more than three years, and his brother Michael had found the time to be with his father, and share their common interest in architecture. Michael was in demand as one of the finest stonemasons around, in an art which was rapidly disappearing. Tom had picked up the Balliol letter of acceptance which his dad had obviously treasured as a substitute for a son. Michael had left Tom by Ernie's bed to tell the matron of his father's struggle coming to an end. They briefly talked about what was to happen next. She embraced Michael and said they would help with the arrangements. On returning to Ernie's room, there was just a corpse. No Tom. He couldn't be found anywhere in the building. His mobile was switched off. Michael went back to his flat. No luck there either. He began to get really worried.

*

Prentice insisted that only Jones needed to remain in Olivia's office with the forensics man. He then got rid of Gladstone, saying he had some personal stuff to discuss with Olivia. He found her and they hunted for a quiet spot, eventually stumbling on an empty prep room.

"I haven't been able to reach Tom. The hospice told me his father had died, and Tom must have wandered off somewhere, leaving his brother to deal with everything. I need to get him back here. Has he contacted you?"

"No, I drove my mother here, but my phone hasn't been switched off. Why has his return become so urgent all of a sudden?"

"Mmm, well, we've been told that Kieron may have been with a man at the spot where your father was assaulted. It has to be treated as a maybe at the moment, but it can't be ignored. Also, I now have a forensics report which links the scarf, which was found in the bushes, to the fibres found on the rear car door locking mechanism. Neither your prints, nor those of Tom match the two found on Kieron's tablet. I think we have to be careful about knitting a pattern of circumstantial evidence, but we have to responsibly explore leads. The telephone call to your father, however, was made from the public box outside your house. I'm sorry Olivia, but we have to speak to Tom urgently."

"Surely you can't suspect him of being involved in this? He's damned hard to live with, but he's not a criminal."

"Maybe not now, but he has a record. Jones told me about the drugs. He also said Tom claimed he was innocent."

"Oh that, yes it was a long time ago, but it's been the source of a lot of Tom's disillusionment, and he never really lets me forget it. He doesn't refer to it directly, just that his life has become that of a carer for a sick boy. Nothing more. He took the blame for drugs being found in the dorm I shared at University with two other girls. The three of us were facing expulsion and police charges for supplying illegal substances. Like I told you, he does make impulsive decisions, and he took the rap, believing it was some form of gallantry, rescuing a stricken princess. It was the boyfriend of one of the other girls who brought the stuff to the dorm, but he said things would get heavy if the people who supplied him got dragged into the police investigation. Threats were issued to all of us, and Tom just let them believe the drugs were obtained on the street. The police warned him that was no defence against the charge of distribution. I got disciplined and a suspended sentence for using. Never again. So, yes he's got a record, but it's completely unjustified. Why is it important now?"

"We have to weigh up the balance of his mental state, in relation to his domestic life. He had the opportunity to have made the call to Peter, or got someone else to do it. He obviously loves Kieron, that's been his anchor point for many years. You admitted your marriage is unstable and he might believe he has no chance of getting custody if he left you."

"I don't believe he is mixed up in this Inspector, but I agree that he needs to get back here to hear these allegations, because that's all they are!"

They were interrupted by Jones. "You need to see this, sir. The scan of the package." He then whispered to Prentice, "It looks like a gun. Cartwright doesn't want to open the box until you've seen it."

"Olivia, can you keep trying Tom's mobile, I'll catch up with you shortly."

She flopped into a chair, buried her head in her hands and told herself she must get a grip.

The scan showed the outline of a pistol, but as Cartwright pointed out, there was no normal trigger guard.

"So," said Prentice, "what does that suggest? I can see by the smirk on your face you've seen something like this before."

"Indeed I have, something exactly like this, in fact. I know what it is, I just don't know if it has been doctored. It might be part of an explosive device."

"Bloody hell," said Jones, "hadn't we better get it out of here and get the bomb disposal boys to faff about with it?"

Prentice noticed the sudden appearance of sweat beads trickling down Jones' brow. "Not until I hear what 'it' is. Well, Cartwright?"

"It is in fact a bolt pistol, commonly used in slaughterhouses, for the humane killing of cattle. Let me explain. A captive bolt pistol or gun is a device for stunning animals prior to slaughter. The purpose is to inflict a forceful strike on the forehead using a bolt to induce unconsciousness. The bolt may or may not destroy part of the brain. This bolt consists of a heavy rod made of non-rusting alloys such as stainless steel. It's held in position inside the barrel of the stunner by means of rubber washers. The bolt is not usually visible in a stunner which is in good condition. It is actuated by a trigger pull and is propelled forward by compressed air, or by the discharge of a blank round ignited by a firing pin. After striking a shallow but forceful blow on the forehead of the animal, spring tension causes the bolt to recoil back into the barrel. The captive bolt pistol was invented in 1903 by a certain Dr Hugo Heiss, who was a former director of a slaughterhouse in Staubing, Germany."

"Thanks for the lecture, but can you tell if this one uses a blank round? I can't see a compressed air source on the scan."

Cartwright nodded. "It doesn't have the compressed air coupling. That's why I suspect a blank round could be employed to detonate something. Of course, we won't know until the box is opened, and I agree with DI Jones here..."

They turned around to see Jones, his fingers unable to stem the flow of vomit cascading to the floor."

"Queasy are we?" muttered Prentice. "Get to the toilet and clean yourself up Jones, I'll call the disposal squad. Can you hang around with me Cartwright, at least until they get here? I doubt that I could recite your lecture to them, verbatim I mean."

"Trying to get rid of me now DCI Prentice? No chance."

# Chapter 9

Michael, Olivia, Martha, and Prentice had all failed to reach Tom by phone. As if by some telepathic force, Michael was almost despairingly driven to Smithfield Market. His mother had often taken the boys there to see their dad, and to pick up a bargain. At such a young age, the place enthralled them. Michael's enduring memory was one of pieces of an organic jigsaw, hanging on hooks, being moved on trolleys, or even being sawn into smaller portions. The concoction of olfactory bombardment oscillated from slightly rancid protein to waves of roasted coffee beans. He caught sight of Tom, talking to some of Ernie's old friends, presumably telling them of his passing. As he got closer, he was quite surprised by the good humour in which Tom was seemingly suspended. The talk was all to do with those early days, family outings to Margate by coach, boat trips on the Thames, and particularly the infrequent but neighbourly street parties.

Michael tapped Tom on the shoulder and was greeted with a tearful smile, and recognition by his father's mates. They visited a few more of them before discussing the inevitable funeral. "Apparently, according to the hospice staff, the Old Bill have been trying to reach you all day. Maybe there's been some developments."

"I switched my phone off Michael, it seemed appropriate, especially as I wasn't here at the end, well at least Dad didn't know I was. I know you've been a rock for him since mother died, and I've always been missing. I didn't need to be missing, I just thought I did. You must think I'm a selfish twat, always have been. Murphy's Law isn't it? I'm actually on the verge of coming back to live here. Too late again to do any good though. Could you put up with me sharing the flat? And by the way, it ain't purely out of guilt, but I'd like to cover all of the funeral costs. You've done more than your bit bro, and I owe him big time. Think it over please, don't decide now, just you and me need to know. Anyway, you're right, I have to get back up north, hopefully for the last time. If you don't want me in the flat, I'd understand, but I am coming back for the funeral, and that's goodbye to the northeast forever. Can you keep me posted about the arrangements?"

"Sure, but you have to go and find your kid Tom, he can't help himself. He needs you more than he needs anyone else. Dad understood why you had to spend so much time with Kieron, we both did, and he knew the rest of it, we weren't supposed to be part of the Radford clan. That's what really hurt him. Listen, I'll have to check with the funeral service as to whether it has to be held until after the Christmas period. Nobody is supposed to die so sodding close to Christmas Eve. Now go on, get your skinny arse to the airport, and let me know about Kieron, Ok?"

They hugged, and Tom felt he'd begun to shed a huge invisible burden. His stomach churned repeatedly, but he couldn't seem to look back. He'd made a vow.

*

Gladstone took a call and immediately went on the hunt for Olivia. She was with her mother. "At last I have some better news for you. Peter's condition appears to be stabilising. I don't need to go into specifics with you Olivia, but suffice it to say he's in better shape than he was yesterday."

She opened her mouth but didn't get the chance to ask. "No, you shouldn't see him just yet, but rest assured I'm keeping watch on him, and as soon as I feel we can allow the IC staff a decent break, I'll let you know. If he was heading the other way I would be telling you to go and see him and prepare for the worst. Please trust my judgement for a little while longer."

She smiled, knowing her mother was a factor in this. She wouldn't want to be excluded, and there was a worry that she could unwittingly bump into the plethora of equipment to which Peter was hitched. Inwardly, Olivia also feared what she might see herself, at this time a little distance was a kind of shield against confronting another situation outside her control. It would have been totally different if she had carried out the surgery.

*

The disposal squad simply advised a controlled explosion to neutralise any threat from the package. Prentice wasn't happy about that. "I asked you guys to come here and recommend how we could open the box with minimum risk. Surely you have equipment which can tell us more about the contents than Cartwright's hand scanner. I want to know whether this package was intended to harm Olivia Radford-Wickham. Her son's life is at stake but it's possible that she's the real target. You haven't said why you think we should simply destroy the package. Think about it again please."

The commander of the squad wasn't one for backtracking, but one of the operatives pulled him to one side. After a few minutes of animated whispering and gesticulation, agreement was reached. As was often the case, money was at the root of decision-making. The Commander was persuaded to take the package back to base, place it in a steel box with three-inch thick walls, explosive vents, and robot arm access to the interior. The operative had emphasised that if it had been his son who was missing, and he'd received the package he would want to know if it involved some kind of ransom demand. In addition, controlled neutralisation sometimes contained evidence that the object in question was harmless. That was precisely why the 'blast box' had been developed. The operative made the point that he wouldn't want to be the man who screwed up, indirectly causing the boy's death, all because of endorsing a quick fix to comply with cost-saving targets.

Prentice was relieved, asked if Cartwright could attend the blast box operation, and felt his phone vibrate. He saw the name 'Tom' on the screen and declared that he needed to take the call. Cartwright was delighted that he might learn something more about the stun gun.

*

"Inspector, sorry I ain't called you before now. I've spoken to Olivia and she told me you're a bit pissed about that. She also warned me that there was some progress with other stuff, but nothing about Kieron. What's going on?"

"Where are you?"

"I'm just boarding the flight back, why?"

"You should've kept your word and checked in with me. The local TV appeal will be broadcast shortly, so you'll probably miss it. Other than that I want to speak with you face-to-face. I've told Olivia that it's looking likely that your son was taken. So, you, the parents, need to be available to me twenty-four seven from now on. No going AWOL again. There is some stuff from forensics and an eyewitness account that I need to bring you up to date with, so come straight to the station from the airport. There'll be a police car waiting for you."

"I knew it, I knew some bastard had snatched my boy. Olivia didn't mention this when I spoke to her a few minutes ago. This all sounds a bit draconian, your manner seems to have changed, what's it you're not saying? There's a fucking elephant in the room wouldn't you say? It's me ain't it?"

"Don't make things worse for yourself Tom, just calm down, get back here and I'll explain everything. We all have to change gear if this is an abduction, and that includes you. So far, there hasn't been any contact about ransom, Olivia has been checking your home phone for new messages, so that should be good news. Are you hearing me?"

"Yeah, yeah, would you have expected some contact by now if Kieron has been abducted?"

"Depends on the reason for taking him. Now you're beginning to see why we need to pursue other lines of inquiry. Enough said, just get on the bloody plane."

Prentice had alerted the London airport police, to check the manifest and confirm Tom had taken his seat. If he had tried to skip the flight, he'd be detained.

*

The appeal was watched by all three detectives, sitting together in a pub, blending in, observing. They each had their own take on how it would stir up public response. Olivia came across as succinct, focussed, but still tearful. Jones thought she was brilliant, Martha thought she was too much surgeon and not enough mother. Prentice thought it had been slightly edited to fit time slot constraints. The punters within earshot seemed to direct their empathy to the lovely little boy, to whom life had already delivered a serious challenge. Prentice was hopeful that this accent would drive people to care enough to phone in and ask what they could do to help, even if the next day was the Eve of Christmas.

# Chapter 10

Xmas Eve

Cartwright was already waiting for Prentice when he arrived. The stun gun was lying ominously on the desk. "Judging by the look on your face, you've got a hard-on in your trousers. Out with it then, the news, not the other."

"You made a good call DCI Prentice. There was no blank round, it is in fact powered by a small gas canister lodged inside the hand grip. I had a feeling it had been doctored, but my scanner couldn't see inside the handle. Obviously there was no explosive device involved, it's harmless in terms of opening the package. Maybe you won't say that about the evidence which comes with it."

Prentice studied the object itself and a rainbow wristband underneath it. Cartwright chimed in again. "Let me show you how it operates. When I squeeze the trigger, this pops out."

The stun rod wasn't flat-ended. There was a very sharp point on the strike end. Prentice gazed in amazement at the point. It had dried blood on it which extended almost an inch up the rod. "Christ, surely not? Cartwright?"

"We don't know yet. We have some of the boy's things from which we can compare DNA, but I was thinking more about the wound in Peter Radford's head. It's about the right diameter from what I've been told. Worth a shout?"

Prentice slumped into his chair, slightly more relaxed. "Of course, and we can check that out quickly. Come on let's get to the hospital."

*

Olivia and her mother were feeling really stiff after cat-napping on hospital sofas through the night. The discomfort was only punctuated by the regular cups of coffee. They were both good-naturedly blaming each other for spreading the yawning contagion, when Gladstone appeared. "It's the news I've been waiting to deliver, ladies. You can see Peter briefly this morning, how about that? He continues to improve, but still hasn't regained consciousness. He seems restful, the spasms haven't returned, and the pressure relief on his brain is responding well to the surgical procedures he underwent. It has to be a brief visit because the IC staff are still taking lots of measurements, and we don't want any distractions. He's surrounded by lots of sophisticated kit, so I'd suggest observing from the foot of the bed. Olivia knew he was saying most of this for Pauline's benefit, even though she wasn't taking it all in. However, it wasn't lost on her that she needed to check any impulsiveness from her mother, because she herself could be very upset seeing her father trussed up like the proverbial Christmas tree. She nodded appreciatively towards Gladstone. Tom had come straight to the hospital after checking in with Prentice late last night, and he was wandering the corridors like a mouse in a maze. Olivia knew he wouldn't want to see her father and didn't bother texting him or looking for him.

However, his phone was on vibrate only, and he retrieved a text from his brother Michael. 'Just as I thought, there's absolutely no chance of Dad's funeral taking place until the New Year. Catch you later T, seems stupid to say merry Xmas, so I won't. M.'

Prentice and Cartwright barrelled into the reception and the former asked to see Gladstone. When he recognised the smokescreen language, the request became a demand, backed up with his ID. "That's Detective **Chief** Inspector, Ms or Madam, whichever you prefer, so at least get him on the blower, or there could be some very embarrassed red faces in the next few minutes. It's not just important, it's an emergency. I've come to the right place haven't I? You do emergencies don't you? Hello, I have to speak with the nice Mr Gladstone."

They were ushered to his office, and when Prentice had explained what they wanted, he was about to be brushed off with blah, blah. It was Cartwright who calmed the waters. "If I can talk to the surgeon who has treated Mr Radford, I probably don't need to see the patient. We need to see X-rays and blood samples. Would that be acceptable?"

"I'm sure that can be arranged, please sit down, I'll ask him to join us."

*

Jones had been thinking laterally, an ability he believed was inherited, not learned. Consequentially, he dismissed Martha's potential in this field as non-existent. Since the revelation that Peter's phone message was from Hamsterley Mill, a well-heeled estate, some of the residents might have CCTV security cameras. He sent her to check this out, telling her to concentrate on any loiterers and cars parked that night. He extended this principle and called the brass at the home venue of Newcastle United, because they had multiple cameras, and although it was a long shot, he might be able to spot Tom. Jones still worshipped at the altar of elimination.

*

Gladstone thanked the surgeon for making time in his busy schedule and acquainted him with the request. He seemed keen to help, acknowledging that he had been quite puzzled himself about the implement which had caused Peter's wound. Even before he went to retrieve the X-rays and blood samples, he offered the use of their powerful on-site microscopes. Cartwright produced the stun rod and the surgeon immediately looked at it closely. He asked Cartwright to rotate it slowly. "Stop, go back a fraction. There, see that longitudinal notch in the point? I think that might well match up with the slight eccentricity I saw in the X-ray blow ups. At first I thought it was indented debris, which was disproved when I operated. Let me get them and show you what I mean."

Less than twenty minutes later, Cartwright was satisfied that the microscopes had shown this stun gun was a very good candidate to be the weapon they hadn't found. However he wanted a second expert opinion. "I'd like Bev Watson, our pathologist, to look at this. I know we haven't got a dead body, but her experience is available to us and should be accessed. I'll take the blood samples and get someone to press on with the DNA check, and subsequent comparison with that on the stun rod. There may be prints on the hand grip too."

Prentice thanked the hospital staff, patted Cartwright on the back, urging him on his way. He strode off to round up Olivia and Tom. He found Olivia's mother sitting with Gladstone's secretary and asked Katherine if she knew where Olivia was. "Not exactly, let me page her for you."

"Great, can you do the same for her husband Tom Wickham?"

"No problem, take a seat, I'll ask them to come here."

It annoyed him intensely when they had to repeat the paging message several times before they sauntered into the room. Prentice gave himself time for his frustration to level itself. "Glad you could both join me. I just wanted to update you on some new information we're working on. I suggest we talk in the restaurant, as long as we can find a quiet corner."

They nodded and smiled, Tom said they'd just come from there. They found a corner table, and declined any food or refreshment.

"What I'm about to tell you will change the goalposts yet again. We have to remain adaptable and I think we may want to revisit some areas we've already looked at. Now, I know you've had some good news about your father Olivia, and that also, in a pragmatic way, allows me to sharpen the focus even more on the reason for Kieron being abducted, if and when that is proven beyond doubt. I may have jumped to a false conclusion but bear with me. One of the items we found in the package you received, Olivia, was this small wristband."

Tom's head sank to the floor. Olivia burst into tears, uncontrollable tears. Prentice nudged Tom. He looked up, his face ashen. "It's his, he's never been without it for the last couple of years. He doesn't even take it off for bed. Other kids have soldiers or dolls. Kieron gets tremendous comfort from the spectrum of intertwined colours. Do you think this means....?"

"Not a question I can answer Tom, but I want to remind you both of my fascination with why he could have been taken. If the sender of this package proves to have snatched your son, it may actually be cause for optimism. Almost all of my experience in such cases, where an abductor taunts or teases both the parents and the police, comes with a demand of some kind. The most common of course is for ransom. We haven't had that, and this was an opportunity for the package sender to lay out the terms. That leads me to believe the motive isn't money. Getting even somehow with the police can't be ruled out, but with this package being dumped in the internal mail system of the hospital, I'd have thought getting even with one or both of you is more likely. We have to think hard on this. Now, Tom, we have a witness who claims to have seen Kieron with a man shortly after Peter was struck. If you're willing you can take part in an identity parade. It might help get rid of the elephant in the room, as you put it."

"Well, bring it on. Then we can move on to this connection with the hospital you seem so sure about."

# Chapter 11

Prentice was in a race against time, virtually everything would grind to a halt the next day. He pulled Martha back from Hamsterley Mill security camera checks to hurriedly organise the line-up for Derek Wallace, hoping that he didn't pick out Tom, primarily because of a gut feeling that he just didn't fit.

Cartwright's name flashed up on his phone. "Prentice."

"We've done somersaults to get you this before all the merrymaking starts. Bev Watson concurs that the stun gun's eccentric rod matches the perforation shown in the X-rays of Radford's skull pretty well. She also found a sliver of bone stuck with the blood on the same rod. Radford's blood is the same group as that on the rod, so although we haven't found any evidence to the contrary, we still have to get full DNA results for the blood and this piece of bone. Bottom line is that there is a preponderance of converging evidence. I can't see the DNA result throwing a spanner in the works, but we do need absolute proof, which you aren't going to get today. What I can give you today is definite, there were prints on the handle, and yes, they are from the same person as those on Kieron's tablet. So, we're closing in on evidence which points to one individual. I have to leave it there for now."

"Thanks for spelling it out the way you have. Really appreciated."

He sat back, pondering the entire investigation. There had been an initial surge of calls to the station, following the appeal, from people asking how they could assist in the search for Kieron. Their names had been taken and they were told they would be contacted again when the police had a better idea of the numbers they'd have, so that they could form the optimum density of search gridlines. Because Prentice was gravitating more and more to someone with a connection to the hospital, he was tempted to use these volunteers to work with officers to re-blitz the grounds. Turning to Peter's improvement, he wondered if the perpetrator knew of this. The media may have 'persuaded' someone to talk. Should he put an officer on watch at the IC unit? Would that send out the very signal he'd prefer to suppress? Was Olivia keeping something back? Tom seemed quite keen to follow the hospital connection. Could Gladstone help? Could he be trusted? Why the hell did he let Jones swan off to Newcastle United football ground? After swilling the dregs of yet another tepid coffee around the cardboard cup, he made a snap decision. If Tom wasn't picked out by Derek Wallace, he should be allowed to immerse himself completely in the search. It's what he'd wanted to do all along. Prentice wanted to isolate Olivia. Then he became annoyed with himself. With everything else that was happening, he'd completely forgotten about the audio boys working on the recorded message. He called the lab and was told they had samples of their modifications and cleaned up versions waiting for collection. He preferred to take Olivia to the lab to listen to them.

*

Tom hadn't expected to be sat in the make-up department before the line-up. All of the participants were to be either completely bald or with only a crescent of hair around the back and sides. Tom chose the skinhead look. He'd often wondered how it would look.

Wallace was talked through the procedure and trailed slowly up and down behind the dark screen. He stopped a couple of times. He shook his head. "No. The bloke who spoke to me was bigger than any of these chaps. And a lot heavier. The earring wasn't like any of them ones. His wasn't a dangler, it was a stud about the size of a five penny piece. I told all this to the lady that drew the sketch. And I told her about his big nose. He's not amongst that lot."

Martha had to pass this on to Prentice, including the cock-up with the earring and XL size nose. She speed dialled his mobile and was expecting an alliteration of expletives, but in fact he had to stifle his reflex to laugh. It seemed that the old guy grasped the details better than the e-fit artist, but anyway, it effectively ruled out Tom. He got hospital reception to put out a PA request for Olivia. Her normal pager was in her office, as she was off duty.

*

Jones was full of himself. He scored a blank with the cameras covering the seats in the various sections of the football ground. However, as there was the odd altercation in the bars, he scored a bulls-eye. Tom and David had consumed a lot of beer that night and he caught Tom on camera twice, once in each half of the match. He was itching to tell Prentice, and didn't expect such an offhand reaction.

"That's great Jonesy, I'd all but ruled him out anyway. The old geezer didn't plump for him, or anyone else from the line-up. Look, I could use your help in directing the volunteers who saw the appeal. Speak to Sergeant Dixon, he's nominally in charge. But, there'll be uniformed officers and 'civilians' now. You know how uniform like to do things their own way, so keep reminding members of the public to search for items. I don't believe there's a snowball's chance in hell of finding the boy. Try to find the officer who found the scarf, and get him to show you exactly where he saw it. Get as many punters as possible to comb that area. I want to know if we missed something."

"I'd suggest putting DC Hall on this, sir. Uniform will go apes shit if I tell them what to do. Martha has a way with most of them."

"Right, then both of you get amongst it. And it's ape-shit Jonesy. You're getting there."

"But..." Call ended.

*

Gladstone and Olivia were walking towards Prentice, at last. They appeared to be discussing other hospital personnel. "I hope it's convenient for you to come to the police lab with me Olivia, we need to tie up a few loose ends."

"Yes, it'll just take a few more minutes..."

Gladstone intervened. "Detective, we've been very accommodating in all possible respects, but may I remind you, we still have our job to do. Do I have to repeat it all over again, saving lives, treating people in need? I'm talking numbers in the hundreds every day. I fully appreciate your position on this, and no doubt you will regurgitate the time constraints. But whereas you expect a cessation of activity tomorrow, we anticipate the exact opposite. I need Olivia's input for another fifteen minutes. We've talked as we walked to meet you, and a little reciprocal courtesy wouldn't go amiss."

"Fine, I'll wait out front Olivia, with the engine running."

*

The drive to the crime lab was awkward to say the least. Olivia seemed determined to let the silence prevail. Finally, Prentice spoke. "It looks like Tom could be in the clear."

"Oh really, why are you telling me something I already know. I told you that yesterday, but you chose not to hear me."

"Not true, you know fine well my job is all about nailing down evidence. Your opinion isn't evidence, any more than mine is. Give a little credit Olivia, we've put a hell of a lot of our own unpaid time into uncovering real evidence, and it's all about finding your son, whoever we have to put under pressure. Before we get to the lab, are you able to tell me what Gladstone was asking you about?"

"No, I can't tell you. Have you considered that it might be a private matter?"

"That's exactly why I'm asking. If you don't want to tell me that's fine. I do know that you were running through a few names, and it sounded like they may be employed at the hospital."

"Very clever. So, why are you prying into that?"

"You and Gladstone aren't being completely open with me about something. Never mind, let's listen to these recordings. Remember it was you that said the voice was vaguely familiar, the same as you said about the scarf."

Prentice introduced Olivia to the lab chief, who asked his subordinate to give a short summary of what they were about to hear.

"We have one group in which we've altered only the delivery speed of the content. Some slower, some quicker, and only by very small increments. That's the easy bit for us. Then, group two has as much background noise removed as we can without distorting the character of the voice. Lastly, we've 'flattened' the accent a wee bit to see if that helps in recognition of the voice. We can tweak that further if necessary."

The first sequence started with the original, then a pause, an almost imperceptibly slower example, then on the third Olivia said, "Stop, can you repeat that one?"

It was played several times, and she apologised, shaking her head. Elimination of background noise didn't seem to provoke much reaction. Moving to the more neutral accented group, Olivia shook her head once more, but Prentice had seen a distinct change in her body language.

The lab chief said there wasn't much more they could do right now, but they'd give it more thought after the holidays.

On the way back Prentice decided to keep his powder dry for now. He thought that inviting Olivia and Tom to hear a full update from Jones, Martha, and himself might provoke even a level-headed surgeon, always cool under pressure, to let something slip. Safety in numbers, a shared spotlight.

# Chapter 12

Peter Radford had opened his eyes. The surgeon was pleased that the patient was ahead of expectation, but reminded Gladstone that this was a critical period, and to hold off further visits from Olivia and her mother for now. Gladstone concurred, he knew she would understand. Peter drifted in and out of consciousness, or slept for most of the next few hours. He hadn't yet uttered a sound. The IC crew couldn't relax yet, and the monitoring equipment was more important than ever, because the patient was now in a definite period of change, which wasn't the case during the first twenty-four hours of him being admitted.

*

Prentice made himself even more unpopular by another change of mind. "I'm afraid I want you back at the station Jonesy. Something's come up."

Alan Jones was fed up, but a fed up pragmatist. "Sir, I've just bloody well got here, what the hell's going on?"

"I need your presence and your insight. Did you ever hear the expression – all the time you're talking you're learning nothing?"

"No, but I'm sure you're going to tell me more."

"I'm the talker, you're the observer. I won't say exactly what I'm looking for otherwise it'll prejudice your own view. It's just going to be Olivia, Tom, you, Martha and me. In broad terms, I want both sides of the Radford-Wickham divide to feel as if we need to hear their theories about what we should be doing next. They've had a hell of a lot of information to digest, even though we've held quite a few key juicy bits back. I want them to be off guard. How's the search going?"

This was music to Jones' ears, as he thought the search was a complete waste of time. "How would I know, sir? I've just had Martha sweet-talking Sergeant Dixon like you suggested. He hasn't fallen for it yet, so she's stirring the pot with some of the other uniform lads. I've only just got a couple of them to show me the approximate spot where the scarf was found, and guess what – the marker has been removed. Just jumping around doing disjointed legwork like this all day isn't very productive, with due respect sir. When I come back I'd appreciate some redefinition of my role in this investigation. I can't speak for Martha, but she seems as if she's in a fog at times as well."

"Point taken, DI Jones," said Prentice sarcastically, "in that case leave her to get on with the search and we'll have a chinwag after this session with Tom and Olivia."

'Bloody Norah, talk about moving targets,' said Jones, under his breath. "On my way sir."

*

Martha was indeed weaning uniformed officers away from the wider search area to concentrate on the clutch of laurel bushes. The fading sun forced the use of floodlights, with the accompanying bright shapes and dark shadows, as the beams crossed one another. The almost non-existent morale, biting cold, and pangs of hunger were banished within minutes when a young recruit asked what a plastic drainage cover was doing amongst the overgrown bushes. It made no sense. He kicked it away and it was absorbed by the surrounding laurel, skimming off the helmet of a colleague. The high jinks continued as it was retrieved and sent back with interest as a Frisbee. The laurel, acting as a massive spider's web, claimed it again. However, this time, the retriever had to search for it. He shouted, "Over here lads, quick, over here."

A rain-sodden comic was trapped amongst the branches. The front page had a delivery address on it. The pencil marks had been twisted by the paper's expansion and contraction in the recent changeable weather, but there was no denying it was marked for a Hamsterley Mill destination. It made sense as the estate wasn't near any newsagent, it might be an item for a regular delivery boy.

Martha got straight on the blower telling Prentice the title of the comic, and that she was going to confirm the delivery address with the nearest newsagents to Hamsterley Mill estate. "It shouldn't be too difficult to find out if this publication was a repeat order. Do you want the search to continue?"

"Absolutely Martha, because it will either be suspended tomorrow or drastically reduced in terms of the number of bodies available from police ranks and the public."

*

Prentice arranged the seating such that Jones would be looking at Olivia and Tom from the side, and they would be facing himself. They were late again, a habit which was beginning to annoy him. Jones was eagerly anticipating the roll out of the 'sprat to catch a mackerel.'

Prentice began affably. "I needed to bring you fully up to speed with everything that I can before tomorrow, and the hiatus it may bring. Please note that I said everything I can, not everything I know. I won't insult your intelligence – you both know how this works. By the way, I won't be part of the hiatus, I'll be here tomorrow if there's anything you want to contact me for. Right, where are we?" He started to fiddle with his notes. "Oh yes, first of all, Olivia, this package which was sent to you, we now have some test results on it. Suffice it to say, it wasn't a direct physical threat to you or anyone else, by simply opening the box. The stun gun inside however, wasn't standard issue, it was modified, and may have been used on your father. Now Tom, I'm relieved to say we have footage which places you in the bar at the football ground at the time Peter was attacked. So, unless you are capable of being in two places at once, we can eliminate you from that investigation."

Jones liked the way this was going, especially what his boss wasn't saying.

"If we can just get back to the hospital in general, we've found something which may link to the scarf, possibly even to the wristband which you are both certain was his. Now, if we accept that the package was placed in the internal mail system by hand, and the contents do point to both Kieron and Peter we have to ask again, why? There's still no contact about any kind of demand, and that leads me to believe you may not receive one. If I'm right about this, would you mind indulging me? Can either of you think of any reason, however tenuous, that someone connected to the hospital would want to see either of you suffer like this? I know I've asked this before, but that was along the lines of harming you. Perhaps the intent is to cause indirect anxiety. It's only a hunch, but this person doesn't exactly seem too meticulous about covering their tracks. We could be forgiven for thinking that they want to be found. Sounds crazy, but if this is the case, I'd also expect they wouldn't want to harm Kieron either. That's why I want you to trawl the past, do it together, do it right now, tomorrow and the next day, and keep doing it. We'll just get on with the evidence, because we can't know of anyone who might bear you a grudge, until you give us something to work with."

Tom nodded and turned to Olivia. "He's right you know, the message lured your father to the hospital, the package came to the hospital, Kieron's wristband came to the hospital, the scarf was found there as well. We need to do this Olivia. God knows, I can think of plenty of people I've pissed off when we've attended the various functions over the years. Let's take a break and start writing a few names on a piece of paper. There must be a lot of candidates currently working at the hospital, and wait a minute, have you considered this new promotion you've got your eyes on? I think you should tell Inspector Prentice about that."

"There you go again Tom, impulsive, jumping to conclusions, do you seriously think someone would take our son because I might get Gladstone's job? This is conspiracy theory gone mad. And, I don't want to ruin my chances by dragging such fanciful notions into the minds of those who will decide on his replacement. I do take your proposal seriously Inspector, and I think Tom and I should talk about this together. Tomorrow is going to be hard enough, plenty of presents around the tree, but no Santa Claus for Kieron. Can you give us some time to discuss this tonight? I'll have to go back to the hospital to see Mum, and hopefully Dad. It's going to be another long night. Will you come with me Tom? We can get started on this, and I must say it will help to pass the time."

When they left, Prentice turned to Jones. "Any observations?"

"Definitely sir. When you eventually homed in on the hospital, Olivia's hand-twitching below the desk betrayed some concern. Then, the suggestion that someone may hold a grudge against her exacerbated her lack of control of this habit. The same thing recurred when Tom mentioned her possible promotion. Tom himself showed no such anxiety."

"Good, worth the effort then."

Jones tidied his desk and wished the boss a happy Christmas. "You know, if anything comes up tomorrow, I can spare a couple of hours, in fact I'd probably like that."

"How come?"

"I'll be at my girlfriend's parents' place again, and it's always the same routine, same telly, same socks, same aftershave, it does my head in actually. They're nice folks but a break wouldn't go amiss."

Prentice couldn't suppress a wistful smile. He would be spending Christmas alone unless there was a major incident of some kind. He looked beyond his office into the deserted space. The cleaners would be here soon. "I may take you up on that offer Jonesy, I'll be in here anyway, and without my phone ringing every two minutes, I'll be able to get this evidence board sorted into a more logical pattern. Right, might see you tomorrow then."

# Chapter 13

Xmas Day

Kieron was still confused, the surroundings were strange, but he didn't feel threatened. The nice man was back, and promised he wouldn't have to see the nasty one again. He also said that Kieron might be able to see his dad within a few days. The room was quite small, a single bed on one side, next to it a cheap table on top of which was a dingy lamp, with a dimmer control. The only window was tiny and so high up that Kieron couldn't see anything but the sky. The traffic noise was incessant but far enough away that it was dulled to a gentle hum. He quite liked the space, or more precisely, the lack of it. Nooks, crannies, and passageways with doorways but no doors, always created uncertainty for him, until he got to see exactly where they went. The rest of the room was a joy to behold once all of the devices had been brought in and switched on by the nice man, who explained their specific purpose to him. Every conceivable interactive medium was at his fingertips. Having run through the operating controls and marked the various remotes for each device, the nice man had allowed Kieron to try out each one. The interconnections were supported by ultra-slick Wi-Fi, to complete this mini cyber world. The door had no lock, so the boy could use the toilet whenever he felt nature calling. There were lots of canned drinks to choose from, and a few different kinds of chocolate biscuits. Kieron hadn't felt any compulsion to leave this den in the last couple of days. He had forgotten all about Santa Claus until the nice man brought in a stocking filled to bursting with various media gifts, to play on the equipment which surrounded the two of them.

Kieron's dark brown eyes lit up. "Where's Daddy? Daddy likes to play with me."

"He's away at the moment. Maybe we can speak with Daddy on the phone today."

"Ok."

He methodically opened each present and then placed them neatly to one side. The nice man asked if he liked the games, fantasy films, children's puzzles, Mister Men video books, and cartoons. A winning smile confirmed that he did. He never asked about his mother. They watched an old Danger Mouse cartoon together, then a full length Disney film, after which the nice man left the room to rustle up an apology for a yuletide lunch. Kieron began to experiment with some of the very simple graphical puzzles.

Any recollection of the events in the hospital car park had been annexed for the time being. The nice man's therapy was intended to submerge such memories altogether. The boy had been preoccupied with his tablet when his grandfather painfully swivelled his unresponsive leg over the seat and on to the tarmac. The procession of sounds had been compartmentalised once the engine had been turned off. The driver's car door opening, granddad's groans, the instruction to sit still, the rear door opening, his granddad falling to the ground. That was the sound which triggered his shift of vision from his tablet for the first time. Another strange man took his hand, saying they had to hurry if they were going to help granddad. Kieron couldn't process this because he hadn't seen the blow which felled granddad. The man became the nasty man when he took his tablet and threw it on the rear seat. He was dragged from the car, toward some bushes, and he was told to keep quiet. It seemed like a long time since granddad fell down, but then an old man came and bent over granddad, who was still asleep. The nicer man took his hand in a really firm grip this time and marched him back to the car. The two men talked, after which the old man used his phone. The nice man led him away, saying granddad would have to see the doctor. A long walk ended with another car door opening, and he was told to get in the rear seat. It was just a short time before they came to a house with this room in it. It was dark and only had a bed and table in it. He was really afraid now. The nasty man left and locked the door. It wasn't long before the nice man unlocked the door and asked him if he would like a drink. This man said he was sorry about the nasty man, and that he had chased him away. He promised that he wouldn't come back. This man brought a desk and chair into the room, and then lots of computer stuff. He explained what they were, and said he could have them to play with. He asked Kieron about granddad, and when he heard the story, he said they would have to telephone the doctor to make sure granddad was better. This man was a much nicer man, and said they could both play on the computer stuff tomorrow. He cuddled up to him as he showed him the toilet and said it was time for bed. He left the door unlocked and asked if he wanted the light left on. Yes, he did. The nice man dimmed down the brightness, and then explained where his own room was, in case there were any bad dreams. The nice man cuddled him again and tucked him into bed.

*

Prentice had been married but it didn't work out at all, and ultimately it shuffled through separation and divorce after only ten months. The bride, without reaching the first anniversary, couldn't accept that his job required her to be at ease with rule one. 'A spouse's questions will be answered on a need **not** to know basis.' She convinced herself that this was nothing more than a convenience to allow him to keep on sowing wild oats. He protested too much, and she took this as 'proof' and walked out. He was now married to the job, and didn't want to repeat the turmoil which came with such a relationship. He was content with his own company, until days like this.

On the plus side, he did work more productively when the station was virtually deserted. Today was especially important in this respect. He had long since accepted that there would be no progeny of his own, even though it niggled away at his vision of his purpose in life. In a kind of empathetic way, he detested cases involving any variant of abuse of children. It did however, as a consequence, enable an extra gear in the mental transmission box. He was pleased with the morning's work, as he'd completed the rearrangement of the evidence on the whiteboard, and felt quite chipper about the restored focus this gave him. He had earned a reward and headed to the caffeine dispenser. He pressed for an espresso and got the 'please refill' request. "Bollocks." They hadn't stocked up the machine and the supplies cupboard was locked. Of course he didn't have a key. Neither did any of the skeleton staff within shouting distance. He resignedly pushed the breakfast tea button. It was awful, but he persevered while continuing to stare at his morning's work. It had escaped his attention, that is, until he saw it in the revised timeline, that it was actually him who'd pulled Martha off the security camera trawl of Hamsterley Mill on the fateful night of Kieron's disappearance. It hadn't been his idea to do this in the first place, that dubious honour fell to Jones. Now it just seemed to make more sense because of the established time and place of the phone call to Peter. It had always been there, but now it was flashing red.

Jones was quite happy to get the call, acted out the part pretty well and said, "Ok sir, but I can't remember where DC Hall put that footage, no, no that's not right. In fact I think she left all of the stuff captured from different cameras in the lab. I'm sure I told her to, because I still had to go through them myself..... What? It's Christmas Day sir, I...no way." His girlfriend was furious, shaking her head vigorously. "Just a moment sir."

Jones played on the emotions of the others, and whispered, "Look at you lot, there's a kid out there somewhere, and he's either dead or scared shitless. It won't feel much like Christmas Day to him. My boss is giving up his time to do what he can. My first reaction was like yours, but he only wants me to show him a few videos of the parents' house at the time the kid went missing. I'd feel guilty if I said I couldn't be arsed to spend half an hour to show him the footage. Is that going to be a problem? You've all seen the little boy's picture on the TV appeal haven't you? Imagine being his mother for a moment. I can go after lunch, while you guys watch Only Fools and Horses, then the Queen's speech yet _again_. Well?"

The empathy kicked in, and Jones said he'd be at the lab later. Prentice, for once, was completely unable to disguise his enthusiasm. "Thanks, Jonesy, I won't forget this."

He was still mentally shifting various pieces of evidence, pairing up key types with different peripheral partners, when he was startled by his landline ringtone echoing throughout the virtually empty general office.

"Prentice."

"I guessed you'd be there. It's Cartwright. I'm not in the lab, but we also have a 'night-watchman' with nothing better to do on Christmas Day."

Prentice yawned from persistent lack of sleep, totally unprepared for the bombshell Cartwright was going to deliver.

"He was doing some overdue filing of mountains of stuff which was verging on taking over the lab. Part of this was DNA charts for subjects in the Kieron case, both those who volunteered for elimination purposes and any potential suspects. There's no doubt about this I'm afraid. Olivia Radford-Wickham is Sir Ian Gladstone's offspring."

"Hell's teeth."

"I thought it may now be important to find out who the biological mother is. Assuming my assistant hasn't mislaid any samples, we should take swabs and test Mrs Gladstone plus Mrs Radford, at least for starters, and you may wish to look into adoption records. Hello, are you still there?"

"Sure, I'm just processing what you said, and thanks Cartwright, this is a true curveball. Listen, I'm just thinking out loud here, but can you keep this under your hat for now."

"This is surely a first, CID asking us to suppress evidence, rather than put out hints and shots in the dark. Well, there's only the two of us and my assistant currently entrusted with this knowledge, so I'll try and keep it that way, from my side anyway. It will have to be in the written report, but that won't be available for a couple of days. I should add that it wasn't altogether surprising that this eluded the first screening. The elimination pile of charts was thought to be exactly that, and were scrutinised against the victim, Peter Radford, and any DNA found on his person or the car. My eagle-eyed assistant must have phenomenal capability to retain patterns. Gladstone's DNA was in a completely separate folder from that of Olivia. The DNA of offspring is made up of 50% of the father's and 50% of the mother's. In this case, Gladstone and Olivia have 50% in common, it wouldn't have been easy to spot, simply because he examined their charts with a considerable time interval between them, and that time was taken up by looking at and filing many other people's DNA charts. And, bear in mind, he was only supposed to be tidying the lab. Remarkable!"

"I think we might both owe him one, this could turn out to be a total game changer."

# Chapter 14

As soon as Jones arrived, Prentice sat him down and hit him with the potential scandal. "I know you came in to look at security camera footage, but there's something to chew on while you're trying to stay awake counting the number of comings and goings at Hamsterley Mill. Now then, only you and me are to be privy to what I'm about to tell you. It has to remain that way until I say otherwise. I'm saying this because it opens up another possible angle, maybe a different motive for snatching Kieron. I've literally just found out that Olivia isn't Radford-Wickham, she comes from the loins of Gladstone."

"Well, hit me with your rhythm stick! What a can of worms, or maybe sperms. I feel a bit sorry for Olivia, her pretend father is in IC, her kid's gone, her mother has dementia, her husband is a nutter, and now she's got Count Dracula as a biologically related mentor, who just happens to be her boss. And here I was, whingeing about my future in-laws."

"That's a good point Jonesy, maybe she doesn't know she's his daughter. Anyway, I thought we should both look at motive independently and then compare notes. I'm a little bit uneasy about who managed to get Gladstone's DNA, I don't want them to pester forensics about it."

"No need boss, I told Gladstone to get everyone's DNA who'd been anywhere near Peter Radford when he was admitted for surgery. I took an instant dislike to him when we first arrived at the scene because he acted as if he was running the investigation as well as the hospital."

"That was a prudent call, even if it wasn't exactly objective. Right, we don't know who else knows about this bloodstock secret. However, unless there is a clandestine adoption involved somewhere along the line we should start with the two wives, Radford's and Gladstone's. We need to know the identity of Olivia's natural mother. We won't get anything from the adoption service for a few days, so let's both concentrate on the two families for now."

"Ok, I certainly wouldn't be surprised if Gladstone had spread his seed around. With respect to motive, there are still quite a few permutations even if one of the wives is Olivia's real mother. I'll get on with the camera footage, and get back to you later."

Prentice nodded and began to think how he could obtain DNA from the two wives without attracting suspicion. It wouldn't be too difficult with Pauline Radford, she was at the hospital. He just needed to buy her a cup of coffee and forget to put the empty cup in the trash. He didn't even know the first name of Gladstone's wife. He made that his first task and set off for the hospital.

*

Jones was quite pleased with himself. He was also glad to have the motive puzzle to solve while he gazed at some of the population of Hamsterley Mill revealing their evening habits. He cast his net one hour either side of the message. He frequently paused the riveting montage to zoom in and note car registrations. He then left to get back to an equally pulsating afternoon at the house of his prospective in-laws. He was pessimistic about being able to tune them out while he continued to tick off the genetic permutations and their extrapolation to a likely motive for either making a hole in Peter Radford's head, or abducting Kieron, or one of them being a consequence of the other. Perhaps Kieron was _expected_ to be in the car. He hadn't considered that before.

*

Prentice found Tom at the hospital first. "Where is Olivia?"

"She's with her mother, they've been allowed a short spell with Peter. Apparently, he's not able to speak properly, he just makes strange sounds. They're trying to help in calming him down."

"Hasn't the sight of his daughter done the trick? He would have expected her to be seriously injured, not knowing that the call was a hoax."

"Yes, I suppose, but he ain't to know what happened to Kieron either. He might be asking where he is now."

"Thanks Tom, I'll have a walk along to see the surgeon, if he's in today. He should have some idea when I can expect to speak with Peter."

"Good luck mate."

*

Olivia and her mother were just coming out of the IC unit, and Pauline was straining to fight back the tears. Prentice asked Olivia how the patient was doing. "I ran into Tom, has Peter settled down?"

"Not really, he was shocked to see me, but we didn't dare tell him about Kieron. He's mimicking writing, so I'm going to get him a pen and paper. I'll sit my mum down first."

"Look, I want to ask you something but it can wait. Go get your writing stuff, I'll take care of your mother until you know what Peter wants to tell you?"

"Thank you Inspector, Dad's surgeon doesn't want any staff in with us while he's trying to communicate. I'll be back in a minute."

Prentice could imagine 'killing two birds with one stone.' He rushed to the drinks dispenser and purchased a coffee for Pauline, and made sure it was in her hand before Olivia came back. She only managed a couple of mouthfuls when it was time to go back into IC, and he took the cup from her. He poured the remaining hot liquid into a waste bin and walked to the gents. Quickly putting the empty cup into a plastic bag, he hurried back to his car to deposit his illegal DNA. He went in pursuit of the surgeon, but was told he was not in today, and was advising from home whenever necessary. It had the portents of being a long night.

Over an hour later Olivia stepped out of the IC unit. "Any change?" asked Prentice.

"No, the previous excitement has made him tired, he's been sleeping most of the time. I'm not supposed to interfere with his care, for obvious reasons, but I don't think we should be there every time he wakes up. Dad's situation is different from patients who only have to worry about themselves. He doesn't really understand what _hasn't_ happened to me, he must think he's going insane. It's also possible he saw whoever took Kieron. I can't get my mother to realise how our presence might be counter-productive at this stage of his recovery. She won't leave his side unless _the_ surgeon forbids it, forgetting that I'm a surgeon too. Her own condition seems to prevent her from seeing things as they are. I'm going to call Gladstone to see if he can talk some sense into her. We can see Dad when he gets stronger."

"Sounds like the way to go, to me anyway. Will Gladstone come in to speak with your mother? What I mean is Christmas Day is almost over, won't he want to leave it until the morning if your father's sleeping most of the time? His wife might have something to say about it, as I understand he's about to retire. What's her name? Mrs Gladstone I mean."

"Ian Gladstone doesn't have a 'wife.' He's never married, always saying that it would be bigamy. His career has been his life companion. He's not a recluse, but he isn't overly keen on socialising as a pursuit, unlike most of us. I'm sure he'll come in if he's needed, especially as I'm querying the visiting protocol."

"Oh right, of course. I'd like a quick word with him too if he has time."

"If it's about my son, I'm sure he will. I'm assuming it is?"

"Sure, what else would it be about? Thanks Olivia."

*

It was another hour and a half before Gladstone made an appearance. He spoke privately with Olivia for a few minutes and then she went to bring her mother. Pauline looked tense, but nodded affirmation continually while Gladstone spoke, presumably taking has advice to allow Peter more rest. At Olivia's intervention, he turned to face Prentice and wore a weary expression. He approached and seemed about to deliver some of his well-oiled attitude. Prentice began with an apology. "I hate interrupting your seasonal break like this, but I think I'd sleep better if you could answer just one question."

A nod was all Prentice needed. "Does Olivia know that she's your daughter?"

DCI Prentice had gambled that suddenly delivering his ace from the bottom of the deck would provoke body language as well as mealy-mouthed words. He was correct, but not precisely in the way he'd anticipated.

Gladstone's eyes widened, followed by a withering sneer. "Why don't you ask her?" He strode off, leaving Prentice in a quandary.

*

Kieron had forgotten they were going to call his father, he was completely immersed in his book of children's puzzles, and the nice man didn't interrupt the way other grown-ups did.

# Chapter 15

Boxing Day

The search had run out of steam and nothing else of significance had been found within the hospital perimeter. It was to be scaled down until the debate took place on where to tackle next. Prentice felt they were wasting their time but knew that he had to maintain public belief in the hope of finding Kieron unharmed. However, he wanted a wider awareness of the situation, and asked the top brass to push harder for a national TV appeal.

*

Martha was back to work and looked as if she had never been to bed. "A bit of a hangover DC Hall? Or did you just forget your makeup?"

"Both sir, I'm not at my best today and I didn't think the makeup would make much difference. Ok, let's have it, what has DI Jones left for me?"

"Get yourself some coffee, if you have a key for the supply cupboard. Jones has left a wad of notes he made from the Hamsterley Mill cameras."

"Oh no, that'll really make my headache much better!"

"No, he's done all that. These are lists of people and vehicle registrations you need to check out. The fresh air will do you the world of good."

"Nobody will want to talk to me on Boxing Day, surely? They'll be attacking what's left of the turkey. Oh God, I think I'm going to puke."

"Not in here you're not. Here, take the notes and get me a coffee while you're at it."

"Yes sir, good idea sir." She mumbled continually as she walked to the supply cupboard.

*

Kieron belatedly remembered about the promised phone call to his dad. "I want to speak to Daddy."

The nice man was taken by surprise, thinking it had been completely forgotten. "I tried to call him yesterday, do you remember?"

"Yes."

"He didn't answer his phone, but he sent a message, a text message, do you know what that is?"

"Yes I know. It comes on the phone and on my tablet. I lost my tablet. The nasty man took it away."

"Well your Daddy's message said he could meet us at the seaside, on the sandy beach. Should we go and see him?"

"Yes. We can go now."

"Ok, let's switch off the computers and we'll go in the car."

*

Jones walked into the office. Prentice looked up in surprise. "You didn't need to come in today, I've sent Martha to follow up on your security camera notes."

"Yeah, good. I came in to throw around a few ideas like you said. Anyway, my girlfriend wanted to go to Kielder reservoir with some of her pals. I can't stand any of them, and why would I want to trudge the forest out there when I can be in this dump? I think she's coming to the conclusion that this relationship isn't living up to expectations, her expectations. I hit that point a while ago. I just want her to think she's kicking me out. Less hassle that way."

"A great Christmas then. You know I told you about Gladstone, well I pulled him to one side and decided to hit him with it at the hospital yesterday evening."

"No way, what did he say?"

"The way I put it to him - 'does Olivia know she's your daughter' - I kind of expected a long-winded explanation or denial. He just told me to ask her. I've been wrestling with whether I should, all bloody night long. Maybe we should run through how all this fits with potential attempted murder and the boy being snatched."

"Ok, one thing which occurred to me before you told me about Gladstone's reaction, was that he won't worry about the effect on his career. He's ready to retire, but darling Olivia isn't, and it's going to come in quite handy that he can recommend her if nobody knows she's his sprog. I hadn't figured out how that could be linked to the case, but now he knows that we know, it probably means Olivia's anointment could be tricky. Perhaps we aren't the only ones who know about their secret relationship. If he told you to ask her, maybe she found out about it some time ago. If that's the case, would she blackmail her own father?"

"Makes a bit of sense Jonesy. You need to factor in what she told me before I spoke to him. He isn't married, never has been. What if he's gay, fathered a child, and then came out of the closet late in life? It has been known to happen. Society was much more homophobic when he was spreading it about as a young man."

"Can't be ruled out I suppose, but I'm beginning to think this permutation and combination idea is lacking basic facts, you see what I mean, to rule out certain possibilities. You know I'm red hot on elimination as opposed to speculation, and more to the point, are you going to ask Olivia the same nut-cracking question you hit Gladstone with?"

"Not just yet, let's give him a chance to tell her that we've got the heads-up on this one. He might not do that. I think you're right, we need to get back to full-on evidence."

*

Martha was almost exhausted. The reaction from the inhabitants of Hamsterley Mill was not what she'd predicted. They were incredibly keen to help find Kieron. After speaking to just a few, they suggested phoning their neighbours and friends to gather at a focal point on the estate, where they could all look at the stills and car plate numbers at more or less the same time. As the numbers dwindled after around ninety minutes, many of them had identified all of the people in the stills as residents, or visitors of residents, with one exception. The response on the vehicles was much less helpful, as some of the inhabitants didn't even know their own registration number. Martha thanked every participant profusely and jumped into her car. The hangover was easing, and she couldn't wait to get back to the station.

*

Peter Radford's monitored readings had settled down again. He muttered something unintelligible to the nearest nurse, who alerted the surgeon. This time he seemed to have slightly more control. "Meyma, meyma."

He was asked to repeat his utterance several times, to no avail. He then tried mimicking pen and paper again, accompanied by "Meyma, meyma." The surgeon finally got it and despatched a nurse to bring a notepad and something to write with.

"Here you are Peter, now you mustn't over exert yourself. Just lie as you are, don't shift your position, do you understand?"

He tried to nod impatiently, and felt the resistance of a neck brace. He had to raise the paper to suit his field of vision. His wobbly hand passed back and forth interminably, and crossed out several attempts. The image eventually took some recognisable form. He'd managed a child's rendering of an oval shape on a stalk. He was pointing and repeating a slightly different two syllable strange word. "Minna, minna."

His frustration began to affect the monitors and the surgeon was ready to call a halt to proceedings, when the nurse got it. "He means mirror, it's a car mirror."

Peter pointed at the nurse with a mixture of relief and tiredness. He managed a weary smile and closed his eyes. The surgeon digested the import of this, deciding that he was possibly indicating he had seen something of his attacker. However, he felt Peter was still too fragile to undergo any kind of interrogation by the police. He told the nurse of his concern and she agreed. "Let him sleep off his fatigue again nurse, and then we can find out more."

*

There was more positive news from the TV people with regard to the nationwide appeal. It was to be scheduled to a slot before New Year's Day. Prentice gave this news in person to Olivia and Tom. He also made it clear that he needed to speak with Olivia alone. "It'll be best at the station."

Tom predictably asked why he was being excluded and was surprisingly accommodating when he was told it was nothing to do with Kieron. It was about her father. Tom wasn't interested in Peter, in just the same way she hadn't ever bothered to ask how his own father was until it was too late.

*

The car left the country lane a few minutes back. Negotiating the best way to the edge of the sand dunes was extremely bumpy, yet it caused Kieron to giggle spontaneously, a new experience entirely. They finally found a suitable parking spot and braved the extremely bracing conditions. Emerging on the narrow strip of flat sand, they encountered a cacophony of aural bombardment. The near gale force winds churned the incoming waters to a frenzy, culminating in thunderous crashing waves. The screeches of seagulls milling around a lone fishing vessel, in the hope of sharing the catch, provided the 'percussion.'

After looking in all directions and seeing no other human, Kieron's disappointment overflowed. "Where is Daddy?"

The nice man didn't know and said it was not fair of daddy to be late. Not answering his phone and not coming to the beach was definitely not nice. Fortunately, he'd brought a parcel, which he opened and revealed a plain coloured kite. Bright red, it stood out from the sea and the sand. It took several forlorn attempts to get it under control, then the nice man encouraged Kieron to put his hands alongside his own, so that they were both making the kite dive and then soar again. Kieron was happy once more, and it didn't seem to matter so much that daddy was late. A few crashes later, and some spectacular manoeuvres rendered the no-show as relatively unimportant. In his scheme of things, the boy attached a lot of significance to the present, subordinating the past altogether, and extrapolating the now to what was possibly coming next. "I'm cold. I want my puzzles."

# Chapter 16

A new dawn, more people back on the treadmill, and time to shed the excesses of the last few days. Prentice arrived, unlocked his office door, and managed to get to the front of the caffeine queue without even trying, a la parting of the Red Sea. He had a dilemma, he always had a dilemma, but this one was precarious. He'd slept fitfully over whether or not to slap Olivia in the face with the wet fish of her parentage. There were pros and cons, and he was unusually apprehensive about Gladstone's curt invitation to do exactly that, challenge Olivia. She would be here any minute and he was still shifting from one foot to the other, when Martha rescued him. She had been waiting for such a moment. Of course it had been DI Jones who said the security cameras should be checked, but she'd done the legwork around Hamsterley Mill, and galvanised the residents, leading to a very quick strike. She convinced herself that Jones wouldn't have achieved this breakthrough, more likely he'd have pissed off most of the residents with his detached approach, whereas she'd focussed on the plight of a little boy with 'severe' neurological difficulties. Every mother would respond, and they did. She deserved some recognition for this, and wouldn't get it from her immediate boss.

When Prentice saw the still he flopped into his chair. "Are we sure about this Martha? All the residents claim they've never seen this guy before?"

"Yes sir, well most of them. I pressed every single one for a definite answer. A significant majority of them were absolutely sure he didn't live there. It's not a vast, sprawling estate and they have a vigorous residents association. The committee members always approach new residents about joining. Nobody knows this man. I didn't push it too far, because he's a hell of a good descriptive match for Derek Wallace's tall and bald guy. Some of them might have blabbed to the press, if I'd got over-excited."

Prentice responded. "And we've got him close to Olivia's house at about the right time. By the way, what time was on this frame when the footage was paused?"

"Another hit sir, this is the best shot of him, but we do have others. He was seen before and after the call to Peter Radford. If only we knew which vehicle was his we'd have him."

Martha wanted to be ordered by Prentice to get on to this immediately, and find the owner before Jones arrived. It was sanctioned. "Do it, and while you're at it, get this still image of him cropped and enlarged, it's a bit grainy, but we need a bigger mug shot.

*

Tom felt utterly empty again. For a few days the investigation had periodically lurched forward, but from his standpoint it had stalled again. He called his brother. "It's me, just a quick call to hear if there's any news on whether we have a date for the funeral yet."

"Yes, I should've got back to you by now but I've been snowed under with lots of other things. January the fourth is the earliest we can get, so I went for it. Listen Tom, this other stuff, I had to look into Dad's will, and I don't quite know how to put it – he left the flat to me. He never spoke to me about it and I just assumed it would pass on to both of us."

"Don't get into a spin Michael, you've done everything for him, I wasn't there. I'm good with this, he always knew what he wanted. I'll have to let you know if anything crops up, otherwise I'll be there on the fourth."

"Well, that's another thing, my girlfriend wants me to move in with her, has done for a couple of years. Now that he's gone I ain't got an excuse. Anyway, I can't stay in the flat now, there's too many memories there. I have to get out. I'm putting it up for sale after everything else gets sorted."

"Right, so I can still stay there with you for the funeral? And this doesn't change me paying the bill for Dad's send off."

"Leave it out, he left some money Tom, not a big lump, but more than enough to take care of the arrangements."

"No Michael, I've learned a lot about my own priorities recently, and it must sound strange, but all I want from him now is the letter of my acceptance for Uni. The fact that he hung on to that piece of paper right to the end breaks me up. I'll treasure it for the rest of my days, especially when I come back to London for good. Ok bro, see you on the fourth."

*

Olivia arrived and seemed impatient to get on with whatever it was that Prentice had told Tom, in order to justify him being excluded. Coffee was declined. Prentice had Martha's picture in his hand as he talked. "We may have a new lead and I wanted to show you something, without you having any distractions of any kind. Please take your time, have you ever seen this man before?"

She looked, seemed unperturbed, and was in the process of handing it back, when she hesitated. Taking her reading glasses from her bag, she subjected the still to a much more thorough examination. Her pallor became distinctly grey. She put the picture back on the desk and accidently knocked over a table lamp with her elbow. "I'm sorry Inspector, I, I, it's such a shock after all these years. Now I know why I thought the voice on the message was vaguely familiar. Where was this taken?"

"Just outside your house, on the night Peter was attacked."

"Oh God, no, no, please no." This was not the Olivia of the last few days. She'd caved in emotionally, and now she couldn't catch her breath. In a moment of panic she uttered, "I'm hyp-hyper-ventilating."

Prentice opened the office door and yelled, "A plastic bag, someone, quickly, a plastic bag."

Several minutes later, and breathing heavily but in control she whispered, "You're right, someone is trying to get at me. I'd never have believed he would come back. He'll hurt Kieron, I know he will, just to get back at me. You have to stop him Inspector. I can help you to find him, I have records at the hospital and other stuff at home. Can we go to the hospital first, his name and address will be on file from twelve years ago. We have to hurry."

*

"Daddy wasn't there." He hadn't forgotten altogether.

"I know Kieron." It was the first time the nice man had used his name. "I'm going to see him, because I'm very angry about that. What do you want to do when I'm away?"

"Come with you."

"I don't think that's a good idea because there might be a big argument, and you don't like shouting do you?"

"No. Can I play my puzzles again?"

"Of course you can, I won't be long." He showed Kieron a picture of the London Eye. "Would you like to see it, and maybe have a ride on it?"

"Yes, yes, a ride."

"There, I've put a new puzzle on the screen for you. I'm going to bring you a giant ice cream back."

"Ice cream, I like strawberry."

*

Olivia went directly to records with Prentice as her shadow. She asked for a particular case record from twelve years ago. "Mitchell, I don't remember the first name, it was for the removal of a tumour."

The computer sifted through the files and then settled on James Mitchell.

"What are we looking at Olivia?"

"I lost this little boy. The tumour had been considered inoperable by my colleagues, but after a lot of consideration I told them that I thought differently. Because the boy was going to die anyway, I persuaded Gladstone to speak to the father, Edward comes to mind, we can check later. I thought we had all agreed that a very slight chance was better than no chance, and the father signed the disclaimer. Several weeks after the surgery, he must have spoken to some fast-talking lawyer and they demanded to see the case notes. To cut a very long saga short, they claimed malpractice, based on an allegation that there was disagreement between myself and the anaesthetist, which brought about the fatality. The claims went on for over a year, but were eventually kicked out. I wondered where the father had got enough money to sustain the rant as long as he did. He confronted me, here at work, and said I would pay for this one way or another, and that he'd stop me playing God again with anyone else's child. As you can imagine, this haunted me for a long time. I eventually thought he'd had time to remember his son was going to die if he hadn't agreed to let the surgery go ahead. It seems he still harbours a need to punish me."

# Chapter 17

Prentice walked Olivia back to her office, tried to calm her down, and finally had to shout at her to keep quiet. "It doesn't work like that, for Christ's sake. We have to find this guy and then ask him to help with our enquiries. If he declines we need rock solid evidence which puts him at the scene, but that in itself isn't enough either. It makes him a suspect, that's all. We have to connect him to the stun gun via DNA, because even though Derek Wallace may be able to identify him, he didn't see him strike anybody. And maybe you've forgotten, but if he does have Kieron, we're going to have to keep him onside until we know where the boy is. It's a tricky call Olivia, slapping him inside a cell will be bad for Kieron if Mitchell is the kidnapper, but refuses to talk. If all this anger built up twelve years ago, the family may not even be at the address on the hospital records any longer. One step at a time please." She stayed quiet long enough for him to call Martha.

"Any good news on the car registration yet?"

"No sir, it was bloody stolen wasn't it. About three months ago. The true owner lives in London, really helpful."

"Ok, stay on it, it might have been dumped by now, get traffic to look out for it, check with local crushers."

On checking with the electoral register and council tax statements for the area in the hospital records, Prentice was right on the money, Mitchell didn't live at the same place, and there was no forwarding address in his name. He called Tom's mobile, asking him to join them. Olivia broke down in tears when he entered, and he was brought up to date by Prentice. The pressure of knowing Mitchell could have her son, had pushed Olivia over the edge. Tom's head dropped straight into his hands.

"The guy's a maniac. Why hasn't he made any demands? Do you think? Oh hell...."

"No I don't Tom. My guess is that he wants to hurt Olivia, not Kieron. But we need to be careful, I keep saying this, but now that we have a possible suspect, I'm going to say it over and over. I'm going to get Derek Wallace to look at this picture of Mitchell. It will hopefully give us further confidence that he _is_ the man Wallace saw at the scene. Until we know where Mitchell is, we shouldn't disturb him, making him unstable carries a big risk for your son. This guy hasn't done a particularly thorough job in covering his tracks, and I still think he's ultimately leading us to identify him. That isn't the same as catching him. Let's make him think we are playing his game for now, and it's imperative that we don't give the press any chance to screw things up. We also have to think about how we put together this national appeal, he'll be expecting it to come on air pretty soon."

Tom digested all of this, and it triggered a need to respond. "I hear you Inspector, but you know what, I don't think you have any fucking idea what you're doing. Everything is supposition and hunches. I've had it with the police. I ain't gonna sit around any longer. I'll find this bastard myself. Olivia, you should get back to the house in case this Mitchell calls, he may even have called already and not said anything. Monitoring our calls don't help if it's an unregistered mobile and the caller says nothing. Now that we know he was around our house that night it's too much of a coincidence, it has to be him. You're wasting your time sitting here, your mother can keep tabs on Peter."

Prentice shuddered at the prospect of a loose cannon like Tom making waves. He thought the media would latch on to his anxiety and misquote him at best, but possibly extract knowledge from Tom that the police didn't want to become known to the kidnapper, whether that was Mitchell or even a nutter pretending to be Lord Lucan. He had little time in which to douse this threat, but he didn't want to play such a strong card right now. He gave in, he had no other choice. "I strongly advise you to think this through again Tom. Perhaps you have a point about the monitoring of your home phone. You should check it out yourself. Olivia still has conflicting loyalties to deal with. Of course Kieron is the centre of all this now, but you aren't helping by saying her mother should be left on her own to worry about Peter, without being able to see him. Olivia wanted only the IC team to see him for now. Gladstone got the case surgeon to agree. I'd like to see him myself, because I heard that he got over-excited about his car's wing mirror just before he was hit. Maybe he saw something which Derek Wallace didn't. I can see Olivia's point, she wants to protect her mother, whose forgetfulness is a concern, and she wants to protect her father, then there's Peter."

Olivia's face betrayed confusion, Tom simply laughed at him. "You can't even remember who's who can you Prentice? What a bloody shambles. I'm out of here."

"No Tom, I mean Olivia's real father."

Silence reigned for an uncomfortable period. Olivia still couldn't speak. Tom stared at her, expecting a response. Prentice had Gladstone's words, 'ask her yourself,' at the forefront of his mind, and he was now pretty convinced she didn't know. He couldn't leave it there.

"You see Tom, your wife needs another concern like a hole in Peter's head. We have genetic evidence that Peter is not Olivia's biological father, and quite frankly you aren't making it any easier for anybody with this 'I'll save the world and bring Kieron back' bullshit. I'm sorry I've had to burden you with this now Olivia, but we need to bridle this maverick husband of yours. He's becoming more of a threat to your son's welfare than he realises. So, you have to make him get a grip. Personally, I don't give a shit whether he thinks I'm on top of the case or not. I don't really value his opinion. I could have hit you with this bombshell some time ago, but I didn't think it was central to getting Kieron back, even though it could be connected to the events of the last few days."

Olivia nodded, even though she was still in shock at this allegation. "Can I see this proof?"

"Not yet, but you will have it as soon as we can give it to you. I can't stop you asking questions, and perhaps we can discuss this further in private. I think we're on the same page, so can you sort out Mr Angry here? I don't have time for petulant, over-indulged children like Tom. I haven't met Kieron yet, but I'm sure I'll like him a lot when I do."

He left them to stew over how to proceed.

*

Martha had left the physical search for the car with Traffic while she contacted regional scrap metal dealers. She wasn't hopeful but was surprised when one on the outskirts of Newcastle said the magic words. "Yeah I remember it, Xmas Eve, just before we closed. We don't get many as old as that one these days, a real blast from the past, collector's item, stands out from the other run-of-the-mill stuff. Recently re-sprayed, I wondered about that, but the guy had all the paperwork. Just a minute, when you said you were police I said we're legit, what's this really about?"

It was a dead end in a way. The documents had been stolen with the car, it matched the police data which put the owner in London. "Would you recognise the man who brought it in?"

"Are you serious? We get hundreds of punters a day, I'd have difficulty remembering my own grandmother if she came in with a wreck for the crusher."

"So, it's already in the recycling waste then."

"Not this baby, there wasn't anything wrong with it, and I gave him washers for it. I'll make a bit on it."

"Oh really. Don't touch it. Where exactly is it?"

"In the yard, under cover, why?"

"Like you said, I told you I was police, there's nothing to worry about if you cooperate. We need to have forensics look at it, that's all. It's a stolen vehicle, but you did the checks thinking this guy was the owner. It's from London, and when we've finished with it I guess the real owner will give you that 'bit' you hoped to make on it."

"Sounds good to me. Just let me know when you want to start with it, sooner the better for me."

*

Olivia's first thought was to speak to her mother. But Tom wouldn't let this go. "So, Peter ain't the piper after all. The unending crap and lecturing I've put up with, and 'Pa-Par' turns out to be a fake. It figures, he's always been a pretentious bore. And now he's only a pretend granddad, so I don't have to humour him anymore."

"Fuck off Tom!!" screamed Olivia. He'd never heard her use the 'F' word before. "Prentice is right, your mental age is on a par with Kieron. You said you were leaving me, well good riddance. Just go, go now. I'll fight you for custody. And there will be those who can testify as to your unstable character. Now just get out of my way. Sod off back to London like you threatened to do, make my day."

She pushed him violently and he fell over. He was already regretting his lack of control over what came out of his mouth, bypassing his brain.

# Chapter 18

Olivia took her mother to the restaurant for a sandwich. Eating had become a necessary chore rather than a desire. It was a delicate situation, one of extreme foreboding. Rehearsing it in her mind did nothing but complicate her feelings. "Mum, I've never asked you before, was my birth difficult?"

"No darling, it wasn't pleasant but I can't remember it being difficult. Why are we talking about this?"

"Well, I really meant difficult in another way. Was Dad there?"

"No, I don't think so. Oh dear, my memory isn't what it was. Ask him when we are allowed to see him."

"When did you tell him it was confirmed, you know, that you were going to have a baby?"

"You're right Olivia, it was difficult. Unless I'm mistaken, he was away at sea. In the navy, the proper navy, not the other one. He never liked that one you know."

"Yes, I know. He left the Royal Navy about that time. He always said it was because of conscience, some of the decisions during the Falklands conflict didn't sit right with him. I seem to remember him telling me when I was a little girl that he wouldn't have missed my birth for the world."

"Yes, that does sound familiar, but you know, I can't remember him being there. It was sad but I had lots of family and friends who came to see me soon after you were born. I wasn't angry with him you know, at least I don't think I was."

"Ok Mum, I hope that we can see him soon. Ian Gladstone says he's stronger now and I'll check again after the surgeon has made his rounds."

The conversation had unsettled Olivia further. As a medical expert, she clearly knew that if Prentice had genetic proof, it would be irrefutable. She went to see Gladstone, trying to appear absolutely normal. "I know I asked to suspend Mum and myself from seeing Dad, and asked to reverse that now he is less emotional. Can I see him alone first? I think Mum gets a little excited and he worries about her worrying about him, if that makes sense."

"Fine, I'll let the surgeon know that you're going to see him this afternoon. Are there any new developments on the Kieron front? Has Prentice come up with anything?"

"I wasn't going to mention it but, he has a witness, this Wallace chap, and he is going to ask him to look at a possible suspect in a 'photographic' ID parade today. I shouldn't be telling you this, but one of the people in the gallery is that awful man, Mitchell. The one whose boy died during my procedure. I hadn't realised it was actually twelve years ago, seems more like three or four."

"Struth, where did they dig him up from?"

"He was apparently outside my house when my father took that call, the one about me being in critical condition. It is compelling, especially as I now recognise the voice as his. At first, I knew it was familiar, but didn't put it together with Mitchell."

"That's not what we wanted to hear Olivia. On the other hand it might be considered better than not knowing anything at all about Kieron's whereabouts. If the police know who they are looking for, without him knowing, it shouldn't take long to find him and follow him to Kieron. Chin up. I'll page you when I've cleared you to see Peter."

*

The nice man knew a lot about Kieron, and even more about his parents. For all manner of reasons the little boy had been denied his most fervent wish. He'd always wanted a puppy. His condition was primarily responsible for him not being able to understand that dogs 'grew up' much faster than humans, and in some circumstances attacked their owners. Tom and Olivia were in agreement that a dog may occasionally find Kieron 'distant' and some breeds could become aggressive when faced with an opportunity to be in control. As Kieron liked to spend a lot of time on his own, this seemed like a risk for little return. They knew it was probably an unfair judgement as regards many docile breeds of dogs, however, they were also aware that most of the species only recognised one master, and that wasn't who Kieron was.

As they set off on the long car journey to London, the boy asked again about his father. "I invited him Kieron, even though I was angry with him, but he didn't want to come. I don't know what's wrong with him, but I'm tired of trying to bring him to see you. But, would you like a surprise?"

"A surprise?" he shouted, "Where is the surprise?"

"We'll be there in a minute or two. What would be your favourite surprise?"

"Some jelly, it wobbles when I eat it."

"I think this might be better than jelly."

The car pulled off the main road and immediately turned into a driveway. "Now Kieron has to lie down on the seat, and with his eyes closed, and most important of all, keep as quiet as a mouse. If Kieron makes any sound at all, the box with the surprise inside will disappear. Do you understand what disappear means?"

"Daddy says it means go away. My tablet goes away when I'm naughty."

"Good. Well, you don't want to be naughty now, because the best surprise in the world will go away, and never be seen again."

The lady of the house opened the door and the nice man gave her the money. He peeked inside the box, thanked her and said goodbye. He placed the box on the passenger seat, looking into the rear to check on Kieron. True to his promise, his eyes were tight shut and his hands were over his ears, rather than his mouth. They drove back to the main road, and the nice man said it wouldn't be long before the boy could open his eyes. A few hundred yards down the road the car pulled into a lay-by and stopped. "Kieron can open his eyes now." The box was already open. The golden Labrador puppy was placed on the back seat. "Now you can talk as much as you like, Kieron."

He was stunned, remembering that he wasn't allowed to have such a friend. "He's yours Kieron, isn't that a surprise?"

His little face lit up. "But Daddy said I couldn't."

"Well now, Daddy had the chance to telephone, come to the seaside, and even come today. Daddy's not here, so you can have a little friend of your own. We don't need Daddy anyway. What will you call him?"

"Mickey!"

"What a great name. Hello Mickey. Now then, you'll have to look after him for the rest of the way to the big ride. It will take a long time, so you can talk to him and stroke him. We'll have to stop to let him have a pee-pee soon. Right, let's go eh?"

"Yes, can Mickey have a big ride?"

"We can ask, of course, we'll ask when we get there."

*

It took no time at all for Derek Wallace to pick out the 'loiterer' from Hamsterley Mill as the man he'd spoken with in the hospital car park. Prentice, Jones, and Martha all breathed a little easier. They had a credible suspect. Prentice reminded them that they had to nail down every single piece of evidence while they were searching for this known individual. "We are missing DNA at present, but Cartwright is still going to give it a try. Fingerprints can be used to extract DNA, but as we know, getting sufficient reliable material depends on a lot of things. How much there is, was there enough sweat to make it extractable, and can it be 'amplified' by one of the currently approved techniques to become solid evidence? If Wallace is correct in picking out Mitchell, we have his prints on two items, the kid's tablet and the stun gun, from which the prints will tell us it's the same person, hopefully. Then there's the car, his presence must be all over it, unless he's done a job on it. So, Martha, stay with the car until forensics can hint at, or tell us what we have. Jonesy, I think we need to speak to Olivia yet again, she said she had some stuff on Mitchell at home as well as the hospital. There may be something there which is different. Ok, let's hit this with everything we've got."

When Martha had left, Prentice confessed to Jones that he'd picked up a coffee cup, used by Olivia's mother and left it with Cartwright. "That's not by the book sir, I'd rather you hadn't told me."

"I don't intend using it, I just want to know where to start asking questions now that we know there is no Mrs Gladstone. And I'm pretty sure Dracula, as you call him, hasn't told Olivia, so she'll be trying to figure this out herself. We need to keep ahead of her, or at least up with her, and she's already got an inside track compared to us, the filth. Oh come on Jonesy, just forget I told you, but keep your mind open."

# Chapter 19

Prentice and Jones were rebuffed when the former asked Olivia to meet them at her home. "Tom's already there, he can help you find the paperwork from the hearing Mitchell managed to contrive on the advice of his lawyer. I'm with Dad, and he's a lot better, so I'll be here until he needs rest again."

She still referred to him as Dad. Prentice let it go. The two detectives headed for Hamsterley Mill. Tom was in one of his sheepish moods. "Oh hello, out in force this time, come on in. What have I done wrong now?"

"We just need to take a look at the paperwork involved with this Mitchell guy. According to Olivia, the hospital records only deal with the procedure itself. She thought there might be something which can help us trace the father of the boy who died, she seemed to think his name was Edward. Funny that it wasn't on the actual record as next of kin, even though the address was."

"Yes, his name is Edward, and you're right, his name should be on the file. I know I buggered up my own career in the medical profession, but I still have to listen to Olivia's diatribe when I ask, 'how was your day dear?' She's quoted several instances of staff being disciplined for incomplete records. It might have been forgotten when it was raised, but someone would have spotted it before it was archived. Bad smell Inspector, sorry, Inspectors."

"Ok, then let's see what's in Olivia's papers."

*

Peter had begun to make sense of events, he now knew for sure that he hadn't been hallucinating in his sleep, his daughter was unhurt. His concern had shifted to Kieron, as nobody had mentioned him yet. Before he took his pen and paper, he uttered more disjointed syllables. "Ohta, ohta."

He showed Olivia the previous sketch of the car wing mirror. "Ohta, ohta."

"Just write it or draw it Dad, it helps if we can see and hear at the same time."

His hand wasn't steady enough yet to write words, they were just as jumbled as his speech. He drew a matchstick man, pointing at the figure. "hite hoat."

"White coat, oh of course, you mean doctor. Do you want the surgeon?"

He tried to shake his head in total frustration and pointed to the wing mirror again. At last the penny dropped, he was saying that he'd seen a doctor in the car wing mirror before he was hit. What wasn't clear was whether he would have been a witness or the attacker. However, it immediately occurred to her that the hospital doctors had their own parking area, and this could have been anyone in a white coat, a nurse, restaurant staff, lab people, and at least a dozen others.

"Was this a man?" A nod wasn't possible. Olivia suggested he should just draw a tick or a cross. "Do you think this was the man who attacked you?" A much more vigorous and larger tick. "Are you sure Dad?" A gesture of disbelief, followed by Peter pointing at the wound in the back of his head.

Olivia had hoped to question Peter in a way he didn't perceive he was being interrogated. That would have to wait. Mulling it over for a while longer, she didn't want to trigger an internal accusation against the general staff, or that hospital personnel should be questioned. For now she decided that only the police should be alerted to Peter's recollection. There was also the concern over him expressing himself accurately, and the consequence of a setback. She went for the quickest and least risky route, she'd give Peter the chance to look at the same still picture which allowed Derek Wallace to pick out Mitchell. She called Prentice.

"Does anyone else know about this Olivia?"

"No, that's why I'm calling you for God's sake."

"Fine, we'll be there as soon as we're finished looking through these papers. By the way, you were right, his name is Edward. We already have a different address from the one at the hospital, dated about a couple of years later. See you in an hour or so."

*

Martha called, and Prentice left Jones to sift through the rest of the hearing papers. "Sir, just a quick call to say that forensics have got a shedload of DNA from this car, but they're going to have a lot of work ahead of them to test it all. Anyway, that isn't why I called you. You remember that multi-coloured wristband in the package sent to Olivia?"

"Yes."

"There's another one in this car, in the glove compartment, it wasn't hidden very carefully if that's what was intended, it was right on the top of the rest of the junk when they opened it. You're right, this bastard is taking the piss. So, it seems we can expect some of this DNA to be Kieron's as well as the Joker's. Will you update Robin? I should stay here."

"Watch your lip DC Hall, keeping me posted is all you need to do."

Tom only heard one side of this conversation and was intrigued by Prentice telling someone to button it. "Problem Inspector?"

"Nothing for you to worry about Batman." Ironically, Jones thought that was hilarious, not being privy to Martha's jibe. They decided to wrap up the rest of the papers and take them away for future reference.

When they linked up with Olivia, she said it would be best if she took the photo in to her father alone. "If you go in, it has to be cleared with Gladstone, and I'd rather avoid that just now."

An interesting remark, thought Prentice. She continued, "If it's positive, I'll leave it to you to get official clearance to verify it yourselves. Is that ok?"

"Irregular Olivia, but not unknown," said Jones, "the boss's call."

"Let's get this over with," retorted Prentice.

Twenty minutes was a long time for Peter to decide if this was the man. Olivia came out of the IC unit and slapped the photo into the open hand of Prentice. "It's him, white coat or no white coat, it's the bald man Dad saw. I told him to check it again, it was dark, and he only had a second to glimpse this man in the wing mirror. I can't move him from his insistence, he gives the impression that this face is in his head. This all takes time because he still can't speak clearly, you have to gradually coax him to a yes or no answer. I felt I had to come clean about Kieron's disappearance but not the abduction. He's inconsolable, but anyway, now it's your turn. You should call Gladstone, I'll back you up. I'll tell him I want this done."

Olivia didn't mention that she'd asked her father other questions, to which there was no reply.

*

A pit stop at motorway services was tricky, but Mickey needed to use the outdoor facilities. The nice man parked as close to the edge of the car park as possible. Kieron couldn't quite get the hang of the dog's lead, and he was attracting too much attention. They wandered toward an isolated thicket next to the small lake. The approaching darkness came to their assistance and Kieron giggled at Mickey's first attempt at peeing without splashing himself. It was even more hilarious when the puppy began to poo before he finished peeing. The nice man said they should have a bite to eat before resuming the journey. Kieron and Mickey were to remain in the locked car while a takeaway snack pack was purchased. The giggling reached new heights when Mickey muscled in on Kieron's chicken burger and doughnut. Two or three miles into the blackening sky and the nice man checked the rear view mirror. They were both asleep. Another eighty miles to London.

*

Gladstone wasn't overly obstructive when Prentice said they only needed to show Peter a picture. "This could move the investigation forward dramatically, a minute, that's all we need."

"Very well, but I want to be there, one minute, no more."

Jones was ready to take issue with this but Prentice nudged him. "That's fine, you're going to be a witness then?"

"Oh, I see, well then, yes of course." Gladstone's face couldn't disguise regret at his own overbearing attitude.

Using Olivia's hint to lead Peter to a binary decision of yea or nay, via a tick or cross, he instantly affirmed that he recognised Mitchell. It was all a wee bit neat and tidy for Jones. He butted in and asked one more question. "Peter, do you know this man's name?"

He scribbled very slowly this time, a wobbly tick. "Is he the man who harassed Olivia after his son died?"

Gladstone protested and said they should leave, Prentice agreed, but it hadn't prevented the detectives from noting Peter reluctantly ticking confirmation that he knew it was Mitchell.

"Well done Jonesy, it does seem a bit convenient that Peter recognises this guy in the dark. We've been blindsided, or at least Olivia thinks we have."

# Chapter 20

Even if Peter Radford's ready identification seemed a trifle suspect, it didn't contradict that of Derek Wallace, so the worst case scenario was that it might have to be discounted. If Peter's ability to speak more clearly didn't improve dramatically, and it was admitted the problem was because of a stun gun attack to the skull, he would surely be judged as an unreliable witness.

Prentice and Jones were pretty philosophical about it and were already heading to the fourth address from nine they had found by following the trail of any Edward Mitchell in any post code in the Newcastle electoral record database. The previous three had only turned up two men in their early twenties and an elderly man dependent on a wheelchair. As the satnav guided them through the streets of Rye Hill, a suburb west of Newcastle city centre, Jones pulled something else from Olivia's paperwork on the case. Prentice stopped the car abruptly.

"Say that again Jonesy."

"Edward Mitchell's lawyer submitted an allegation concerning a whistle-blower at the hospital. Apparently, he had agreed to testify, claiming Gladstone had orchestrated a cover up of Mitchell's initial insinuation that Olivia and the anaesthetist had almost come to blows during the procedure. It names the guy here, but says he didn't show up at the hearing. There's a handwritten scribble in the margin, possibly Olivia's, stating that he 'took the money' and ran."

"So, there's more than nepotism buried in this incident twelve years ago. Right, this is the street we're looking for, hopefully Mitchell still lives here."

The upper floor flat was vibrating to some very loud techno music. Banging repeatedly on the door eventually produced a face at the side window. The repetitive beat gradually subsided, and the door opened. Jonesy reacted to the smell which escaped from the interior. He began to retch, and asked for a moment. Prentice told him to stay outside until he gained control over his nauseous affliction. He then turned to face the female who'd opened the door, she must have yelled at someone to turn down the volume.

"Sorry to trouble you, I'm DCI Prentice and my colleague here is DI Jones. I have this address as the last known whereabouts of Edward Mitchell."

"That'd be right."

"Good, is he at home? I'd like to have a word with him."

"No he's not at home, he's at rest pet. You're not the only one who'd like to have a word with him. Personally, I'd rather ring his neck, but he did that himself. A complete tosser, always was. That was our Ted."

"Oh, I'm sad to hear that, when did this happen?"

"About six years ago, not soon enough for me and this brood inside. Whatever it is, he's not guilty this time."

She slammed the door in his face and within seconds the music blasted its way back through the bricks and mortar. Prentice had a brief notion of telling the occupants that they could face charges for such excessive noise. Jones had quelled his reflex to vomit and made the point that they hadn't determined whether this was Mitchell's wife.

"Does it matter? We can check with birth and deaths registry to see if what she says is true, or I can send you back in there to confirm that it is Mrs Mitchell."

They legged it back to the car, hoping that it still had four wheels.

*

Olivia was prepared for the worst when she tackled her mother for a second time. Peter's silence had given more credence to the assertion made by DCI Prentice. "I'm sorry I have to ask you this Mum, but I have to know. Is that really my Dad lying in there? Or have you kept something from me all these years?"

"I don't know what you mean Olivia, what on earth has put such an idea into your head. Your Dad and I have been married for almost fifty years, or is it forty?"

"I'm not disputing how long he's been your husband, but he's not my father is he? He was very upset when I asked him about this. I had to ask because the police know about these things, they have absolute proof that Peter isn't my biological father. And as much as I'll always think of him as my Dad, you have to tell me who is my natural father. It's going to come out anyway if it's connected to Kieron's disappearance."

"Oh my God Olivia, stop talking about this, it doesn't help, and you should never have spoken to your Dad about this when he is so poorly. Now just drop the subject."

"So, I'll have to help you to remember then, let's start with when you had an affair with Ian Gladstone. Stop pretending Mum, we're all going to have to face up to this sooner or later."

Pauline couldn't stem the tears any longer. "I can't talk about it right now darling, it was a mistake, leave it at that. I'm going to see your Dad now, you're upsetting me with these accusations. Your Dad loves me and I love him, and you know we both love you so much. I have to go to him."

Olivia was almost overcome herself with alternating waves of sadness and anger, and most of the latter was directed at Gladstone. With the evidence Prentice had, and her 'parents' lack of denial, she went after her boss.

*

The checks validated that it was the Edward Mitchell they were looking for, and he had committed suicide six years ago. The two detectives looked at each other in the hope that one of them could offer some explanation of how a dead man had become their main suspect. Prentice punctured the uneasy silence by suggesting a total regurgitation of all current evidence, with Martha joining them. "You're the man who lives by the book and its bedfellow, elimination. You do the talking and we'll do the critique. This is real pisser Jonesy and we really do need to move on to another suspect, like today, if we're to avoid becoming a laughing stock. Agreed?"

"Yep, we're in a bit of a maze, and now the entrance has disappeared, but someone is still playing games with us, and someone else is lying. It'll be in there sir, and it could even be staring us in the face. At the risk of upsetting everyone, I'd like to make another suggestion which might avoid an even bigger banana skin than the one we've just stepped on. We could consider an exhumation some way down the line. We would really look like numpties if he's not in the box, rather 'Jack' out of the box."

"Don't even go there at the moment Jonesy."

*

Kieron stood on the balcony overlooking the Thames while Mickey snuffled amongst the new surroundings of the apartment. The Labrador was not to be allowed on the balcony, as it was a long way down to the ground. Kieron wasn't happy about this at first, but accepted it when he realised Mickey could be lost forever if he managed to jump over the guards. The shipping traffic fascinated the boy and he pointed at a crowded passenger boat. "A boat! I want to go on a boat."

"Ok, but if we do, I'll have to hold Mickey, he might be scared and you couldn't stop him if he jumped into the water. He's too young to swim."

"Can we go now?"

"Maybe tomorrow. I need to get you some new clothes. Would you like some groovy clothes instead of those boring grey pants and coat?"

"Ha-ha, what's groovy?"

"Bright colours and long trousers. A funny hat to keep out the cold, and maybe some snow glasses so people don't know who we are. We don't like being pestered by lots of people do we? And there'll be lots on the boat, so we should frighten them away with some new clothes."

"Yes, groovy, groovy, ha-ha."

"I forgot to tell you Kieron, I tried to speak to Daddy on the phone, to see if he wanted to come here, but he said no. Do you think we should ask Mummy?"

"Mummy's at work."

"How do you know that?"

"Mummy has to work."

"Are you disappointed Daddy won't come?"

"No, he would stop me having Mickey."

"Right, let's go and get our new groovy clothes. Mickey needs to sleep."

"Groovy, ha-ha, groovy Mickey, groovy."

*

Gladstone picked up the phone. "I need a word."

"Oh hello Olivia, can it wait? I just had a call from the fire brigade, someone called them to my house. The fire engines are there now. Apparently it was one of my neighbours that called them, there's been an explosion of some kind. I really have to go."

"Dear me, I'd better leave it for now then, let me know if you need somewhere to sleep, it sounds like you're not going to stay there tonight, and I'll still be here with Mum."

"Much appreciated, I'll be in touch."

# Chapter 21

The 'do not disturb' notice hung slightly askew on the office door, reflecting the panic they felt about the status quo of the case. Prentice sat back as comfortably as he could, and Jones asked Martha if there was any new information from forensics to add to what they already had. "That includes the car." She shook her head, so he began.

"The message in one way or another is the key. Without that, Peter and Kieron would never have been at the hospital. That is a fact. The testimony of Derek Wallace seems pretty reliable, but doesn't qualify as, or convey a fact. It was corroborated by Olivia, yet that can't be considered a fact either, it's an opinion. Peter Radford miraculously confirms the identity of his attacker as the same person, but this is directly after he'd been thinking about it for twenty minutes with only Olivia in attendance. Definitely not qualified as a fact. The fingerprints on Kieron's tablet left in the car are interesting. There are only two different prints. That is a fact, but at present, even though probability tells us that Kieron's should be there, that has yet to be proven. Forensics are optimistic that they can recover sufficient quality DNA from the small prints to check against his hair brush from his home. Until that happens, it remains a probability, not a fact. The other prints on the tablet do match those found on the stun gun which injured Peter. That is a fact. However, until we have a suspect from whom we can take a swab, and the resultant DNA matches any which forensics get from the prints, we can't say for one hundred percent that it is the person identified by Wallace. The probability of it being so increases circumstantially, but I repeat, it's not one hundred percent certain, ergo not a fact. The turd in our otherwise converging water pipe of evidence is that the only two people claiming to know the person in the photo, are Olivia and Tom, and he didn't seem as sure as she did. Wallace didn't know the man. A further complication arose when we found out the man Olivia had named actually died six years ago, apparently hanging himself. If we maintain a rigorous need for proof, this can't yet be considered as definite until we can compare something like dental records of Edward Mitchell with the remains in the coffin. It's a slight chance they won't match, but it has been known to happen before. I can't classify it as a fact. Whether or not it becomes a fact, there was a hearing brought by Edward Mitchell, against Olivia for malpractice during an operation which resulted in the death of his son. This is a fact, as is a further allegation that Gladstone was involved in a cover up of malpractice. The other person involved in this alleged fracas has since left the hospital, we've checked and that is a fact. Kieron has disappeared, but no demand has been forthcoming, as far as we know, so not a fact. A man and a car were seen on Hamsterley Mill estate, either side of the time of the message, and the message came from a phone box on the estate, both are facts. As to whether this man made the call, although it's highly likely, it isn't a fact. So many people have used the phone that forensics can't separate out DNA effectively. It's a slightly different situation with the car. Although it was stolen in London, there is a lot of DNA which can be used as an identifier against a suspect, but we don't have one. Furthermore, as we can't put the same car at the hospital for certain, this is also in the category as probable but not proven. It will be very helpful if Kieron's DNA is in the car, and that can become a fact, but isn't just yet. The same applies to the scarf, it may match with the prints on the gun and tablet, dependent on DNA recovery. Now, to the wristbands. Both Tom and Olivia said the one in the same parcel as the gun is Kieron's and the DNA taken from it does match DNA on Kieron's hair brush. That information has just come in. It's now a fact. The second one found in the car is still undergoing tests. I've deliberately left the next item until last. Olivia is the daughter of Ian Gladstone, of that there is no doubt, and neither of them want to talk about it. I could go on, but it would be more productive to summarise...."

Martha raised her hand. "I'd rather take any questions you have when I'm finished Martha." She rolled her eyes, glanced at Prentice, and shrugged her shoulders.

"The bare facts first, because like it or not the Crown Prosecution Service gets jumpy when we sprinkle too much circumstantial makeweight into the mix. Ok, we have one message, two prints on the tablet, one of which matches that on the stun gun. A man, unknown to the residents of Hamsterley Mill is on film at that location before and after the message. A stolen car was also there at those same times. That car is crucial in linking many other probabilities, which may then become facts. This is all we have from the incident in the hospital car park. Twelve years ago, a boy died during surgery at this hospital. And, wait, it was _definitely_ the son of the person that Olivia has since identified as the man we are led to believe was spotted by Derek Wallace at the crime scene. It's a fact that she _and_ her husband _named_ him, in that order. Then Peter makes the same assertion. Kieron's wristband was certainly in the stun gun parcel, which was definitely slipped into the internal mail system of the hospital. Out of the blue, we discovered that Olivia is Ian Gladstone's daughter. It's only my opinion, but I think we've been looking at this the wrong way around. We should have this list of facts as a foundation to prioritise effort on other leads and fragments of a circumstantial nature. When I look at it myself, I admit I'm drawn to speculate, but then that gets overtaken by the need to eliminate. That's why I believe one of the most important tasks we have is to verify that Edward Mitchell is actually in that coffin. Because, if he isn't then three people are either mistaken or lying, and alternatively if he is in the box, we can forget him as a suspect. Something else which has been given no priority is to find whoever put the parcel in the hospital mail system. Right, I'm going to finish now with a suggestion. On one side of the evidence board we have the facts, on the other side the eliminated items or people. The stuff in between should then be graded by its relevance. An example of this is that although I was shocked by the revelation that Olivia is Gladstone's daughter, it doesn't lead me to search for some conspiracy, or in fact to eliminate it as a conspiracy. Of course that may change, but at present it has no bearing on identifying a suspect or getting a conviction. Ok, Martha, you had a question."

"Did I, oh yes. Why are you talking in this funny voice?"

Prentice rubbed his eyes to hide a wry smile.

"Because this is a potential turning point in the investigation. When I'm conversing with you, it's mostly banter, good-natured, and taking the mickey. That helps to deal with the frustrations of the job. For this opportunity to shift our focus, I'm not prepared to lace my presentation with cheap jokes when a boy's life may be at stake."

Prentice nodded. "Point taken. We have nothing to lose by shuffling the evidence we look at every day to the format you suggest. However, I'm going to have a hell of a job getting the go ahead for an exhumation. I'll make the request today."

Jones was pleased to hear this. "Thank you sir, and just to show I'm not asking for rigid adherence to this approach, I've selected an item which isn't currently in the facts or elimination classification. It may deserve some thought, as it is connected to a fact which has been hitherto ignored."

"Let's have it then while you've got me softened up."

"We haven't followed up on this anaesthetist. He left the hospital shortly after the fatality of Edward Mitchell's son, and someone scribbled on the official hearing report that he took the money and ran. He's possibly the only person in that operating theatre who will talk to us, rather than closing ranks with the official line. It won't take a lot of time and could bring testimony we've already had into question. For starters, he would possibly be the most objective person capable of verifying that the man in the photo is Edward Mitchell."

"Great shout Jonesy, get Martha on it."

"I'd rather do it myself sir, Martha needs to keep on top of forensics, and I want her to check that the woman we spoke to in Rye Hill was Mrs Mitchell."

Prentice had to walk away.

# Chapter 22

Kieron had never giggled so much in his short life. The London Eye had him positively giddy. He liked the big snake, and the nice man said it was called Old Tom, which he also said was a nickname for the Thames.

"Like Daddy," said Kieron, and his face turned sour, "I don't like Daddy."

"No, it isn't really Tom, the real name is the Thames. It's only a river Kieron. I think you should give Daddy another chance, because when you're naughty, Daddy always gives you another chance. I'm sure he'll come to see you soon. I'll invite him to our boat ride, how about that?"

The boy's facial expression betrayed the feeling he wasn't convinced, but he nodded his reluctant acceptance. "Mickey is my best friend now."

*

Martha couldn't venture into the flat in Rye Hill, despite being invited to do so, in sharp contrast to Batman and Robin. Standing on the doorstep, she tried not to inhale too often and got straight to the point. "Am I addressing Mrs Mitchell, the widow of Edward Mitchell?"

"I've already told the other policemen that Ted popped his clogs years ago, but I wasn't married to him, no way love. He left his wife ages ago, and we met at a social. He sweet-talked me into letting him stay here. His other bitch had thrown him out on his backside. He said that she kept pushing him to have another bairn, but he couldn't forget his son James, the young boy died in hospital you know. I thought he would be gone the next day. Instead, he promised to do my house up, being a handyman. I fell for it but nothing ever happened, he was useless, and I don't know why I took pity on him, he was nowt but a drain on my own family benefit payments. I suppose he played on the loss of his kid, knowing I'm a sucker for a bloody sob story."

"Thank you er..."

"Lena pet, Lena Wells. You take care now."

*

Jones ran into one obstacle after another trying to run down the anaesthetist Philip Morrison. He'd left multiple messages to call back but to no avail. Finally, he left the message which did produce a result, a threat to come to the capital.

"DI Jones."

"Yes, hello. It's Philip Morrison, what do you want?"

"I'd like you to look at a photograph of someone, and tell me if you know the person. You will have already figured out that the individual is from the Northeast."

"I don't have particularly happy memories of my years up there, in fact I'd rather forget I ever was there. Send it to my mobile and I'll get back to you."

"Well, it isn't a very good quality photo to begin with, it's actually quite grainy, so I'd rather you saw the original. You haven't asked what it's about."

"I haven't had time to take a leak this week Inspector, never mind show curiosity about a place I detest. Presumably you're going to tell me anyway."

"No reason not to, it could be connected to a case I'm investigating of a missing boy. An appeal has been shown in the northeast region, but we're still waiting for it to go nationwide. You won't know the boy, but he's not the one in the photo. We need all the help we can get, because it's been several days since he disappeared and that's not good news. I can't say more without risking adding bias to your recognition or otherwise of this person. I can fly to London to meet up, saving you as much time as I can. It won't take more than a couple of minutes."

"When you put it like that, I can hardly refuse. I have theatre tomorrow morning, and later in the afternoon. Can you squeeze into that gap? Say, two pm?"

"Sure, and many thanks."

*

When Prentice raised the issue of exhuming what was thought to be the remains of Edward Mitchell, it produced a look of incredulity on the face of his boss.

"This is insane Prentice, it will never happen. I've listened to your reasoning and it falls seriously short of requirement. You need to find more justification, or better still, a more believable suspect."

"That's the whole point sir, the only two people who saw the attacker of Peter Radford, are the man himself, and the guy who alerted the hospital of that attack. We have to have DNA from the remains of Edward Mitchell to confirm or refute these witnesses. A prominent surgeon and her husband have also concurred that the man we caught on tape at Hamsterley Mill, is Mitchell, and we have to know if he's doing a Lazarus act. My problem is that if the DNA we recover from the weapon and other sources all points to the same person, who is likely to have taken the boy, either the witnesses have got it wrong, the surgeon and her husband don't know what they're talking about, or we have a dead man as a chief suspect on both counts."

"Yes, DCI Prentice, but the first count is GBH, and the second is a missing person. There is no ransom demand or any other which is connected with the boy as yet. We can't go around digging up people just because we can't find a damned suspect who isn't deceased."

"If you're sure sir, I'll leave it at that for now. I'd hate to think what the media will make of this if any of the people who've identified this man accuses us of incompetence. By that I mean, a scenario where the boy does die, and then we have our precious authorisation for exhumation, but it's too late. It's a tough call, but I accept that you've made it. I'll get back to you when I have more justification."

*

Prentice took two calls in quick succession. "Martha, what have you got for me?"

"The woman at that address I visited in Rye Hill, she isn't Mitchell's widow, just a fancy woman. He left his wife a long time ago. And DI Jones asked me to tell you he's on his way to see the anaesthetist in London. He called you but you've been incommunicado."

"Right, you'd better get back there Martha, none of us have shown this fancy woman the picture. Get her to confirm whether it's Mitchell or not. That shouldn't have got past us."

"It probably wouldn't have if the place didn't stink so much. I'm not going in there, she can decide on the doorstep, or better still I'll call in a favour from uniform and get her in to make a statement."

Immediately he closed the call, Jones was on the line. "How did it go sir? I hope Martha told you I have an appointment with Philip Morrison, the anaesthetist. He will hopefully be decisive."

"We need him to be, the boss won't go for digging up the coffin unless we have a cast iron reason to do so."

*

Gladstone contacted Olivia from the wreck that used to be his house. "Hi, it's worse than I thought. The fire people are saying it was caused by gas igniting in the kitchen. They asked if I was sure I'd turned off the gas this morning. I think they eventually believed me when I insisted that I'm a creature of habit, and breakfast is strictly continental, cereal and croissants. The kettle is electric and I never ever use gas in the morning, forgetting doesn't enter the equation. There's no evidence of a leak either inside or outside the property, so they suspect a break-in. They are now checking to see if the security alarm went to the police as it should have. I'd like to take up your offer of a night's accommodation at your place Olivia, if that's still on. All of my clothes are gone, and items I can't replace. It's more than disorienting, more like a funeral pyre. I have what I'm standing up in, that's about it. I've spoken with the insurance people and someone will see me tomorrow. It's such a remote spot that the fire must have burned for some time before my 'neighbour' called 999. For the first time in my indulgent life, I feel totally rudderless."

"I'm so sorry, what a shitty week this has been. Of course the offer is still open, I'll call Tom and let him know you're on your way. Is there anything else I can do?"

"I don't know, but thanks. I can't imagine getting much sleep tonight. You know it's a crazy thought, but it came into my head involuntarily. If I'd retired already, this may not have happened. I was going to put the house on the market once I had stepped down."

# Chapter 23

Martha paid a quick visit to forensics while she waited for Lena Wells to arrive. She was stonewalled by Cartwright. "I need to speak with DCI Prentice, would you ask him to call me?"

"Sure, but why the secrecy? I found the car and Prentice told me to stay on top of any evidence coming from it."

"It's complicated DC Hall, I'm sure he'll explain."

She left it at that, but wasn't at all happy. She opened the door to the interview room and was immediately cheered up. Lena Wells was still berating the uniformed officer who'd brought her in. She turned to see Martha, who smiled politely, looking her up and down. She might have used a trowel to apply her makeup, her untidy hair displayed as many colours as a peacock's tail. The eyelashes were quite scary, and she was wearing enough perfume to strip paint. The cropped leopard skin trousers seemed to squeeze lots of excess flesh into her thighs, and the lower shins were heavily mottled by too much exposure to an electric fire. Precariously heeled ankle boots rounded off the haute couture of a woman fighting the ravages of time and whatever else contributed to her sallow complexion.

"This is the third time your lot have pestered me, and without any explanation of why. This is the last time I'm putting up with it. Ask me everything now because I'm not coming back here, and I don't want the neighbours poking their noses into my business, so don't ring my doorbell again. I won't answer. But first I want to hear what this is all about, or I'm keeping my trap shut. Have you got the message pet?"

"I understand Lena, let's start again. You might have seen a TV appeal about a missing boy. We're pursuing every angle we can and lots of questions have to be asked of lots of people. We're desperate to enlist any help we can get. We want to find him before something awful befalls him, he's only six years old."

"Well, why on earth didn't you say so love, if there's a little nipper gone missing, I'll help as much as I can."

"Thank you Lena. It's all really about Edward Mitchell. He couldn't be personally involved if he died some years ago, but we have to check out any person who may have known the family concerned, even if it was in the distant past. I need to speak to Edward's wife, or ex-wife, or widow, whatever she is. Do you know where she lives now?"

"Not exactly, but it was somewhere in the Cramlington or Bedlington area. A bungalow I think. They used to have a swanky house but had to sell it to get the money for the court case against...oh, so that's what this is about. The whole case bankrupted Ted. Do you think she had something to do with this missing boy?"

"We can't discuss details of ongoing investigations Lena, but there's one more thing I'd like to ask you before showing you a photograph, and then we can take a statement from you, it's just routine."

"Fair enough, if I can help."

"Did Edward have any brothers?"

"Not as far as I know, at least he never mentioned any. He had a sister, but she lives in New Zealand now. I got sick of hearing about her, you know the type. You could use her crap for toothpaste according to Edward."

"Right, well then do you recognise this man?"

"Is this a joke? I'm a bit dozy these days, but I'll never forget the wanker who conned me when I took him in. That's our Ted, where was this taken, not at her place was it?"

"No. Well that's been very helpful, and after putting this in your statement we'll get you back home, and I don't think we'll need to bother you again. I'm really grateful Lena."

*

Gladstone rang the doorbell. Tom was surprised to see him, and kept him on the doorstep. "Hello Tom, I suppose Olivia has told you about the fire?"

"No."

"Oh, so presumably she forgot, and I get the feeling she hasn't mentioned offering me a bed for the night, until I get myself sorted out."

Tom couldn't help replaying the scene where Prentice had made the allegation that his wife was in fact Gladstone's daughter. The pleasant feeling of being able to jettison Peter Radford as some kind of obligatory father-in-law had worn off. Gladstone was an unknown quantity, and held sway over Olivia in a professional sense. His gut instinct put the guy in the creepy category, and Tom was still his impulsive self.

"I don't think that's a good idea. By the way, what is it I'm supposed to call you now? Ian, Sir Ian, or Dad? How come you ain't never told her? Some father you turned out to be. At least Peter ain't never let her down, he's pissed me off some of the time, but then who hasn't? I don't think you and I are going to become bosom buddies, and if you don't mind, I don't want to pretend to like Olivia's baggage anymore. Why don't you get yourself a decent hotel? You can't be short of the readies."

Gladstone held up his hand in a gesture of acceptance, even though he felt like lecturing this uncouth freeloader. Tom was intensely annoyed that he hadn't been consulted on this, and he only just realised that maybe Olivia hadn't told him that she knew. He wasn't bothered unduly. 'What the hell, I'm going to be out of here pretty soon, I ain't gonna lose sleep over these morons.'

Tom didn't even invite Gladstone to call a cab from the inner hall, out of the grip of the horrendous drifting sleet.

*

The next afternoon, Jones was characteristically punctual for his appointment with Philip Morrison. The anaesthetist apologised that he had an unscheduled emergency, being prepared for surgery. "I can spare ten minutes, no more. Sorry about this, it happens."

"Ok, let's check the picture and I'll get out of your hair."

Morrison's brow furrowed. "Well, I remember this guy with more hair, maybe a wee bit heavier, and with a pathetic attempt at a beard, but this is Edward Mitchell. I'm pretty sure he didn't have this earring when I knew him. Is that it then?"

"I thought you might be able to shed some light on a documented allegation that you were prepared to give evidence that Ian Gladstone tried to cover up the 'incident' involving you and Olivia Radford-Wickham, when young James Mitchell lost his life."

"Maybe another time Inspector. I was threatened. It was put to me that I shouldn't spend too much time worrying about losing my job, it would be a lot worse than that. Anyway, I don't want to get worked up about this again just before a procedure, you'll have to excuse me."

Jones thanked Morrison, and said he'd be in touch. He called Prentice on his way back to the airport and confirmed that their prime suspect was a dead man.

"Bugger," said Prentice, "Martha has just told me the fancy woman Mitchell was living with has also said it's him in the still picture from Hamsterley Mill. We've pulled out an address for Mitchell's wife. I'm heading up there now. See you when you get back."

*

It took a while to find a boat which Kieron liked, and which allowed dogs on board. The nice man was becoming more relaxed with the boy in public, but had to keep reminding him to put his shades back on. The showing of the national appeal the previous night served to re-emphasise this instruction, it just had to be constantly repeated. The simplicity of the appeal omitting the appearance of either of the parents threw him at first, but fitted with the statement that the boy was merely missing. He knew that the police knew that he knew that they knew that the boy had been taken. Kieron was amazed at the activity on the water. It didn't spook him like being surrounded by a group of talking people. The different colour patterns and written names intrigued him. The criss-crossing of the wash left in their wake was strangely soothing, and the gentle rolling of the one they were in added to the mystique.

"Where are the boats going? I want to tell Mickey."

"They all go to different places, ours stops at a place where we can get off and then go to the Tower of London. It's a prison where some of the people were tortured to reveal secrets. Others were executed. It's a spooky place, do you want to see it?"

"What is executed?"

"It means the people were killed."

"Will Mickey be frightened?"

"Mickey can't go. We'll look at it and go tomorrow if you like it. Then we have to go back home to our house with all of your computer stuff and puzzles."

As they stood by the Tower, Kieron was asked to take off his sunshades for a photo. Mickey wasn't allowed to be in the picture. The nice man asked if Mickey was still Kieron's best friend.

"Yes, am I his best friend?"

"Definitely. You see, dogs only have one best friend, not like people. It's very important that Mickey knows he's your best friend, because that makes him happy. I wonder why Daddy didn't come today for the boat ride. Maybe you're not his best friend now. I'm beginning to get angry with him again, we've given him lots of chances."

# Chapter 24

"Cartwright here." The tenor of his voice indicated discomfort.

Prentice guessed what it was about and closed his office door. "Go ahead."

"The 'unknown' DNA we don't have and haven't tested points to the mitochondrial source of Olivia's mother. I'm very troubled by the morality of this DCI Prentice, and I am now going to discard both the sample and the result. It never happened and you can't make use of this information as evidence in your official investigation. I take it you're clear on that?"

"Sure, as I said, it merely confirms something I already suspected. I could have upset a lot of people by openly asking about this. Now I don't have to, it's damage limitation. Thanks for trusting me."

"Fine. Now to other results. The car has thrown up quite a few hours of laborious head-scratching, because there were so many different prints and DNA profiles. So, all we can concentrate upon at present are ones for which we have matches. The wristband does marry up to the one in the stun gun package, and the same applies for those on the hand grip. The same two people whose prints and DNA were found on the tablet and in the package were in that car, one of whom was Kieron. We can be sure of that as we have a control sample for him, provided by his hairbrush. The other data will be kept on file to compare with other samples related to this case in future."

"Great. This really helps, and may open up a new line of thought. Thanks Cartwright."

*

Olivia arrived home. "Tom, I'm just about ready to explode, but then I'm not you am I? What was your problem with letting Ian Gladstone stay over for one night?"

"I don't know, he gives me the shits, and that was before we knew he's your pater. Perhaps I thought he could be mixed up in Kieron's disappearance, being our son's biological grandfather. I don't know, he unsettles me. Do you buy into this stuff with his house? Maybe that's his way of retiring and evaporating in a puff of smoke. He could have started the bloody fire himself. Why are you so pissed about this anyway?"

"Why am I outraged? This is my house, and will be mine alone when you slink off to London. Gladstone is still my boss, for maybe another couple of weeks, and you've deliberately tried to derail my chances of succeeding him haven't you? Why don't you leave now? You've never been able to face up to bad things Tom, and you aren't doing anything to help find Kieron in a practical sense. Neither of us are, but you can't handle being a eunuch, so you react by causing trouble for everyone else. I'm making you a solemn promise. I've always said that I'd never rest until I'd found a way to fix our son's affliction, and I do it by research and being in a position to take advantage of it as a surgeon. Getting Gladstone's job puts me closer to that objective, it opens doors. You're too bloody thick to see that, always bleating on about the sacrifice you make for him. That's the difference, I understand your sacrifice, but you don't reciprocate. You won't get custody, but I'd never try to stop you having access, even though you're such an arsehole. He loves you Tom, he merely likes me, and that hurts. Go, and help your brother to give Ernie a proper send off."

For once, Tom's mouth stayed in neutral. "Maybe I should do exactly that, I'm bloody well dreading it."

*

Prentice and Martha entered a quiet cul-de-sac in Bedlington. It was a leafy, well-kept estate, in contrast to the abode in which Edward Mitchell had apparently spent his final days. They introduced themselves and entered. They declined a cup of tea and confirmed that Angela Mitchell was the estranged wife or widow of Edward.

"This must sound strange to you Mrs Mitchell, but we have a picture of someone resembling your husband, which was taken recently. We've seen the death certificate, so we're just as confused as you must be. Can you take a look at it for us please?"

"It sounds a bit far-fetched but let me see it."

Martha handed it over, and Angela immediately burst into tears. "I can't believe it, where is this place and when was the picture taken?"

"A few days ago," said Prentice, "somewhere over the other side of the river Tyne. I take it you believe this could be Edward?"

"I could have, yes. But I saw him in his coffin. I touched him, he was so cold. And he had lost so much weight. That cow mustn't have fed him at all. Mind you, I couldn't believe he hanged himself, he would never do that. The police took no notice of me when I told them that suicide just wasn't in his nature. They said he might have become totally depressed about our James' death. Well of course he was, from the day it happened and for years afterwards. But he was an obstinate man, fighting this malpractice case, but even though we ended up broke, he never gave up. It's hard to explain, but it was that obsession which kept him going. I made the mistake of saying we had to move on, suggesting that we should have another child, and he thought that was betrayal. He left me."

Angela had a second flush of tears. The detectives looked at each other, recalling that Lena Wells said his wife had thrown him out.

Martha asked her the same question she'd asked Lena Wells. "Did Edward have any siblings?"

"Just Evelyn, she's in Australia...no, New Zealand, she has been since she got married."

Prentice thanked her and they got up to leave when he turned and said, "You mentioned that Edward looked so thin in his coffin, did he still have his earring."

"Earring? No. He hated stuff like that, he thought jewellery was just for girls."

"Ok, thanks again Mrs Mitchell."

"What will happen now Inspector? I mean I'm so confused. That's him in the picture, but it can't be. It's very upsetting, I thought I'd put all this behind me."

Prentice took a deep breath. "I don't know, my hands are tied really. Normally, I would ask for his body to be exhumed, because a lot of other people agree with you that it is Edward in the photo. The authorities would refuse permission unless someone such as yourself agreed to it, without coercion. Did you divorce Edward?"

"No, we were still legally married when he died, yes I'm his widow, not that tart who got her claws into him. But I don't like the idea of disturbing his grave. Do you really think he could be alive? No he can't be, I saw his body."

"Only tests such as dental records would prove this one way or another. I don't want to cause you distress Angela. Why don't you think about it? You can always contact me if you wanted to do this for peace of mind."

She waved them goodbye and Martha said, "The earring?"

"Well, it bothers me Martha, we can't see it on the still, and she says it wasn't on the body, but Derek Wallace swears the attacker wore an earring."

"Yeah, I was just asking, that's bothered me as well."

*

Olivia seemed to have been successful in persuading Tom to spend at least a few days in London, or to put it another way, get out of her face. She looked around the empty house and contemplated when all this doom and gloom was going to end. The doorbell rang. A cheerful courier driver asked her to sign for a small parcel. She shuddered at the prospect of another blow to her prayers that her son would be found unharmed. She debated whether opening it was the right thing to do, or if she should hand it straight to the police. She couldn't resist this time. Unlike the package addressed to her in the hospital, this was to her address. It was also worryingly lightweight. She closed her eyes and recklessly tore the damned thing open. Sinking to her knees, she welled up and shrieked loudly, with mixed emotions of relief and horror.

There was nothing in the parcel but padding and a photograph. The good news was that the date and time of the snap appeared in the corner, it was taken the previous day. The harrowing aspect was Kieron's dress, and his facial expression of joy. He wasn't capable of faking it. She thought he was actually radiating pleasure. Could he have forgotten her? There was no legend or message amongst the contents. She rushed out of the house and went in search of Prentice.

# Chapter 25

Jones was trying to ferret out information which could narrow down the number of people who could have the knowledge and access to the internal mail system for the hospital, whether they were staff or outside service personnel. When he heard from Prentice that Angela Mitchell may consider giving permission for an exhumation he felt his rigid approach to the use of evidence might yet be vindicated. "Can you get back to the station Jonesy? Olivia has had another parcel, this one was delivered to her house. It's a photo of Kieron, taken yesterday. The obvious reaction is to jump to the conclusion that it has to be from the same person, the stun gun delivery man. Forensics will tell us that, but we checked with the courier company, and it was picked up from the London office. It's a new slant, and there's nothing else in the parcel, still no demand."

"I'll be right there boss." As he got into his car, he allowed his mind to accept the sender was likely to be the same one, and whether it might actually help in finding the hospital parcel delivery man. That, if it could be established, would shake the tree quite vigorously. Perhaps even dislodge an entire branch. He speeded up and used his blue flashing light.

*

They were on their way back to Newcastle and Kieron surprisingly asked about his mother. "Can Mummy see Mickey?"

"That could be difficult, as you know, she's always at work. I thought you told me that Mummy and Daddy didn't like the idea of you having a puppy."

"Yes. Not in the house."

"Well, we can't take a dog into the hospital Kieron. So, how will we do it?"

"I don't know."

"What if you send her a photo of Mickey, and ask her if she wants to meet you and him somewhere. You know, not the house and not the hospital. Would you like that?"

"Yes, groovy, ha-ha. I want a drink."

"Ok, we can stop in a few minutes. Put on your funny hat and sunshades, we don't want anybody to know who we are. I'll put on my stupid wig."

*

A breathless Jones entered the office, joining his boss and Olivia. He was given the chance to look at the photograph of Kieron outside the Tower. "And there was nothing else in the parcel, I understand?"

"That's right," said Olivia, "just crumpled padding."

"Do you still have this padding?"

"No, well yes, I mean I put it in the trash can, so it should still be at the house. Why?"

"It may have prints or other stuff. I wouldn't send something in a box if an envelope would do the job, unless there was a good reason. I think we should bring it to forensics, in an evidence pouch."

"He's right Olivia," added Prentice, "now then, I'll get our London people on to the courier depot to see if anyone can remember the person who dropped this off or if they have their signature. In the meantime, we have to consider what the photo is intended to achieve. Kieron looks 'as happy as Larry' and obviously hasn't been harmed physically. I don't know exactly how to say this. He may have been subject to other kinds of unpleasantness, and I'm only saying it because we can't rule it out."

"Oh God. No, I don't even want to think about that."

Jones chimed in again. "We need that padding Olivia, like pronto. Can you go with Martha and let her bag it. We'll do the rest."

"Yes, of course, where is she?"

"One thing before Martha comes in Olivia," said Prentice, wanting Jones to observe the body language, being the only person other than Cartwright to know of the illegal DNA test, "I wanted to ask if you had spoken to your mother again about Gladstone. I can imagine you don't want to talk about it, but we have to find a connection to this parcel man, and it could be someone close at hand. It's Gladstone that needs to be eliminated, and that this filial surprise is nothing more than that, a surprise."

"She's pushing all of my questions away, but I know my Mum very well, we've always been close. And I've done some homework. I'd never had reason to do the maths before, but Peter was away on tour with the Royal Navy for thirteen months during which I was conceived and born. He can't be my father, and Mum's a poor liar. I intend to confront Gladstone when I get the chance, did you hear that his house burned down?"

Prentice and Jones looked at one another as if they'd missed the boat. Martha arrived and said she'd drive Olivia to Hamsterley Mill.

*

Out of the blue, Prentice had an important visitor. He invited Angela Mitchell to sit and beckoned Jones. He asked what he could do for her. "I've thought about what you said, and I have a question."

"Is it about exhumation? If that is the case, I can perfectly understand..."

"It is, but indirectly. When you mentioned that other people had said that picture was indeed Edward, I didn't think about it then, but now I realise that they might not have known he was already dead when it was taken. I think it was that, and me having touched him in his coffin which confused me. It seemed like one of these tricks magicians perform. You know it's a trick, but your eyes tell you it can't be. I tried several times to convince Edward he should move on, long before he killed himself, and now it's me that needs closure. I want everybody to know he wasn't involved in any wrongdoing, his name shouldn't be blemished posthumously. Then I began to reflect on our little boy again, and Edward's dedication to get justice for him. I pleaded with him to withdraw the case to prove malpractice, and now he's being investigated after he took his own life, I realise it wasn't justice solely for James, but to prevent anything like that happening again. I want to clear my conscience, you have my agreement for the exhumation."

"Thank you Mrs Mitchell. I'll resurrect the request and get back to you. Thank you again."

When they were alone, Jones said, "I want to look into Mitchell's suicide."

"Hold on Jonesy, I don't want to screw up this gift horse, and it was your insistence that we should dig up Mitchell. Wait until we have approval for that before you rock the boat. By the way, you never said what you thought about Olivia's admission that Gladstone was stiffing her mother while Peter was doing the hornpipe. I think we were both blown off course by hearing that Count Dracula's house went up in smoke, and was possibly even torched."

"Mmm, I think she had anticipated your question about her mother, and prepared her answer for whenever you did ask. Who knows? I still believe that until we have a valid connection, the black secret of her parentage is nothing more than a distraction. The same may be true of Gladstone's house going up in flames, however I do wonder if the contents of his computer, and any files which weren't at the hospital would have been a fascinating read."

"Yeah, I think we should speak to him, you can ask him to come to the station to help us. We haven't given him a chance to deny the alleged cover up of the James Mitchell blunder. I don't mean right now, let's give him a bit more rope."

*

Tom had taken the train, he'd suddenly realised that without Olivia's financial support he'd have to be more frugal, especially as he had promised Michael that he would pay for the funeral. True to character, he began to wonder if he had burned his bridges too soon. A text came through from his wife. 'Just to keep you in the loop. I received a parcel which contained a photograph of Kieron, dated yesterday. He looks happy, no demand. The police have it now. Call me when you can. They now think there might be a reason as to why there hasn't been any ransom demand. I'm really worried.'

His mind raced over and over about any possible new reason the police could have with respect to the lack of any demand for the return of Kieron. Then it hit him like a thunderbolt. He didn't call Olivia, he went straight back to the station and headed north again. He was raging inside, unable to think of anyone who would groom his son, or for that matter, how it could have happened.

# Chapter 26

Back in his technology room, Kieron was giggling again, Mickey was jumping on and off the bed whenever he pointed to it. The nice man was shouting at someone. The boy was disturbed by this and lifted Mickey on to his knee, hugging him tightly. He heard footsteps approaching his room, more than one person. He looked up at the tiny window, there was no escape. He cowered in the corner below the window, whispering into Mickey's ear. The door opened and it wasn't the nice man. Kieron couldn't make sense of this. He'd been promised that the nasty man wouldn't come back. Suddenly the nice man appeared behind the nasty man. But why was the nasty man wearing a skirt? They were still shouting at each other, and Kieron began to cry, his chest heaving with fear.

"What the hell were you thinking George? A puppy, a stupid puppy. We have to get rid of it."

"No way, he likes the dog, we have to keep on plan, he needs to feel safe, and they have to know he's happy and well. Just tell me if he fell for it, the puppy isn't up for discussion anymore."

"We're either doing this together or not at all, going off half-cocked isn't in the plan."

"Ok, sorry. But let's just forget the puppy for now. How did he react?"

"I'm not sure, not too bad I suppose, I don't think we'll have long to wait."

Everything became calm once more, as the voices trailed back up the stairs. Kieron kept his eyes on the window and caught sight of the skirt passing by. The nice man came back with some jelly babies. "I'm sorry Kieron, I tried not to let the nasty man come down here. It won't happen again. Should we let Mickey have a jelly baby?"

"Mickey is scared."

"Well in that case we should give him two jelly babies."

The cheeky smile returned and Kieron jumped down from the bed to choose which colour sweets he wanted for Mickey.

*

Olivia spotted the padding amongst the refuse. Using gloves, Martha lifted it carefully on to the kitchen bench. It appeared to be nothing more than crumpled heavyweight paper, about five times the thickness of writing paper. She unfurled it delicately and it was blank, until she turned it over. In bold capitals the message read – 'KIERON SENDS HIS LOVE TO MUMMY. HE FEELS LET DOWN BY HIS FATHER.'

The two women stared at the neat legend and then one another. They were baffled by the second sentence. Why would the boy be upset with his dad? Was this just a lie, part of the sender's sick game? Martha shrugged her shoulders, but Olivia couldn't help linking this to the last thing DCI Prentice said to her, an inference that there could be an alternative reason for the absence of any demand from the abductor. Martha suggested that they get the padding to forensics immediately. Although she was plainly deeply troubled, Olivia agreed.

*

Prentice entered the throne room for the second time in a matter of days. Previously, he'd not been there twice in two years. "Please hear me out sir. Since I asked for the exhumation of Edward Mitchell, things have moved on. We now have seven individuals who've identified the man in this still as Mitchell. One of these was the man who described the assailant of Peter Radford, and subsequently picked out Mitchell from a gallery of men with roughly similar appearance. Another one of the seven is the wife or widow of Mitchell, and she wants to clear his name of any involvement in the attack on Radford. She has requested that this be settled once and for all. There was no coercion of any kind. She is waiting outside, if you'd like to speak with her."

"I still don't like it Prentice, but bring her in, let me speak to her alone."

Prentice sat in the 'antechamber' for more than thirty minutes while Angela was given the full ramifications which could result from disturbing her ex-husband's grave, whichever way the 'cookie' crumbled. She hesitated, mulling this over for the umpteenth time. "If I don't do this I'll always wonder. That's not fair to Edward. Thank you for bringing all of the potential repercussions to my attention, some of them I hadn't even been aware of, nevertheless I'd like to get this horrible business out of my mind. Can we proceed please?"

"I'll make the call, and then DCI Prentice will inform you of what happens next."

She was unsteady on her feet as she left the inner sanctum and Prentice feared that his boss had talked her out of it. "Everything considered, Mrs Mitchell, I do believe you're doing the right thing. We'll speak again soon. I need to have a quick word with his lordship then we can go."

They discussed the timescale while Angela paced the floor of the antechamber. Prentice appeared again and merely said, "Let's get you home. Thanks for your patience."

*

When he got back to the station Prentice was immediately informed that Jones was speaking to Ian Gladstone in his office. He grabbed a quick coffee and joined them. As might be expected Gladstone was first to speak. "I've just made it clear to DI Jones that this isn't exactly the most convenient time for me to exchange pleasantries with you people, especially as the fire service believe my house was the target of an arsonist. Presumably a different branch of the police have been charged with investigating this possibility, but so far seem to be running around in circles. I'm without a roof over my head and I need the insurance company to get off their posterior and decide what to do. They of course are blaming your cousins for indecisiveness, and so are the fire service. If this hadn't been the situation I'd have declined to this chinwag. Are you able to influence this lock-jam?"

Prentice looked at Jones, trying to read what might have been said already and was relieved to hear that Jones had advised waiting until he arrived.

"If there is no doubt that arson can be proven then we may actually be called into your situation. I suppose it would depend on whether there was a credible motive for someone starting the fire, and one which connects to this business at the hospital. If it did we would certainly get on to it. Anyway, first things first, if you remember we weren't sure whether or not you had ever told Olivia of her true parentage. You suggested that we ask her. So we did, and she was quite shocked, disbelieving that it could be true at first, but being a medical person, she accepted that we had DNA to prove it. Now, I'd like you to answer this truthfully please, have you talked with her about it since I made you aware of our evidence?"

"No, certainly not. I've been expecting her to challenge me about it since you first hit me with it, and I think she will, but not so far. Why on earth would I want to lay this bare after I've spent a lifetime suppressing it? I took a back seat on someone else's behalf. It hasn't been easy. I could never have imagined she would end up being a surgeon. Oh, I see where we're going with this. She earned her first chance at our hospital on her own. I wasn't involved in the selection process, in fact at the time, I didn't want her to get the job. I could see problems ahead but they didn't materialise, until now. I take some comfort that you've told me that she knows, because she immediately offered me a bed after the fire, but her chameleon of a husband wouldn't let me in, ergo I'm a hotel dweller."

"What about your succession?"

"Ah, that. For precisely the same reason that I didn't interfere with her appointment, I won't have more than one vote on that. I'm supposed to make some recommendation on whether we need to recruit externally as well as assessing internal candidates. I have recommended that we do. This doesn't mean that she won't get the post, but if she does, it'll be because she beat the best out there. It won't be because of a biological bias."

Prentice had primed Jones to bring up his meeting with the anaesthetist, Philip Morrison, after hitting him with the Pauline Radford situation.

"Thank you for being so candid. I should reciprocate, we believe that Olivia was conceived and born during Peter Radford's absence, she is convinced that Pauline is her biological mother. As police we have to look at motive as one strand of an investigation. Did Peter know of this arrangement?"

"It really is none of your business but I suspect you will find out anyway. Yes, Peter Radford knows, and did from the birth. He accepted that it was a mistake on the part of his wife, and he also realised that I was ambitious, in fact not ready for family life. He insisted that he would adopt her and that's what happened. Actually, as unlikely as it may seem, we have become friends, not really close, but friends nonetheless."

"Mr Gladstone," said Jones, "I had an interesting chat with Philip Morrison, and amongst other things he helped us in our efforts to identify Peter Radford's attacker."

"Oh God, not that again. It's done, dusted, put to bed, almost a fossil now."

Prentice cut in, "So, there was no case to answer?"

"I'm not going to be drawn into that debate again."

Jones took the baton. "A debate, so there was some doubt about it?"

Before Gladstone could reply Prentice tried to unsettle him. "Like the previous possible link between Olivia's adoptive father and him being targeted, we have to explore anything else under that umbrella, in this instance, a distant motive for hurting her. I thought you'd appreciate that, being her natural father."

"No comment. My turn, are you going to help me with these plods on my case? Because they literally are getting on my case!"

He stood up, glared at Prentice, ignoring Jones, and walked out. Jones offered a snap judgement. "I don't like this guy, but I must say, he's either a bloody good liar, or rock solid under pressure. Or maybe that is his genuine charm offensive."

# Chapter 27

When Martha threw the bagged padding on to his desk with the message in view, both Prentice and Jones appeared to have been struck dumb.

Olivia ventured a question. "Does this fit with your concern that Kieron is receiving gifts in exchange for something grotesque?"

All three detectives looked at her in astonishment. Jones broke ranks. "It seems there's been a misunderstanding Olivia, we thought that the photo of Kieron at the Tower of London was reinforcement of the abductor's intention to keep him. Not for a while, forever. If you take your mind back, DCI Prentice has always sensed that this person has a score to settle with you. It isn't often a kidnapper gets in touch with the police, it's almost always the family. This person is allowing us to take part in this preamble, even leaving clues to their identity and location. If a ransom was going to make an appearance it would be through you and Tom. This taunting isn't typical of paedophiles either, the last thing they want is to be identified. What we don't have experience to draw on is the taking of a child followed by bulletins of reassurance. It's my guess that this will stop. There's some strange reason for this behaviour and particularly, that although we initially were sure you were the target, it's now Tom that has 'let Kieron down.' I know it's hard to get inside the head of sick people such as this. But, if I'm right, and the bulletins cease, it could indicate that they believe they've got away with it. They are hiding in plain sight, and they will make a mistake. We have to be ready for that."

Olivia nodded as if she got all that, thinking it made eminent sense out of the disconnected events. She said she was going to see her mother.

Prentice glared at Jones. "What was all that old pony? Wait, let me finish, I actually agree with you, but where the hell does this join up with your altar of facts and elimination?"

"No, no, no boss, I also said the middle ground was for the unconfirmed, the circumstantial, and the educated hunches. It's called profiling in the police bible. We have to ask the questions even if they don't have answers yet. Example, why go to London to send the photo? Why send love to one parent and give a reprimand to the other? It's classic disassociation training. This bastard won't feel safe until the kid doesn't give a shit about his parents, and that will take some time. He wants to **be** the boy's dad, and there will be a mother somewhere in the plan. We have to proceed with establishing the facts, such as whether it is Mitchell in the box, and whether it is the same person responsible for both the stun gun package and this photo? Asking who, doesn't disqualify knowing why. I never said speculation was a waste of time, it can help, but only if we can connect it to something we know is relevant. I'm ready to engage with this guy's personality, and look into Mitchell's suicide, simply because they will either yield facts or they won't."

Martha said she needed a drink. Prentice glanced at Jones' evidence board and wrote 'surrogate parents' in the very centre of the board. Then he turned to his Detective Inspector and said, "It's the fatality of twelve years ago isn't it? That's what you're getting at."

"Yes sir, there's nothing that we **know** that disqualifies that as a motive, unlike other hunches we've discussed. However, we should just plough on and keep an open mind. I don't want to get trapped in that dubious quotation – 'Once you have eliminated the impossible, whatever is left must be the truth.' This is a fluid crime, it's still evolving."

Jones disappeared to find Martha just as Prentice took a call. "Yes sir."

"You've got your wish, it is set for the second of January. Keep it as low in profile as possible. I want him out of the ground and into forensics before anybody can alert the vampires of promoting public interest, in their tabloids."

*

"So, let me get this right, you're going to call her with an invitation to meet, with the boy. But you aren't going to take the boy with you. So, what's the point?"

"To raise expectations, she needs to see me, to hear that I care. To feel that his future is not going to be with her, if he's to have a future. We've been nice to them, but they can't be allowed to think I'm just on vacation with him. We need time for them to figure this out. Then we leave for good, but not before. They have to be convinced beyond any doubt, not just reasonable doubt."

*

When Prentice called to let Angela know of the planned exhumation, she said she didn't want to be at the cemetery, nor the forensics lab. She would wait patiently at home. "I'm dreading the news whichever way it turns out, but it will be better than not knowing. Thank you Inspector, I have one request. Please don't let that floosy know about this."

"Don't worry on that score Mrs Mitchell, only those who need to know, will know. You'd be well advised to keep this to yourself, in fact I rang specifically to ask you to tell no one."

He thought he heard her crying as the line disconnected.

*

Tom jumped off the train, grabbed a taxi and then called Olivia. "I came back, I'll be at home in fifteen minutes."

"Why?" The exasperation was evident.

"What? Why? Because they think some fucking pervert has our son. Are you drunk or something?"

"Tom, I said they thought it was a possibility, amongst others. It was a text, an update not a hundred page thesis. Anyway, they have a different take on it now."

"What a bunch of arseheads. Look, after I get home, I'm going to see this Wallace guy, he's the only one who's spoken to Mitchell, or whoever it is impersonating him, if he really has turned into human fertiliser. These keystone cops are never gonna get him. Why don't you help me instead of listening to them, they're gobshites, the lot of them. The search has been cut back again and the posters they circulated are blowing round like tumbleweed. They weren't capable of sticking them up properly, we're just being handled while the odds of finding Kieron are draining away. Are you with me?"

"No I'm not Tom. I don't blame you for getting wound up, but I want to contribute to finding our son by thinking rather than kicking out at those who are the only ones with the resources to nail this guy. I'll have to go, I've just had a text. Christ! It's him, it's about the message on the padding. Hurry up Tom. Got to speak to Prentice."

"Olivia, Olivia, shit." Tom shouted at the driver. "Can you switch to Newcastle Police Station and put your foot down mate? It's really important. Come on man, you'll earn a decent tip."

*

Two Months Earlier

"We're almost ready to go. You aren't having second thoughts are you?"

"No, but I'm still nervous."

"We've been over it again and again. The Xmas Dinner is the perfect opportunity. They'll both be there, probably pissed out of their skulls, and then we get rid of 'grandpa babysitter' now that we know that he and his wife have been booked. I'll make the call, and the grandmother will be left with the kid. She'll be no problem, she's got dementia. She won't even know what a stun gun looks like. Don't worry, it's just to make her compliant, I'm not going to use it on her. That fate awaits grandpa. What? I've told you it's just to knock him on the head. For Christ's sake that's why it called a frigging stun gun. All you have to do is follow me to the house and when I give the signal that I've told him his daughter is in critical condition, you come up the street, ready to take the boy home. Once you have him in the car, I follow grandpa over to the hospital and make sure that he hears that his daughter isn't there, it's a hoax. I knock him out when he returns to his car, making sure that I'm seen. We keep our phones on, so we're flexible, and can react to surprises. We can easily pull this off."

"You're more confident than I am George."

# Chapter 28

The air was thick with apprehension. The three detectives read Olivia's text several times. 'Hope you liked the photo at the Tower, he's such a lovely boy. We could meet, but only briefly. Kieron won't come to any harm if you don't do anything stupid. This is a test of your trustworthiness, please do not screw it up. I'll be in touch.'

Tom burst into the office and was shown the text. "My God Olivia, what the hell are you thinking? He's telling you not to work with the police, let's get out of here, now."

"Shut up and sit down Tom," commanded Olivia, "you need to know about the content of the previous communication on the padding, sent with the photograph. I threw it out, and would never have known of its existence had it not been for the police. It said - 'Kieron sends his love to Mummy. He feels let down by his father.' I didn't want to tell you this over the phone because I don't believe it's true. This man wants to find our weaknesses, he seems to know a hell of a lot about us. This is intended to provoke you into doing something stupid, and you're straining at the leash to fall into the trap. We have to keep our heads. You can't see that can you? Why the hell didn't you stay in London?"

Tom was devastated by the thought that his son might feel that he hadn't done enough to rescue him. His eyes filled up, and his voice became unsteady. "Ok, you lot can mess about here, I'll do what I said Olivia. I want to speak with this Wallace guy. I want to do something positive and he's the only person to see this monster close up. Maybe if I talk with him he'll remember something he ain't told us. Inspector, can you give me his address?"

Prentice squirmed, trying to choose his words carefully. "He may not want to be involved any further, after all he did suffer quite a shock after speaking with the assailant."

"Yes, but it ain't against the law for me to ask him is it?"

"No, of course not, but if he doesn't want to engage in this, you have to respect his wishes."

"Fine, just give me his number and I'll call him now."

Olivia tried to dissuade him from any action which could prejudice the proposed meeting. "What else can Mr Wallace tell us Tom? He identified Mitchell in person and from the picture we saw ourselves, that's it. I think we should concentrate on keeping Mitchell happy, he could make contact again any minute and we need to be prepared."

"Bloody typical Olivia, I've never been any use at anything in my whole life, absolutely bugger all. Except taking care of that little boy. Someone who wasn't smarter than me, someone who relied on me completely. Someone I love more than I can find the words to express it to anybody who wants to listen. And what happens? Without even lifting a finger, you manage to usurp even that from me. He loves you, but feels I've let him down."

The awkward silence was brought to an end when Tom pushed his wife in the chest. She fell backwards over Martha and cracked her head on a radiator. Blood trickled from her temple as she lost consciousness.

The fracas caught the attention of those in the general office and someone alerted uniform. Martha immediately called for an ambulance while Prentice and Jones restrained an apologetic Tom. He was eventually led into a holding cell in handcuffs.

*

Jones was the first to start thinking on his feet again. "Olivia's phone indicates 'unknown number' but we can get on to the provider and see what they can do to trace it. She was at home when it was received. It's worth a try. Martha, you might know, what would happen if we just tried to reply to the text from Olivia's phone, as if we were her? Can we do that without even knowing the number? I get loads of texts like this from marketing companies, inviting me to reply."

"I guess it's worth a try, but shouldn't Olivia have to give her consent?"

"Yeah, and when will that be? She might not be able to go to this meeting now. And what do we do if we get instructions on her phone?"

Prentice said they had to take a breath and consider the possible consequences before they boxed themselves into a corner with this guy. Jones didn't take issue with this, and jumped tracks with another question. "When Tom said that maybe Wallace could remember something else, he had a point. He was indeed the only one to see and speak to the attacker, and mention the earring. The blow-up of the still footage is so grainy, and it was dark, with poor street lighting, so poor that our imaging boys can't possibly discriminate pixels from adornments as small as an earring. None of the others knew of Mitchell's accessory, so they wouldn't know in which ear he wore it. Wallace might. I feel a bit sorry for Tom. He's a hell of a drama queen but who wouldn't be if they'd been assimilated by the Radford clan. I'll give Wallace a call myself."

*

Twelve Years Earlier

"Edward, I know what you're proposing is well-intended, and I'm touched, but it won't bring James back. I need to grieve, you need to grieve, and we should be doing that together. This obsession of yours will end badly, it might even push us apart."

"I can't let go Angela, not yet. We had accepted that we were going to lose him, but they gave us fresh hope. The spat they had could well have caused the delay in responding to whatever triggered the concern. If another James was to become a guinea pig, what have they learned? Medical science has to move on just as you say we have to. That can't happen if the cause of failure is flushed down the toilet. Philip Morrison wants this can of worms to be investigated, and he's got a lot to lose by refusing to let the truth be buried. Try as I might, I can't let James down by shrinking away from a challenge which is dwarfed by his own courage. I can't erase the trust he had in us when we told him there was hope. Most adults would walk away from such a chance in a million, he believed us."

"I know all this, but that lawyer of ours worries me. He's not concerned with morality, he wants notoriety for himself and at our expense. We could end up penniless and he just drifts away."

"I can see the risk, believe me, but the deceit and hypocrisy is driving me mad, and the lawyer is certain we can force a wider inquiry with the help of Morrison. We deserve to know the truth Angela, even if we don't like it when we hear it. The same applies to Gladstone and that surgeon. It might save the life of some other poor kid. Don't you see that it isn't much different to organ donation? If James' death can save another's life by an open inquiry, he didn't die in vain."

"Yes, I do see. I still have misgivings but I'll support you as far as I can."

*

Derek Wallace was more than willing to help Jones. He, like the entire country, now knew that Kieron was missing. "Ok Derek, I just wanted to run over things again. Can you think back to the moment you noticed Peter Radford lying prone in the car park? Particularly the direction you took from the hospital entrance, the pay machine, where your car was, and other people or things you might have noticed."

"Ok. I came out of the main door and fiddled in me coat pocket for the parking ticket and the change, I'd put the money aside for the ticket, you see. The machine was straight ahead, but quite a walk, mind. Once I'd paid, I had to get me bearings again. I knew the car was somewhere over to the left, but I had to turn around and follow the path back the way I'd come, for about twenty-five yards. I turned right and saw me car. You know, the car park was pretty empty like, at that time of night. I didn't see the poor fella at first. Now, just a minute, there was a couple to the right, over the other side of the park, she was playing hell about something. I thought it must be the ticket machine, because one of them was faulty, it's been like that for a while. Anyway, as I walked to unlock me car I pressed the key a few yards before I reached it. I don't like these new-fangled gadgets. The lights flashed and I think it was that blinking of those lights that drew my attention to the man lying on the ground, aye, it must have been the lights. It was very dark that night. He was straight ahead of me. As I told you last time, I thought he had a leak or something. I asked if I could help and when there was no reply I walked over to him and saw the blood. I panicked and was pleased when that bloke and his bairn came by."

"Can I just stop you for a moment Derek? Could this 'bloke' have been the same one who was arguing at the other side of the car park?"

"I doubt it, like I said he had a bairn with him."

"I know, but try to forget the boy for a moment. What about his appearance? Was he the same sort of height, build, wearing the same kind of clothes, or anything else?"

"Well yes, I suppose so. He was bald, and tall, I can't say about the clothes and all that. Maybe it was him. Come to think about it, the bloke with the kid came out of nowhere. I didn't see anyone else in the car park as I walked to me car. And he came from behind, the direction of the couple who were having a tiff."

"This is very important Derek, and then I'll get out of your hair. On which side did the bloke with the boy wear this earring you mentioned? Think carefully before you say anything."

"I don't need to think son, it was dark and the stupid thing glittered in the car park lights. It was on me right, so it was in his left ear."

"Great memory you have Derek. I may need to see you again, is that ok?"

"Aye. No problem son."

# Chapter 29

The irony of Peter and Olivia both being patients in the same hospital was not lost on the staff involved in their treatment. Fortunately, the prized surgeon hadn't suffered serious injury. A couple of stitches to her temple and some precautionary tests would do. Concussion could make an appearance, in which case she was in a position to give herself advice.

Jones arrived. "Olivia, are you well enough to talk with me? Do you feel you can re-engage with the case yet?"

"Maybe, but before anyone gets ahead of themselves, I really don't want to press charges against Tom. He is right insofar as he doesn't get to do much other than look after a little boy with special needs. He has no male peers in his life. I get to save lives, Tom cleans up Kieron's mess. What he doesn't seem to take into account is that I lose lives as well, but I can't talk about it."

"I see, but he did what he did in front of a pretty wide audience, and at a police station of all places. We may charge him with affray, even if you pass. Anyway, I think DCI Prentice has a compromise in mind. Now, to the urgent question. You dropped your phone when you fell and I was on my way over here when another text came through. Are you sure you feel up to discussing it?"

"It's from him isn't it? It's about the meeting."

"Yes."

"Well, I don't want Tom anywhere near this, ok?"

"Sure. The sender wants to meet you tomorrow night. Now are you absolutely sure about this? You can stall him, and although that might be risky, so is having a blackout and failing to turn up."

He showed her the entire content. 'Tomorrow night, rather appropriate – New Year's Eve. On the quayside. I know what you look like and you know what I look like. There will be thousands of revellers, but I'll find you. Outside the Waterline pub, exactly five minutes before midnight. I know you have the sense to come without being wired up, surrounded by plain clothes cops, or trying any other stupid means of apprehending me. It's a one chance offer. Get it wrong and you'll never see your son again. Don't try to reply. This phone is already in the River Tyne.'

"I have to do this Inspector, and as he says, alone. I won't be talked out of it."

"In that case you need to speak with Prentice."

*

Back at the station there was disagreement. Prentice had to inform his boss if there was to be a massive operation to sanction, and then organise at such ridiculously short notice. The situation was littered with opportunities to make a disastrous mistake. Eventually, Martha was trying to put herself and the others exclusively in Olivia's shoes. "I would have made the same call as she has. Trying to take this guy alive, or even take him out will be near impossible amongst those crowds. We can't risk the kid's life with such long odds. This isn't the moment."

Jones was more circumspect. "I agree with most of that, but we still need a presence, just the three of us. Martha's right, this isn't the moment to attempt an arrest out of some forlorn sense of duty. What we can do is what every other person on the quayside will be doing, taking pictures, including selfies. This guy doesn't know what we look like, but we have him emblazoned in our minds. We each stay within ten yards of her, but hidden in the crowd. Just give her an alert to press in case he tries anything funny. Even if we pass him like ships in the night, we could get an accidental but lucky snap of him, remember he has said he'll approach her."

"And what does that achieve Jonesy?"

"I'd settle for a bloody earring in his left lobe, boss. Other than this very low risk suggestion, I endorse what Martha said."

"Fine, I can see a crumb of reason in what you've both said. I have to take the rap if something does go tits-up. I won't kick this any higher up the tree. Another stonking New Year's Eve then!"

*

They then had to deal with the thorny issue of Tom. He was brought to the office. "This is one of those sessions where I talk and you listen," threatened Prentice, "is that understood?"

"I'm really..."

"Yes or no?"

"Yes."

"Olivia doesn't want to press charges. I think she should. We can't ignore the fact that you caused potentially serious injury to your wife, in the presence of at least thirty police officers. They are witnesses. If I decide to follow your wife's example, it will be accompanied by an undertaking specified by both Olivia and myself. Are we ok so far?"

"Yes, yes."

"Keep a lid on it Tom, otherwise this is over already."

"Sorry."

"If I let you go, I will have you escorted to the airport and see you off to London. I'll arrest you if you return before I've cleared you to do so. That is the first requirement. The second is for when you do return. You need to see someone about this temper of yours. It's a condition of me forgetting what happened in this office. You have to sign up to that."

"You mean a shrink? No prizes for guessing whose idea that was. Olivia's answer to my problems always involves some deadbeat from the hospital. If I told her I was having trouble shitting through the eye of a needle, she would know just the person to coach me, from the hospital."

"It's yes or no time again."

"Ok, I suppose I'll get to see off my father after all."

*

Jones was doodling on a notepad. The call was unexpected. The switchboard informed him that a Mr Wallace insisted on speaking with him. He smiled and told the front desk to put him through. "Hello Derek, what can I do for you?"

"Hello detective. I don't want to be a nuisance, but after you left, I kept doing what you said. This time I waited until the wife was out, and I had a bit of peace. I closed me eyes and walked out of the hospital again and again. I couldn't for the life of me remember any more about what that bald man was wearing, but what I did remember was that you didn't ask me the same question about the woman. God knows how many times I imagined myself back there, but then it struck me. When I first saw them, you know before I actually heard them like, it looked like two blokes. It was only the voice which made me realise that the smaller one was a woman. It looked like they were going to have a punch-up at first, but I relaxed a bit when I heard her voice. Anyway, she had really short hair, like an American crew cut, spikey you know, and she was going grey. She had pants on, not jeans, like proper flannels, light coloured. I hope it's helpful, the wife says I'm a nosey bugger, I suppose she's right."

"You're a star Derek, take no notice of the Missus." Jones reflected on how useful this could be. It was beginning to look like this guy wasn't working alone. 'She' might even be involved in the New Year's Eve meeting.

*

Twelve Years Earlier

"I'm sorry Angela, I should have listened to you, this Philip Morrison didn't turn up at the hearing and I can't contact him, because they say he's left the hospital. The lawyer says the case is dead in the water."

"How much do we owe that parasite?"

"More than we have. We'll have to sell the house. I can't think of any other way to raise that much money."

"What about your sister in New Zealand? They're always telling us how wonderfully well they've done out there. I'm sure Evelyn would want to help if she knows we've put everything into exposing the truth about James' death. Last time they were over here she actually said she would like to support the campaign."

"Of course! Why the hell didn't I think of that? I've been so wound up that I forgot about Evelyn, that's a damned good idea, I'll give her a call. Don't misunderstand me Angela, I'm not regretting doing what we've done, it's just being let down by two people I trusted, and you warned me. I'm really sorry."

"Come on Edward, we have to stick together on things like this. What's done is done. No use crying over spilt milk, but let's not spill any more. We don't have any more."

# Chapter 30

New Year's Eve

The nerves were jangling. They each tried to conceal this from one another, a task that was made more difficult by the absence of others in the general office. It had become fashionable to celebrate the passing from one year to the next by taking a short break abroad. There were lots of uniformed staff buzzing about, but they were continually in and out, dealing with those who couldn't quite wait until the mass celebration fired up. The skeleton staff in CID were simply going through the motions of being gainfully employed, a bit of filing, deleting unwanted stuff from their workstations, consuming endless cups of coffee.

Prentice turned away from the window, shuddering at the sight of gritting vehicles spraying salt on to pedestrians as well as the intended roads. The overnight frost glittered stubbornly in those pockets which were missed by the trucks. "Another year, and for a change I did have plans. Kilimanjaro, cancelled at the eleventh hour, so close to the twelfth. I can't get my money back either."

"You kept that quiet boss," said Jones, "I didn't have you down as a masochist. Do you think you'd have made it?"

"Maybe not, who knows? A friend talked me into giving it a shot. You know, a different perspective on who you are and why. I took a bit of persuading. It wasn't so much that I needed that 'find myself' crap, I know what I am, and I just liked the idea of getting out of the sewer for a few days. Instead, I'm back in the deepest part of it."

"Was this friend a woman by any chance, sir?" asked Martha, "sorry, that's none of my business. I'm a bit jumpy, that's all."

"It's ok Martha, it was actually an old school teacher of mine. We've sort of kept in touch through reunions. He always saw something in me that others didn't. He's still going off to climb his mountain again of course, his fourth time apparently. He's obviously a lot older than me, and I thought if he could do it then I should give it a go. I explained to him that something really urgent had cropped up, and he understood, making me promise to go next year."

Jones hadn't seen this side of his boss before. "I've had a similar 'epiphany.' My girlfriend has dumped me. It's quite a relief, but it still made me wonder why she thought she could change me. I was always a boring, pedantic Wally. So what's the big deal? She thinks this job is like working in a mobile phone shop. If there's a problem with a phone at the end of your shift, you just chuck it to someone else and piss off to the pub. Because this kid's invisible to my 'ex' she thinks I also have to be blind."

Prentice suggested that they run over the situation again. "I suppose when we usually have one in the pub, we pretend we won't talk shop, but that's not going to be an issue tonight. Let's take advantage of the quiet office now, and raise any last concerns about Olivia and Kieron's safety. Thinking about it again, Mitchell's not going to wander amongst the nutters on the quayside with a boy at five minutes before the balloon goes up. He won't take the risk that she could spot him too early. He must have someone else holding the boy while he checks out Olivia and satisfies himself that there's no police operation in place."

"Either that," said Martha, grimacing, "or he isn't bringing the boy into the crowd at all, asking Olivia to follow him. She mustn't do that."

"I agree," added Jones, "this guy has been so relaxed about leaving clues as to his identity, it strikes me that he's going to protect his one asset, Kieron. Let's say we could bag Mitchell tonight and we take him to the station. He doesn't care, because that's the last we'll ever hear of the boy. He has to be working with somebody else, who can just evaporate whenever the going gets tricky. This is just another chess move tonight, maybe the first one which gives us a clue as to what he really wants."

*

"I'm taking Kieron and the dog out for a while, we need to tire him out. He needs to be in deep sleep when we leave for the rendezvous. He doesn't like being left alone with you. You should try harder with him, he's a great kid, a fantastic kid. Ease up on him."

"This is about something else, I don't like it but I want it over as soon as possible, and you are getting too close to the boy. Do you think she'll go for it tonight?"

"Hard to say whether or not it will be tonight, but she'll come round to it sooner or later. I've waited so long, and I'm actually enjoying this phase, so I don't mind if she takes her time. It's her that's suffering. Stop moaning about how long it's going to take, just keep focussed on what it will feel like when she finally concedes."

"I suppose."

*

Tom had thanked Olivia for not pressing charges, not in an overly genuine fashion, but as a necessary forerunner to acquainting her with his intention to withdraw five grand to cover his father's funeral. She didn't put up any objection. "I'm glad you've seen sense Tom. I know everything you try to do is for the best when it comes to Kieron's welfare, but you have a natural ability to cause chaos. Keep in touch and I'll make sure you're up to date. It's for the best, and if we're going to separate, so be it, but he comes first whatever else happens. He needs us to show a united front even if we're apart, he can't relate to animosity."

"I know all this, something just descends over me whenever I feel he's threatened, it's a switch I don't know how to turn off. I honestly don't think therapy is the answer. I need another purpose, alongside our beautiful little boy, but we have to get him back, otherwise even that becomes pointless. I trust you Olivia, he's in your hands now."

His personal police transport left for the airport, he glanced back at her, waving goodbye. He felt something for the first time in years.

*

"Come on Kieron, leave your puzzles for now."

"Why?"

"I thought you might want to make a movie to send to Mummy. She can't get away from work to meet us, so I promised to make a funny video for her. And so she promised she would try to see you soon. Why don't we go to the museum, the one with the dinosaurs, they're as big as houses, and very scary."

"Ok. Can Mickey come?"

"Oh, no, he isn't allowed in to the museum. He would be so frightened. He's not as brave as you, but we can show him the movie when we get back."

"Ok, bye Mickey."

*

Most of the lights were out in the station and the nerves had settled. None of them wanted to go home. They decided on a pizza, but without accompanying alcohol.

"So DI Jones, are you going to take a break from women, you know, following being dumped?"

"Now Martha, you know I have to get over the devastation of being rejected. Maybe in a couple of days I won't feel as fragile as I do at the moment. Fragile but sane again. What's your boyfriend doing tonight?"

"Well, before this came up, he said he had a surprise lined up for me. I thought – 'well he has been listening to me after all' – could it really be George Clooney? I came down to earth when he said we'd been invited to hog roast out in the sticks, arranged by the Sunday football team he plays for. I was so disappointed that I couldn't make it. He always gets wrecked at these macho parties, and when we get home, he's all into sexy lingerie, for me – not him. He usually lasts a fraction longer than Big Ben takes to strike twelve."

"And here's me complaining about not getting to kill myself trying to conquer Kilimanjaro," interjected Prentice, "it seems like we could all do with some New Year resolutions."

*

The density of people was thickening and the noise level escalated accordingly. The entire length of the strip was buzzing. The city lights were a sight to behold, the camera flashes were constant, and all around. Music came from many sources, including boats, which were bobbing about on the river, it was the lone channel of blackness, ploughing its way through the throng. Prentice, Jones and Martha all had Olivia in sight. She was unable to stop checking her watch every few seconds. It showed 11.53. She was relentlessly buffeted by passers-by, and she began to worry about accidental pressure setting off the alert. She became conscious of her breathing becoming more restricted. It was 11.56. He wasn't going to show. He'd said exactly 11.55. Another bump which almost knocked her over, at least this reveller had the courtesy to apologise. The countdown clock was now joined by the masses chanting 30, 29, 28, 27, and on to that pivotal moment. It was a hoax, her adrenalin rush was halted. A tap on the shoulder. An envelope. It wasn't him. He had a moustache and he wasn't bald, well he could be, he was wearing a cap, and spectacles. She shouted after him. No response. Olivia tried to follow him. All three detectives had noticed something different in her behaviour, and they were also being bumped about as the big screen confirmed it was New Year's Day. They had underestimated the difficulty in getting through such a tumultuous sea of people. The whole city was engulfed by Auld Lang Sine. He was receding on a tide of revellers, and disappeared from view. She pressed the alert in total frustration. The envelope was thankfully still in her hand. Olivia dejectedly tore it open. It was a picture, but not Kieron, it was a painful memory. The face of James Mitchell smiled at her. She felt faint. Jones got there first and held her.

"Are you ok Olivia? What happened?"

Prentice and Martha pushed their way through as Jones confirmed that she was ok. Her heart was still pounding as she gave Jones the picture. He looked at it, didn't recognise the boy and turned it over. 'Now you know how it feels. To be devoid of hope, then a miracle comes from out of nowhere, only to end in disaster. If you truly want to break this nightmare, you and only you have the power. A confession is never easy. You know what you must do. He will speak to you soon.'

# Chapter 31

It took a long time to walk back to the station and the journey was negotiated through the throng in relative silence. Olivia hadn't managed to come to terms with the wording of the message on the reverse side of the photo. They were all feeling the cold and the sudden rainstorm had all four of them shivering. Jones turned on the lights on their office floor and the entire place looked bereft of structure. Abandoned cups, red standby lights, and a general disarray of cables gave the illusion of sudden mass surrender of a long-extinct species. Hot drinks were first on the agenda.

Prentice broached the subject first. "What does he expect from this confession Olivia?"

"I wasn't guilty."

"That's not what I asked, I think it would be best if you start at the beginning. We know it involves the death of the little boy in the picture. Why don't you begin with what happened during the operation?"

"It began before that. James Mitchell had been written off as a candidate for surgery. He was simply going to die. I truly believed there was a reasonable chance to get at this tumour, if only to buy some time. If he healed sufficiently for a second op within that time, I would have another, less risky chance to expose more of the inaccessible part to subsequent radiotherapy. His chemo was almost at an end. It was his only hope. Gladstone put his own career at risk by overturning the others, and said it was to become the decision of the parents. A slim chance of survival or no chance of beating the inevitable. It was a pragmatic decision, unlike the cost-effective garbage we hear so much of these days.

"When I re-read his case notes from the hospital he was referred from, I was reminded that James had been prone to seizures, infrequent but relatively severe. The normal procedure demands that the surgeon and the anaesthetist discuss the options before the operation is scheduled. Philip Morrison was against 'playing God' and accused me of grandstanding. It was his call, either to opt for facially-administered anaesthetic, or to deliver it by an inserted tube in the most favourable part of the body. He chose the latter because he felt that a mouth and nose mask, which would require a more complex fixing device, would complicate my task. So far so good. When I said it wouldn't be a problem, he reminded me that it wasn't for me to decide. I raised the point that with the chance of seizure, it might be safer if we could actually _see_ any interruption to the supply of anaesthetic, because all of us except him would be concentrating on the head region. He dismissed this, with a further accusation that I was trying to undermine his skill as an anaesthetist, so I let it pass.

"When the procedure was well underway, it struck. James succumbed to quite a violent seizure. One of my assistants noticed the delivery of anaesthetic was erratic. Now the issue gets clouded. I believed that this failure was responsible for creating the additional trauma to the brain which triggered this reaction of repetitive convulsions. Morrison claimed it was my clumsiness alone which was to blame. I countered by saying if we'd had the feed by respiratory means, the irregularity in anaesthetic flow would have been picked up earlier. He told me to shut up while he sorted his end out. I did so, but by then we were past the point of no return, we lost James. The measurement of delivered anaesthetic confirmed the supply had faltered well before the seizure, indicating that it was _probably_ the cause, but not unimpeachable proof.

"The inquisition which followed was incomplete. Despite all of my staff in attendance testifying to the actual order of events, this aspect was largely ignored by the hospital board. The situation had to be managed. When I stated that I'd brought this risk up in the pre-op discussion with Morrison, I was told that there was no such reference in the notes. They had been erased from the electronic record. The board members weren't aware of the fact that I retained a hard copy of that meeting, signed by both Morrison and myself. Things got nasty and Gladstone said we had to think of the reputation of the hospital, and indeed our own future if this couldn't be resolved sensibly. In reality he meant that his position was in jeopardy for authorising the procedure in the first place. I was later called to his office and told that Morrison was leaving and the damage had been limited, it was a very unfortunate 'act of God' and thankfully nobody was to blame. It was only after the Mitchell family took out their malpractice crusade that I realised I was now the lone person in the dock. Morrison's threat to Gladstone to bring the house down by offering to be a witness for the Mitchells reinforced Ian's need to bury this. A glowing reference to a London hospital and a later financial appropriation secured his silence. I was told that if I didn't stop rocking the boat, my own future would not be secure. My staff were prepared to support me, but they got the same message that I did, and I couldn't let them take the rap for Morrison's whitewash. I felt so sorry for the Mitchells but the hospital legal presence forbade me to even talk to them. I still do feel that I let them down, but not for what I did in theatre. Anyway, I know exactly what Edward Mitchell wants me to do, so I will fall on my sword, my career is over. I'll admit it was my fault. I'll do it directly through the press so that it can't be denied. I've carried this burden around for so long, and it isn't worth worrying about it anymore when it affects my son's life."

It was Jones who questioned her intent. "If what you say can be proven, it's possible that Mitchell will think differently about what he's doing. Assuming he still blames you for his son's death, it's your head he wants on the block, not Kieron's. His decision not to threaten to punish the boy has to be his way of gaining leverage to get you to trash what he thinks is most dear to you, other than Kieron. It seems obvious to me. Can we get this proof?"

"You don't realise what you're up against Inspector. Gladstone won't give up his legacy, even if he is retiring."

Prentice threw in a googly. "He could have a change of heart, now that he might have to explain knowing he had an 'illegitimate' daughter, and one he guided through the trials of becoming his nominee to succeed him. It's called nepotism. And in case you think you have any loyalty to this man, he told Jones and myself that he hadn't recommended you for the post."

"But he inferred to me that he had."

"Yes, however, that was surely before he was told by us that we knew he was your father. This case changed the entire situation for him. And anyway, I now seem to recall that he confirmed you could still get the job, without his help, what about you Jones?"

"Erm, yeah, that might have been what I heard, yes."

Olivia was confused, then the penny dropped. "You mean that he should be the one to convince Edward Mitchell, otherwise I should blackmail him?"

"I couldn't possibly comment." said Prentice. "But I suppose he should be offered the chance to weigh up the choices in front of him – tell the truth and help his grandson, or try to keep the truth buried, and still lose this legacy he craves, and more importantly his grandson into the bargain. Of course, none of this conversation ever took place."

Martha had been silent until now. "You might want to speak with him before you get any kind of deadline from Mitchell. He did state that Kieron would speak to you soon."

Olivia thanked them and tried to resist accepting a ride to the hospital. Prentice frogmarched her to the car and the other two detectives took the weary journey to their respective homes, relieved that the episode hadn't turned out so badly after all.

*

There was more good news when she arrived. Peter had been brought from IC to a quiet room in a normal care ward. Pauline was by his bed. Olivia was received with smiles from both of them. Peter mumbled something which sounded like advice that she needed to get some sleep. Pauline settled for hugging her daughter. Perhaps there was some daylight emerging from this tunnel of hell. Peter's speech function had a way to go, but it was definitely improving. She excused herself for one minute while she rang Ian Gladstone's mobile. "We need to talk."

*

"So, how did it go?"

"Pretty well I'd guess. I'll give her a couple of days or so before sending the video. I don't want this news to get lost amongst all of the Happy New Year around the world shit. I think she did what I asked, I couldn't see any sign of police. We're close to getting justice at last."

# Chapter 32

Tom rang to wish her Happy New Year. She made him promise that he would keep his word and stay in London before she recounted what had happened on the quayside. He seemed different, in fact quite calm. She had certainly expected him to advocate giving Mitchell what he wanted, her confession, her career flushed down the pan, and the public humiliation of being labelled as a 'child killer' by neglect.

"You can't do this Olivia. I once confessed to something I wasn't guilty of, and look what it did to my life. I did it with the best of intentions, to protect someone I loved, and I deluded myself that it was a noble cause. There has to be another way, you ain't guilty, it's only Mitchell that thinks otherwise."

She floated the alternative Prentice had suggested, completely off the record. He realised there was a flicker of trust in her voice. "What do you think?"

'She wants to know what I think. This is a massive dilemma she has, and she wants to know what I think.' He was locked in a vacuum of indecision. He always knew what to do, even when he was wrong. Grappling with sole responsibility for advising on a potential life and death situation wasn't in his repertoire. "You need to tell me how you think Gladstone will react to such a threat. He has to take the full hit completely, and must avoid revealing that Kieron is his grandson, otherwise Mitchell won't buy it. He's no fool, and he'll see through any concocted attempt to free our son. Gladstone has to become the focus of all the pent up anger this guy has been feeling for twelve years. That's a feeling I can personally empathise with. Off the top of my head, I'd say you can rule out any kind of meeting or bargaining with Sir Ian, it will stink of collaboration. Gladstone needs to use this as the reason for his retirement, which must occur concurrently with his exclusive admission to some investigative journalist. Headline news, irrefutable proof, guilt and passing of sentence, all rolled into one. Mitchell must not be asked to consider this, he has to feel deep shame all by himself, without anyone else trying to up the ante. Guilt that he's campaigned against and slandered the one person who was only ever to blame for trying to save his son. For twelve years. That's the only winning hand for Kieron, transference of guilt. Go for it Olivia. I'll stay out of the way."

Her control broke down, she was unable to process the feeling of role reversal. She was the one with the ability to stay focussed under pressure, Tom was a liability looking for a problem to amplify. She seemed stuck in time, then she was suddenly jerked backwards to the awful mess when they were at University together. It was a comparable moment. Tom's 'wrong' decision then had an enormous cost for both of them. "I'm going to do as you suggest Tom, thanks for being so patient, I wouldn't have had the guts to do this alone, and nobody else could have made me see it the way you have, I've never truly thought of my career as irrelevant. I'll speak to you again when I've confronted Gladstone."

New Year's Day

Gladstone pulled on to the drive in Hamsterley Mill. Olivia opened the door and made it clear by her body language that this wasn't going to be a pleasant chat, disregarding his attempt to engage in the customary hug. No coffee was offered, and she pointed to an armchair.

"I think I know what this is about Olivia. Peter was away almost all of the time, and Pauline hardly ever saw him. She was drowning in loneliness. It wasn't meant to happen. She admitted to me that it was a mistake. Look, Peter knew about this before you were born. He wanted it this way. I complied, and I've regretted it ever since. I was sworn not to tell you, and that was that. It was very much a mixed blessing when you landed the post here in Newcastle. However, I'm not sorry about the way our professional relationship has helped to compensate for lost years in my personal life. Your mother could have left Peter and married me, but she declined."

"Well, that's a good starting point, our professional relationship. I don't want to get into the cold facts of DNA tests and what it all means. It is what it is. I'd like to know if you want to help Kieron, that little boy, whose genes also bear your imprint. I've been given an ultimatum of sorts."

"Of course, but what can I do? We don't even have a clue where to start, courtesy of the Keystone Cops."

"That's not strictly true. I've had contact with his abductor, but you can't let anyone know that. He will spare your grandson's life if I make it known to the world at large that James Mitchell died because I screwed up."

"You can't do that Olivia, we took care of that twelve years ago."

"You're right on the first point, I can't do it primarily because I didn't screw up. On the second, **we** didn't take care of that accusation, you did. It was beautifully sculptured to preserve your squeaky clean, beyond reproach image. My potential reward for keeping schtum on the whitewash of Philip Morrison, was, to one day ascend to your throne. I have a feeling that might not happen now. Relax, it's no longer of any importance to me. So, we have options. The first is that I give the whole truth to the press, and you are seen as the orchestrator of the cover up, as I still have hard copies of the evidence from me and my entire staff, which was never allowed to surface. The second option gives you a chance to preserve a modicum of honour. You exonerate me completely, and having searched your soul, you uncover old archived reports which puts Morrison in the dock. You call for the case to be urgently reviewed out of a strict sense of duty. It would be wrong for your successor to inherit a miscarriage of justice on the first day that their arse hits the chair. An upstanding figure like Sir Ian Gladstone would be expected to do no less, knowing that it might just preserve his legacy as a selfless foot soldier of this great nation's health service, even as he retires. What a guy! With a bit of polish this option could still allow you to emerge from the shit swamp smelling of pure English roses. Don't underestimate my willingness to sacrifice everything to get my boy back."

"I need to think about this, Olivia."

"Wrong, you need to think about Kieron, and little James Mitchell. If you don't, I'll make sure you're ostracised for the rest of your life."

"Alright, alright, I get the point. I'll try to draft something when I get back to my hotel."

"Wrong again, we'll do it together here. And I'll choose the journalist with whom we work to set that awful deception to rights. I need this today, because I don't know when Mitchell will snap, and that will put Kieron's fate beyond our influence. Stay here tonight if you want, I've got police protection until this is over. You mustn't have seen them as you came in, but they flagged me of your arrival. They might need a copy of your deed of honour. It's decaffeinated isn't it?"

*

Olivia called Prentice to let him know that the confession Mitchell had demanded was under preparation. He knew she meant Gladstone's confession, and that this call was solely to clear the police of any interference or deviation from their remit. She then spoke to Tom. "I don't think Gladstone is riddled with genuine guilt yet. However, there are signs that he accepts he'll burn at the stake if Mitchell doesn't believe he's reopened the case out of sheer dedication to correct a wrong, based on the new evidence. That's all that matters. You were right, what can I say?"

"Sorry, I didn't hear that, say again."

"Sod off, you heard me all right. Fingers crossed now, all we can do is hope that we can get this into tomorrow's newspaper and that Mitchell doesn't make contact before he reads it, or hears about it. My press contact says he'll try to get the editor to rejig the morning edition to make way for our piece, and the radio people are standing by on the same basis, but with a short version, and after the print version has gone on sale. We don't know about the TV yet."

"You know this enforced detachment ain't as bad as I thought it was gonna be. It's still early days, but at least I seem to be riding some of the waves, rather than trying to tackle them all. Keep the good news coming Olivia, you know I want to be there whenever I'm welcome."

"I know."

# Chapter 33

**January 2** nd

Exhumation Day

The weather was absolutely foul, almost a blizzard. The enclosed space provided by the tent quickly accumulated enough snow to require constant brushing off, otherwise the task would have to be abandoned. The only people gathered there other than CID personnel, forensics specialists and Angela Mitchell, were officials presiding over the proper procedure to be followed. Two gravediggers and a suited individual with a clipboard. Prentice, Cartwright, Clipboard and the two diggers were inside the tent. The rest were huddled like snowmen, waiting to be called as required. The soil was favourably soft and helped to reduce the time taken for the first stage considerably. Lifting the casket to the surface, Clipboard ensured every attendee had their mask in place. The lid resisted several attempts to reveal the remains before it was prised off with a jemmy, and it was accompanied by a loud, ear-piercing crack. There was hardly any tissue left on or around the skeletal shape. Prentice asked for Jones to attend before any attempt was made to free the 'body' from the casket's icy grip. There was no sign of anything remotely like an earring. A second inspection would take place after the rest of the remains had been extracted. It simply wasn't going to be possible to get this out in one piece. It took almost an hour to clear the coffin of bones and any debris surrounding them. The long-suffering forensics squad entered, beckoned by Cartwright. They photographed and labelled each piece, fragment, and any interesting extraneous material before placing them in the waiting sterilised receptacles. The sky was still laden with precipitation but it was gradually turning from fresh snow to sleet.

The lights were turned off and any last conversations brief, as car engines fired up. They were all gone bar the gravediggers, whose last detail was to secure the casket and the tent guide ropes. Just in time, darkness was closing in.

Cartwright already had Edward Mitchell's dental records on hand for comparison with the remains. Any recovered DNA would act as confirmation. The bulk of the remains were kept in a freezer, while samples went straight to the test lab.

Prentice had hardly thawed out and was discussing the absence of an earring with Jones and Martha, when Cartwright rang. "It's a preliminary observation, but I thought you'd want to know right away. The dental records look like a match. Give me another half an hour to get another one of my staff to do an independent check, but I don't think he'll disagree. Of course we still have to proceed with DNA tests. It's looking like we have Edward Mitchell here."

This was a body blow to Jones in particular. Prentice reminded him of his own insistence that all speculation and hunches become facts or eliminations at some time. "Stick with it Jonesy, we now have another fact and an elimination. It's not Mitchell. So, what do we do with that information?"

Martha spoke up. "Somebody wanted us to believe it was Edward Mitchell. If this gets out, and it will, that person will presumably alter their approach. What it doesn't change is that the guy we **do** want is pushing Olivia towards a precipice. So, it isn't Mitchell, we move on. We still haven't nailed the assailant, the package and parcel sender, who then hand-delivered the first demand to Olivia, her confession to something she didn't do. Furthermore, he confirmed the motive was to punish her. I would rate that threat as a fact." She looked directly at Jones. "Well?"

"You're right Martha, everything comes back to what happened at that hospital, whether it was twelve years ago or last week. Listen boss, I asked for the case file for Mitchell's suicide and you said we should wait for the exhumation to be out of the way. We've done that, so let's learn more about his death, because he's still tied into the motive. I want to do it now, can you make the call?"

"Yeah, let's do it before Olivia hits the front pages with Gladstone as bait."

*

Ian Gladstone was philosophical about his fortuitous escape from the media because of his house being burned down. It gave him breathing space. He copied his list of phone contacts into his diary and dumped the handset. He purchased a cheap unregistered replacement and selected only the people he wanted to converse with, adding them to the new phone. One of those was Philip Morrison. He refused the first call. Gladstone sent a text to alert him of the despatched journalistic torpedo which was homing in on Morrison. He eventually called back. "What do you expect me to say?"

"The problem, Philip, is that when mud sticks it can be washed off, but the stain is still there. I can't help you again. Your position twelve years ago was to bring the entire reputation of the hospital into disrepute. I neutralised as much paperwork and computer documents as it was prudent so to do. However, I am now officially retired, this newspaper revelation being my last act in office. You need to know that I could never get Olivia to surrender her statements from her theatre staff who were witnesses to everything. She still has them. I've been given the unfortunate task of informing you that unless you endorse my revelation, these documents will reappear. I imagine you get what I'm driving at?"

"Mmm, so now that you've gone quietly you're ensuring that I'm next in line. She wants total revenge."

"That much is obvious, however, if you read between the lines, she's left a hole for you to wriggle through. If you publicly accept that the anaesthetic failure was the probable cause of the seizure, and Olivia was not culpable for James Mitchell's death, she will reciprocate insofar as we were dealing with an inexact science, one which cannot prove the anaesthetic failure was down to human error. This can be compared in some ways to an air crash investigation. Pilot error is difficult to prove if a mechanical deficiency precedes the accident."

"So how does this help me?"

"It would discourage me from crucifying you, by stating something in my follow up press release. That being my revised opinion that it was your disregard for Olivia's advice on the placement of the anaesthetic feed which led to the chain of events culminating in James Mitchell's death. This is also, unfortunately for you, recorded in the pre-op notes she was able to keep from me. It's fresh evidence Philip, which you tried to suppress. Who do you think the medical council are going to believe? So, it is either make your peace with no further promotion, or go down with the career ship. What do I write in my next role as a columnist?"

"You bastard."

"Not worthy of you Philip, it was your insistence on a compensatory payment for your transfer, and that sum you inherited can still be proven. I believe it is called extortion or blackmail. The board was under duress as a result of your threat to tarnish your colleagues and the hospital. They acted upon this, and other findings related to an imprecise analysis of the available evidence. Now it has come to light that, not only did you have evidence which would have given us more precision to judge the cause of death, you actually destroyed it. Or you thought you had. The board erred in its duty, but you falsified their decision criteria. One is a mistake, the other is a criminal offence. You have basically engineered a promotion for ending a boy's life. If you decide to rock this boat, you must consider a further consequence. It won't be merely prosecution for culpable negligence. It will also include perversion of the course of justice, most likely leading to a sentence of incarceration. I don't think I need to speak to you again, you grubby little shit. I'll edit my piece to the appropriate option. If you don't endorse today's release immediately, and you will be asked to, that's already been arranged, I'm afraid you will end up in prison. I do hope it won't be one of those awful places in which some of the inmates would take a rather dim view of co-habiting with a child killer. It's really a no-brainer."

*

Jones picked up the Mitchell suicide notes personally. He tore into them, and stepped on a 'bombshell' within minutes. Nobody had thought of mentioning the existence of a suicide note. The case was six years old and there must be someone who worked it still in the force, and they should have made a connection with the very high profile disappearance of the surgeon's son. The content of the note was shouting it from the rooftops. He jumped back to the present and rushed from records to catch Prentice. 'Boss, you need to see this."

The note raised multiple alarm bells.

'Angela,

I've become a desperate man, I can't turn back the clock. I can't undo the errors of the past. I deserve no pity. My obsession with poor James' death and its cause rotted my ability to see things as they were. I saw them as I wanted them to be. You appreciated my dedication to the boy, even though he wasn't my biological son. He was still my adopted little fella. I couldn't split hairs when his life was in the balance. I can't go on without him. God knows I've tried. Forgive me, I have failed him yet I must join him. Edward.'

# Chapter 34

Prentice immediately called Olivia. "You need to come to my office again. There's been a new development and it affects how you need to react to the next contact from Mitchell, because it isn't him. Mitchell was in the coffin, as he was supposed to be, now he's in the lab. Anyway, can you come right away?"

"But I thought you..."

"Yes I thought, but this is fact, Edward Mitchell has been dead for six years. We have to come up with a contingency plan and we can't do that without you."

"I'm on my way."

The three not so wise detectives began to throw ideas around, stimulated by Prentice. "We've been led to the conclusion that Edward Mitchell was carrying out a crusade for six years, then he faked his own death, finally continuing the crusade from beyond the grave. It's quite sophisticated in a way, and thinking back, Angela Mitchell was overly keen to dig him up on the pretext that it would be closure for her, one way or another. I've created a potential minefield by encouraging Olivia to clear her name with respect to the unfortunate death of Edward's son, only to find that it wasn't his son at all. Angela has known this all along. It's too late to pull the plug, the journalists have done their bit. Gladstone, and now this Philip Morrison have joined the chorus. What will our mystery man make of this?"

Jones was still upbeat about the situation. "Well, for a start, he's got us where he wants us with respect to knowing Edward is innocent. The only joker in the pack for him is that Olivia was also innocent twelve years ago. He is being asked to shift his sights to Gladstone and Morrison. Everything hinges on his perception of the veracity of the admission of a cover-up. I wouldn't like to be in either Gladstone's shoes or Morrison's if he buys the belated truth. It sounds as if you want to speak to Angela again boss, but I would leave that for now. If we try too hard to back up this newspaper story our man will get jumpy, it isn't our place to take sides in a medical inquisition."

Martha detoured to something else. "I'd rather do something than second guess this guy. Can I have your notes on where you got up to with the package delivery man, the internal mail system in the hospital? DI Jones?"

"Be my guest Martha, good idea."

*

Roulette

Odds or even, black or red. In the end the gambler always loses? So many factors are beyond the retention capability of even a complex organ such as the human brain. "We have to pull out George, it's gone too far."

"Not the way I see it. I'm going to speak with her, it's the only way."

"That's what I'm trying to tell you, speak to her and then we pull out."

"It's an unforeseen glitch, that's all. It doesn't change the plan, other than a late adjustment. The main objective of the entire campaign is about to fall into our lap. Some deserving sod is going down for what happened to James. It's just a question of which one. We thought that re-opening the case would be the trickier challenge, it's been gifted to us. We just have to determine which of these bastards is lying. It must be beyond any doubt, not just reasonable doubt. Get the kid ready."

*

The enforced earlier than early retirement of Gladstone, and his revelations, pitchforked the hospital board to act. They needed to nominate his successor now. They'd already agreed to appoint some eminently qualified candidate from the Midlands, but the national coverage of the sleazy situation persuaded him to pull out. Olivia got the call, which lasted less than thirty seconds. "I like what I'm doing, no thanks." The resulting speculation began to flow through the arteries and capillaries of every department. Gladstone himself moved hotels and evaded all attempts to contact him. Morrison was asked to attend a preliminary inquiry into his failure to declare the full picture when he was offered the London job. George was following the posts on social media, and he detected a groundswell of opinion which pushed for a full investigation, the case to be re-opened. It seemed as if the public wanted more than just an apology from Gladstone and Morrison, there was disgust at the implied attempt to let bygones be adorned with sincere regret, and nothing more. George was moved by this and it cemented his instinctive move to contact Olivia. He rang the Hamsterley Mill number. She'd had call redirect installed by the police. The mobile vibrated while she listened to Prentice enumerating the options for police involvement. "Hello."

When she heard him speak she mouthed the words 'It's him' silently.

"Can you explain Gladstone's newfound altruism?"

"No, I can't, but someone must have discovered a pressure point which I could not all those years ago. I really could have done without this happening right now, the timing is cruel. Is this call to tell me you aren't going to allow me to hear Kieron's voice, as you said on the reverse of the picture you left with me?"

"No, I'm considering an alternative. I'll meet you again, but properly. You'll receive a meeting point location from me and then have only a few minutes to get there. When I'm satisfied you haven't been followed by anyone, I'll give you further instructions. Bring with you anything which may help you to convince me that this revelation isn't just journalistic sensationalism. You have one chance at this, so keep the plods out of it. If I see or hear what I need to, you will hear from your son. Have your mobile on all of the time, no redirect, understood?"

"Yes but..."

The line went dead. She was shaking with a strange admixture of fear and excitement. Prentice and the others didn't like it. Olivia called a halt to their objections. "I'm sorry, but I have to do this as he says. He's asking for proof, that's a good sign. I'm grateful for all you've done so far, but it isn't your son. I have to give Kieron utmost priority now, even if it costs my own life. It really is that simple for me. Just stay away and let me do this, I mean it."

*

She called Tom from the police landline, keeping her mobile free, temporarily blocking every other number. "I've had contact from him Tom. I believe we've reached a critical point. I assume you've read the papers?"

"Absolutely, what do you mean by critical point?"

"First I need to tell you Mitchell is actually dead, the exhumation proved it. This guy, whoever he is, is going to meet me and if I can give him genuine evidence that I wasn't guilty of any malpractice related to James Mitchell's death, he will allow Kieron to speak with me."

"Hold on a minute, are the police involved?"

"No, they wanted to be but I have to do it alone. I have to make him believe that I can be trusted."

"I should be there Olivia, I'm glad the police won't cock it up, but you, alone? When is it planned for?"

"It isn't, I'll hear when I hear. You also have to trust me Tom. I know the risk. You would do the same."

"Yeah, I would. Look, for Christ's sake let me know something as soon as you can, I'm already heading for the shitter. Awesome Olivia, total respect, call me."

*

Philip Morrison was temporarily suspended pending a deeper inquiry. He was beginning to spiral out of control and rang Gladstone, not expecting him to be incommunicado. In his escalating panic, he made an impulsive decision. He planned to travel to Newcastle and extract the damning written evidence of Olivia's support staff from the 'arrogant bitch.'

*

Martha had a weird idea, one which might explain why they couldn't find the phantom hospital postman. They could be looking in the wrong place. She was going to need Prentice to authorise the new search, with all the obligatory paperwork. The idea had floated past her ears from a conversation between two cleaners, having their daily gripe. Like many discoveries, it was insanely obvious once it was exposed. She had to get back to the office through the late afternoon rush hour.

*

The croupier was shaking the ball in his hands, it was time to send it around the rim of the roulette wheel.

# Chapter 35

Olivia was at home when the call came. "Tonight, do you know the old station on the Derwent Walk?"

"Yes."

"It's not far from your house, you can easily walk to it. You have twenty-four minutes."

The station master's house was part of the redundant railway line which took coal from Newcastle to Consett for steel manufacture, then steel to Newcastle for shipbuilding. It was now a country park, for walkers, bikes and horses. It had no access for other vehicles, and crucially it was unlit. At this time of the evening it was likely to be completely 'uninhabited.' The old abandoned platform was in total darkness. Eerie didn't cover it. With no road noise, the calls of birds and mammals joined together in a bizarre chorus of fear, warnings to heed unseen predators. Olivia tried to shut out these sounds, but the rustling of the wind through trees, all without leaves, added even more trepidation. Her heart rate surged when her mobile ringtone burst into life. "Hello."

"Head for the viaduct and wait."

"Which one? There are two."

"The one back towards your house, not the one in the direction of Rowlands Gill village. You have eleven minutes."

George continually observed her. As she approached the viaduct, a dark figure emerged like a genie, from a path below the level of the walk itself. She shuddered and strained her eyes, but could only see the black outline, and two eyelets. He was wearing a balaclava. The voice was his, he flicked on a torch which temporarily blinded her.

"Tell me what you have before I see it. I'll decide if it's relevant."

Olivia mumbled something nervously.

"Speak up."

"I have my original pre-op notes of the meeting with Philip Morrison, the anaesthetist. We disagreed, but he was responsible for that part of the procedure, the anaesthetic. So, he had the final decision. These notes were never called for during the hearing."

"Give it to me." She reluctantly complied. He took a photograph with his phone. "What else?"

"Original statements of the theatre staff which confirm the aforementioned pre-op meeting, but more importantly, the events during the operation. The most crucial being the onset of a seizure suffered by James. Every one of these statements identified the irregular flow of anaesthetic as the immediate precursor to the seizure which ultimately cost the patient's life."

"Were they admitted to the hearing?"

"No, because the pre-hearing internal assessment decided it could have been a mere coincidence. All of the people at that assessment other than myself were from the hospital board. I was marginalised. I was told that I should be grateful that I wasn't being blamed."

"What did that mean?"

"That I should keep my mouth shut."

"Give them to me."

It took a while for the pictures to be taken.

"Stand over to the other side of the viaduct path while I read these documents."

The minutes ticked by. Olivia was beginning to think he wasn't convinced, when he said, "Take out your phone."

She grappled in her pockets and somehow fiddled it out with shaking hands.

"I see it has a webcam, yes?"

"Yes."

"Ring this number."

Olivia could hardly control her finger. The call was answered after only one ringtone. Kieron's face appeared. Olivia sank to her knees.

"Hello darling, it's Mummy."

The boy turned his head slightly and saw Olivia. "Hello Mummy, I've got a new best friend."

The puppy jumped on to his lap. "His name is Mickey."

"Oh he's lovely isn't he? Where did you get him?"

"The nice man gave him to me."

"Are you ok, darling?"

"Yes, I've got some new computers and I like the nice man."

The line went dead.

"Oh no, please, just a little longer, please, I'll do anything, please."

"Not right now. Listen very carefully. Just go home, do nothing. I will contact you in an hour. There is one question you'll need to answer when I call. Go."

The darkness didn't feel quite so threatening.

*

Martha's lungs were aching, the damned elevator was out of order again. She interrupted Prentice and Jones, but struggled to get her words out. "We, we need to look, look at the other hospital records, sir."

"What other records Martha?"

"I overheard two nurses saying admin had screwed up again. One of them had been mixed up with a patient of the same name."

"Shit," said Jones, "of course, the bloody staff and the patients will be on different databases. How could I miss that?"

"I confirmed that with the admin manager, sir. But they want a signed warrant, data protection assurances and all that crap. We should hurry."

*

Olivia couldn't wait to tell Tom that it had apparently gone well. "He's promised to call me in an hour or so. I felt he was about to make a proposal or something, but then he seemed keen to do more checks of the evidence I gave him. And he said he was going to ask me a question later. I've no idea what it is."

"It sounds really bizarre. Did he give the impression of being deranged or anything?"

"No, quite the opposite really, sophisticated in a way. I never saw his face so I can't say for sure whether he's the man in the picture the police showed us, but the voice sounded the same as the message which summoned Peter to the hospital."

"Tell me more about Kieron, it's great that he's in good spirits."

"He's got a dog, a Labrador, says he got it from 'the nice man,' presumably meaning the guy I met. You know, he seemed tremendously happy with the puppy on his lap. He's got no signs of having been through any trauma. I'm getting a bit edgy about the call, I don't want this to go wrong now. I'd better run through the evidence again, he was studying it intensely. I need to take a shower to steady my nerves again. I'll call you back."

*

Prentice had managed to rush the authorisation through for the hospital and he gave it to Martha. She said she'd call them if she found anything.

"No you won't," said Prentice, "we're coming with you, three pairs of eyes Martha."

She was disappointed, Jones was relieved, and Prentice said he'd drive. When they presented the paperwork, they met a new roadblock. Senior admin people were conducting their monthly meeting, and weren't to be interrupted. Prentice assumed a distinct military persona. "I don't think your pen pushers and paperclip distributors have got anything better to do than help us follow up an urgent lead on the missing son of one of your top surgeons. Do I have to get the Chief Constable to come? Or perhaps the predators from the tabloids? One way or another, we're going to see these records, I'd rather it's now, and believe me, so will you if the finger of suspicion settles retrospectively on your head. I can see the headlines now - 'Jobsworth at Hospital Reception Halts Rescue of Abducted Boy' – do you get the picture now?"

"Yes sir, I'll be back in a minute."

# Chapter 36

The call came. Olivia could scarcely get the word 'hello' free from her throat. She repeated it, more clearly this time. "Hello."

"I'm minded to take your evidence seriously. However, I'm even angrier than I was six years ago, it shouldn't come as a surprise, but the extent of the deceit is sickening. You see, I lost my son because of people who'd taken the Hippocratic Oath. It feels very different to having to come to terms with James being taken by the tumour itself. There's been a blanket of immorality over his little face until now. I said I had one question for you, and I'm afraid I now have two. You saw Kieron with his puppy, will he be allowed to keep Mickey if I return your son?"

"Of course, we didn't think it was a good idea for him to have such a pet, he can't be expected to look after an animal with a mind of its own, even when he's older."

"You might be surprised. I always do overkill on research whenever I take on a serious task. Check it out for yourself, it has been found in several case studies that a companion someone can relate to, which isn't a source of authority can help in developing confidence. I know everything about your work, and I can appreciate that you're in a good position to help him in surgical terms, if new techniques are developed. But Kieron is living in the now, and he is developing, albeit in a different manner to what we expect of other children. I did a lot of research before James went under the knife, but I didn't have any say in the decision. My offer of help was refused. Things truly could have been very different. Enough of this self-pity, will you make a solemn promise that Kieron can keep Mickey?"

"You know that I'll do anything for him, and I won't make idle promises. I give you my word, and I will look up this research you mentioned. I do agree that surgery isn't always the only way. Can I ask something about James?"

"I think it would be better just left alone now that I know the truth."

"I was only going to ask about how you think you could have helped him. I'd always understood that James' father died a few years ago, but you just said he was your son."

"Perhaps another time. It will depend on how you answer my second question. If indeed you can answer it truthfully."

"I'll certainly try."

"If you hadn't been the surgeon, but in my position, as the real father of James, and you had unlimited financial resource, would you have endorsed the surgery?"

Olivia felt the tenor of the conversation had altered and she stiffened. "Much has changed in the last twelve years and James would have had a much better chance of surviving the procedure now. However, at that time, what had to be faced was the certainty of him losing his battle against the tumour if nothing was done. I can't claim to have researched diverse treatments outside my level of expertise. The only analogy I can think of is in the construction industry, where the objective of restoring the property is the same, but generally alteration of brickwork is done ahead of carpentry. There is more concern about removing load-bearing walls than the odd timber lintel. But it doesn't always work out the way it was planned, despite the precautions. The alternative, in some cases may to return to timber-only buildings, capable of 'treatment' rather than major surgery. As I said, surgical intervention isn't always the answer, but in James' case time was critical. If I'd known of any alternative medicine which had better odds, I'd have said so. In your position but without my experience, I would have given James the chance to live. In your position with my experience, I'd have done the same thing. The question you're really asking, is would I do it again. Yes, I would, because deep down I still believe I could have given James a few more years at worst. I believe that was preferable to merely accepting divine intervention. That's the honest answer regarding the actual decision. Turning back to the operation, once I'd got to see the tumour directly with my own eyes, I was more confident that I could succeed. The only regret I have about the entire saga, including the case brought by Edward Mitchell, was that I felt powerless with respect to revealing the truth. I could have become a martyr and made no difference whatsoever to the closing of ranks. Coming back to your question, if I'd had a child of my own at that time, I may have sacrificed my career regardless of the consequences. I don't know. That's the brutal, honest truth. If this happened now, when I have a beautiful boy with certain difficulties, and the prospect of a shorter life than his parents, I would have to tackle the hypocrisy somehow."

"You've touched on the timeline of all this. James would have been eighteen, he died twelve years ago, and your son was born six years ago. This Edward Mitchell died six years ago. I started out on my intention of retribution six years ago. It isn't a coincidence. Come and see me. Don't bring a phone."

*

Prentice said they should have a break while he called Cartwright. "Have you got the DNA results yet to back up Edward Mitchell's dental records?"

"Funny you should ask right now, we're just having a debate about it. Why the sudden interest?"

"I just thought you might want to consider the possibility he had a brother, even though his wife and fancy woman said he didn't."

"What are you up to? Mind reading?"

"Not at all, detective work isn't all about science, intuition counts for a lot at times. We've dredged up a janitor at the hospital, and his record has a photo attached. He has a bit of a likeness to Edward Mitchell, and he even has an earring. Guess what, his name is George Mitchell."

"You have been busy, and I do believe you may have called a halt to this debate. Using STR analysis, that's short tandem repeats, we can assess familial relationships, including paternity and siblings. In this case we have reached the unanimous conclusion that Edward Mitchell's DNA from the remains is a not an exact match to those on the tablet and stun gun, but the two are related. The discussion then moved to whether they are merely brothers, twins, or identical twins. We've agreed to shelve the option of identical twins. It would help if we could talk to the living brother, or had a birth certificate for each of them. Now you can check that yourself, you have a name. My team are divided on this, but I believe they are just brothers, not twins. We weren't looking specifically for this, it just came up when making comparisons, so we'll now have to amplify the DNA further and compare the STR profiles in much greater detail."

"It's always refreshing to talk with you Cartwright, cheers."

Prentice explained and told Martha to get on to this, while he and Jones asked where they could find George Mitchell. They were told he hadn't turned in for work for over two weeks and they couldn't reach him by phone. The address on his record was checked, but when they arrived there the property was empty, and displayed an estate agent's 'sold' notice.

*

Olivia was overflowing with adrenalin. She had some difficulty in finding the property, her satnav was in need of being updated. She rang the doorbell thinking he would open the door. She didn't recognise the woman, but was obviously expected. She became more apprehensive when she was led to a poorly lit staircase to a basement. Having descended the steps, the woman opened a door and disappeared. Olivia gasped in horror. There were three occupants, well strictly speaking there were four. George Mitchell bade her to enter. Kieron ran to her and she picked him up, feeling his warm breath on her face. Mickey wanted to be cuddled as well.

"I believe you two know each other," said Mitchell, pointing at Ian Gladstone.

"Yes, he's, was my boss. Why is he here?"

"So that you have a life and death dilemma, like the one I had. One in which the decision itself is hard enough, but then it is ignored. Don't argue with me, you can't change my mind. You can only make up yours."

"I don't underst..."

"Just take your boy or this apology for a human being and leave. There's nothing to discuss. The longer you stand there the more danger you're in."

Olivia looked Gladstone in the eyes and he nodded. She turned to run upstairs and was checked by Mitchell's voice. "You forgot Mickey."

She put Kieron down, and the boy took Mickey's lead, placed it around the dog's neck and took her hand. They scrambled up the stairs and out through the open front door. She bundled Kieron and Mickey into the back of her car and sped away from the house, watching it shrink in the rear view mirror, heavily shrouded in burning rubber fumes.

# Chapter 37

Olivia drove directly to the police station only to find that Prentice wasn't there. She was told that he was still at the hospital. She was allowed to use the phone. "You need to get to his house immediately, he's got Gladstone and I think he's going to kill him."

"Slow down Olivia, you aren't making any sense."

"You can't afford to slow down, I met this guy at his house and he let me take Kieron, but he wanted me to choose him or Gladstone."

"Where the hell are you?"

"I'm at the station and I'm not going home until you've got him under lock and key."

"Ok, stay there, give me the address."

He noted it and dragged Jones with him to their car. "Get back-up organised pronto, I think we've got him Jonesy, Olivia has Kieron at the station. It's all about this bastard now."

*

Martha hit the ground running with the registrar of births and deaths. Edward and George Mitchell were born to John and Margaret Mitchell, whose registered address matched the first address the police had investigated when the initial search was conducted for Edward. She called Prentice and let him know.

There was no answer at the house, and Prentice debated whether to wait for back-up. They both said it at the same time. "This place looks familiar!"

Jones had the better recall. "We spoke to Angela Mitchell here."

They couldn't hear any sound from inside the property, and the lights weren't on. The curtains weren't open. Prentice kicked in the front door. Tiptoeing around the bungalow, Jones whispered, "Boss, a bungalow with a basement."

They descended cautiously and found the door. There was still no hint of any kind of sound. They decided, at least Prentice did, that the residents had flown the coop. He turned the old pitted brass doorknob and it creaked open under its own weight. Jones switched on the light. A rope was swinging from a ceiling beam. On the end of it was a chair gently swaying and twirling. Gladstone's eyes bulged in protest from his swollen face. He was still strapped into the chair. They tried to undo the knots, but in vain. Jones ran upstairs and found the scissors, decided that a saw-toothed kitchen knife would be better, and hurried back to the basement. "It's no use, Jonesy, he's gone. Leave the scene for forensics, I'm on the phone to them now."

*

Although they alerted the train station and airport, it seemed obvious that he wouldn't be quite as stupid as that, he'd expect to be apprehended at the other end. He would be in a car or holed up in a pre-determined hideaway. Prentice couldn't actually believe what he was hearing. It was Olivia again.

"Angela Mitchell is here, I think you need to speak to her."

"Put her on."

There was utter resignation in her voice. "I can't do this anymore. I need you to take me into custody. I'd like to make a statement."

"I'm at your house, I have to wait for some of our forensics team before I can get on my way, but you need to tell me where George Mitchell has gone."

"He wouldn't tell me that, so I asked him to let me out of the car. I feared that he thought I was turning against him, but he dropped me off in the middle of nowhere. I had to thumb a lift to get into Newcastle."

*

George Mitchell felt he had done his best to set the record straight, even if he'd been thwarted for so long, and in finally wresting the upper hand from the medical whitewash clique, he'd found that his angst had been directed at the wrong person. He was intent on ending this twelve year saga by effecting his own spectacular exit. The plan was forming as he drove, meticulous in observing speed limits.

*

A gaunt Angela Mitchell awaited Prentice, the interview room was cold, with only the basic requirements of seats, table, recording equipment, low wattage lighting, and the obligatory but obvious viewing screen for those not apparently involved in the interrogation. She was cautioned and the recorder turned on.

"You wanted to talk to me Angela. Bearing in mind that you lied about Edward Mitchell having a brother, I must warn you that this statement has to be true. You are facing a charge of accomplice to murder amongst others yet to be considered. Just take your time and begin with the birth of your son James."

"Yes, well, you may have gathered that James was George's son. I was young, impressionable and naive. George swept me off my feet with his flamboyance and promises. Looking back, I should have known he was always going to leave the northeast. He was drawn to making his fortune in London. When I told him I was pregnant, he asked what I wanted to do about it. He made it clear that he would do everything to help, but he wasn't going to give up his dream to run his own company. I was devastated, and Edward kept at me to let him go. I eventually gave in and we got married. I was happy to accept George's financial help for James' sake, but Edward wouldn't have it. Everything was a hell of a struggle but we were happy, until the discovery of the tumour. Once again George asked if he could help, and by that time his software company had made a lot of money. He offered to get the best consultants in the world to examine every possibility for James, but Edward kept telling him that the official adoption meant he'd forfeited his right to influence the boy's life. They fell out big time. You see Edward was the steady one and he didn't take George's brash success at all well. I think this is what really pushed Edward to take his own life, realising that maybe George could have helped James. I was amazed when George appeared at my door after the suicide. He said he was going to do what he should have done at the start, take control. He impressed on me that it flipped him over the edge when this surgeon who'd 'killed' his son had given birth herself. He sold his company but retained his London apartment, telling me it was part of the plan. This ridiculous plan. He kept that London apartment because he knew you lot would find your way here at some time, and he thought it would be safer to take the boy there. George was eight years younger than Edward and although there was a likeness, they weren't like two peas in a pod. Edward was naturally bald and a bit overweight. George wanted to be able to pass for his older brother, to attract attention. He had a wonderful head of hair, but shaved it off. He deliberately pigged out, and I was amazed at how much this transformed his appearance. He always had power over me, and I just did what he told me. He moved in, and eventually got a job as a janitor at that hospital. He was compiling a dossier on the surgeon. He ended up knowing everything about her. I was sure he was going to kill her, but he said not. He wanted her to feel the same pain we had all suffered. He intended taking me and the boy to a remote location where no one would ever find us, it was all set up. I let him know that I didn't want someone else's child, but he just dismissed that and repeatedly told me to get ready for the move. He was also obsessed with doing all of this when the boy was the same age as James was when he died. I need you to keep him away from me."

"Where did he drop you off?"

"On the road between the airport and Ponteland, it's a lonely minor road."

"Where do you think he was taking you?"

"To the airport of course, but he turned into a madman when I said I couldn't get on the plane, after he strung up that poor man. He just stopped the car, turned it around and pushed me out. My suitcase is still in the car. I have no idea where we were going, he had all of the tickets and stuff. He probably thought I couldn't be trusted to keep my mouth shut."

"Think hard Angela, surely there must have been documents, phone calls, something which would give you a clue where he was headed."

"He was very particular about things like that, but anyway, I thought it was strange that he turned around before he pushed me out. Maybe there is some information in his flat in London. I don't know where it is, but the company which bought him out will know because it was registered to that company when he sold it, he told me that."

"What's the company name?"

"I can't remember, but I have the number written down somewhere in my house."

Prentice asked what her home number was, called it and asked the forensics squad to look for the London apartment number.

# Chapter 38

George Mitchell headed for the hospital, the blueprint forming in his mind as he drove. He was more uncertain than at any time in the last six years. He parked in the patients' area, as close as he could to the reserved spots for the various consultants. Two and a half long hours later, he saw him, it looked like his target. He checked the photograph, it was him. He followed the black BMW through the driving sleet for a few miles. It eventually pulled into a side street and parked. Across the road was a smart-looking wine bar. The target entered, looked around, and saw a woman waving to him. They embraced and he kissed her. He looked nervous and she seemed to comfort him as she got him to sit. They ordered a drink and the man began to gesticulate as his mobile appeared in his hand. The conversation was brief and he settled back into his seat.

George got out of his car and went into the bar, taking a high stool, and ordered an expensively squeezed orange juice. He was too far away to hear what they were saying. He looked around the place and decided to check out the men's room. It was upstairs, unlike the ladies facility. It would serve his purpose. Within ten minutes the man's phone rang again. This time he shouted at the caller and became quite agitated. Another gulp emptied his cocktail and he beckoned the waiter, ordering another two. Then he walked toward the stairs. George followed a few seconds later. The man was standing at the urinal, admiring himself in the mirror. George took the urinal two spaces away and said, "This awful weather makes you piss more often, doesn't it?"

The man laughed and nodded his head, but there was something familiar about this stranger, despite the wig and spectacles. They both stood at the hot air driers and casually George reached into his pocket. He produced a second modified stun gun, with an exceptionally long rod. Without saying another word he smiled and stared at the man's face and was satisfied that this was him. The bolt bored straight through his left eye, which immediately began pulsing blood in several directions. There was no scream, the wounded man dropped to the floor and twitched violently but only for a matter of seconds. George reloaded the gun and fired the second bolt into the other eye. The body was still. George walked quietly downstairs and back to his car. Another patron of the establishment opened the door to the men's room a couple of minutes later. He was vomiting as he asked the barman to call the police. George headed back to his London apartment, now content that the score was even. Philip Morrison had been erased. There was but one detail to take care of now.

*

Olivia at last got through to Tom. He was uncontrollably ecstatic at the news of his son's safe return, and laughed at the revelation of his new best friend. She asked about the funeral. "It was a sad affair Olivia. There were only a handful of people there. Michael of course, and his girlfriend. What really pissed me off was that some of Dad's lifelong pals at the market made their excuses, all of them bullshit compared to seeing off a friend. Michael is selling the flat. I've been in a hotel, well actually more like a transit stop for illegals. Anyway, I'm not waiting for that numpty Prentice to ok my return. I'll be on the first flight."

"Are you staying long?"

"Didn't think you'd want me to."

"Tom, I think we've both found out what's really important to us in the last few days. I've already told the hospital that I don't want to be considered for any further promotion, and somebody will have to help in looking after Mickey."

"Right, I mean you're right. Typical of me, I had no idea that there's nothing for me down here. Can we take this slowly? Otherwise I'll just screw up again."

"See you soon."

*

George Mitchell wasn't someone who embraced the ordinary things in life, and this wasn't going to be the first. A man of such ingenuity was never going to be troubled by the night security at the London Eye. Kitted out in his climbing gear, he took his time in scaling the giant wheel, avoiding any sweeping lights or patrols or whatever else he might encounter. The deliberate, cat-like ascent gave time for reflection. His thoughts became more intense as he neared the top. There were two images which dominated the final few metres. The first time he saw James, the son he'd abandoned burned bright in his regrets. The other, more poignant picture was that of Kieron, saying the Thames looked like a giant snake. George's anguish at James' death had itself grown like a tumour until his head was infested with snakes. He could see no further purpose in prolonging the nightmare. As he stood atop the wheel, he looked upward to the dark, moonless sky. This was no time for hesitation. He dived off the summit and heard only the air rushing through his senses, then utterly silent blackness. He'd left an impression but no remorse.

*

Peter Radford was making good progress with his speech, but still caused Kieron to giggle at the funny words he managed to articulate. Pauline hadn't fully appreciated that the boy had been abducted, and had already forgotten about the questions regarding her liaison with Ian Gladstone. She hadn't even complained about the number of days and nights she'd had to reside uncomfortably in the hospital. And sadly, she didn't fully realise that there were to be difficult days ahead, due to the gathering attrition of her brain. Olivia and Tom had decided, for now at least, on a trial non-separation. Although Tom couldn't have known why Kieron thought his dad had let him down, he accepted that he had fences to mend, starting with the boy's new friend, Mickey. And with Kieron's mother.

*

The mood in the station was quite flat. The case could be closed but they hadn't nicked him. When the London police had found and identified Morrison, they quickly unearthed the link to the northeast, but not in time for Prentice and his team to get to George Mitchell. Another new case beckoned, a man electrocuted in his own home in highly suspicious circumstances. Prentice decided to give Jones his head on this one, while he called on his old school teacher to hear about the struggle of Kilimanjaro.

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