Innocents and Wolves: Thomas & Grey Mysteries Book 5

By Raymond Draper

It’s a bright sunny evening in early summer and young Jennifer Stewart is playing happily with her friends on the green outside her house in the Semilong district of Northampton. Squeals and screeches can be heard as they happily chase a football around their homemade pitch, but minutes later there is only numb silence after Jennifer is snatched and driven away in a car.

Detective Chief Inspector Thomas and his Serious Crimes team are stretched to near breaking point when Superintendent Malan demands Thomas releases one of his staff to The Met’s anti terrorist unit. But Thomas would never forgive himself if he didn’t pull out all the stops to save the missing girl; he assigns his best two detectives to the case, Inspector Sheila Grey and Constable Jo Giordano.

It soon becomes clear that the abduction was the work of an organised gang and young Jennifer was not their first victim.

Meanwhile just days after assigning Detective Constable Andrew to The Met, Thomas is called to the scene of a murder in the Grange Park district and is stunned to find the victim is Andrew. He quickly discovers that Andrew had begun an affair with a colleague in The Met and when she too is murdered, Thomas becomes embroiled in a murder investigation that places him and his family in mortal danger.

Can Grey and Giordano save young Jennifer? What is the motive behind the murders of the two police officers? Who is behind them?

In this the fifth Thomas and Grey mystery, the detective duo face a race against time and their most dangerous adversaries yet.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Raymond Draper
• Release date: Feb 29, 2016
• ISBN: 9780952976332

Book preview

Chapter 1

Young Joe was a good watcher; he knew because his father told him so. ‘You’re the best watcher in the family Joe; don’t have a lot to say, but you see everything; there’s a lot going on in there,’ he said, giving him a light tap on the skull with his knuckles. It hurt but made Joe feel proud.

Joe liked to watch because he did not have the confidence to say much, not even to his pals. Sometimes they laughed at him, but sometimes they grabbed his arms and dragged him onto the green where they often played forcing him to join in with their games. Joe liked that; it meant they wanted him as a friend. But mostly Joe liked to watch.

This fine sunny evening in early summer in the Semilong district of Northampton he had taken up a watching post on the imaginary touchline of a football pitch his friends had marked out on the green. Coats and satchels stood as goalposts and there was no referee but Joe watched happily as his pals chased after a half-size football on their quarter-size pitch.

Nobody except Joe noticed the blue Ford Fiesta roll slowly westwards along the narrow street close to where his pals were playing; there was no reason why they should. It was a nondescript car, no go-faster stripes, no low-slung suspension, no growling sports exhaust, no rear spoilers, nothing at all beyond a standard everyday Ford Fiesta. And in this Victorian Northampton street, vehicles like it came and went all day long, some owned by residents of the century old terraced houses that stood proudly along one side, others to occupants of the newish apartment blocks towering over them on the other.

It pulled in alongside the small green a few yards from the children. A few seconds later Joe cocked his head owl-like to one side, curious why nobody was getting out. After all, he reasoned, it must be really stuffy inside that car. Joe was always sick in his Dad’s car when it got too hot. Outside there was a cooling breeze so why wasn’t anyone getting out? Just then one of the girls squealed and Joe turned his watchful gaze back to the game. His pal Sue was on the floor clutching her knee so Joe sprinted over to see if she was alright.

Unlike young Joe, Katie Stewart was no keen observer and did not notice the Fiesta pull in opposite her kitchen window; she was too busy cooking dinner for her husband Simon. Slim, blonde, not quite thirty, with one eye on the saucepans simmering gently on the hob, and the other on young Jennie, their eight year old daughter playing happily with her friends on the grass opposite, she was only subconsciously paying attention to what was happening around her. The steaming pots were making her uncomfortably hot. Her face was flushed and the ends of her long fair hair were damp and curling up like broken springs. She wiped the back of a hand across her brow and puckered her bottom lip so she could blow cooling air up into her face.

‘What are you up to gorgeous?’ Her husband Simon shouted from somewhere inside the house. He had only just arrived home from work and Katie imagined he was probably fiddling with the television remote, trying to find Sky Sports.

‘Multi-tasking; you know that thing us women can do and you men can’t,’ she fired back while pouring green beans into a pot half-filled with simmering water. Jennie, she noticed, was high-fiving her pals, probably because she had just scored a goal in their makeshift game of soccer. Katie smiled and began stirring the gravy.

Jennie was their only child - so far. Simon and she were immensely proud of her and with good reason; she was top of her class at Spring Lane School, great at all sports, popular with lots of friends, always smiling, and always full of energy. In their eyes, Jennie was the perfect daughter. Katie and Simon had been married nearly ten years and hoped for another child soon, just as soon as finances allowed. Simon wanted a boy, Katie another girl, but boy or girl, if their next child grew up to be anything like Jennie, he or she would be a joy to them both.

A minute later Simon tiptoed up behind her and she felt his lips on the nape of her neck, while an arm snaked around her waist. ‘Mmm, you smell good. You reckon only women can multi-task? Well, I can do two things at once you know,’ he murmured, his lips brushing her neck while his right hand began tracing circles over her stomach.

His kisses never failed to excite her and she sank back against him still clutching the spoon she was using to stir the gravy. Katie pressed back into him, feeling herself melt in his arms, but protested, ‘We can’t here, not now. Jennie is out playing and I’ve got your dinner on.’

Undaunted by her protests, Simon persisted with his multi-tasking, his long lean body pressing against her with growing urgency. ‘Dinner will be another ten minutes and Jennie seems happy enough,’ he countered.

Katie turned her head and kissed him full on the lips, then twisted free of his embrace and shook the spoon at him. ‘Ten minutes! You can wait until Jennie’s in bed, then I’ll show you what real multi-tasking is,’ she said, giving him a mischievous look, and pulling away from him.

Suddenly Simon’s attention was drawn to something outside and he strode towards the window. ‘Hear that? Sounds like a couple of bloody racing cars. What the hell’s going on? The street’s full of kids!’ He parted the net curtains and looked out towards the bottom of the street. ‘I can’t see anything, but I can hear them. I’m going outside. Give the stupid bastards a piece of my mind,’ he said angrily, and strode towards the front door.

Katie had not heard a thing, she had been too lost in Simon’s arms, but now she could make out the roar of a sports exhaust and the scream of an engine at full throttle. Nerves tingling, she followed Simon towards the front door. He had already opened it and was standing on the threshold, looking towards the bottom of the road. The screaming and roaring of engines was much louder now, and they sent shivers of fear down Katie’s spine. Anxiously she looked across at Jennie, but she and her pals seemed completely unaware of the two cars hurtling side by side at breakneck speed towards them; they were too engrossed in their football.

Simon stepped out onto the pavement and began waving his arms, trying to attract the attention of the two drivers, but to no avail. Within seconds they had sped past him, one in a Golf GTI, the other in some kind of sports BMW. ‘You stupid bastards, it’s not a bloody race track!’ he raged, waving his fists at them. His glaring eyes burned into them as they raced towards the junction at the top of the street. Katie too could not take her eyes off them, grateful at least that they had not spun out of control towards the children.

Just when it seemed too late, both drivers stamped on the brakes and the cars skidded to a near halt at the junction, a fog of burning rubber trailing behind them. Then with a final roar from the rear pipes they slued left into Semilong Road and out of sight.

Simon shook his head in disgust, ‘Bloody idiots; they could have killed somebody,’ he said, and turned to go back inside but then froze when he saw the horrified expression on Katie’s face. ‘What’s wrong?’ He asked; his tone suddenly full of concern. But Katie did not answer. She was staring transfixed in the direction of the playing area across the road. Simon followed her gaze, and what he saw chilled him to the bone.

All the children had stopped playing. Some were trembling and crying, others were sucking their thumbs, heads bowed as if fearful they had done something wrong, others were screaming and running away. It was like the aftermath of a bombing; children shocked and dazed, crying, shaking, fearful, when seconds earlier they had been playing happily. Time seemed to stand still; an eerie silence filled the air. Katie was frozen to the spot, a look of sheer horror on her face.

Suddenly Simon was jerked back to the present when Katie screamed, ‘Jennie! Where’s Jennie?’

Simon turned to look back at the children and it was only then that he realised Jennie was not amongst them. He grabbed Katie’s arm and pulled her across the road towards the children. On the point of hysteria they urged each horror-stricken child in turn to tell them what had happened, but they quickly discovered that they were all too traumatised to make any sense. Soon both parents were pacing around, dazed and confused, calling out Jennie’s name with an increasing sense of hopelessness, not knowing what to do or where to look. After a few minutes neighbours began to join them.

Only a good watcher would have noticed that the blue Fiesta was no longer there. Joe was a good watcher and had noticed but he had run away in fear. Joe did not stop running until he reached his house, two streets away. Perhaps if his Dad was in a good mood he would tell him later what he had witnessed, but then perhaps not because somewhere in the back of his mind a voice was telling him he should not have ran away. Joe did not want to get into any trouble.

Chapter 2

News of Jennie Stewart’s disappearance arrived in a phone call to DCI Brian Thomas at his new office in Weston Favell just after seven o’clock that same evening. Thomas was at his desk mulling over a request from his boss, Superintendent Malan to lend one of his team to the Met terrorist unit. They were conducting an operation in Milton Keynes but were short of staff and needed someone local to help them, although how Northampton could be classed as ‘local’ to Milton Keynes he was not quite sure. Nevertheless, he was under no illusions that the ‘request’ was actually an order and no matter how many objections he put up, he would have to let someone go.

He was sick and tired of Malan; he had been lobbying him for months for more staff; his small Serious Crimes team was at near breaking point. Yet Malan had thrown his support behind the request from the Met. The man was a nightmare.

As soon as he put the phone down he called Detective Inspector Sheila Grey and asked her to take charge at the scene. Next he called Social Services to check whether they had any record of Jennie Stewart. If she or her parents had a history, it might explain her disappearance. They had not.

He trawled all missing persons databases to see whether Jennie had any history of running away, or whether a relative or friend had taken her previously. The databases recorded every missing person report, irrespective of how long the person had been missing, including those missing for just a few minutes. Jennie Stewart was not in any of them.

Finally he checked Criminal Records to establish whether either of the parents had a record; they had not.

Now he faced a dilemma; on the one hand he knew that every second counted whenever a child was kidnapped, on the other child kidnapping was rare and he had no evidence that Jennie Stewart had been abducted; only a handful of cases had crossed his desk in all the years he had been on the force. It was a fact that most missing children turned up unharmed within a few hours. But a few, a very rare few, did not, and he would never forgive himself if he failed to do everything he could to find this child.

He picked up the phone and spoke to the senior officer in charge of traffic, arranging immediate roadblocks at every exit from Semilong district. He put out alerts at all railway and bus stations in the area, and Luton, Birmingham, East Midlands and Stansted airports. Next he initiated a Child Rescue Alert. This was the one action that could rebound on him badly if it turned out that Jennifer had not been taken. CRAs were standard throughout the UK whenever a suspected abduction occurred, but there had to be first a suspicion, and so far his team had not had time to gather any evidence on which to form an opinion. Second there had to be reasonable belief that Jennifer was in danger, but all he had to go on was his gut feeling.

The CRA alerted local TV, Radio, and Motorway Services, and although it was important to broadcast the details to the widest possible audience, false alarms were frowned upon. Malan would be down on him like a ton of bricks. He had considered consulting him but knew that he would want to cover all the potential political angles before focusing on finding the girl, and by the time he made up his mind it might be too late.

Nevertheless he did need to report what he had done and so picked up the phone and asked to see him. Malan agreed to accommodate him straight away. His office was on the Brackmills estate. Thomas grabbed his coat and set off on the short journey.

Detective Inspector Sheila Grey made short work of the journey from the station in Weston Favell district to Lower Adelaide Street in the borough of Semilong. To avoid any potential jams she cut through the back streets, but had to slow down when confronted by a roadblock at the perimeter of the cordon that Thomas had arranged.

‘Thomas hasn’t wasted any time,’ she said as she pulled up and flashed her ID at the officer manning the barrier. He took a quick look and signaled for a colleague to let her through.

‘Must have been a difficult decision for him,’ Detective Constable Giordano, her assistant, said, ‘locking down this part of town is going to cause chaos, and if the girl turns out to have run off with friends then he’s going to have a lot of explaining to do.’

‘Malan will be livid, but Thomas won’t care; he’ll have the girl’s safety at heart,’ Grey replied as she maneuvered round the squad cars forming the barrier and headed downhill towards Lower Adelaide Street.

‘Not sure I’d want to be in his position; damned if he does, damned if he doesn’t.’

‘You don’t know the half of it. I’m surprised he’s still with us the way Malan treats him. With his arrest record he could go anywhere,’ Grey said. ‘He used to be a top dog in the Met you know; came up here for a bit of peace and quiet.’

‘With his record you’d think Malan and the Chief would do everything they could to look after him. After all, his success is their success,’ Giordano offered but Grey’s attention was focusing on what she was seeing.

‘Blimey, the cavalry’s already here,’ she observed as she pulled in to the side of the road opposite the Stewart house. ‘When we have time, I’ll fill you in about Thomas, but right now let’s see what’s been going on here.’

Squad cars were lined up along the street for about fifty yards, and Grey could see uniformed officers knocking on doors and making preliminary searches of the areas around the flats. She made her way to a sergeant who was controlling the scene from his car which was parked in the middle of the road about twenty yards away from her. Giordano followed.

‘Evening Mike,’ Grey said, ‘any news?’

Sergeant Mike Hawkins nodded his head. ‘We’ve identified a few kids who were playing with the missing girl, so I suppose that’s a start, but they’re all upset as you can imagine. We’re going to need a specialist to tease full details from them, but from what we can gather so far the girl was snatched.’

‘Oh really?’ Grey asked, suddenly on full alert. If he was right the case would quickly escalate. There would be a media-frenzy and the top brass would be all over it, dissecting every move she made, second-guessing every hunch, sitting in judgment over every decision, all with the infallible wisdom of hindsight. Her heart sank at the thought.

Hawkins took off his cap and scratched his head. ‘Two families have said pretty much the same thing. Their kids were playing with young Jennie on the grass here when she was bundled into a car and driven off. Obviously we’ve got that second-hand from their parents; none of my officers have spoken to the children.’

Grey nodded and then added ‘Bit risky don’t you think? Group of kids playing; whoever snatched her would have had to approach them, single her out, and then bundle her into the car. You’d have thought there was a chance she’d just run away, or scream.’

‘Maybe she did. Who knows? We haven’t gone into specifics yet for obvious reasons, but that’s what we’ve got so far,’ he said, looking slightly offended.

‘You’re searching nevertheless?’

‘Yeah, we’ve checked a few houses, and we’re doing a quick trawl of the bin areas and garages around the flats, but nothing so far. To be honest we’re probably wasting our time.’

‘Okay thanks Mike; I’ll go and talk to the parents. I’ll set up an incident room at Weston Favell and we can get together there later. Let me know if anything turns up,’ Grey said.

Hawkins nodded. ‘Will do,’ he said and then turned his back when his radio squawked into life.

As they were walking toward the Stewart house Giordano said ‘This is beginning to sound serious.’

Grey nodded in agreement. ‘It is. Looks like Thomas’ instincts were spot on. He was right to lock the estate down; even Malan won’t be able to argue with what he’s done now, although I’m sure he’ll try.’

The door to the Stewart house was already open. Grey and Giordano walked along a narrow hallway until they reached a uniformed policewoman standing at the entrance to a small sitting room. Grey nodded to her as she edged past, Giordano following close behind.

Inside it was gloomy; the only light came from a window that overlooked the back yard. Net curtains provided some privacy from the houses opposite. Anaglypta paper painted cream covered the walls up to a wooden picture rail that ran about a foot below the ceiling. A white drum shaped lampshade hung from the centre of the ceiling. A flat screen television and Sky box stood on a glass table opposite the window.

Simon and Katie Stewart were sitting close together on a black leather sofa under the window. Both looked up with hopeful eyes as Grey and Giordano entered. Grey noticed the look and acted quickly to explain why she was there and rein in any false hopes. She said, ‘I’m Detective Inspector Sheila Grey and this is my colleague Detective Constable Jo Giordano. I’m the person you can talk to whenever you have any questions. It’s my job to find your daughter.’

Both pairs of eyes sank back in despair. Katie Stewart had been crying, her eyes were red raw. She was clutching her husband’s hands tightly. Simon Stewart looked pale and drawn.

Grey stood close to a drop-leaf table to the right of them. She said ‘I know this is very painful for you but I have to ask you to take me through what happened this evening.’

‘We’ve already told your officers everything we can remember,’ Simon Stewart said in a tone that left her in no doubt he was angry at being asked to go through it all again.

Grey fully understood his attitude; the memory must have been agonizing for him. ‘I know it’s difficult, but please bear with us. Sometimes we find that small details come to mind on second telling, and they can prove to be very useful,’ she explained.

Stewart seemed to take in her words and sat up straighter. He cleared his throat and said, ‘There’s not a lot to tell. We were both in the kitchen at the front of the house. We could see Jennie playing with her mates on the green opposite.’

‘Can you recall what time this was?’ Giordano asked. Like Grey, she had not been able to find a spare chair. She was standing next to the policewoman in the doorway.

‘About half six; I’d not been home from work long. As I said we were in the kitchen and the kids were playing when I heard what sounded like a couple of boy racers roaring up the street,’ he said.

‘You mean you heard cars or bikes approaching at speed?’ Grey asked.

‘Yeah, cars with their engines screaming like they were at bloody Silverstone. I went out to give the buggers a piece of my mind. Katie followed me. When I got to the front door they were haring up the hill side by side. They must have been doing seventy or more. I thought it was so reckless and dangerous what with the kids playing all around. I waved at them to try to slow them down, but they ignored me; braked like Formula 1 drivers at the top of the street and careered round the corner into Semilong Road.’

‘Any idea what make of cars?’ Giordano asked.

‘VW Golf GTI and a fairly old Beemer.’

‘Colour?’

‘The Golf was black and the Beemer was silver I think, but I couldn’t say for sure,’ Stewart said. ‘I thought nothing more of it and was going back inside when I saw Katie staring at the kids. I turned to look and it was obvious something was wrong; they all looked traumatised. Then we noticed Jennie was not there.’

‘And how long would you say it was from when you last saw Jennie playing to noticing she had gone?’ Grey asked.

‘No more than a couple of minutes. One moment she was there, the next...’ Stewart could not finish the sentence for choking on his words.

‘Take your time Mr. Stewart. You called us at about seven. Can you say what you were doing in the meantime?’ Grey asked, knowing she was risking a flash point; Stewart was on edge as it was, and if she gave him the impression that she thought he or his wife had something to do with their daughter’s disappearance he could easily lose his temper.

Stewart gave her a long hard look but then seemed to relax and said softly, ‘We were asking the kids if they knew where she was but could get no sense out of any of them. After that we looked for her, walked all round the flats shouting her name. I don’t know exactly how long it was before we called you.’

‘I have to ask; did you have any angry words with her earlier, before she went out to play?’

Simon Stewart shook his head. ‘No, none.’ Katie Stewart shook hers too.

‘Do you have a recent photograph of her that we can use?’ Grey asked.

Katie Stewart left the room, returning a few moments later holding a silver frame containing a picture of a young girl smiling happily at the camera. ‘This was taken in May, just after her birthday,’ she said, passing it to Grey.

‘She’s how old?

‘She turned eight in May.’

‘Can you remember what she was wearing?’ Giordano asked.

‘A Saints shirt, the one with gold and green hoops, light blue jeans, and Dunlop trainers; they’re white with a pink logo on the heel.’

‘Can you think of anywhere she might have gone, perhaps to a friend’s house or a relative?’ Giordano continued.

Katie Stewart shook her head. ‘No, all her friends live round here but they would have called us by now if she’d wandered round to see one of them. She has no relatives in the town.’

Grey said, ‘I have to ask you this. Have you noticed anyone hanging around recently; a stranger perhaps?’

‘Oh God!’ Katie cried and burst into tears.

‘It’s a routine question we have to ask Mrs. Stewart,’ Grey said quickly, trying to alleviate her concern. ‘Please don’t read too much into it. We simply have to cover all possibilities.’ She considered telling her that over ninety percent of missing children were found within a few hours, but if Hawkins was right, this could be one of the other ten percent.