Dead Man's Grip

Someone’s seen it. Some camera’s picked it up.’
    ‘Just to be clear, Roy, the last sighting of the vehicle is at the bottom of Boundary Road, the junction with Kingsway, and it was heading west?’
    ‘Correct, Graham.’
    ‘Leave it with me.’
    Grace knew that the Gold Commander, who happened, fortunately, to be one of the officers he most respected in the entire force, would leave no stone unturned. He should let Barrington get on with it and return to Sussex House, first to MIR-1 to show support to his team, and then prepare for this evening’s briefing. With the Chief Constable, Tom Martinson, and the Assistant Chief Constable, Peter Rigg, both due to attend, it was vital he was well prepared. But he was reluctant to leave the chase.
    The killer was in Shoreham somewhere, he was certain of it. If anyone had asked him why, his only answer would have been a shrug of his shoulders and the lame response, copper’s nose . But Glenn Branson understood. That was why, one day, his mate would get to the very top of their profession, so long as he was able to survive his marriage wreckage.
    Grace made a call to the Incident Room and Nick Nicholl answered.
    ‘Nick, I want you to get everyone in MIR-1 to stop doing what they’re doing for two minutes and have a hard think about this, right? If you’d abducted a child, where in Shoreham might be a good place to hide him? Somewhere no one goes. Maybe somewhere no one even knows about. This whole city is riddled with secret passages going back to smuggling days. Have a quick brainstorm with the team, OK?’
    ‘Yes, chief, right away.’
    ‘We’re dealing with someone smart and cunning. He’ll choose a smart place.’
    ‘I’m on to it now.’
    Grace thanked him and drove on, turning right at the next opportunity. He drove slowly through a network of streets, a mixture of terraced houses and industrial buildings. Looking for a needle in a haystack, he knew. And remembering, as a mantra, the words that his father, who had been a policeman too, had once told him. No one ever made a greater mistake than the man who did nothing because he could only do a little.

102
    Tyler felt the car rock suddenly. Then he heard a loud boom, like a door slamming. Followed by scrunching footsteps.
    He waited until he could not hear them any more, then he threw himself around again, kicking as hard as he could, drumming with his feet and with his right shoulder and his head, breaking out into a sweat, drumming and drumming until he had exhausted himself.
    Then he lay still again, thinking.
    Why hadn’t they found him yet?
    Come on, Mum, Mapper! Remember Mapper!
    Where was his phone? It had to be in here somewhere. If he could somehow get whatever was covering his mouth off, then he could shout. He rolled himself over on to his stomach, moved his face around, but all he could feel was the fuzz of carpet. There had to be a sharp edge somewhere in here. He wormed forward, raised his head up. Soft new carpet, like rubbing against a brush.
    What would his heroes have done? What would Harry Potter have done? Or Alex Rider? Or Amy and Dan Cahill in The 39 Clues ? They all got out of difficult situations. They’d have known. So what was he missing?
    Suddenly he heard a scrunching sound. A vehicle! He started kicking out wildly, as hard as he could again. Here! In here! In here!
    He heard doors slam. More footsteps.
    Fading away.

103
    Carly did not hear a word from Sussex Police throughout the flight. Every time a member of the cabin crew walked down the aisle in her direction, she hoped it would be with a message. It was now 8.45 p.m., UK time. Tyler had been missing for almost ten hours.
    Feeling sicker by the minute, she had eaten nothing, just sipped a little water, that was all, on the flight-from-hell, squashed in the tiny part of her seat that the sweating fat man next to her, who stank of BO and drank non-stop vodka and Cokes, hadn’t overflowed into.
    She replayed her decision to go to New York over and over. If she had not gone, she’d have collected Tyler herself from school and he would be safe. He’d be up in his room now, on his computer, alone or with a friend, or doing something with his fossil collection, or practising his cornet.
    Fernanda Revere, who could have stopped all this, was dead.
    Lou Revere scared her. There was something feral and evil about him. Woman to woman, she might have had a chance with Fernanda Revere, when she was sober. But not with the