Deadline

'Well, you went about it the wrong way,' said Tina, her tone exasperated.

'What do you know? Have you got children?'

'No, but—'

'But nothing. You have no idea what you're talking about.'

Tina opened her mouth to reply but Bolt stepped in. This was getting them nowhere.

'OK, Andrea, so you followed their instructions.

You removed the tracking devices and threw them out of the car. But not the two that were attached to the money.'

'No, they told me to leave them in the car when I got out.'

It was a logical move from the kidnappers' point of view, lulling the team into a false sense of security by letting them think they'd still be able to follow the ransom. It also showed that at least one of those involved had fairly expert knowledge of tracking devices.

'What was the last instruction you received?'

'To get out of the car and start walking up the road. I was told I'd be met by someone. I started walking and the next thing I knew there were these loud bangs, everyone was running, there was that gas . . . I remember shutting my eyes, getting knocked about by all these people running, and then someone punched me in the side of the head and grabbed the bag.' She touched the left side of her face where she'd been struck. The area was red and beginning to swell.

'And did you get a look at your attacker at all, Mrs Devern?' asked Mo.

'No, I didn't see anything. It all happened so fast.'

She took a gulp from the water and hunted round for her cigarettes, but couldn't find them.

'Has anyone got a smoke?'

Tina reached into her jeans, pulled out a battered pack of Silk Cut and a cheap lighter, and lit two cigarettes, one for Andrea and one for her. Andrea gave her a curt nod of acknowledgement.

'So, the person on the phone made you remove all these devices,' said Tina, a hint of scepticism in her voice, 'which you did . . .'

'That's right.'

'And did he at any point tell you when you were going to see your daughter again?'

All three of them looked at Andrea.

'He said I'd be seeing her very soon. As soon as he'd verified that the money was all there.'

'When did he say that?'

'During the car journey. Twice. He said it twice.'

'How did he say he was going to make contact to tell you where to find her?'

'He didn't.'

'It seems like you were very trusting,' said Tina.

'You made it impossible for us to track either the suspects or the money, yet you were offered very little in return.'

'All right, Tina,' said Bolt, concerned about the aggressiveness of her questioning, 'there's no point going over all this now.'

Andrea shot Tina a look that was both angry and incredulous.

'What is it? Don't you believe me or something?'

'No,' Tina replied, 'it's just that I can't understand why you did it.'

'Look, don't blame me because someone leaked the fact that I'd brought the police in. This is your fault not mine.' She took an urgent drag on her cigarette and stood up. 'I'm going home.'

'I'm afraid that's not possible for the moment, Andrea,' Bolt informed her.

'Back off, Mike. They've still got my daughter. They could call. So, if you're not arresting me, I'm going, and I'm going to need a lift if you're holding on to my car.'

She pushed past them and started walking in the direction of Tottenham High Road.

'Wait here,' Bolt told the other two and hurried after her. 'Listen, Andrea,' he said when he was alongside her, 'you've got to let me know the second you hear from the kidnappers, OK?'

'What, so you can fuck it up again?' she snapped, without breaking pace. 'No way. I'll take my own chances from now on.'

Bolt grabbed her by the shoulder and swung her round so that she was facing him.

'That's not fair, Andrea, and you know it. I did everything I could.'

'Let go of my arm. You're hurting me.'

Bolt was conscious of several uniformed cops watching him. He ignored them. 'Please,' he said, 'tell me when they call.'

'Mike, what the hell's going on?'

Bolt looked round into the eyes of Stephen Evans, the former head of the NCS, now the assistant head of SOCA, who was flanked by several other equally grim-faced men in suits. Bolt let go of Andrea's arm and she walked away rapidly, passing Evans and his colleagues before they had a chance to say anything. Evans whispered something to the men with him and they went after Andrea while he approached Bolt.

Bolt knew Evans from the past. A short, compactly built man in his late forties with a neatly clipped moustache and a military bearing courtesy of an earlier career in the army, he'd helped him once before when he'd found himself in trouble, and had a well-deserved reputation for looking after the interests of the men and women in his charge. But this time it was different, and Bolt knew it.

'Hello, sir,' he said with a sigh. 'Long time no see.'

Evans stopped in front of him. 'Yes, it is. And I'm sorry we've got to meet again under these kinds of circumstances.'

Bolt nodded grimly. 'I know.'

'I'm afraid I'm taking over the running of this op from SG2 Freud. Because of the way it's gone, he's been suspended pending an investigation. The same goes for you, Mike. As the team leader of the central team on this, I can't afford to keep you on.'

Bolt took a step back as he absorbed the hit.

'Don't do this, sir. I've got a good lead. There's a guy called Scott Ridgers with a long criminal record who's been doing gardening work for Andrea – Mrs Devern – until very recently. He was part of a gang of robbers she informed on fifteen years back. I think he might be our suspect one.'

'I know all that, Mike,' said Evans coldly. 'We've already got surveillance in place outside his flat in Finsbury Park.'

'But he's not there, is he? And the guy's a paedophile—'

'We're dealing with it.'

'Listen, sir, please—'

'No,' Evans said with a brutal finality. 'You're off the case, Mike, suspended until further notice. The IPCC will be getting in touch with you for a witness statement, so don't go disappearing on holiday. I'm sorry, but that's the way it's going to have to be.'

Bolt knew there was no point arguing. The decision had been made. He watched as Evans walked past him and over to Mo and Tina. He caught their eyes but said nothing. Instead, he simply turned away. He was no longer wanted or needed here.

Forty-three

Emma scratched away at the brickwork with the nail. It was so worn down now that it stuck out barely half an inch from between her thumb and forefinger, the end blunt and splayed. Progress was desperately slow. She was on her hands and knees, the bed pushed out from the wall to give her room, but her back still ached from where she'd been bent over for what felt like hours, and her fingers were almost numb with the pain and stiffness. But she refused to stop because she knew that her life might depend on success. Even more so now, after what had happened earlier.