‘I’m not convinced by that. It was too much of a setup. But either way, Elena Calvo is still a player in this. Right now I need to see the scene where Toby was snatched.’
‘I’ll ring the sergeant in charge and tell him you’re on your way. As soon as we hear anything, I’ll be on the phone to you. What do you think he’ll want?’
‘I can’t know that till he contacts me,’ Harrigan said. ‘Maybe he doesn’t want anything. Maybe he just wants to put me through hell.’
‘It’s a lot of trouble to go to just for that, boss. We need to organise taps on your phones and a watch on your internet connections. If anyone does contact you, we’ll be listening.’
‘Leave my personal mobile alone,’ Harrigan said. ‘He can’t know that number. He’ll ring on my work phone. Watch that.’
‘If that’s what you want. Do I post people to sit with you while you wait?’
‘No,’ Harrigan said. ‘I don’t know when he’ll call. Have people standing by. We can make arrangements quickly enough if they’re ready to go.’
‘Boss, I haven’t thanked you for what you did up there in the commissioner’s office. I know I shouted at you but I appreciate you putting your neck out and I owe you. But I’ve got a question to ask you. Gracie at Freeman’s house the other day. What was that really about?’
‘Mate, I’m going to have to ask you to trust me,’ Harrigan said.
‘Then tell me something. What does it mean for this investigation? Is it compromised? Is the shit going to hit the fan and take us with it?’
‘No. This investigation’s on track and it’s going to stay there.’
‘Are you playing me for a fool?’ Trevor asked quietly.
The only fool in this is me, Harrigan thought. Fool and liar.
‘That’s the last thing I’d do,’ he said. ‘In this case, the buck stops with me.’
‘I’ll take you at your word. There’s one more thing you should know. Gracie. I know Toby’s on your mind more than anything, but if you get the chance, I’d pick up the phone if I were you. I rang to tell her about Toby and she didn’t sound too happy. I think she’s waiting for you to tell her you want to talk to her. I don’t know if you want to be a single man again. You might want to think about it.’
Grace and Trevor had been old friends; a friendship that had slipped a little since she had been seeing Harrigan. Trevor would have picked up the vibe.
‘I’ll call her.’
Before Harrigan could get to his feet, there was a knock on the door. Chloe stood there, Harrigan’s briefcase in her hand.
‘I’ve brought this down for you,’ she said. ‘You left it upstairs.’
Harrigan realised with a shock that he had forgotten about and then almost lost one of the keys to the investigation. The crop specimens Harold had packed for him were in his briefcase.
‘Thanks, Chloe. Where was it?’
‘Next to my desk. Don’t worry,’ she said, giving him sharp look, ‘no one’s touched it but me.’
She was gone.
‘You had things on your mind, boss,’ Trevor said.
‘We all did. I’ll see you, mate.’
Down in his car, Harrigan spun the combination on his briefcase and opened it. The parcel hadn’t been touched. He locked the briefcase again and sat there weighing the options. With Marvin still in place, it was too dangerous to give these to Trevor. The evidence room wasn’t secure; that had already been proved. But if he kept them, the chain of evidence was compromised. Better for them to go where they could be accounted for. Harrigan had dealt with any number of forensic laboratories in his career. The name of one, Millennium Forensic Technologies, discreet and professional, was already in his mind. Tomorrow he would see them and start to find out what the fuss was about. First, he had his son to think about.
21
Harrigan arrived at the familiar grounds of Cotswold House at a time when the residents were usually asleep. Tonight, all the lights were on. The sergeant was there to meet him and take him through what had happened. A white van had arrived in the car park during the mid-afternoon. The driver had been wearing a hat and sunglasses. No one had got a clear view of his face. A little later, one of the residents had seen Tim wheeling Toby through to the car park. There had been a smallish man with Tim, walking very close to him. Toby’s head was slumped forward but he sometimes did sit that way in his chair. The resident had thought that Toby was going on an excursion and Tim was wheeling him out to the house van.
Harrigan looked into Susie’s office. The chairs were knocked over, Susie’s loved pot plants had been upended on the floor and the phone torn out.
Toby’s rooms were empty. All they had to offer was his absence. Harrigan walked into a space he’d visited as often as he could these last ten years or so. It was the carefully designed cradle that had kept Toby functioning and allowed his mind the chance to work effectively. Cramped in his body and in this room, working through his computer and his imagination, Toby’s mind had ranged over infinite space. But he was fragile. His body did not withstand extremes of temperature; he had difficulty eating and drinking and he needed medications. Had he been left in a locked van in the sun all day? Was he even still alive? How could Harrigan know?
He brought these thoughts to a stop purely for self-preservation. As soon as he’d finished at Cotswold House, he went to Royal Prince Alfred Hospital. Tim was still unconscious, his face pale. Although not life-threatening, his injury was serious. Susie was sedated. Her face was badly bruised, her eye black and her lip cut. Harrigan walked away. Out in his car, he rang Trevor.
‘Anything to guide us yet?’ he asked.
‘No, boss. You’ll be the first to hear. Maybe you should get some sleep.’
How was he going to sleep? He drove home to his empty house. By now, it was late. He had half-hoped Grace would be there but why should she be? He hadn’t called her and she didn’t know where he was or what he was doing. Why would she wait for him in an empty house?
On the way home, he checked his post office box where there was nothing but the usual collections of official and junk mail. At his house, he checked his mailbox. A small parcel was inside. Once in the house, he opened it to find a mobile phone.
The house had a cool, silent emptiness, which for a few seconds felt almost comforting, a feeling that dissipated almost as quickly. Harrigan had no appetite and poured himself a whisky. In his study, he saw on his desk an envelope addressed to him in Grace’s handwriting. His heart dipped but it was no ‘Dear John’ letter, instead a report on the launch which, on reading, proved to be as good, if not better, than any he could have received from his own people. Her writing was clear, easy to read. He thought of her in the dead hours smoking endless cigarettes and making these notes and then later waiting for a phone call that never came. I was busy. I was exhausted. I told you that if you didn’t hear anything, that was good. Points of view which were mutually exclusive. Maybe for her it had been the final straw.
He opened his briefcase and took out the drawing Ambrosine had made of him. I’m not as cold as that. I feel everything. It wasn’t what was inside but how others saw you. Few people got under that skin of his. Those who did, he often drove away. He picked up his personal mobile and rang Grace. When she answered, he heard loud music and laughter in the background.
‘It’s me,’ he said. ‘Where are you?’
There was a pause.
‘I’m out with the girls,’ she said, a catch in her voice. ‘We’re at a party.’
Grace’s female friends were lawyers, high-flyers with astronomical incomes. In certain circles they were famous for their hard partying; gossip he had never enquired into too deeply in case he heard something about Grace he didn’t want to know.
‘Can you talk?’ he asked.
‘Sure.’ The background became quieter. ‘What is it?’