Expectant, page 4
Unfortunately it wasn’t the first time I had the occasion to speak with Simon.
‘I am pleased to say nothing’s come to the surface on the online forums we monitor. Because it’s been all over the news, it would be the kind of sensationalist material that would draw them like moths to a flame. There hasn’t even been a flicker.’
That was a relief to hear. But it was early days.
‘I imagine whoever posted something like that could demand top price if it was so high profile?’
‘Yes, it makes it very attractive to the punters.’
Click bait of the most perverse kind.
‘We’ve only been talking in terms of potential abuse of the baby. But what of the whole crime itself? I mean, is there a market for people watching the whole shebang? The murder, the removal of the baby, and anything after that?’ I couldn’t even bring myself to say the words.
‘I hate to say it, but yes, there is. You see it all the time – reports of people watching live streams of things like massacres and murders. Unfortunately there is a niche that caters for every taste.’
‘There are some sick people in the world.’
‘No debate from me there.’
‘So there have been no whispers of the murder being posted anywhere online?’
‘To be honest, I haven’t looked into that scenario, but I will. From what you’ve described though, it would be highly unlikely. Remember, these people are thinking about the filming – the cinematography, for want of a better word – that’s what they make their money from. In past crimes of a similar ilk, victims have been kidnapped and taken to somewhere where the perpetrators can record securely, and where they get a reasonable-quality picture. And where they won’t get caught. It’s well planned.’
‘I guess a rush job in a dark alley wouldn’t fit the business model.’
‘No. And it’s one fucked-up business model.’
It was a relief that nothing had surfaced so far. It was a line of investigation I could tick off the list.
‘All of that’s kind of encouraging, actually. I know it’s a real long shot, but as you know we have to consider all possibilities.’
‘Look, happy to chat anytime. I’ll follow up on the big-scene scenario, and if I hear any whispers I’ll be in touch.’
‘Thanks for all your help, and I mean this in the nicest possible way, but I hope to never have to speak with you again.’
He laughed. ‘The feeling’s mutual.’
CHAPTER 10
‘Right, everyone, gather round.’ DI Johns strode into the CIB room and took up position, centre-stage by the windows, clapping his hands together twice in the manner of Mrs King, my standard-one primary-school teacher. My internal monologue started its automatic playlist of colourful adjectives for slagging him off, but checked up short when I caught the look on his face. The frown was very real, not his usual ‘well rehearsed for the audience’ version, and my heart sank. Whatever was coming, it wasn’t going to be good. My mind catapulted straight to worst-case scenario – Jesus, I hoped they hadn’t found the baby dead. Even the thought of that word induced a visceral repulsion in me. For once in my life I was keen to hear what The Boss had to say. Smithy, Paul and Otto were in the room, and they too picked up on the urgency in his tone and wasted no time in obeying the gather-round command.
‘There’s been an unexpected development.’ True to usual form though, he left the pause hanging a moment too long. ‘We have received a ransom demand for the baby.’
There was a variety of ‘ohs’ and a ‘really?’ from around the room, one of them from me. My train of thought on motive for this crime had revolved around people wanting the baby for keepsies, not for profit. I’d never considered a ransom demand was even a possibility, so part of me was surprised, but a huge part of me was relieved. A ransom demand meant the baby was alive. People didn’t generally demand ransoms for corpses. It offered a first glimpse of hope.
‘Did they contact the family?’ Paul asked.
‘No, the demand came through the Crime Stoppers hotline. It’s just been picked up, so we need to formulate a plan on how to tackle this, and quickly.’
‘What was the demand?’ I asked.
‘One million in cash.’
That seemed a very parochial amount, lacking in imagination, but I guessed it was an easy round number for someone to come up with. You never saw a ransom demand for something like nine hundred and sixty-four thousand, two hundred and eighty-eight dollars and thirty cents. And in cash? But then it wasn’t like you could request electronic banking and handily leave your bank account number for the deposit without a guaranteed visit from the police, unless you conveniently had a Swiss bank account. I was fairly confident most New Zealanders didn’t. And I had no idea how the family would be able to front up with a million bucks in a hurry.
‘For when?’ Smithy this time.
‘Tomorrow.’ The Boss put his hands on his hips and paced back and forth across the front of the room. ‘Of course, because the demand was made through the hotline there is no way to trace it or to respond. They didn’t leave a number to negotiate through.’
The great thing about Crime Stoppers was that it was run by an intermediary in such a way that anonymity was guaranteed. That gave people the confidence to report things that they might otherwise not, for fear of the repercussions. The downside was it was untraceable. If they had rung the Police 105 line or their local station, we could get in touch and say, hey, in the real world there was no way in hell anyone could rustle up that kind of money. And if they were smart they would have used a mobile phone with an unregistered pre-pay SIM card. No one would be stupid enough to use their endless-data, home-and-internet-plan number, although some crims did suffer from basic stupidity, so stranger things had happened. Whichever it was, at least there could have been a conversation.
Smithy must have been thinking along my mind. ‘How on earth do they think we can contact them to sort out a drop, if there’s going to be one?’
‘They said they would call again in the morning to give details on where to leave it.’
‘Another slight problem,’ Paul said. ‘I’m pretty sure there’s no way there would be a million dollars in cash sitting in the vaults of every bank in Dunedin combined. Even if they did try to pay the ransom, it would be impossible to get that kind of cash in a day.’ He was right. Our recent holiday across the ditch to Melbourne to see his folks had proven that even getting a paltry amount in foreign currency was challenging, let alone a small fortune in notes. Hardly anyone used cash anymore – the financial world spun on a digital axis.
‘I can’t recall there ever having been a ransom demand like this in Dunedin before,’ Smithy said, and he’d been around a while. ‘Is there a nationwide police policy on it – like the “don’t negotiate with terrorists” thing?’
‘The police default is don’t pay a ransom, but ultimately it is the call of the party involved,’ DI Johns replied. He had started dragging his fingers through his hair. The case appeared to have got under The Boss’s rhinoceros-thick hide as much as it had under ours. Made me wonder if he was human after all. ‘We can only advise them, but it’s Aleisha Newman’s family who will have to make the final call. They haven’t been informed of the situation as yet. I’ll be paying them a visit this afternoon. In the meantime, we all need to come up with a way to track this bastard down. If the family decide to try and pay the ransom in a bid to secure the safety of the baby, then we need to come up with a way to use it as a trap – without putting the child at risk.’
That was going to be a challenge. I’d seen enough high-octane Hollywood movies to know that it could all end in catastrophe.
‘One last thing: this stays in this room. We don’t want the media getting a sniff of it and blowing our chance to track down the perpetrator. That would be a disaster.’ His eyes fell on me. I don’t know why in hell he thought I’d go blabbing to the press, but every time a coconut he gave me the side-eye, no one else. ‘Once we have formulated our plan and the time is right, we’ll make a statement. But for now, we zip it.’
CHAPTER 11
Bubs had decided to dance on my bladder, so I’d had to skip out to visit the facilities and avoid creating a water feature in the office. I’d got sidetracked on my way back by a conversation with Laurie, one of the admin staff. She had been regaling me with her three child-birth experiences, none of which imbued me with great confidence for the adventure ahead. I know the mothers on staff were only trying to reassure me, and those that had what I considered were frankly traumatic deliveries involving long labours, agony, rips, tears and stitches in unmentionable places, or having the baby delivered via the sun roof, vowed that you forgot all the bad stuff when you got to hold your new arrival in your arms and gaze lovingly at them. So far I wasn’t feeling it.
The Boss was back from his visit to Aleisha Newman’s family, and they had indicated there was no way in hell they could raise ten thousand bucks let alone a million, short of one hell of a crowdfunding campaign. What they had asked though, was could they pretend to pay the ransom, use some real and some fake money or something, and find a way to bring their baby home? It was understandable. If you were desperate with worry you’d see this as your only chance. Of course, the risks were immense, and I could hear the discussion continuing from halfway down the hallway. The volume indicated things were a tad more animated than when I had left the CIB room, with voices trying to climb over the top of each other.
‘There is no way we can risk leaving the money in such a crowded situation. Anyone could pick up the bag and take off with it.’ The Boss’s voice wasn’t hard to pick out, and as usual when trying to debate a point, he used volume over finesse.
‘Well, we haven’t exactly got a choice, have we? He left a message and no number, so it’s not like we were able to have a nice little chat at the time and talk him out of it.’
Judging by the turn in the conversation, something had come to light in the time I’d been away. I walked into the room and saw four faces standing around my desk. Only two had been doing the talking in the time I’d been in earshot. They all glanced up at me and stopped. One looked pleased to see me, two looked ambivalent, and one looked unimpressed.
‘What?’ I said, feeling suddenly very much the centre of attention. I looked down to check I didn’t have a toilet paper souvenir hanging from anywhere it shouldn’t.
‘You looked like you were about to proclaim something,’ Smithy said.
‘I did?’
‘Yes.’
‘Well, I wasn’t, but can you tell me what’s going on?’
‘We’ve just been informed the ransom person has left another message – on the station phone line this time instead of using Crime Stoppers. They’ve instructed us that the money be left in a backpack at 8.45 in the morning at the farmers’ market.’ Paul delivered the news with an eyebrow ‘hi’ and a smile.
‘The farmers’ market?’ I said. ‘That’s a bit random – and bit of a longer time frame.’
The farmers’ market was a Saturday morning institution, held next to the iconic Dunedin Railway Station in the not-so-iconic carpark. Every man and his dog came along to the market to buy anything from fresh fruit and vegetables to breads, cheeses and meats, to local grog, and to that all-important coffee. It was as much a social event as it was a local produce showcase, with lots of people using it as a weekly catch-up spot with their friends. It was crowded, chaotic, and also pretty central, being a few blocks away from the city centre. I suppose as a place to pick up an exorbitant amount of money and have a few different directions for escape, it wasn’t awful, but it was small, quite enclosed and basically not great. Also, by pushing out the drop date, they were giving us plenty of time to put surveillance and contingencies in place. I thought ransom-guy could do better.
‘Anywhere specific there?’
‘Down the northern end, by the “green electrical cabinet thing” – his words. That’s near where the platform ends. There’s often some seating around there, and a few vendors.’
‘But anyone could pick it up and take off with it. You know what people are like – if it’s not tied down they’ll nick it, especially a bag.’
‘That is precisely the point I was trying to make.’ Oddly it didn’t make me feel grateful to have The Boss agree with me.
‘Actually, I think in Dunedin, people are too honest, and someone is more likely to pick the bag up and hand it in to the market office.’ Paul had a fair point there. It also brought another idea to mind.
‘How bulky and hefty is a million bucks?’ I asked. ‘Even if it was in hundred-dollar notes, would it fit in a backpack?’
Judging by the shrugs around the table no one had ever had the opportunity to test it out. There were no lotto winners in the room – well, confessed ones. And if they had won the big one and were still working here, they were idiots.
‘I guess it depends on the denomination,’ said Paul. ‘It would be easy enough to look up.’
‘I’ll Google it. Hang on a tick.’ Smithy directed his attention to his nearby computer. The tick took a bit longer than he thought due to his archaeological method of typing – dig around for the key until you find it. He was also one of those people who typed very loud.
‘Actually, it’s not too bad. A note is around a gram, so a mill in hundies would be around ten KG.’
‘Well, that’s less than I thought it would be,’ said Paul.
I did the maths in my head. ‘They didn’t state what notes they wanted it in, so we could do it in five-dollar notes and they’d have a hell of a problem running off with two hundred KGs’ worth.’
‘Or coins.’ Paul chipped in. We all had a chuckle at that one.
‘But seriously, setting up surveillance at the market and covering the roading around there would be a little challenging. The only high vantage point is the station building itself. Everything else around there is single or double-storeyed.’ The Boss brought it back to the task at hand. ‘How many roads exit from that point?’
‘Anzac Avenue, both directions. St Andrew Street in front and behind the station.’
‘Leith Street and Harrow Street shoot off nearby. And that funny little through street to the one-way south.’
‘They could also scoot through the industrial area behind to the harbour and boat access.’
I was starting to imagine one of those crazy James Bondish chase scenes involving parkour, bicycles, cars and jet skis.
‘Don’t forget the railway lines themselves,’ Sonia piped in.
‘Pardon?’ The Boss seemed to only just have noticed her.
‘The railway lines, they pass through behind everything. He could take off alongside them, or even on one of those vehicles, you can get those jeep-like things that can run on the rails as well as roads. If they had access to one of them you could head north a way before changing vehicles – confuse your pursuers.’
‘No one would think of that,’ The Boss said.
‘She did,’ I piped in. Sonia could be quiet, but she had some unusual ways of thinking, which in my mind made her a real strength in the team. But some others viewed her as weird. Unfortunately one of those was The Boss, so she only scored slightly higher than me in his popularity ratings. The cynic in me did wonder if that was because we both had vaginas.
‘It’s unlikely.’
And that was how imagination and innovative ideas were stifled.
I changed the topic slightly. ‘So what did the message say exactly?’ I asked.
‘We can just play it if you want to hear it – they isolated an audio clip,’ Smithy said. ‘The caller ID was for a non-registered pre-pay number, so not useful – although we can at least contact them back now and possibly get a trace.’ Smithy clicked on a few files on the computer, and then lo and behold, a very Kiwi-accented, male, mid-pitched and slightly shaky voice came across the speakers.
‘We have the baby. If you want her back safely leave the one million in a black backpack behind the green electrical cabinet thing down the end of the farmers’ market at 8.45am. If anyone tries to stop the pick-up or interferes in any way, you will never see her again. If the pick-up gets arrested, we will kill her.’
‘Christ in a hand cart,’ I said.
‘Yeah, it’s a pretty blunt threat,’ said Paul.
‘Yes, it is,’ I said. ‘But it’s not that.’
‘What is it then?’
‘Play it again.’
Smithy duly clicked the play button, and the not-so-dulcet tones replayed across the room. I shook my head as it confirmed my suspicions.
‘Bloody idiot. You’re not going to believe this, guys, but I’m pretty sure I recognise that voice.’
CHAPTER 12
Waiting sucked. Naturally, I wasn’t allowed to go along with the armed officers and the heavies to pay a visit to the suspect’s house. For one thing, my current shape and the available dimensions of body armour were mutually exclusive. For another, no one was going to let me assume that kind of risk, even if the armour had been available. So I had to wait. Patience wasn’t one of my strong points, and despite knowing that Paul could handle himself in any situation, I still felt a jumble of nerves. Unlike my usual sunny, optimistic self, I was catastrophising the situation, playing endless worst-case scenarios in my head. Of course, none of these scenarios were focused where they should have been – on the welfare of the baby. No, they were a lot more self-indulgent. My thoughts couldn’t help but venture into ‘what if something happened to Paul?’ territory. How many times had you seen the tragic and tear-jerking stories in the news about young widows, pregnant or with newborns, whose partners had been killed in the line of duty? Images of women in black flooded my brain, veils concealing tear-stained faces, hands clasping those of loved ones or little children while bravely standing grave-side, watching as the flag was folded and presented to them with military precision, the devastated widow accepting its solemn weight. I imagined having to endure the agony of watching the coffin lowered into the ground. My eyes looked down to the large, wriggly lump between me and my toes. I didn’t want to imagine a life where I was doing this alone. I couldn’t. We needed him.
