Heatwave, Oliver Davies [pdf ebook reader .txt] 📗

all wearing hoods, but the nature of throwing eggs at the building required them to tilt their heads back, conveniently giving us a decent picture of their faces.

“I don’t recognise any of them.” Stephen frowned at the slightly grainy pictures, his lips pressed together.

“Oh Christ,” I muttered when I zoomed in on the last of the group.

“What?”

“You sure you don’t recognise any of them?” I said, pointing at the shortest of the teenagers. He peered forwards and stared.

“Damn, that’s Alistair Pumphrey.”

“Aye, I’m ninety per cent sure it is.”

I rubbed a hand over my clammy forehead and, after digesting the information for a moment, I sent off an email to Sedgwick. It was good news, overall, that Alistair was alive and well and not being held somewhere against his will. Less positive was the fact that he was apparently choosing to run around with the gang, doing things like egging police stations.

I clicked my fingers as a thought came to me all at once.

“I knew I recognised him!”

“Who?”

I fumbled through the CCTV files I had saved on my computer, which was a lot these days, and dug up the one I wanted. It showed the teenage gang walking along as they left the elderly couple’s house where they’d done so much damage. There, next to Jules, was a short teen I’d thought was familiar at the time but hadn’t been able to place.

“There he is. Alistair. He’s been running with the gang since the start.”

“Crikey,” Stephen murmured. “So his dad was right then, in a way. Jules did have something to do with the kid’s disappearance, in that he lured him off into this group.”

“I guess so. Now we need to find out where they’re based, right? Alistair’s got to be living somewhere, and presumably, he’s not on the streets.”

“An abandoned building? Or with one of the other teenagers, maybe?”

“Aye, he could be bouncing between sofas,” I agreed. “Alright, this is a good start.”

Sedgwick came over not long after, wanting to see the footage for himself and interrogate us for answers we didn’t yet have. Eventually, though, he was satisfied that the kid on the CCTV was Alistair and grudgingly thanked us for letting him know before he headed off again.

“He’ll need to let the parents know,” I said, watching Sedgwick walk away.

“That’ll be a difficult one,” Stephen said. “I mean, as a dad, I’d be so relieved my kid was alright, but also so damn pissed that they’d gotten themselves tangled up in this and left me worrying.”

“He might’ve been pushed into it or peer pressured,” I said. “He’s only fourteen, remember. I hope his parents don’t blame him too badly.”

“He needs to be found and brought home, that’s for sure.”

We continued to search through the CCTV as the sun heated up outside, worsening the smell of eggs until the window cleaners arrived to scrub them clean. Stephen and I worked to identify the kids on the video, matching them up with other security footage we’d seen or faces I remembered from that time the older group of teenagers had threatened me.

Nothing urgent came through, and my calls to chase up results from the jerry can that had gone to the labs came up empty. They’d been too busy to look it over yet, they said, and the story was the same with Keira when I tried to ask her about the messaging site.

“It’s a plateau,” Stephen said firmly at lunchtime. I’d just sighed aloud for a third time over today’s stagnancy. “Most cases have a slow period, y’know, when we understand a lot but can’t act on it yet.”

“You’re right, I know. It’s this feeling of waiting for another call, another incident, another fire that gets to me. It niggles at you, keeps you awake at night.”

“I know the feeling, mate. It won’t last forever.” Stephen reached over to rub my shoulder. “And not getting enough sleep doesn’t help the case.”

“Aye, try telling my brain that.” I shook my head. “Running helps, though. If I tire myself out properly, I can’t overthink anything.”

“Not sure that’s the healthiest attitude if I’m honest, but it’s better than alcohol or sleeping pills, so…” Stephen sent me a dry smile and a shrug.

“Thanks a bunch,” I grinned back, gently cuffing the back of his head. “If I start self-medicating with whisky, I’ll let you know.”

“Yeah, you do that,” Stephen said. He was still smiling slightly, but there was a seriousness in his eyes as he added, “I mean it, if things get worse and you can’t sleep or whatever, you’ll tell me, won’t you? None of this stoic, macho bull-”

“Aye,” I said, with a laugh that was more surprised than from any genuine humour. “O’course. And I expect the same from you, big man. You know I’ll listen to your troubles any day.”

“Yeah?” he said, the teasing look back in his eyes. “Well, I have been having awful pain in my feet. You could give ‘em a good foot rub-”

I swore at him with a laugh, and we carried on bickering as we finished our lunches. The day wore on, hot and slow, and I found myself looking forward to my run and, of course, to seeing Sam again when I went back to hers. We’d been planning to try cooking something different this evening and working up an appetite with a long run beforehand sounded like a good idea.

“You might as well head off, too, Mitch,” Stephen said as he was preparing to leave at five. “There’s nowt else to be getting on with that can’t wait till tomorrow.”

“There’s still-”

“You’re about bouncing in your seat, mate, seriously. Go on your run. You’ll be fresh for tomorrow.”

“Christ, you’re such a dad, y’know that?”

“I’m taking that as a compliment.” He grinned at me when I rolled my eyes and headed off home to his wife and kids.

I tried to carry on working for another ten minutes or so, but Stephen was right. I had too much energy to focus right now.

Running across the station