number of unsavoury characters who wouldn’t normally bother to wash themselves, let alone their mutts.
Riley sat at a terminal in the crime suite and peered at the screen. The surveillance logs, he hoped, would show some sort of pattern which might indicate the best time to make the raid. The last thing they wanted was a dozen dogs scampering out the front door and onto the main road. Mayhem. It didn’t bear thinking about.
‘Darius?’ The voice came from Gareth Collier, the office manager. Collier was ex-military and his voice always had a smidgen of the tone of a sergeant major layered within. His appearance, with a severe haircut and a couple of tats on each forearm, gave no doubt as to the world he’d once inhabited. Collier’s investigations always ran on rails, but unlike with trains, tardiness was something he didn’t allow. ‘Can I have a word?’
‘Sure,’ Riley said as Collier came over. ‘What’s up?’
‘This guy is what’s up.’ Collier slid a piece of paper onto the desk in front of Riley. ‘He’s gone missing on Dartmoor.’
‘What’s this?’ Riley said, as he looked at the thumbnail photograph and digested the information on the sheet. Perry Sleet. Forty-one. An animal drug salesman. In the photo, Sleet was wearing a rugby top and a cheeky grin. God’s gift. ‘Déjà vu?’
‘Yeah, you might say so. All over again.’
Riley nodded. A while back he’d been involved in a missing persons case concerning a prison officer from HMP Dartmoor. The man had vanished on his journey home, turning up some days later at the bottom of a mineshaft in a remote part of the moor, a bullet in his brain for good measure.
‘Isn’t this one for mountain rescue?’ Riley looked up at Collier. ‘It’s not as if I’m some kind of expert on moorland disappearances.’
‘Not an expert, no, but the right man for the job undoubtedly.’ Collier nodded at the piece of paper on the desk in front of Riley. ‘You see, there are problems.’
‘Problems?’ Riley said, hoping he’d be able to deflect whatever Collier was trying to push his way. He gestured at his monitor. ‘Only I’m bit stretched for time on this one.’
‘All taken care of, mate.’ Collier turned his head and indicated a couple of young DCs three desks over. ‘Tweedledum and Tweedledee. Keen as the proverbial. You can brief them when I’ve finished with you.’
‘Gareth, I—’
‘Sleet’s car was found yesterday evening up on Dartmoor. Door open, radio still on, a cup of coffee in the drinks holder on the dash. There’s been a cursory search of the area but no sign of the man. This is a guy who, according to his wife, is not an outdoor type.’ Collier nodded over to DC Enders. ‘Not like our man over there. Sleet didn’t have any walking gear. No GPS. No waterproofs. He had some wellies for traipsing across muddy farmyards, but they were still in the boot with the rest of his things.’
‘The drugs?’
‘Sleet carries samples only. Food supplements, that sort of thing.’ Collier shrugged. ‘We’ve got some right smackheads in Plymouth, but I think topping someone for a mineral lick is beyond even their stupidity. Anyway, if this was about the gear he was carrying, then where’s Sleet?’
‘So what’s your hunch?’
‘Hunches aren’t my job, they’re yours.’
‘Huh?’ Riley looked up at Collier. The man’s eyes narrowed and there was a thin smile on his lips. The office manager was teasing him, of that Riley had no doubt. He’d fed him a little nugget of information. Bait to see if Riley would bite. ‘There’s more, isn’t there? Tell me.’
‘Sleet’s married with two kids. Just bought a nice new house in Plymstock. Playing at happy families. Only I’m wondering if it’s an act. See, we’ve found Sleet’s mobile. At just after one o’clock he received a call from a particular number. The name listed alongside the number in his address book is “Sarah”. Just the woman’s first
Riley sat at a terminal in the crime suite and peered at the screen. The surveillance logs, he hoped, would show some sort of pattern which might indicate the best time to make the raid. The last thing they wanted was a dozen dogs scampering out the front door and onto the main road. Mayhem. It didn’t bear thinking about.
‘Darius?’ The voice came from Gareth Collier, the office manager. Collier was ex-military and his voice always had a smidgen of the tone of a sergeant major layered within. His appearance, with a severe haircut and a couple of tats on each forearm, gave no doubt as to the world he’d once inhabited. Collier’s investigations always ran on rails, but unlike with trains, tardiness was something he didn’t allow. ‘Can I have a word?’
‘Sure,’ Riley said as Collier came over. ‘What’s up?’
‘This guy is what’s up.’ Collier slid a piece of paper onto the desk in front of Riley. ‘He’s gone missing on Dartmoor.’
‘What’s this?’ Riley said, as he looked at the thumbnail photograph and digested the information on the sheet. Perry Sleet. Forty-one. An animal drug salesman. In the photo, Sleet was wearing a rugby top and a cheeky grin. God’s gift. ‘Déjà vu?’
‘Yeah, you might say so. All over again.’
Riley nodded. A while back he’d been involved in a missing persons case concerning a prison officer from HMP Dartmoor. The man had vanished on his journey home, turning up some days later at the bottom of a mineshaft in a remote part of the moor, a bullet in his brain for good measure.
‘Isn’t this one for mountain rescue?’ Riley looked up at Collier. ‘It’s not as if I’m some kind of expert on moorland disappearances.’
‘Not an expert, no, but the right man for the job undoubtedly.’ Collier nodded at the piece of paper on the desk in front of Riley. ‘You see, there are problems.’
‘Problems?’ Riley said, hoping he’d be able to deflect whatever Collier was trying to push his way. He gestured at his monitor. ‘Only I’m bit stretched for time on this one.’
‘All taken care of, mate.’ Collier turned his head and indicated a couple of young DCs three desks over. ‘Tweedledum and Tweedledee. Keen as the proverbial. You can brief them when I’ve finished with you.’
‘Gareth, I—’
‘Sleet’s car was found yesterday evening up on Dartmoor. Door open, radio still on, a cup of coffee in the drinks holder on the dash. There’s been a cursory search of the area but no sign of the man. This is a guy who, according to his wife, is not an outdoor type.’ Collier nodded over to DC Enders. ‘Not like our man over there. Sleet didn’t have any walking gear. No GPS. No waterproofs. He had some wellies for traipsing across muddy farmyards, but they were still in the boot with the rest of his things.’
‘The drugs?’
‘Sleet carries samples only. Food supplements, that sort of thing.’ Collier shrugged. ‘We’ve got some right smackheads in Plymouth, but I think topping someone for a mineral lick is beyond even their stupidity. Anyway, if this was about the gear he was carrying, then where’s Sleet?’
‘So what’s your hunch?’
‘Hunches aren’t my job, they’re yours.’
‘Huh?’ Riley looked up at Collier. The man’s eyes narrowed and there was a thin smile on his lips. The office manager was teasing him, of that Riley had no doubt. He’d fed him a little nugget of information. Bait to see if Riley would bite. ‘There’s more, isn’t there? Tell me.’
‘Sleet’s married with two kids. Just bought a nice new house in Plymstock. Playing at happy families. Only I’m wondering if it’s an act. See, we’ve found Sleet’s mobile. At just after one o’clock he received a call from a particular number. The name listed alongside the number in his address book is “Sarah”. Just the woman’s first
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