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  Caslin smiled, “Hello Sara. How’s London? Surviving without me?”

  “Wouldn’t have a clue,” she replied. “I’m in York.”

  Caslin was momentarily thrown, “York…what are you doing in…here?”

  “I’m on holiday,” Sara countered. “That is allowed, you know. You always told me how great it is up here so I thought I’d venture north.”

  “Really?” he replied lightly. “I thought they never let you out of the cavern.”

  Sara laughed then, “True, they usually don’t. Seeing the sun was a shock to the system, I can tell you.”

  Caslin took on a more settled tone, “How long are you here for?”

  “A few days, a week, I’m not sure yet. See how it goes. Meet me for a drink?” she asked.

  “Yes, of course,” Caslin said. “Things are a bit manic here-”

  “I know,” Sara interjected. “That’s why I said a drink. This is your patch, where shall we go?”

  There was only one place where Caslin felt genuinely comfortable, “Lendal Cellars, around seven?”

  “What’s wrong with now?”

  “I’m on duty.”

  “You sound like you’re in town.”

  “I am.”

  “Well then?” Sara persisted. Caslin checked the time. It was pushing midday.

  “I can be there in about fifteen minutes. We can call it an early lunch.”

  “Excellent,” Sara replied. “And you’re buying.”

  The call ended and Caslin realised he had stopped walking, much to the frustration of other pedestrians, now forced to negotiate the narrow space around him. He hadn’t seen that call coming.

  The cellars were quiet. No doubt trade would be picking up over the coming hour but for now, the vaulted, brick-lined lower seating-area was theirs alone. The bright sunshine and warmth outside rapidly faded from memory as they read the menu. They were sitting well below ground level and the slight smell of damp appeared at odds with the social setting. Sara was seated opposite him, in a booth halfway along the length of the section. The recessed lighting illuminated them in a way that softened her angular features. He hadn’t seen her in nearly two years and found her company strangely electrifying. Once before, that had been the case but now he figured it all over and done with.

  “This place kind of suits you,” Sara said, glancing around. Caslin eyed her to see if she was mocking him somehow. She noticed. “It has a real character. It’s charming in a way, stylish and yet dark and brooding.”

  Caslin laughed, “No-one has ever called me stylish.”

  “Well, I didn’t say it was exact.”

  “Thank you very much,” Caslin replied, smiling. Sara fixed him with a gaze, a stern expression appearing on her face. His smile dropped, “What is it, Sara?”

  “You,” she replied flatly. “You look like shit, Nate. In all seriousness, what’s going on with you?”

  Caslin sat back in his seat, exhaling heavily as he did so, “I could say the rigours of the job but you wouldn’t buy that, would you?” She shook her head. In contrast to himself, Sara was looking radiant. Her hair was cut shorter than he remembered and probably a different colour, recollecting her more as a blonde but he chose not to mention it, just in case he was wrong. To be fair she was ten years his junior, in that sweet spot of life where age enhances, rather than detracts from your appearance. Approaching forty, Caslin should still be able to say the same but he was the first to admit he wasn’t taking care of himself. “Just going through a patch, you know how it is?”

  “How long has it been?”

  He laughed, nursing his pint before him, “Couple of years.”

  “How did it go with Karen?” Sara asked. Caslin picked up a slight change in tone at the mention of the name. He shrugged.

  “That’s all done.”

  “I’m sorry,” she said. He looked at her and could see she meant it. “I feel partly to blame for all that.”

  “You shouldn’t,” Caslin implored her, shaking his head. “You shouldn’t. We were in trouble before you and I…long before our thing.”

  “Our thing?” Sara said with a crooked smile.

  Caslin laughed, “Our whatever. It was hardly a relationship…fling…I don’t know.”

  She reached across, placing a reassuring hand on his forearm, “I’m kidding. Karen blamed me though, didn’t she?”

  Caslin sipped from his glass, “Karen needed someone to blame. It wasn’t enough just to blame me but…” he paused, arranging his thoughts, “you were a symptom, not the cause. I was the one looking outside the marriage, so ultimately it was my fault.” He fell silent, finishing his drink.

  “I’ll order the food,” Sara said, standing up. Moving off, she stopped and turned to him, “You could’ve called, you know.”

  He met her eye and nodded, “I know.”

  She resumed her course to the bar, Caslin watching her until she disappeared from view, mounting the steps to the next level. He hadn’t told Sara that he and Karen had tried again the previous year, after Caslin’s shooting. Karen had halted the divorce proceedings. Was it through guilt that saw her do that or the very real thought of nearly losing him? He would never know the answer. Whatever the reasoning, it didn’t matter. All was said and done. Shaking off the melancholy as Sara returned, he forced a big smile.

  “So, what are your plans while you’re in town?” he asked, sneering as a glass of coke was put down in front of him.

  “You’re still on duty, remember?” she said. “However, I did order you the Gourmet Burger. It comes with all the trimmings, including beer-battered bacon, if you can believe that? So, it’s not a total washout.”

  “The heart stopper,” Caslin said with a smile. “Nice. Plans?”

  Sara retook her seat, shrugging off the question, “See how it goes. I was due the annual leave and couldn’t think of anywhere I particularly fancied going. Then I thought of you and ended up here.”

  “I’m honoured.”

  “Don’t be,” Sara laughed. “I went out to Croatia, last year. This time I thought I would try the UK for a change. So, tell me about this case you’re on?”

  “Did you have one in mind?” Caslin countered.

  “I saw you on the telly, when was it, Monday night? You were in the background when the news crew were interviewing your DCS about the Bermond girl.”

  “Eagle-eyed, Sara.”

  “Attention to detail is my business.”

  Now Caslin laughed, “Speaking of which, how is life at the Agency?”

  “I would love to say it’s all spooks, terror plots and non-stop action but in all honesty, it’s mostly crunching data. Exciting stuff,” Sara said with a flick of her eyebrows. “Unlike you and yours.”

  “What do you mean by that?” Caslin asked.

  “You’re like a magnet to big cases,” she argued. “Or is that you can’t leave anything alone and they grow arms and legs?”

  Caslin smiled, “Aye, right enough there.”

  The conversation paused as the barman arrived with their food. They chatted as they ate and for the first time in months, he felt like life extended beyond the folders on his desk at Fulford Road. Time flew by and Caslin forced himself to head back to the station shortly before two o’clock, only after promising to meet Sara again later for a drink. He was already looking forward to it when they said their goodbyes.

  Chapter 15

  “What is it you’re getting at?” Caslin asked, throwing another couple of mints into his mouth. He was barely back at Fulford before Hunter accosted him en route to his office. Hunter, now standing in the doorway to his office, looked over her shoulder to check that no-one else was within earshot before she continued.

  “This has been bothering me right from the start. Bearing in mind how we found the scene, not to mention her boyfriend’s list of accolades, do you think we should consider a possible alternative to this being a kidnapping?”

  “Such as?”

  “Well
, take a look at this,” Hunter said, coming inside and passing him a clutch of papers. She closed the door to the office, raising an eyebrow from Caslin. He put the file down, a review of Robertson’s initial findings from the nature reserve. Turning his attention to what Hunter gave him, they appeared to be a collection of essays. “They’re printouts from Natalie’s blog. I’ve not been through everything, yet but I’ve highlighted some interesting passages.”

  Caslin began flicking through, stopping at the specific sections she had indicated. The language struck him as intense. The first few highlighted words read “the truth never remains hidden” and “think on your sins”. A little further, Natalie had written “retribution and vengeance are fair and just” and described how “the suffering will come from my hand”. Under normal circumstances, Caslin would consider this the ramblings of an evangelical, taking the teachings of The Old Testament too literally.

  “Is Natalie religious?” he asked.

  “If she is, what the hell is she doing with Nicol?” Hunter stated. “Her blog is obsessed with lies and deception. She’s posted rants on subjects ranging from breach of trust, to lying and secrecy. It’s always focused on intimate relationships, not your conspiracy theorists and their New World Order nonsense. I would put money on it that she’s talking about her mother. She writes under a pseudonym but it’s definitely Natalie.”

  “I fear I know where you’re going with this.”

  “What if it’s not a kidnap? What if-”

  “She’s involved,” Caslin finished. He sank back into his chair, allowing the thought to gestate. “Extortion rather than kidnap? You’ll need more than-”

  “How about the blackmail from last year?” Hunter offered, pointing back to the papers in Caslin’s hand. He began wading through again, slowing as he neared the end. They were transcripts by the look of them. “MSN Messenger conversations,” Hunter offered.

  “What’s that then?”

  “It’s software,” Hunter explained. “Similar to text messaging but done over the computer. Copies of the dialogue are automatically saved in a folder, also logging date and time, unless you instruct the program otherwise.”

  “Discussing the blackmail?”

  “Orchestrating it,” Hunter confirmed. “We don’t know who she was talking to. I’ve left it with Tech to find out. They said they’ll prioritise it and get back to me.”

  “Cheeky little bitch,” Caslin said under his breath. “Is there any venom directed at Tim?”

  “Not so as I can see. Why do you ask?”

  “It’s one thing to put your mother through the mangle but another to do it to both parents. Unless of course, we’re missing something.”

  “I know it’s a bit of a leap but what if there’s a different twist?”

  Caslin looked up, “Go on.”

  “What if someone found out what she had done, within the family, I mean?”

  Caslin didn’t want to consider that. His head was already spinning. Remembering how fast Tim got to the scene the day Natalie disappeared, he shuddered. How well did he really know this man? A person could change a great deal over the course of three decades. He realised Hunter was waiting patiently for him to say something.

  “Let’s step up our search for Stuart Nicol. If Natalie carried out the blackmailing of her mother, he fits the bill as a likely accomplice. You said it yourself, kidnapping would be a massive step up for Nicol but extortion would come as second nature.”

  “What about Inglis and the DCS?” Hunter asked.

  “You’ve not mentioned this to either of them?”

  Hunter shook her head, “They’re in a meeting with the Chief Constable.”

  Caslin thought about it, “Keep it between us for now. Put the word out that Nicol is a priority but nothing more. We don’t want a suggestion like this to surface without a thorough check and we both know this station leaks like a sieve. We’ll sit on it until I get a chance to speak with Inglis.”

  Hunter excused herself and Caslin was left alone with his thoughts. Tim’s insistence on his father’s complicity took on a new light as he mulled things over. Did he know that Sebastian was involved in dealings that could lead to his granddaughter’s kidnapping? Or was this whole case merely a charade, masking Tim’s reaction to discovering the two women in his life were not what he believed them to be? The more he thought about it, the greater his desire to locate Stuart Nicol increased. The boyfriend could direct him away from those theories or, a growing fear within, land him at the Bermond’s door.

  Thoughts turned to the unexpected arrival of Sara. He wasn’t so naive to believe she was in York on a sightseeing holiday. Their romance had been a whirlwind of a three-month affair, one that he regarded fondly, in his memory. Often, he felt their time together had been the right match at the wrong time. He found her company so easy. Never did he feel that he had to mind what he said or think about his actions. Caslin could be himself around her, for she liked him for who he genuinely was. Not even Karen, his wife of eleven years, could lay claim to that. With that said, could he envisage them together once again? The barrier to that scenario was always his wife and children but no longer. So why did he have reservations? Pushing the questions from his mind, he got up from his desk and went in search of a coffee.

  Returning ten minutes later, steaming cup in hand, Caslin found DCS Broadfoot and John Inglis waiting in his office. Entering, he found Broadfoot sitting in his chair flicking through the transcripts he’d left on his desk.

  “I thought you were focusing on the prostitution murder?” Broadfoot said, with no hint of accusation.

  “I am, Sir. This has just come to light after Tech processed Natalie Bermond’s laptop,” Caslin replied, directing a reassuring glance at Inglis. The latter appeared slightly put out to have not been made aware of this earlier. “A quarter of an hour ago, tops.”

  “This adds to our problems,” Broadfoot said absently. Caslin detected something in his tone.

  “Sir?” he enquired, reading an expression of frustration on Inglis” face at the same time.

  “There’s significant pressure being applied, Nathaniel.”

  “By whom, Sir? The Chief Constable?”

  “We all have our masters, even the Chief Constable,” Broadfoot replied noncommittally. “They’re not pleased at the lack of progress in the Bermond kidnapping. They want us to consider handing it over to the National Crime Agency.”

  “No way!” Caslin was emphatic. Although he immediately recognised that was a call far beyond his pay grade. “They can’t do any more than we already have.”

  “I know that,” Broadfoot retorted, breaking his usual calmness with an uncharacteristic snarl. “But when it starts getting political, people move chairs around, regardless of whether you’re sitting on them.”

  “Are we losing it?” Caslin asked, resigned to the answer.

  “If we don’t see movement within the next twenty-four to thirty-six hours, yes,” Inglis stated solemnly. “Until we saw this,” he pointed at the papers on Caslin’s desk, “we didn’t have anything to go on, unless the kidnapper made a move for the money. You would agree that it might turn out to not even be a kidnapping?”

  “That was our consideration also, Sir. Still no word at the Bermond’s or movement at the bank?” Caslin asked for confirmation. Inglis shook his head. “Whether it’s a kidnapping or not, they could be putting as much distance between them and us as possible before accessing the funds. We assume they’ll draw small amounts at a time but maybe they want to hit the account with one large transfer.”

  “If that’s the case, they’ll be in for a shock,” Inglis said. “The bank will delay any such attempt and we’ll track them to source, even if they’re abroad. We were prepared for that but thought it unlikely. However, this brings an altogether different perspective to the situation. The big question now is whether Natalie is in on it, or not?”

  “We’ll find out in due course,” Caslin offered. He remained angry at top l
evel interference in the case. Left alone to do their job, he was certain they’d get a result but tinkering from above only clouded the issue, diverting much needed focus away from the investigation. Broadfoot and Inglis left together, Caslin remaining behind. He saw Hunter wait until the senior officers had departed the squad room, before getting up from her desk and coming towards his office. She lightly rapped her knuckles on the door frame, indicating over her shoulder with a nod of the head.

  “That looked pretty heavy,” she said inquisitively. “Anything I need to know about?”

  Caslin fixed her with his gaze, “Put it this way, if you want to make DI anytime soon, we need some progress on the Bermond case?”

  “Understood,” Hunter replied. She lingered in the doorway, hesitant in her demeanour.

  “Something else?” he asked.

  “You probably don’t want any more bad news but…”

  “Okay, what is it?”

  “Word is that there will be a march in the city centre tonight.”

  “A march?” Caslin frowned. “By whom?”

  “Organised by an equality action group,” Hunter said. “Protesting about our focus on the middle-class white girl and calling for the same response for Melissa. I just heard Suzanne Brooke interviewed on the radio. She’ll be at the forefront.”

  “Oh, for crying out…” he muttered, allowing the comment to tail off. “What’s the good news?”

  Hunter pursed her lips before answering, “Sorry.”

  “Great, there isn’t any,” Caslin said, putting his head in his hands and massaging his temples.

  “Thought you should know,” Hunter said, walking away.

  The frustration of the afternoon was displaced momentarily by meeting up with Sara for dinner, at her hotel. Once again, she lifted him with a simple smile, although the double scotch may have assisted.

  “Don’t worry, I know full well what it’s like when it rains down from above,” Sara stated after he had recounted an abridged version of the earlier conversation. “Not a great deal you can do about it, though.”