The Dark Star - Aftermath Pt. 08

"You Sir are an animal."

"Don't ever call me Sir" I swiftly reprimand.

"You're still an animal."

"A Wolf" I say with a smirk.

"Yes" she immediately responds seeking the verbal upper hand once again "A rabid one."

"Gonna take more than a collar around your neck to eradicate that brat in you I can see" I state walking over to her running my finger under the black leather collar wrapped around her pale neck "Did you enjoy your introduction?"

Those eyes meet mine once again as she looks up at me.

"What was with the mask?"

"Anonymity" I honestly answer, conscious the cameras still capture every movement and word, I keep my back on them as best I can.

"And what the fuck am I going to wear home?" She states looking to the tattered scrap of dress clutched in her left hand.

"Don't worry about that..." I respond my annoyance barely restrained, "...I believe I asked you a question."

Her eyes narrows as she rubs the back of her neck with her right hand.

"I did" she finally sincerely answers.

"My little Movie Star"

Her gaze turns to the cameras "That's it...Filming over?"

I look back at her.

"There's one last scene .... a short but very important scene."

Chapter Three; Laying Claim

The 06:24 to London departed on time for once.

Dawn breaking outside the window of the first-class carriage illuminating the sky with an almost surreal glow on the horizon as the train snakes it's way through rolling countryside.

Mark Harding barely noticed what was going on outside or inside the rest of the fairly empty carriage. Sat forward in his soft leather seat, his mind was somewhere between the Coffee, the Smoked Salmon bagel, the newspaper turned face down to show the sports pages and his laptop as it whirred into life, as the screen came to life it immediately opened on a plethora of unanswered emails. He opened his diary for greater clarity of the day ahead. This week promised to be as busy as the one that had preceded it, his secretary had scheduled far too many meetings today alone by the brief look he'd permitted himself at the Station earlier, of his schedule. The full detail of his timetable was just as daunting. He switched back to his email, to answer as many as he could before the train pulled into London Paddington Station in a little over an hours' time.

He took a swig from his coffee noting three more emails alone drop into the top of the list.

The third of the three emails brought a smile to his face. The email titled "Morning Daddy." Looking to clock on the bottom right of the screen he was a little surprised to see his daughter awake and in the land of the living, let alone sending emails at 06:37.

Taking a bite of the bagel purchased at the station, technically his second breakfast but he reasoned a salmon bagel to be healthier than a bacon roll, to chase down the bowl of cereal he consumed before leaving the house.

The title of the email made him suspicious like his youngest daughter was about to drop a request on his burdened shoulders, an expensive request more than likely.

Harding opened the email only then realising there was no body to the email beyond the title; instead, a video file was attached. Assured in his own mind that whatever Henrietta would be sending him would be entirely safe for public viewing he smiled as he hovered the mouse over the icon opened the file and clicked play, trusting the trains onboard Wi-Fi would be sufficient enough to handle playing the file.

The file was only 16 seconds long, he squinted at the screen unable to make out at first, from the blur of the camera, what he was looking at.

Suddenly with a sickening feeling in the pit of his stomach the camera focussed moving from left to right to capture a vision which chilled his very sole. His daughter, his youngest daughter, the girl he worshipped and idolised sat before a blue wall on a wooden straight-backed chair. Stood behind a figure only visible from the shoulders down dressed all in black, a black gloved hand wrested on the shoulders of her navy jacket. Henrietta's legs were tied, her cream tights badly torn each held to the legs of the chair with thick black tape. Her arms seemingly held behind her back he now recognised, it appeared she wore the outfit he'd last seen her in. Her red hair dishevelled her face tear stained; she was visibly distressed.

"Daddy" she spoke facing the camera, her voice quivering her face flushed and her eyes puffy from tears "Daddy please help me...please Daddy help me."

Harding watched in horror as the hands on her shoulders pulled a dark strip of material from around her neck and pulled it back into her mouth, gagging her. She struggled he couldn't make out what she said before her head was snapped back by the unknown assailant grabbing her hair harshly.

He heard the instructions although he could not see the face of the individual that spoke.

"No Police.... Do as we say, and we'll not harm her.... Await instructions"

Harding felt the wave of panic and nausea grip his body, a stabbing pain running down his left arm.

The video nearly elapsed, ending with one chilling statement.

"It's not nice when it's your own."

**********

Rose Callaghan entered the Investigation Office at three minutes to eight.

Catching the eye of everyone in the room as she entered with a reasonable cheery proclamation "Morning Everyone."

She headed straight to her office setting down the Starbucks Coffee and switching on her PC. Not even able to take a seat before Detective Steve Parsons was hovering in the doorway.

"What?" She stated quizzically raising a brow as she slipped off her long camel coloured overcoat.

"You haven't seen your email, have you?"

"Not since I got out of the car."

Parsons smirked "Having a lie in ...not being up to date with your email ...does Robocop need a firmware update?"

Callaghan let his glib comment pass with barely a scowl, she wasn't rising to his bait. He obviously felt smug about something, something that must have.

only come to light in the time it took her to cross the rain-soaked car park and take the lift up from reception.

"What have I missed then?"

"I'm not sure I should tell you."

He was beginning to grind now.

"Parsons spill the beans before I tell you to fuck off and I find out for myself... if that happens, I'll have you demoted to traffic and by half ten you'll be pointing a speed camera at the cars on the Ring Road."

"Jack Hughes," Parsons simply stated looking her square in the eye.

"What about him?" she stated, her attention was immediately grasped.

"DNA match .... confirmation from the Lab just came through," Parsons hesitated a little, "It's only partial but ..."

"Partial?" Callaghan cut across him.

"With the semen on Daisy Grayson's skirt."

"I need more than partial though .... I need better than partial."

"They're still working on it .... but..." he deliberately paused as though about to reveal the final answer to a contestant on a TV quiz show.

"Spit it," Callaghan's patience snapped.

"Fingerprint's match those taken at Stirchley Grange Mills.... specifically, from the can of drink."

She didn't want to say it out loud but partial match or otherwise this was the break potentially they'd been looking for. A link that could held tighten the noose around there suspect. Clean Cut appearing twenty-three-year-old Jack Hughes finally implicated as the man they'd been looking for. How had he'd been so calculating, how had he evaded their attention and not slipping up until now? Callaghan was instantly remorse that she'd not been involved in his initial arrest now. That arrest had proved its worth though, had given them the opportunity to obtain fingerprints and DNA. Fingerprints that linked him to The Mills. DNA that linked him to the most recent brutal attack. After months of trawling their net had finally landed them a catch, the exhilaration she felt must have been evident. The grin etched across her face seemingly matched by Parsons this had been her case, but he'd worked as hard as anyone alongside her for months. She'd doubted his commitment at times, but she shared this moment of joy.

"We have our man?" She said tentatively, quietly almost scared to say it out loud.

"It very much appears we do... for the Daisy Grayson enquiry certainly," Parsons opened a file that she hadn't been aware he'd been holding. "He doesn't deny being with her on the night in question and maintains they engaged in consensual sex."

"Does he know how old she is?"

"Something that we refrained from putting to him .... he didn't even request a duty solicitor."

"None of what you discussed can be used as evidence then."

"No .... but we start again ...the fish took the hook and we released him back without charge... right about now my best guess he'll be thinking he got away with just the inconvenience of a night in our finest cell."

Almost immediately her professional persona took control.

"Set up a morning briefing in an hour ....no excuses I want everyone in.... you know as well as I do that the hard work starts here."

Parsons nodded as she continued.

"We re-arrest Jack Hughes now we can hold him for longer... the sweat him ...we turn those thumb screws ...we hit him with every vile fact we know, and we watch his reaction."

"Agreed" Parsons states still stood in the doorway.

"He's been clever .... he's been manipulative .... we're going nail this evil little cunt."

Callaghan sat at her desk hurriedly pulling up her email to read the report for herself, scrutinise what had been relayed to her. At the same time doing her best to quell her excitement, knowing what she'd said was true. There was still hard work to be done. She was conscious of Parsons still dithering in the doorway.

"Something else Steve?"

"No Ma'am"

"Then get back to fucking work."

"Yes Ma'am"

**********

I sit in the restaurant waiting as my phone silent vibrates in my pocket once again. I know before I slide it out who it'll be.

The 27th missed call since this morning

I'm right. Opening the phone, I scroll to features and select Airplane Mode not wishing to be distracted any further. There's all of the distraction I need heading my way as I look up from the table. The attractive mixed-race girl who'd greeted me earlier takes Rose Callaghan's long camel coloured coat as she escorts her through the restaurant to the table at which I'm sat. Yet another discreet table in the corner of a restaurant, with fantastic views out across the commercialised and redeveloped area of the Docks. Through the window behind the empty seat soon to be taken by Rose Callaghan I can just see the stacked high storage containers and transporter cranes of the Industrial Area. The view of the Warehouse obscured. The Warehouse where Hetti now finds herself residing, hidden locked away in one of the nondescript looking storage containers.

I turn my attention back to Rose Callaghan who looks amazing as she's led towards me, dressed in a burgundy colour dress which clings perfectly to her body.

Reaching out I take a sip from the tumbler of fine quality brandy that was poured for me on arrival. Feeling the warmth of the liquid coat my throat, I can't help but grin.

**********

Callaghan walked with her head down as the beautiful looking girl at front of house led her though the maze of tables towards Andrew Baxter who sat waiting for her.

It had been a long day, a long and eventful day. She'd not wished to but had called him and delayed their rendezvous already, acutely conscious that she was twenty minutes late for the rearranged time.

He hadn't minded, he been gracious enough to accept her apologies.

Had it not been for the opportunity her fiancé working away provided she'd have cancelled. Majority of her day spent in the deliberately cramp confines of an interview suit grilling Jack Hughes, in relation to Daisy Grayson and their investigation into Stirchley Grange Mills. Every avenue they'd explored causing the nervous increasingly startled young man to panic and at first involuntarily surrender begin surrendering details connecting him to persons linked to the investigations.

Callaghan lambasting her team during the afternoon briefing for the lack of knowledge and evidence they'd unearthed on the person of interest that should have been well known. Glaring obvious connections, she'd vented at them knowing full well herself and Parsons should at very least have known that Jack Hughes had been in a relationship with Sarah McAllister the elder sister of Sophie McAllister. Such a link should never have gone unnoticed but in review of notes neither she nor Parsons had recorded that Jack had been residing, all be it unofficially, at the rented house of Sarah McAllister. Technically Jack Hughes was of no fixed abode at the time of Sophies disappearance.

Of even more consequence and of equal significance, Jack Hughes has fathered a child with Mica Wise; little Grace the curly haired toddler Callaghan had observed for herself in Bernadette Wise's garden.

Even with the sparse detail they afforded him It had been obvious that the names of Leah Davis, Song Akiyama and Lyndsey Phillips resonated with Jack Hughes. Alison Hughes name had interestingly drawn a blank sincere expression from him. Further to this he claimed to have no knowledge of the one-time Department Store employee.

"I'd love to play Poker against him" had been Parson's comment on leaving the interview room. Callaghan knew exactly what he meant, the twitches and ticks spurred by just the mention of the two missing girls alongside of the one girl rescued from The Mills had been enough. Jack Hughes couldn't lie to save his life.

Their afternoon interviews had followed a more traditional, expected, frustrating path. Hughes appointed legal representation had very obviously intervened over breaking for lunch. No longer drawing eye rolls from Hughes on their supposition, the constant stream of answers to the questions now being responded to by the cursory overly familiar to any Detective or Officer, "No Comment." The lack of comment in itself an indication of how efficiently his lawyer, Michael Entwhistle, had managed to convince Jack Hughes he was hanging himself by being so liberal with the information previously being offered to try and justify his innocence. Although just as before he'd not denied, being with Daisy Grayson on the night of the 16th of October at the Dark Star. Callaghan couldn't work out if he was being stupid, honest or this was all part of conniving plan.

The shock on his face when they revealed Daisy Grayson's age had been apparent. Even Entwistle the lawyer sunk back in his seat with a look of resignation, a realisation that given his clients recorded admission a charge of engaging in sexual activity with a minor was a minimum charge that Jack Hughes would be facing. If every link to The Mills was conjecture this was damning. They just had to prove Jack Hughes connection and guilt to everything else around Stirchley Grange as part of their wider investigation.

The case and the evidence against Jack Hughes were stacking up against him. The metaphoric noose was drawing around Jack Hughes neck.

"Good evening" Andrew Baxter said rising from his seat to greet her.

"I'm so sorry," Callaghan immediately apologised before looking back to the girl who'd shown her to the table with a nod and a smile of appreciation.

"No need to apologise," Andrew Baxter graciously acknowledged as they both sat. "I appreciate in your line of work there's no nine to five."

"It's been hectic," Callaghan offered, "I wish I could tell you more but ..."

"Again, I appreciate ...besides, I saw a local paper.... suspect under arrest?"

"God Andrew you don't know how genuinely close I think we are with a breakthrough ...I've been working this case for months and suddenly we're so close."

"Champagne?" he offered. "I mean are we looking at a Champagne moment?"

"It's only an arrest."

"You don't have to give me details but he's your .... how do they say .... Prime Suspect?"

"Yes," Callaghan nodded.

"And he's in custody?"

"Yes," Callaghan agreed again. "Awaiting charges."

"And they'll come?"

"I believe so Yes," Callaghan smiled, confidently.

"Three times," Andrew Baxter said with a smirk.

"I beg your pardon."

"You said Yes three times ...sounds positive ...sounds like Champagne might be premature but is in order."

**********

"Two minutes and we'll get going." I slip my hand from hers as we wait for a taxi near the entrance of the restaurant. "Little boys' room."

"Sure," she responds "I gotta get my jacket anyways."

I don't look back as I push through the doorway into the small single cubicle, single urinal washroom. Entering the cubicle, I lock the door. I take a deep breath to compose myself I'd not been able to think I'd felt suffocated since she'd sat opposite me and given me just the brief details she permitted.

Not anxious for Jack, no anxiety whatsoever for what he faces but the timescales have slipped out of my control. I curse myself for pausing for drawing out the situation. I could have acted quicker. If the police are closing in on the case, I've no option with the hustle, the demand not even made. Hetti sits abandoned in the Storage Container in the Docks, the first video sits on her Fathers laptop as per this morning's early communication sent from her phone.

I slip the phone from my pocket. Turning over the pink case keeping it on airplane mode

Any messages essentially blocked any calls instantly now diverting to voicemail.

If it's traced the phone can be triangulated to the geographical location. I know above the restaurant sits a 12-storey residential area, with an apartment occupying each corner of the building. I slip off my jacket as I calculate the maths. Including the restaurant there's 49 addresses the phone can be triangulated to, enough cover. I roll back my sleeve and enter back into the cubicle, with the phone in my hand I crouch and plunge the device into the toilet bowl pushing the phone up through the u bend of the toilet waste. Pulling the flush twice ensuring that the waste runs freely.

Washing my hands with hot water and plenty of soap glancing to the sign on the back of the door indicating the toilets were last cleaned two hours ago. Somewhat grateful as I step back into the entrance that the establishment is reputable and hygienic. My own phone vibrates in my pocket, taking a quick glance as I exit the washroom an on-screen message indicates my Uber driver 'Mazhut' has arrived and is waiting for me.

I look up and see Rose Callaghan engaged in conversation with a Mediterranean looking guy in a pin stripe grey suit over a black shirt, she doesn't see me as they exchange conversation, whatever he says causing her to audibly laugh out loud and I watch as her hand falls over the back of his arm, her smile beaming as she locks yes with his.

I grit my teeth and stifle a sneer, clenching my fist tightly as I slip my phone back in my pocket.

Finally seeing me approach Rose makes her excuses, steps by him and heads in my direction, slipping on the overcoat that had been slung casually over her left forearm.

"Taxis here I state" matter of factly, stifling another sneer as I watch the olive-skinned males' eyes follow her from the building despite my presence.

**********

Steve Parsons draped his arm around his wife Michelle as they left the bar they slipped to after the Cinema; figuring one quick drink couldn't harm. They had their babysitter Ellie, the daughter of one of Michelle's work colleagues provisionally booked until midnight.

They were still heading home well in advance of their own unofficial midnight deadline.