Chapter 89

Chapter 89

Their task was simple: to remain invisible and undetected, whilst never taking their eyes off their prey. DC Japhet Wilson and DC Mark Edwards sat in silence, newspapers open in front of them, but neither had taken in a word of the articles. Their sole focus was the impressive detached house a hundred yards down the street, home of the Reynolds family. Husband, wife and their teenage son had been hunkered down in there since the accused officer had returned home last night. The lights were off, the curtains drawn and the milk delivery remained untouched on the porch. The lack of activity, the all-pervading silence that gripped the house, unnerved Japhet Wilson. He'd been involved in cases where men who were close to exposure or ruin had destroyed both themselves and their families, rather than face arrest. He didn't think that would be the case here, and certainly there had been no sounds of violence within, but how could you tell for sure?

‘What do you think they're up to in there?' Edwards asked quietly, as if reading his mind.

‘God only knows,' Wilson responded quickly. ‘But I'd love to be a fly on the wall.'

‘Too right,' Edwards concurred. ‘I mean, how do you talk your way out of this one?'

It was a good question, one Japhet Wilson longed to know the answer to. Up until now, Dave Reynolds had led a charmed life, popular and successful at work, able to provide a very comfortable existence for his family. But what did they make of him now? He'd been arrested, very publicly arrested, in connection with the disappearance of a teenage girl, marched away to Southampton Central in handcuffs. The neighbourhood would have been alive with gossip and speculation thereafter, but presumably Jackie and Archie would have seen none of it, holed up inside, going out of their minds with worry. Dave Reynolds would have returned home to a blizzard of questions, the family's fear of imminent ruin driving their scrutiny. Had he had his answers prepared? Had he somehow managed to explain away his arrest? Or was he even now confessing all? It seemed unlikely, given Reynolds' history and personality, but how Wilson would have loved to have listening devices inside just in case.

‘Funny old thing though, isn't it? All this?'

Edwards gestured towards the Reynolds' residence.

‘I mean I'm happy sitting in judgement on the usual crooks and thugs we pull in, but this is different. Keeping tabs on one of your own, potentially having to bring him in: well, it's not very comfortable, is it?'

Japhet shrugged, though in truth he knew exactly what his colleague meant. It did seem strange and was disquieting, the idea of arresting and charging a serving officer seeming to be almost an act of self-harm. Yet there was a growing conviction within the team that Reynolds was not just an offender, but a serial offender, sullying the name and reputation of Hampshire Police over many years. If that was true, if he had fooled them all for so long, then the sooner this was over, the sooner this boil was lanced, the better.

Picking up the radio, he pressed down the call button as he resumed his rounds.

‘This is Team A. Are you receiving, Team B, over?'

There was a brief silence, then his radio sparked into life.

‘Team B receiving, over.'

‘Any movement out back? Over,' Japhet persisted.

‘Negative, over.'

Logging this, Japhet continued, checking in with the other teams, all of whom lingered close by, cutting off a possible escape route. But the answer from all was the same. Reynolds and his family had gone to ground. On the one hand, he felt reassured by this – he was in charge of this elaborate surveillance operation. If anything did happen, if Reynolds made a break for it, it would be on his shoulders to bring him in safely. On the other hand, the waiting made Japhet profoundly nervous, a stakeout being a horrible mixture of boredom and tension. He always had the sense that it was simply the calm before the storm, that somewhere, somehow, trouble was brewing.

And now he did notice something. Movement by the front door. Craning forwards, Japhet Wilson saw a figure striding down the pathway. Who was it? It was too tall for Archie, so who then? Jackie? Reynolds himself? Tensing, he leaned forwards in his seat, scrutinizing the fugitive who now hit the street, hurrying away in an easterly direction.

‘It's Reynolds …' he breathed, as much to himself as to Edwards.

There was no doubt about it. The receding figure was athletic with a long stride and short, dark hair, in contrast to Jackie's, which was long and curly. Reynolds was dressed in jeans, muck boots and a faded North Face puffa, his cap pulled down low. He clearly didn't want to be recognized by his neighbours and was dressed for rural rather than urban terrain. Was he going to try and make a break for it through the nearby woodland? Perhaps following the route he'd taken so many times with his dog?

Concerned, Japhet Wilson teased open the door, snatching up his radio.

‘I'll alert the other teams, you report back to base,' he told Edwards. ‘Tell them, tell DI Grace, that our suspect is on the move.'

And with that Japhet was gone, crossing quickly to the other side of the road and padding quietly away after his quarry.