Chapter 92

Chapter 92

Where the hell was he going? What was he doing?

DC Wilson continued to dog David Reynolds' footsteps, his invisible shadow watching over him, but his mind was full of misgivings. Having been convinced that the suspect was about to make a break for it, given the urgency of his sudden departure from the house, now he wasn't so sure, bewildered by his choice of route. The disgraced constable hadn't headed for the train or bus station, nor had he hurried towards any secreted vehicle, instead cutting down a series of unremarkable residential roads, moving at a pace down the quiet pavements. Convinced that his true destination was the thick woodland that fringed this part of town, Wilson had been certain he would at some point veer off down a cycle path or bridleway, disappearing in the murky woods beyond, but he was mistaken. Reynolds kept up a brisk, steady pace, apparently heading for the local shopping precinct.

This made Wilson nervous, his brain scrolling ahead for any possible avenues of escape. Did Reynolds have friends locally? Did he know a shop owner who would allow him to slip out the back door? It seemed unlikely, and even if he did manage to do so, what would he achieve? He'd still be in the heart of suburban Bitterne Park, an easy spot for the other teams who continued to flank, and predict, his progress. Surely there was no way out for him, so perhaps escape was not his plan? Was he perhaps even now hurrying to the grim basement where Naomi, Mia and God knows who else was being held? That remained a tantalizing prospect, Wilson longing to rescue the poor girls from their awful captivity, but surely Reynolds wouldn't be so reckless? He must have guessed that he was under surveillance, even if he hadn't clocked the individual officers? To lead them straight to his captives would be an act of suicide. So what was his plan?

Suddenly Reynolds changed direction sharply, hurrying along a side road, before cutting back right onto the main road east. Confused, Wilson kept up his pace, wondering why Reynolds now appeared to be doubling back on himself, perhaps even heading home. Had he simply come out for a long walk? If so, why the urgency? And why the muck boots and thick puffa jacket for an urban stroll? Was he leading them a merry dance on purpose, perhaps trying to clock how many surveillance officers were in attendance before making his next move? If so, what might it be?

A voice in his pocket brought DC Wilson back to the present, his radio springing to life.

‘Base to DC Wilson. You are cleared to bring the suspect in. Repeat, you are cleared to bring the suspect in, over.'

‘Understood, over,' he answered, having retrieved his radio.

Changing the band, he spoke crisply and clearly to his fellow officers.

‘OK, it's a go to pull him in. Repeat it's a go!'

Breaking into a run, Wilson raced towards the suspect. Hearing his footsteps, Reynolds seemed to hesitate, then began to speed up, but it was too little too late, Wilson on him in a flash. Grabbing him by the shoulder, he span him round.

‘David Reynolds, I'm arresting you on suspic—'

But the words died in his mouth, as he took in the startled, female face in front of him. Shocked, angry, he tugged off the suspect's cap, releasing a cascade of thick, brown curls. Jackie Reynolds stared back at him, scared, nervous, but triumphant. They'd been duped – Dave Reynolds had set a trap for them.

And they'd fallen for it – hook, line and sinker.