time to pinpoint the source and location, so it’s important that we keep Tyler on the phone for as long as possible.’
She looks at Julianne. ‘Are you up for this?’
‘I’ll do it,’ I say, answering for her.
‘He might only speak to your wife,’ says the DI.
‘We make him talk to me. Don’t give him any another option.’
‘And if he says no?’
‘He wants an audience. Let him talk to me. Julianne isn’t strong enough.’
She reacts angrily, ‘Don’t speak about me as though I’m not in the room.’
‘I’m just trying to protect you.’
‘I don’t need protecting.’
I’m about to argue but she explodes, ‘Don’t say another word, Joe. Don’t talk for me. Don’t talk to me.’
I feel myself sway back, as if dodging punches. The hostility silences the room. Nobody will look at me.
‘You should both calm down,’ says the DI.
I try to stand but feel Monk’s hand on my shoulder, forcing me to stay seated. Veronica Cray is addressing Julianne, outlining the possible scenarios. Up until now the DI has always treated me with respect and valued my advice. Now she thinks my judgement has been compromised. I am too closely involved. My opinions can’t be relied upon. The whole scene has become dreamlike and slightly askew. The others are businesslike and thoughtful. I am dishevelled and out of control.
Veronica Cray wants to move the operation to Trinity Road to make it easier for the police to respond. The landline will be redirected to the incident room.
Julianne begins asking questions, her voice barely audible. She wants to know more details of the strategy. Oliver needs at least five minutes to track any call and triangulate the signals from the nearest three phone towers. If the clocks in the base stations are synchronised perfectly, he may be able to pinpoint the caller to within a hundred metres.
It isn’t foolproof. Signals can be affected by buildings, terrain and weather conditions. If Gideon moves indoors the signal strength will change and if the clocks are out by even a microsecond it could mean a difference of tens of metres. Microseconds and metres- that’s what my daughter’s life is coming down to.
‘We’ve installed a GPS tracker and a hands-free phone cradle in your car. Tyler may issue instructions. He may want you to jump through hoops. We’re not ready for a mobile intercept so you have to stall him.’
‘For how long?’ she whispers.
‘A few more hours.’
Julianne shakes her head adamantly. It has to be sooner.
‘I know you want your daughter back, Mrs O’Loughlin, but we have to secure your safety first. This man has killed two women. I need a few hours to get helicopters and intercept teams ready. Until then we have to stall him.’
‘This is crazy,’ I say. ‘You know what he’s done before.’
DI Cray nods towards Monk. I feel his fingers close around my arm. ‘Come on, Professor, let’s take a walk.’
I try and twist out of the big man’s hand, but he takes a firmer hold. His other arm hooks over my shoulder. From a distance it probably looks like a friendly gesture, but I can’t move. He walks me into the kitchen and out the back door, along the path to the clothesline. A lone towel flaps in the breeze like a vertical flag.
There is a stale, unsavoury smell in my lungs. It’s coming from me. My medication has switched off suddenly. My head, shoulders and arms are writhing and jerking like a snake.
‘Are you OK?’ asks Monk.
‘I need my pills.’
‘Where are they?’
‘Upstairs, beside my bed. The white plastic bottle. Levodopa.’ He disappears inside the cottage. Police officers and detectives are watching from the lane, looking at the freak show. Parkinson’s sufferers talk a lot about preserving dignity. I have none of it now. Sometimes I imagine this is how I’m going to finish up. A writhing, twisting snake man or a life-sized statue, trapped in a permanent pose, unable to scratch my nose or shoo the pigeons away.
Monk comes back with the pill bottle and a glass of water. He has to hold my head still to get the tablets on my tongue. Water spills down my shirt.
‘Does it hurt?’ he asks.
‘No.’
‘Did I do something to make it worse?’
‘It’s not your fault.’
Levodopa is the gold standard treatment for Parkinson’s. It’s supposed to reduce the tremors and stop the sudden frozen moments when my body locks up, unable to move.
My movements are becoming steadier. I can hold the glass of water to take another drink.
‘I want to go back inside.’
‘Can’t do that,’ he says. ‘Your wife doesn’t want you around.’
‘She doesn’t know what she’s saying.’
‘She looked pretty sure to me.’
Words, my best weapons, have suddenly deserted me. I look past Monk and see Julianne wearing an overcoat, being led towards a police car. Veronica Cray is with her.
Monk lets me get as far as the gate.
‘Where are you going?’ I shout.
‘To the station,’ says the DI.
‘I want to come.’
‘You should stay here.’
‘Let me talk to Julianne.’
‘She doesn’t want to talk to you just now.’
Julianne has ducked into the back seat of the car. She tucks her coat under her thighs before the door closes. I call her name, but she doesn’t respond. The engine starts.
I watch them leave. They’re wrong. Every fibre of my being says they’re wrong. I know Gideon Tyler. I know his mind. He’s going to destroy Julianne. It doesn’t matter that she’s the strongest, most compassionate, intelligent woman I’ve ever known. That’s what he preys upon. The more she feels, the more he’s going to damage her.
The rest of the cars are leaving. Monk is going to stay. I follow him back to the cottage and sit at the table as he makes me a cup of tea and collects phone numbers for Julianne’s family and mine. Imogen and Emma should stay somewhere else tonight. My parents are closest. Julianne’s parents are saner. Monk sorts it out.
Meanwhile, I sit at the kitchen table with my eyes closed, picturing Charlie’s face, her lop-sided smile, her pale eyes, the tiny scar on her forehead where she fell from a tree at age four.
I take a deep breath and call Ruiz. A crowd roars in the background. He’s watching a rugby match.
‘What’s up?’
‘It’s Charlie. He’s taken Charlie.’
‘Who? Tyler?’
‘Yes.’
‘Are you sure?’
‘He called Julianne. I talked to Charlie.’
I explain about finding Charlie’s bike and the phone calls. As I tell the story, I can hear Ruiz walking away from the crowd, finding somewhere quieter.
‘What do you want to do?’ he asks.
‘I don’t know,’ I croak. ‘We have to get her back.’
‘I’m on my way.’
The calls ends and I stare at the phone, willing it to ring. I want to hear Charlie’s voice. I try to think of the last words she said to me, the ones before Gideon took her. She told me a joke about a woman on a bus. I can’t remember the punchline but she laughed and laughed.
