Tracking Shot by Colin Campbell (best book reader .TXT) 📕

utilitarian kind of way. Better than many kids had at home but with the downside that this wasn’t home.

The furnace room attached to the kitchen block was the real shocker. There was nothing overtly horrific about the plain white walls or the concrete floor but in the context of what SWAT had been briefed to expect, it was horrific enough. There were no bloodstains on the walls. There were no body parts on the floor. When the sergeant opened the furnace door and shone his flashlight inside, there was nothing but ashes and coals. Until he looked more closely, and then he was almost sick.

Nobody knew how many girls had come through Linwood Country Club. There was no ledger or account book and any evidence of those who had gone before had been cremated in the industrial oven. Sifting through the ash was a painstaking task and one the sergeant was happy to pass on to the forensics team. The little white dots of enamel were bad enough, but there was a single pair of pink shoes in the corner of the room. The owner was nowhere to be found.

The entire raid from initial breach to securing the premises had taken less than half an hour, but the follow-up examination took a whole lot longer. Evidence gathering is always the slowest part of the process, because there can be no mistakes. Lawyers and legal teams trying to wheedle their clients out of trouble have endless time to pore over the actions of police on the ground and the decisions they made. The exhibits had to be logged, preserved and labeled, and the timeline maintained for them to be admissible in court.

The cops who were present on the raid would never forget the timeline. Nobody was going to mess this one up. The people who weren’t present would hear about it later. One of those people was Vince McNulty. McNulty wasn’t part of the assault team because he wasn’t a cop, but mainly because of the conversation he had had in his sister’s kitchen before the raid was even authorised.

FIFTY-EIGHT

“He won’t be there.”

“What do you mean he won’t be there?”

“He won’t be at the country club. And Tilly won’t be there, either.”

It was that last part that got Susan shivering again. McNulty sat beside his sister and folded her in his arms; the thing he’d wanted to do in Mr. Cruckshank’s office way back at Crag View Children’s Home. He hadn’t been able to do it then and it was too late to be of help now. Her daughter was gone and now her brother was telling her that Tilly Carter wasn’t going to be at the place where the police were launching their rescue. McNulty glanced through the kitchen door where Harris was on the phone organizng the raid then looked at Susan with what he hoped were calming eyes.

“I know how his mind works.”

Susan looked at him. “You’ve only known him a week.”

“It’s been a long week.”

“You’ve only met him once.”

“Twice. Third time’s the charm.”

Susan shook her head. “I don’t understand what you’re saying.”

McNulty glanced through the door again to make sure Harris wasn’t listening. He leaned in close and whispered in Susan’s ear. “Everything he’s done has pointed in the opposite direction.” He took her hands in his and rubbed them warm. “The movie set instead of the robbery. The robbery instead of the court case. The court case instead of the adoption agency. Everything.”

He looked her in the eyes. “He knows you know about the country club. So he won’t be there.” He stopped rubbing her hands. “I’m betting you know about somewhere else.”

Susan looked at her brother then lowered her head. The weight of expectation was too much. She took a deep breath and let it out so slowly that her breath trembled and she shivered all over again. McNulty held her tight. Susan took strength from the contact. Her mind raced. Nothing made sense. Until a couple of things tumbled into view and suddenly came into focus. Past and present in perfect alignment. She raised her eyes and looked at McNulty. He saw the expression on her face and nodded his understanding, even though he didn’t fully understand.

“The headmaster’s office?”

Now the dawn raid was in full swing and McNulty had made a couple of calls. The headmaster’s office wasn’t really a headmaster’s office, but it was Harlan DeVries’s private place, the place where he felt most secure. It also fit with McNulty’s theory that everything pointed in the opposite direction. The police had searched the orphanage and moved on. The dawn raid was all the way across town at Linwood. This was the John Wayne movie punch all over again. Misdirection. Sleight of hand.

McNulty put the real money in the sports bags and made his final preparations. He slowly zipped the bags then checked to make sure his phone was switched on. Satisfied that he’d done all he could to make this happen, he nodded at his sister and went out to the car. Twenty minutes later he drove past the movie set one last time and parked behind Stephen’s Industrial Cleaners.

FIFTY-NINE

McNulty crossed the manicured lawn at the rear of Chester Brook Orphanage and triggered the security lights as he climbed the steps to the patio. He wasn’t concerned about setting off the security lights. He wanted the gunmen to know he was coming. He’d told DeVries as much in a call that was brief and to the point.

“You want the money. I want the girl.”

There was no argument. There was no questioning how McNulty knew where to go. Dawn turned the back garden into a grey curtain between night and day. Mist clung to the extremities. The grass was damp with dew. He left a trail of footprints across the lawn toward the patio doors.

The office lights were on. The drapes were open. DeVries wasn’t hiding. He’d already sent the police the wrong way. All he needed