"I'm so sorry for your loss." Jess gave the older woman a hug. "Charlie was a good officer."
"Thank you. My Charles spoke very highly of all of you."
"He was a good guy." TomTom nodded. "A good friend."
"Stan will drive you home." Jack pulled out a card. "If you need anything, anything at all, you be sure to give a ring now okay."
"Meet you lot at the pub. We'll send him off proper."
They waited until Stan had pulled away before turning towards the van.
A figure in black was waiting for them.
"No." Jack said firmly.
"Jack, please just"
"No Helen. Not today."
"This can't wait."
"It'll have to. Or did you miss that we just buried Charlie. Hole's not even filled yet. So frankly I don't care who is plotting what, today they get a free pass in my book. Today we're going to go to the pub and raise a glass. Then we'll go home, have a good cry. And tomorrow we'll decide if we're keen to do this anymore. If we decide yes, I'll give you a ring."
Jack nodded to the others to get in the van. Jess took the drivers, TomTom in the back. Jack brushed past Helen to walk to the other side.
"If was my fault." Helen said, stopping Jack in his tracks. "I'm the one that brought the case to you. I'm the one that put all of you in danger. I'm the one, ultimately, that got Charles O'Brien killed. Not you.
"Now there is someone else in danger, someone that needs protecting. And someone else that needs to be caught."
"There's a whole department for that."
"I'm not certain they can be trusted. Please Jack, just ten minutes. If I can't convince you then I can't. I'll find another way."
Jack sighed. "Jess, TomTom, go on then. I'll be right behind you."
Jack followed Helen to her car.
"All right. Clock's ticking."
Helen pulled out a stack of file folders. She handed the first one to Jack.
"Muni Sinha Patel. He was 63. Ran a news agent just off the estate. Friendly, made donations to the local junior football team. He knew the names and birthdates of every child on the estate. He'd let them pick a free candy on their birthday. He'd found a pair of old video games at some closed up boardwalk arcade, fixed them up, put them in the shop.
"Quite the bloke."
"He was. According to some of the residents of the estate, he'd been a school teacher until he moved there after his wife and children were killed in a motor accident. He'd stopped teaching but he would tutor some of the children, especially in math."
"And someone killed him?"
"Yes. It was Midsummer's. Delivery man came to the shop to drop off the early editions, fresh monthlies. Found the door open and Patel dead. Someone had shot him, four times. The sad part is that none of the wounds were instantly fatal. Patel had actually bled out, likely while trying to crawl to the counter to call 999."
Jack thumbed through the crime scene photos.
"Police at the time had no leads. There had been quite a storm the night before so no one heard the shots. The murder happened late in the evening after everyone would be home. The till was empty so Patel was likely closing up for the night, had already pull the money away."
"That might piss off a robber. Four shots seems like someone was in a foul mood."
"That was the first thought the detectives had. This was before security cameras were common so they had nothing. Community Support helped canvas the estate hoping for someone that might have seen an odd person or car around. Again nothing.
"Then about a week later, emergency services received a call. A young boy said his father was trying to kill him. Police went to the estate and found the father in a drunken rage, trying to beat down a bed room door."
Helen handed Jack the second folder. Jack opened it to a photo of a dark haired boy, his face bloodied and bruised.
"Thomas Finchner. 11 years old. Black eye, fractured cheek bone, bruised ribs, possible concussion, whiplash. Father had punched him several times, threw him against a wall and kicked him. And that was just that night. The boy's medical history is full of incidents, trips to A&E. He was a small boy, slight in build. No one really questioned claims of falling off his skateboard or trouble with schoolyard bullies. Not until William Finchner was arrested. Compliments of his son who had witnessed the whole thing and told the police where to find the murder weapon. Then suddenly the estate was talking. Suspicions that Finchner had beaten the boy other times, that he'd been beating his wife and finally drove her away."
"If there were true, why not take the boy with her."
Helen handed the last folder to him. "See for yourself."
"Community Support Officer." Jack said disgusted. "Tell me you're joking."
"No. Finchner lived right on the estate. He had helped with the canvas for witnesses after Patel's murder. And he had helped a few weeks before with another one following up on an anonymous call that one of the children on the estate was being abused. A call that, it was later discovered, was the day after Thomas allegedly sprained his wrist slipping down some damp steps."
"So Patel is friendly with the children, sorts out that Thomas is being hit on. He calls it in but seeing as the father is a cop he isn't willing to give his name. Probably counting on them to send other officers not go with a local. Which is exactly what they do so Thomas isn't about to speak up himself. Finchner finds out it was Patel what tried to grass him up, confronts the old man late one night and kills him. No idea the boy was around and saw it. Likely a drunken bastard who got drunk a few nights later and goes after the lad who is so terrified his father is out of control that he finally gets the nerve to speak up."
"More or less."
"And? Case is closed. You got your killer."
"Unfortunately, we couldn't keep him. Finchner was found to be missing approximately 30 minutes ago. A food delivery van had left ten minutes before and it's believed that somehow Finchner bribed someone to get him on the truck and out of the prison. There had been an internal investigation in the works over bent cops stealing money and drugs from crime scenes. Finchner wasn't on the list before his arrest but after he was added at the top. And now Metro thinks he might have used that money and partnerships to escape."
"You want us to try to sniff out who might be an old friend of Finchner's, who might know where he's hiding?"
"No. I want you to find the boy and protect him."
"The kid? You want us to babysit some kid?"
"His only living relative was the maternal grandmother but it was decided he should be placed into foster care. Concerns about her age. Thomas was placed into the records under a pseudonym and eventually about a year later he was adopted. All of the records were sealed and even under current law the only person that is supposed to have access is the adopted child. Not even the grandmother could find him."
"So Thomas Finchner vanishes, becomes a ghost."
"Unfortunately someone sorted out the records. Got the information to Finchner. A bit of the note was found in his toilet when they were searching his cell."
"And you think he's pissing mad enough to come find the boy and kill him."
"According to the court records he made that very threat when his son was on the witness stand." Helen sighed. "Will you help?"
"Drive me to the pub. I'll give you my answer when we get there."
It was a silent twenty minutes as they drove in the early evening traffic. Helen pulled the car over and put the engine in neutral. She waited.
Jack sat staring at the files. He thumbed through the papers, stopping at the photo of the bloodied and beaten child. Looking at it he actually wished Helen had asked them to find the man. Find the sick bastard that would do that to his own child. Jack would have taken that request on his own. Jess would have wanted to shoot the man if she knew. And he'd been inclined to let her.
But all she wanted was for them to find the kid. The kid that took a beating and took the stand. Called out the bad man who had killed someone that was probably nice to him. Gave him sweets and sodas, taught him about sums and such and tried to help him. Bad man kills a good man and you do something, anything. A childish way of thinking and a brave one. Jack had to admire the kid for that. Thomas Finchner had the heart of a cop, a good cop. Not some slimy bent one like his old man.
"You just want us to protect him. Find him and his new family and put them up somewhere safe, somewhere the cops won't think of. Can't trace cause it's not one of their safe houses."
"Exactly. The only plus is that although we only got the bottom of the letters, the note appears to have only had a name and London on it. No numbers. So Finchner may not have an exact address. Including addresses for the boys adopted family. We need to find them to ensure that they can't give Finchner any information about Thomas. The grandmother is already in custody and has been questioned but she only speaks to him by phone once a week and he calls her. Her phone is a landline with no caller ID and she claims that he's been kipping on friends sofas for a while so she doesn't have an address."
Helen noticed Jack's confused look. "You didn't notice the date?"
Jack flipped open the murder. "Didn't. So he'd be 25 now. That could make it harder, he might have a wife and a baby, or at least a girlfriend. Fellow's not going to disappear and leave them behind."
"True. That could make things a bit sticky. But will you do it? You promised me an answer."
"Good thing we like sticky. Can you get me everything you have, digital if you please. TomTom has spoiled me on the whole paper free thing."
"You don't want to ask them first?"
"Even if they say no, I'm in." Jack started out of the car. "If only cause I want to meet a kid that was that tough."
"Jack. Wait."
"What?"
"I'm sorry."
"What for?"
"I didn't tell you everything. I needed to know that you were doing this because you thought it was the right thing to do. I suppose I hoped that might mean you would consider continuing even after this. It was a rotten ploy and I'm sorry.
"He does need your protection but we already know who he is. They found the rest of the note in the waterworks. He's been on our radar for a while, although for other reasons."
"And?"
Helen held out her mobile. "See for yourself." She pushed her thumb to the fingerprint sensor, unlocking the phone
Jack gasped as he flipped the phone around to read the writing on the photograph. Thomas Tompkins, London