Disclaimer: I own The Bill… ionaire's Card in the card game 'Billionaire'… but I don't own The Bill.

Chapter Twenty-Four;
Brecht

"Firies report." As ever Nate was full of energy when he started into CID holding a few sheets of paper. Stevie came forward to take them from him as he entered. "Brecht house."

"I guessed." She returned with a grin. She flicked through the first few pages, noting the damage, stating the fire had started on the stovetop. Fire patterns and such were usually very good at trailing a fire's spread. She frowned at something though. "'A stovetop left on and a stray towel or dishcloth seem to be the source of the fire'." She glanced up. "Um, what?"

Nate understood. "Page Four – definite signs of life within the house when it caught fire." He motioned to the papers. "There's a list of items. About half a dozen had serial numbers too and guess what? All were stolen. I checked." He suddenly sounded a little like an eager child and Stevie grinned.

"Thanks for that." She flicked to the page. "Television, microwave, groceries…" she paused. "Tell me that doesn't say cartridges and weapon-cleaning equipment."

Nate shrugged. "That's what I read. Serial numbers scratched off the cartridges but they were full, if that helps."

"It would help more if there was a gun with them." She scratched her bottom lip with her teeth. "Jumping to conclusions, as I do," Nate smiled warmly. "The shooting at the Maycroft this morning, the cartridges, the stolen items, the empty house that's obviously been lived in… can we say we found where Bolt's been hiding?"

"Seems like it might be a safe assumption actually. Especially considering the last item they found." He motioned to the list and Stevie noted it with a smile. "Keys, to a boat."

"Tell me we can match them to Bolt's boat 'The Sahara'?" Stevie said with a smile, remembering Bolt's smug face when they'd first seen him on his little cruiser, the boat stripped clean but given back to Bolt when bail was given. The bail he subsequently bailed on of course.

"I think that could be done. They're in lock-up if you want a closer look at them?"

Stevie nodded. "Let's see what we can find."

…

"Roger?" Grabbing a drink from a St. Hugh's coffee machine, Roger turned at the voice and frowned a little.

"Andrea?" Before him stood Andrea Roxon but it seemed that she'd got even worse than when he'd left her at home. She was wrapped in a shawl, her skin was pale, and she seemed to shake. She looked sick and so bad that even among the sick of St. Hugh's she stood out. "What are you doing here? You should be at home with David."

She shook her head. "Eleanor hasn't come home."

Roger's frown only got deeper. "What?"

"Roger, I think you need to see thi…" Hayleigh appeared behind Roger from the room nearby where they'd been examining footage. She came face to face with Andrea and the quiet dislike that hadn't been evident before suddenly surfaced. "Andrea? How are you?"

"Craig has killed my son and my daughter is missing now. What do you think?"

Hayleigh's head lowered a little. "I'm sorry this happened to you Andrea. Samuel was a good kid. And Eleanor's probably just grieving. She'll come home." She looked at Roger as she said that though, seeming to know something. "I need you to see this… alone."

The addition of that word just seemed to incense an already stricken Andrea. "Alone?" Her voice rose a little. "Is this about Samuel? I need to know things. Everything."

Roger took a deep breath. "It's not about Samuel. Not really." He looked at Hayleigh whose face said 'don't do it' but Roger paid her no heed. Andrea deserved to know. "Craig was here earlier."

"What?" She took a shaking breath. "To torment us?" Roger nodded silently but Andrea shook her head. "No, that's not all. That's never all. He'd be putting notes under our door," Roger frowned lightly at the mention of a note but decided not to bring up that mysterious letter. "Sending bouquets of flowers, not this, no this is something else." Something dawned on her face – realization. "When was he here?" Without a word she dashed past the two officers and into the room, freezing in front of the screen Hayleigh had paused on. Clear as day there sat Craig Bolt in the front of a dark-coloured Mazda, waiting, watching the car park exit. Stalking. Andrea coughed back a sob. "He's got her hasn't he?" She looked back at Roger. "I know it. Craig's got Eleanor."

"We don't know that."

Hayleigh took a seat. "You have to see this." She pulled up another screen. "The camera pans at 30-second intervals so there's quite a gap between sights." She pressed play. There sat Craig Bolt watching and waiting. The camera moved away and when it came back it passed over a young lady jogging up towards the exit. Andrea's hurt sob was enough to tell them she'd recognised the back of her daughter's head. It panned back and there sat Craig Bolt… watching his niece start away. Then it flicked away. "It pans once then records from camera two, which is at the top of the exit." She motioned to the time. "2:41pm. And there's Eleanor – leaving the hospital." The camera panned again and then there it was – a front on view of Craig Bolt driving up the exit, eyes trained on the girl not far from him, following her to the street. The big bad wolf waiting for his chance. It flicked back to the side exit and in front of them out jogged PC Millie Brown. She scanned the surroundings then jogged up the exit too, out of the camera shot. Back to the top of the hill she turned to the left, the way Eleanor had gone, and started down the street after them. By the time the view went back to the top of the exit again both women, and the dark-coloured Mazda, were gone. Hayleigh paused it and looked back at Roger and Andrea. The mother was crying hard now, leaning against a table next to her; sobbing so hard her whole body shook. Roger just lowered his head and grabbed his radio, starting for the door. Hayleigh sighed softly and pushed out the seat next to her. "You should sit down Andrea." Andrea did as she was told as Hayleigh glanced back at the surveillance footage, taking a breath, tears prickling her eyes. All she wanted right now was for this day, this case, to end… she'd had enough.