Deep Hurt - Eva Hudson Page 0,65

Instead he picked up the phone and barked at his sergeant to find out who the highest ranking police officer in Newcastle was and to get the sorry-assed bastard on the phone.

33

In less than a half hour Ingrid and Gurley were sitting in front of a bank of TV monitors at the local railway hub station. Lined up for their scrutiny on two larger monitors was the footage from the two closest train stations to Freckenham between the hours of eight p.m. and two a.m. the night before. Ingrid had chosen the timeframe without consulting Gurley. She figured Foster was probably watching a muddy field until around nine p.m. and the last scheduled train at either of the local stations was just after midnight. She’d requested a wider timescale for the footage just to play it safe.

“We don’t have a lot of time here,” Gurley told the technician assigned to operate the equipment for them. “We have some place else to be.”

The technician said nothing but made a point of exhaling noisily and shifting in his seat.

“OK, then why don’t we start with the footage from nine p.m. onwards?” Ingrid suggested. “We have a pretty good idea where Foster was before that.”

The technician quickly found the right point in the footage and hit play on both monitors. The left hand one showed all activity around the entrance of Newmarket station, the other at Kennett, a much smaller station that was closer to the base. At first Ingrid switched her attention between both screens, but as the uneventful scenes played out for half a minute or so, she started to feel a little nauseous. “Let’s play these at eight times normal speed, I’ll keep my eyes peeled on the left hand monitor, you take the right. OK?”

Gurley grunted his agreement and folded his arms.

After running the footage through from nine p.m. to the final trains at both stations with no sign of a man and a boy, Ingrid asked the technician to stop the playback. “Is it possible for someone to get onto the platforms without using the main entrance at these stations?”

“Possible, but not likely. Security’s been tightened up in the last couple of years—to prevent fare evasion. I suppose if someone is really determined to get in they still can, but it’d mean scaling a ten foot wall with barbed wire strung along the top of it.”

“Can you get on a train without a ticket?” she asked.

“If you’ve bypassed the ticket barriers at the entrance you can. The conductor on the train checks that passengers have valid tickets, but he’ll also sell you a ticket if you don’t have one.”

“Can we get a record of any tickets sold on trains last night?”

“You can, but it might take a while.”

Gurley let out another grunt. “We’re wasting our time here. There’s no sign of Foster and Tommy in this footage. Either he didn’t use the main entrance—which seems unlikely—or Foster doesn’t have Tommy with him anymore.” He clapped a heavy hand on the technician’s shoulder, making the man jump in his seat. “Thanks for your time. We won’t take up any more of it.”

“Maybe we can extend the window, start the footage a little earlier,” Ingrid said, not wanting to give up just yet.

“I’m leaving, if you want a ride back to base, I suggest you come with me right now.”

“Let’s give it another fifteen minutes—how will that make a difference to today’s schedule?”

Gurley shook his head and frowned at her. “Fifteen and no more.”

“So—you want to see the footage from six? Five p.m.?” The technician looked up at her.

“No, same time frame as before—start it at nine but play it at four times normal speed. I saw something early on that bugged me for some reason and I’m not sure why.”

The technician did as he was told. Under twenty minutes into the recording Ingrid asked him to freeze the footage on the left hand monitor. She jabbed a finger at the screen. “There, you see that?”

Gurley leaned in closer and peered at the blurry image. “What am I looking for?”

“This guy with the backpack. Can you rewind a few seconds and play at normal speed?”

The technician complied.

“See the way he’s walking? Staggering might be a more accurate description. Either he’s so drunk he can’t walk straight, or that pack on his back is throwing him off balance. He’s really struggling to get around.”

They all continued to watch the man awkwardly make his way to the ticket counter. His right hand