6- Jack

Interpol was decidedly a much less friendly institution than the Metropolitan Police. It had been four days since Jack had obtained special permission to continue working on the John Andrews kidnapping investigation after the case had gone international. Once he had managed to be placed on the team, he had immediately introduced himself to his new colleagues and begun sharing his thoughts on the investigation, but his opinions had been dismissed, along with his whole existence. It was very clear that they considered him to be nothing more than a diplomatic concession, added to the team as the token British detective, there for no other reason than that the crime had originally taken place on British soil. His input was not needed, and his presence seemed to be tolerable to some, quaintly amusing to a few, and irritating to others.

Well, damn them all. He didn’t go to all the trouble of getting himself on this team just to sit in the corner and watch. While they were busy tracing passports and bank accounts, he was taking notes. Making charts. Putting the information together in his own head. They had photographs of the crime scene and transcripts of the interviews he had done with the neighbors, but Jack had actually been there. He had seen it, touched it. He’d heard the inflections in the neighbors’ voices, the expressions on their faces.

He’d seen the boy’s bedroom. The pile of junk on the bed: picture books, coloring pages, loose crayons, small toys, a plastic bag half-full of stale crackers, a diaper, a few colorful rocks, and a spill-proof child’s cup that held the remains of what must once have been fruit juice of some sort. All of this was lumped together in a neat little pile on the bed, as if it had been tightly packed into a container and then dumped out all at once. It was also obvious that someone had hurriedly gone through the boy’s belongings. Toys, clothing, toiletries.

After they’d had the bodies removed and the master bedroom cleaned out, Jack had brought in the babysitter, a 16-year-old girl who lived in the same building, to see if she could tell him what had been taken. After searching about, she’d said the only things that were missing were a few of the child’s favorite toys, his favorite blanket, a pair of shoes, and the car-seat that had always sat, unused, in the bottom of his closet. She had also identified the pile on the bed as the usual contents of the boy’s knapsack, which was also missing.

This would normally indicate that the person who took John Andrews was someone who knew him. Someone who knew about his favorite toys and the blanket he never left without. Someone who cared enough about his safety to take the car-seat along. This person had gone through his things and packed all of his favorite items into his bag. They had made sure he had his shoes. They had strapped him carefully into a car. Jack had trouble reconciling this person with the psychopath who had brutally murdered the boy’s mother and her boyfriend.

But according to the neighbors, there had been only one person to go in or out of that flat on the day of the murders. Three of the women who lived in the building had been outside gossiping that morning when a shiny silver car had pulled up. A tall, thin, pretty black woman in a nice-looking grey suit had gotten out of the car, carrying a large briefcase. The woman had smiled and greeted them politely, then marched straight up to the third flat on the second floor. They said she seemed all business. She’d tapped on the door, and after a few words, Carrie had let her in. A little over an hour later the woman had come back out, carrying little John, who appeared to be asleep and strapped securely into a car-seat, with his little red bag slung over one arm and her briefcase hanging from a shoulder-strap on the other arm. One of the witnesses remembered offering to help her carry something, but the woman had politely declined, flashing a pretty smile. They had watched her curiously as she carefully strapped his child-seat into the middle of the backseat of her car. They distinctly remembered her waving and telling them to "Have a nice day" in a slightly foreign-sounding accent before she herself got into the car and drove away. They had gossiped about it afterward, thinking that she must have been a social worker. Everyone knew Avery was abusive, and he was always screaming and throwing things about at all hours. And it was fairly well-known that Carrie was a drugs addict. The whole neighborhood had been expecting the child to be taken away by the LSCB sooner or later.

It hadn’t been until late that evening– when an acquaintance of Avery Spencer’s had dropped by and, having gotten no response at the door, had looked in the window and seen Carrie Andrews’s body on the kitchen floor and called the police– that anyone knew that the couple had been murdered.

Jack shook his head and rubbed at the tired skin under his eyes. He had spoken with the victims’ friends and relations, but no one knew anything about a child welfare investigation, and none of their acquaintance could think of any woman who matched the description provided by the neighbors.

The case would have gone cold had it not been for the cameras. A tall woman in a suit, with a complexion the color of black coffee, had been caught on video at a local shop, carrying a small boy who could easily be identified as John Andrews, buying children’s clothing, food, diapers, and first aid supplies. From there they had managed to track her using traffic cameras, following the silver sedan to a hotel, where she paid cash, and then the next morning to the airport.

The airport was where they had finally gotten some identification. Nadina Jones and her son M’boku Jones were the names listed in the two British passports she had supplied when she booked the flight to Switzerland. However, upon further investigation, it had been discovered that both identities were false. Unfortunately, by the time this had been verified, Ms. Jones and little John had both arrived safely in Switzerland.

Who was this woman, and what was her connection to Carrie Andrews and her son? What was her motive in killing Ms. Andrews and Mr. Spencer? Where was she taking John, and for what purpose? Obviously she was no ordinary kidnapper. The exotic murder methods aside, she would have to be quite well-off and well-connected to have false identities of such sophisticated quality that they were even listed in the national database. There were birth and medical records, education and employment verification, bank accounts . . . It was like something out of a film or a spy novel.

Of course, once she left British soil, they needed help to pursue her internationally. Which was why Jack was stuck with these condescending snots on a plane bound for Switzerland. Well, he’d show them. This was his case, dammit. He would make himself useful in this investigation, whether they wanted him there or not.