Snatched by Dreda Say Mitchell Read Free Book Online Page A

with relief. ‘You’d better give me the guy’s contact details so I can check my boy’s OK.’
    Foster was dismissive. ‘There’s no need for that. In fact, it’s better that you don’t know. It will be more secure that way.’
    Mac was alarmed. ‘I want to know where my son is.’
    ‘And you will, you will. And then you’ll be happily reunited with your child . . .’ There was a long pause before Foster added with menace, ‘As soon as Mr Garcia is released from custody.’
    Mac reeled with horror. He’d recovered the son he thought he’d never see, only to lose him again through his own stupidity.

Nine
    When Mac got home from the prison, he found his front door had been professionally battered in and left hanging open. Still in shock from his phone call with Foster, he walked through the hallway to find his property had been completely ransacked. Files, papers, ornaments and furniture were left scattered around. Doors on cupboards and sideboards swung wide and his home computer was gone. Then Mac noticed that on an armchair that had come to rest at an angle to the wall, a solitary figure was sitting, smoking a cigarette.
    ‘I was hoping you’d make an appearance.’
    Phil Delaney.
    Mac looked around at the ruins and then back at Phil. ‘Why wouldn’t I come back to my own home?’
    Phil’s voice was laced with sarcasm. ‘Well, I don’t know if you’ve heard – your son has been kidnapped from hospital.’
    Mac didn’t need to play the role of a father whose son had just been stolen away. He was a father whose son had just been stolen away. ‘I know. I was at the hospital earlier. I can’t believe you allowed that to happen. I thought he was supposed to be under guard.’
    Phil ignored the slight. ‘I’m surprised you didn’t call in when you found out?’
    ‘I was in shock. I’m still in shock. What’s happened to my home?’
    ‘Yes, I’m sorry about that but you know the drill. When a crime is committed against a member of a family, other family members are usually in the frame. Your son’s been kidnapped so I’m afraid we have to treat you as a possible suspect. I brought a team around to search for any evidence that you are connected to the crime.’
    Mac picked up a fallen photo. A great photo of his other son Stevie a year before he’d died. He placed it back gently on the mantelpiece. ‘Yes, I understand that . . .’ Then he added with sarcasm of his own, ‘And did you find any evidence?’
    His boss didn’t answer. He stubbed out his cigarette and got up out of the armchair. He looked around at the wreckage of Mac’s life. ‘I’ll get someone round to secure the front door.’
    Mac realised that his superior’s people must still be trawling through the hospital’s security footage. Phil began to walk out of the flat but as he did so, he turned, walked over to Mac and put his arm around his shoulder. There was nothing supportive about his gesture.
    He whispered, ‘Don’t come back to the office until this business is sorted out.’
    ‘I’ve done nothing wrong sir.’ Mac had only called Phil sir on a few occasions. Times when the tension between them was like a line marking the hierarchy of their different ranks. ‘You know what the police therapist put in my notes: if I don’t work – even glued to a desk job – that could trigger my PTSD again. You wouldn’t want that would you?’
    Phil squeezed Mac’s shoulder. ‘I’m warning you now, if I find out you had anything to do with the abduction of that child, you won’t be wearing a badge anymore.’
     
    The following morning when Mac arrived at work, he checked the time: 9.00 a.m. London time, 1.00 in the early hours LA time. Meanwhile, Phil Delaney ignored him. When Mac went to visit his office, Shazia told him that their boss would be unavailable all day as he was busy organising the investigation into the hospital kidnapping. Although she did add pointedly, ‘I believe he may want to interview you