The phone rang and Declan picked it up quickly, glad to shut off Michael’s conversation. It was not like him to say anything derogatory about his Josephine.
Michael watched closely as Declan listened to whoever was on the other end of the phone.
‘Are you a hundred per cent sure?’
Declan was once again the listener, and Michael was watching his every nuance. ‘Good man. Fucking result. Tell them to bring it here. Canary Wharf.’
Declan replaced the receiver and, looking at Michael, he said quickly, ‘It appears our Mr Golding has been spotted. That was Jack. It seems that one of his blokes is visiting his old mum in Essex – she lives in Canewdon, near Rochford – and he thinks he saw him coming out of the local SPAR there. By the time the geezer had got parked – and we all know what Essex is like for parking – he’d lost sight of him. But he’s purchased the CCTV from the shop, and it’s being brought to us now. So at least this is something, Michael. If it is him, we have a location.’
Michael Flynn felt tearful; the relief he felt was so potent, and overwhelming. Never before, in the whole of his life, had he felt so useless. He was the main man, everyone came to him for their earn, he dealt with the Colombians, he basically held Europe in the palm of his hand and yet, for all that, he still couldn’t locate his own daughter. The irony.
Chapter One Hundred
and Twenty-Five
The CCTV footage wasn’t exactly HD, but it was good enough for what Michael needed. ‘That’s him, Declan! It’s fucking him! At long last.’
Declan could feel Michael’s euphoria. It was over two weeks since Jessie had gone missing, and not a soul had seen or heard anything of her since. That is, except her own mother, and she had kept the information to herself. What the fuck was that about? Everyone knew that Josephine was running on fucking fumes. She was a strange fucker at the best of times, but when Michael told him she had been contacted about her daughter and she hadn’t bothered to follow it up, it proved how much of a fucking nut she really was. It was the only opportunity they had been given to find out the girl’s location and Josephine Flynn had put her own fucking mentalness above her only child’s welfare. That was harsh, by anyone’s standards.
But now, finally, Michael had something to work with, something tangible he could use. He deserved every second of his relief; it had been a long time coming.
Michael was writing everything down in a notebook. ‘He bought Lambert and Butler cigarettes, and a bottle of the cheapest vodka, just like he did at Mrs Singh’s. We know that he has never passed his driving test, but that doesn’t mean he hasn’t got a vehicle. It just means it’s not insured. But why isn’t he buying food?’
Declan shrugged. He had wondered that himself, but he didn’t want to say it and worry Michael.
‘The Filth are combing everywhere, and so are our lads. If he has rented a place we will know about it. He can’t fucking hide out for ever, Michael. It’s not feasible. No one can drop off the radar these days.’
Michael grinned. This was the best he had felt since this nightmare had started.
The phone rang and Michael picked it up, hoping it was someone with the man’s location, or something else he could use to find his daughter.
Declan was watching Michael with a wide grin on his face, expecting to hear that the man had been found, and they could finally do something constructive – like kill the fucker, torture him at their leisure, and wipe him off the face of the earth.
‘You’ve got to be fucking kidding me!’
Declan could hear the disappointment in Michael’s voice; whoever was calling them didn’t have good news.
‘OK, OK. We will wait for it – just get it here quickly.’ Michael put the phone down slowly.
Declan held his breath as he waited for Michael to tell him the latest news.
Michael lit a cigarette and, after drawing on it a few times, he said helplessly, ‘You’re not going to fucking believe this, Declan. That was John Freed of all people. It seems there is another CCTV on its way here. This time Golding was spied in a Tesco Express in Kent. He bought the same things – forty Lambert and Butler and a bottle of cheap vodka. He was recognised by the woman working the till. She rang John, and he’s looked at the CCTV for himself. He reckons it is definitely Golding.’
Declan was silent; this was getting a bit too creepy now. It was as if the man was goading them, deliberately sending them on different trails. It was a good tactic, but it was guaranteed to make Michael Flynn angry and vicious.