Heatwave Oliver Davies (story reading .txt) 📖

“He probably wouldn’t have had a heart attack if those idiots hadn’t been there, though.”

“Look, regardless, this is a chink in Mickey’s armour. He felt guilty about what happened, enough to risk his identity to call in to get help, right? So perhaps we can talk him into helping us. He seemed on the edge of agreeing to help when we spoke to him before, didn’t you think?”

“I don’t know…”

“He’s clearly easily led or pushed into things by his peers. Now we just need to convince him that it’s wrong, or not even that, because I think he’s already fully aware that it’s wrong. We have to convince him to take action to help us.”

“We could try,” Stephen agreed finally. “But I think you’re more likely to get his help if you promise some reduced charges for what he’s done. I think you’re overestimating the kid’s moral compass. You heard him in the phone call. He’s driven by fear. I bet he wasn’t thinking about that bloke. I bet he thought that manslaughter looks a lot worse for him than burglary and property damage.”

I was silent for a moment before I sighed. Stephen might be right, or we might both be. People could have complex motivations and be inspired to act by multiple feelings at once. Both compassion and self-interest could have driven Mickey at the same time when he made the call.

“At the end of the day, I don’t think it matters. Whichever angle we take, I think we can get Mickey on our side. And if we can get information from someone who understands what’s going on from the inside, that’d help us immensely.”

The problem right now was that we were running blind, darting from one side of the city to the other because we didn’t know what was connected and what wasn’t. If we had someone close to the centre of it all, that’d be a huge step forwards in our work to untangle this web.

Nine

After realising that the voice on the call was Mickey’s, we tried to get hold of the kid using the mobile number he’d given us when we spoke to him previously. He’d had to give up his parents’ phone numbers, too, so that they could be called to come and collect him and, after failing to get an answer on his mobile, I tried his home phone.

His mother answered, and I explained who I was before asking whether Mickey was home.

“No, not yet,” she admitted. “Sometimes he goes to his friends’ houses in the summer.”

“We need to speak to him, and it would be much better for him if he came willing to talk to us,” I said sternly. “We’ll send round a plainclothes officer to escort you both to the station.”

I thought it might be overkill to send an officer over to supervise a teenager being brought into the station, but I wasn’t sure whether Mickey was a flight risk. I’d rather be safe than sorry, I’d concluded, and we certainly didn’t want to have another missing child at large in York because Mickey decided to run off from his mum when she tried to drive him over here.

“Is he in more trouble?” She sounded suitably alarmed. “Has he done something else?”

“I don’t want to go into the details on the phone,” I told her. “Please come in as soon as possible, and we can discuss it, and don’t send him any text messages in the meantime, please.”

“Well, alright,” she said nervously.

“Look, Mickey seems like a good kid,” I said, wanting to make sure that she was on our side, “and we’re trying to help him, but he’s not helping himself. Let’s get him back on the right track, okay?”

Her voice sounded stronger when she agreed to that, and I hung up. I checked the time on my wrist and saw that it was almost five. I’d be working late if Mickey didn’t turn up soon, and that would give me less time to spend with Sam this evening. I sighed. Such was the job, I thought. As a DI, Stephen could afford to leave mostly on time to get back to his family, though he stayed late sometimes too. As DCI, I couldn’t afford to treat my job like a usual nine to five, not when there were sometimes lives on the line, and significant overtime was needed in order to save them.

So I settled in for the wait, letting Sam know that I might work late, and started work on a different lead while I waited for the Mickey one to yield fruit.

“Am I alright to head off, mate?” I looked over to see Stephen holding his phone and looking apologetic.

“Of course, Steph. Your wife messaged you, did she?” I nodded towards his phone.

“Yeah, she’s got work, too, and needs a hand.” He clapped me on the shoulder as he headed out. “See you tomorrow, and thanks.”

I waved him off and gave a sigh, getting back to what I’d been doing. I hoped that the witness who’d seen the teens breaking in today would be available for a call so that I could get something useful done whilst hanging around for Mickey.

I tried the number that the officer had given me at the scene and tapped my fingers on the desk as the phone rang in my ear. If the witness didn’t pick up, I’d have to find another lead to chase, but right now, we didn’t have a huge amount to go on, and I kept my fingers crossed.

“Don Sullivan speaking,” a gruff, male voice answered. His voice held a faintly Irish softness in the way he shaped his words.

“Evening, Mr Sullivan,” I said brightly, just glad that he’d picked up. “I’m calling about the crime you witnessed in progress today. My name is DCI Mitchell, from Hewford station.”

“That other guy already asked me about it, didn’t he?”

“I know you’ve spoken to one of our other officers. However, I’d like to make sure that