Cold Justice Read Online Free Page B

what paperwork he’s got on his dad’s finances, everything. Get his permission to contact the solicitor holding all the probate papers.’
    ‘Has Lauren’s family got money?’ asked Carter. ‘Have they got any dubious connections that might stretch this far over the sea?’
    Hector answered: ‘I’m talking with Interpol but so far there are no skeletons in Lauren’s closet.’
    ‘If it’s a ransom, there’s still time for them to come forward,’ Carter said.
    ‘There’s no doubt that without her wage they could not enjoy their current lifestyle. But they don’t own a property,’ said Pam. ‘We know her company pays for the flat they live in. No one could have thought they were worth a ransom.’
    ‘We don’t know what other secrets JFW might have been concealing?’ Pam added, already amassing intimate details of the former politician’s life.
    ‘We need permission to search his father’s flat,’ said Carter.
    ‘Where was it?’
    ‘Canary Wharf,’ replied Carter. ‘It’s a rented flat. We’re not going to have long before it has to be vacated.’
    ‘Revenge then?’ Robbo said, as he rocked on his chair and laid out his Haribo in a line. ‘After all, politicians piss people off, especially ones who specialize in having underage sex and getting away with it. He must have committed suicide for a reason.’
    A missing child and a dead politician – the press will think all their Christmases had come at once.
    The door opened.
    ‘Sir? A man’s been detained at Folkestone trying to board a ferry with a young boy answering the description of Samuel Forbes-Wright.’

Chapter 3
     
    Folkestone
    The reversing vehicle backed noisily, spreading its flashing orange glow across the wet tarmac. Carter pulled over and parked.
    ‘Jesus Christ!’ The wind almost took the door from Carter’s hand as he fought to hold on to it. He slammed the door shut and started walking.
    To their right, the black water was a bitter-cold backdrop to the bright lights of the ferry as it was being cleaned ready for the next passage to France.
    ‘We could be in luck here,’ he said to Willis as she marched across the tarmac, slightly ahead of him, head down. Willis’s eyes were watering. She wiped her nose with the heel of her hand and dried it on her trousers as they walked together towards the terminal building. Carter’s metal-tipped shoes scraped as he walked smartly across to the harbour master’s office.
    ‘I sent a photo to the parents,’ she said, taking out her phone to check for a reply.
    ‘And?’
    ‘It’s come back as a “Negative”.’
    ‘Shit. Well, we need to check it out anyway. Kids can be made to look very different very fast.’
    A dark-haired man of about fifty looked up at them as they entered the office, a small blond boy asleep on his lap. A police officer was sitting between the man and the door. He stood as Carter and Willis entered the room. Carter took out his badge; Willis did the same.
    ‘PC Littlemore, sir. This is Mr Mancey and his son Drew.’
    ‘Sorry to put you through this, Mr Mancey.’ Carter came to perch on the corner of the desk next to them.
    The man blinked red-eyed at them as he held tightly on to the sleeping child, who looked a lot like the pictures of the Forbes-Wright child. Carter reached forward as he studied the boy.
    ‘Do you mind?’ He went to sweep the child’s hair away from his eyes so that he could see his eyebrow. Mancey raised a hand to stop him and then withdrew it with a disgruntled nod.
    Carter lifted the lad’s hair and moved in to look at the left side of his face. Willis stepped in close beside him. Carter looked at her; she confirmed what he was thinking with a small shake of the head.
    ‘I hear you didn’t have the right documentation to take Drew on board the ferry?’ Carter said as he withdrew.
    ‘I didn’t know he needed a passport to cross the Channel. Since when?’
    ‘You wouldn’t be able to get back into the UK without a