A Question of Despair by Maureen Carter

it’s sadistic.’ DC Shona Bruce. When the tall redhead voiced an opinion it was generally worth hearing. She’d certainly vocalized Sarah’s thinking. ‘The kidnapper didn’t just target us.’ Shona didn’t elaborate, they all knew the other recipient on his hit list was in hospital. Tucking a strand of hair behind her ear, Shona said, ‘Sending Karen a picture of her baby posed like that smacks of sheer cruelty to me.’
    Several heads nodded. A phone rang on the desk near Harries. ‘Dave? Get that, will you?’ Baker nodded at Shona. ‘Carry on, lass.’
    She smoothed non-existent creases from a blue serge skirt. ‘Karen goes on telly pleading to have her baby back. And he sends a photo? How vicious is that?’
    â€˜Not just vicious.’ Heads turned as Sarah spoke. ‘I think it’s personal not random. Not spur of the moment. Planned to the last detail.’ She’d suspected it from the start. Babies aren’t just snatched from the street in broad daylight. And why had Karen been so convinced of the worst? More than once she’d said, ‘They’ll kill her, won’t they?’ They. Not he. Not she. As far as Sarah was concerned, the girl knew more than she was letting on. ‘I think we need to dig . . .’
    â€˜DI Quinn,’ hand over mouthpiece, Harries interrupted. ‘It’s for you. Urgent.’
    She rolled her eyes. ‘Who is it?’
    â€˜Caroline King.’
    For Christ’s sake. ‘Not now, Harries.’
    â€˜She says it’s vital—’
    â€˜Tell her I’ll—’
    â€˜. . . she speaks to you now.’
    â€˜I’ll speak to her when I’m ready,’ Sarah snapped. ‘Savvy?’
    â€˜Fine.’ By now his tanned complexion had a pink tinge. ‘But she says—’
    â€˜Read my lips, Harries: I don’t care what she says.’
    Baker mimed a slammed phone. ‘You think we need to dig where, Quinn?’
    â€˜Karen’s background, family, mates, boyfriends, anyone she’s associated with recently. We need to find out if she’s ever worked; where and how she spends her time. Does she go on-line? We need to know more about her than her own mother. Which is good a place to start as any.’ Given Karen was in no condition to be questioned any time soon. ‘When we’re finished here, I’ll get over to Harborne.’ Harries could tag along, too.
    It was nearly a wrap anyway. Further background checks were assigned to four detectives, others still had reported sightings to chase, a number were following up calls to the hotline. Everyone knew what they were doing and there was an eagerness – absent before – to get on with it.
    â€˜OK guys.’ The door opened as Baker was shucking into his jacket. ‘Anything else before we nail his sorry ass?’
    â€˜Guv.’ John Hunt hovered in the doorway, CCTV tape in hand. Normally unflappable, the DS’s hair was mussed, tie askew. ‘Get the hammer. I think we’ve got him.’
    Within minutes, half the squad was crammed in the viewing suite. Sarah and Baker, hunched close to the monitor, had ringside seats, their pupils reflecting the flickering colour images playing out on screen. Breath bated, palms moist, Sarah watched a tallish guy lope along the pavement outside the granite and glass façade of Lloyd House. His clothes were in monochrome: black combats, white T-shirt, grey hoodie. A logo emblazoned across the chest read University of California. Sarah sniffed, doubted he’d been within spitting distance of the campus. Either way coming here wasn’t a sharp move. There was nothing furtive in his approach and force HQ CCTV was state of the art. She allowed herself a thin smile. All Postman Prat had to do was show his face.
    â€˜You can see he’s carrying an envelope, guv.’ Hunt leaned across the desk,