The usual bane of electronic monitoring in policing is delay. But with the power and technology available to the National Crime Agency, that had been almost eliminated. There was one final thing that Otara wanted, and it could not be obtained without the signature of the Home Secretary. On a Saturday, and even with the help of the chief constable, making the case to the Home Secretary’s duty officials had taken a few hours. But finally, permission had been granted. Reading the confirming email, Otara raised a fist above his head and yelled: ‘We’ve got permission! GCHQ are sending us their top expert. First thing tomorrow.’

One of the officers monitoring the phones hissed for quiet. ‘I’ve got something,’ she said. She turned on the microphone, and they listened in mounting horror to a message just left for Gillard on his home landline.

Chapter Fifteen

Gillard was back at home by five. He had been encouraged by his meeting with DCS Raj Otara. The National Crime Agency had the resources to get to grips with the kidnap, but he still felt that he should be contributing. Otara had encouraged him to ring if he had any fresh ideas, but there were one or two things he wanted to do himself. He was aware that the person Sam had spoken to most in the last couple of weeks was Ellen, the old friend who had been a police cadet with her. She was the only person who’d been given their address in the last two weeks.

He had no idea what the surname was, and CSI had taken Sam’s laptop, which would have given him access to her Facebook page. Using his own laptop, he tried to log into Sam’s account, making a number of guesses at the password. After fifteen minutes he had got nowhere. At one level he was impressed that it wasn’t easy to guess, but right now it was very frustrating. He recalled that Ellen worked as a receptionist at a vet’s practice in Bedfordshire. Going through Sam’s address book, he found a number for a vet, and rang it. As he did so, he heard the landline downstairs going, and then half a minute later the call-waiting flashed up on his mobile. It was DCS Otara from the NCA. Nobody had replied at the vet, which was probably closed for the evening, so Gillard hung up and took the waiting call.

‘Craig, the kidnapper has just left a message on your landline. Listen to it, and call me back with your thoughts ASAP. We’re getting a trace.’ Otara cut the line.

Gillard ran downstairs to the telephone table in the hall and saw the new message light was flashing. With an unsteady finger, he pressed the button.

‘Craig. You are being rather dim. It’s gone five in the afternoon, and I’m here with Sam. I can’t put her on the line, because she’s gagged. In fact she is rather trussed up altogether. I’ve been enjoying her again, Craig, in a variety of ways, but I’m getting a little bored now. And you know what happens when I get bored. She only has twenty-four hours to live. That’s five p.m. on Sunday afternoon. Tomorrow. Do you think you can find her in time? Frankly, I doubt it. But I do know you’ll try.’