Twist Of Fate

Fifty Four

HARRY AND SOFIA'S HOUSE, SOUTH EAST LONDON

Detective Inspector Alison Richards has pinned all her hopes on today. The minute she discovered the child's birthday was approaching she knew deep in her gut that this could be a turning point for the investigation. After extensive research and questioning of the residents of the estate where Harry Styles lives, she has discovered that although this man has a record of violence and crime, he appears nothing but gentle where his son is concerned. Detective Inspector Peter Willis has shared his scepticism on more than one occasion that Styles would contact home on his son's birthday, but Richards pushed on with her hunch and insisted that full telephone recording equipment was set up at Styles' home the previous evening, convinced he wouldn't let her down.

Sofía Torres Alonso has become more cooperative as the weeks have passed. Clearly torn between her (somewhat misguided, in Richards' opinion) loyalty to Styles and her understanding of the gravity and complexity of the situation, she has been briefed by a specialist team and is ready to keep Styles on the line as long as possible, should he call. Her discomfort at having police officers in her small council house on the morning of her son's second birthday is evident, as are the dark circles under her eyes and the tears forming more than once as she observes his excitement while opening his presents.

As soon as Sofía's phone lights up with the withheld number the room falls eerily silent, everyone on a knife edge as they wait for the caller to speak. When Styles' voice is immediately recognisable on the line there is a hushed, collective intake of breath. Richards mentally punches the air, satisfied to be proved right as she has known all along that she would be.

As she listens to their conversation and watches Sofía squeezing her eyes shut in an attempt to contain her obvious distress at deceiving her boyfriend like this, Richards feels a strange sense of unease; that there might be more to this than any of them have yet realised. Richards is desperate to understand the link between Harry Styles and Chloe Lewis: a seemingly incomprehensible partnership between two people who appear never to have even interacted prior to their absconding, other than drinks orders at the Flute and Fiddle. Richards believes that Sofía is just as bemused as everyone else, judging by the way her attitude towards the news that her boyfriend is on the run with another woman has changed from one of contempt to one of fury and now to one of heartbreak. 

Richards glances over at the IT team who are giving a thumbs up - they have successfully traced the call. As one of the officers moves quietly and discreetly into the hallway to request a unit to the location immediately, one of the radios in the room gives a crackle of static and there is a look of alarm exchanged between the members of the team.

"Are the police there?" Styles' voice barks.

Before Sofía has even got the word out he has cut the call with a clatter and the room springs to life.

"Where is he?!" Richards demands over the commotion, and pulls a face at the response. "Dumfries? Dumfries?! Are you fucking joking? There better be someone on their way there right now!"

She turns to Sofía to tell her she has done well, extremely well, but Sofía has sunk to the floor in tears, her head in her hands, her mother at her side. The child comes running over, a stick of cucumber in his small fist, and pats her back, copying Sofía's mother, and Sofía reaches for him and envelops him in a hug, her body shaking with silent sobs as tears stream down her face.

"Well done Sofía," Richards congratulates her softly, squatting down beside her and giving a sympathetic smile. "We've got a location on the call. There'll be a unit on its way right now to pick Harry up." 

"Be gentle with him," Sofía begs, looking up at Richards in misery. "Please don't hurt him. He's scared and upset - you heard him. I just want him to be safe. I just want this to be over."

"So do we," Richards agrees gently. "We'll find him. And in the meantime, if he makes contact with you again you must let us know."

Sofía gives a derisive laugh through her tears and gets to her feet, wiping her face defiantly as Richards stands too. "He won't call here again. Not now he knows I betrayed him to the filth, and that I know he's with that girl. I've done what you asked. You're on your own now. I want all of these people out of my house."

Richards acquiesces, and slips out of the room in search of her colleague and an update. She finds DI Willis in the hallway on the phone, and as he catches sight of her he brings his call to an end. "They've got patrol cars on their way to the location and around the town," he tells her. "Once he's detained they'll let us know and we'll arrange to get him back to London straight away."

Richards lets out a long breath but it does nothing for her unease. She stares vacantly past Willis along the hallway at the pile of clean washing folded on the freshly hoovered stairs, at the shabby but immaculately clean skirting boards and architrave, and at the various pieces of the child's artwork proudly displayed on the fridge in the tired but gleaming kitchen. This house, although untidy, council owned and located in one of the poorer areas of the housing estate, is spotlessly clean and obviously very well cared for. 

Even though this case seems to be making progress after weeks of stagnation, Richards can't help the feeling that even once Harry is here and sitting in front of them, this story will be far from complete.

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I know this is only a short chapter so I'd love to get the next one posted tomorrow. It's part-written but needs a lot more work so I can't promise it will be ready, but I will certainly try! I am loving writing so much again, and I'm already wondering what I will work on when this is finished. (I'm hoping to get back to Trace and get that finished too - I hate leaving things incomplete!) For the last five years I've always had something else in the pipeline so it feels a little strange not to have anything concrete waiting in the wings. 

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