A missing child. A dead body. A killer on the loose.

Returning to Exeter CID after his son’s unsolved disappearance Detective Sergeant Peter Gayle’s first day back was supposed to be gentle. Until a young girl is reported missing and the clock begins to tick.

Rosie Whitlock has been abducted from outside her school that morning. There are no clues, but Peter isn’t letting another child disappear.

When the body of another young victim appears, the hunt escalates. Someone is abducting young girls and now they have a murderer on their hands. Time is running out for Rosie, but when evidence case relating to his own son’s disappearance is discovered the stakes are even higher…

Nowhere to Run

Jack Slater

JACK SLATER

Raised in a farming family in Northamptonshire, England, the author had a varied career before settling in biomedical science. He has worked in farming, forestry, factories and shops as well as spending five years as a service engineer.

Widowed by cancer at 33, he recently remarried in the Channel Islands, where he worked for several months through the summer of 2012.

He has been writing since childhood, in both fiction and non-fiction. Nowhere to Run is his first crime novel and the first in the series of the DS Peter Gayle mysteries.

It is often said that, although writing is a solitary pursuit, it cannot be done in isolation and this book, more than any other I have written, has proved this for me. There are several people who I must thank for their help and advice. Kathy Gale put me on the right path. The front-desk staff at Heavitree Road police station, Exeter and Banbury police station in Oxfordshire were incredibly helpful. Rick and Christine Ell added some much-needed inside knowledge. Fellow author and former police officer David Hodges selflessly answered several technical questions. Rhea Kurien and Victoria Oundjian of Harper Collins saw the potential in my rough manuscript. And last but most definitely not least, my wife, Prunella, whose contributions are too many to list – she says!

For Pru – my wife, my best friend, my partner in crime (fiction) and so much more.

Contents

Cover

Blurb

Title Page

Author Bio

Acknowledgement

Dedication

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

Chapter 8

Chapter 9

Chapter 10

Chapter 11

Chapter 12

Chapter 13

Chapter 14

Chapter 15

Chapter 16

Chapter 17

Chapter 18

Chapter 19

Chapter 20

Chapter 21

Chapter 22

Chapter 23

Chapter 24

Chapter 25

Chapter 26

Chapter 27

Chapter 28

Chapter 29

Chapter 30

Chapter 31

Chapter 32

Chapter 33

Chapter 34

Chapter 35

Copyright

CHAPTER 1

Lauren strained with aching fingers to get purchase on the knot, but all she managed to do was force it tighter around her already sore wrists.

She was breathing hard, heart fluttering in her chest as she struggled to escape. She closed her eyes in concentration. She could feel every strand of the tough braided nylon. It was rubbing her skin raw, but she had to keep trying. Had to get loose. Had to get away before he came back.

In her ten troubled years she had dealt with all sorts of men, but none like this one. She had heard stories of perverts and child-molesters, had even met a couple, not that she’d known at the time, but this guy – he was more than that. He’d kill her. It was there in his eyes when he looked at her. He’d do what he wanted with her, then . . .

A sob escaped through the gag that was tied across her mouth as her fingers slipped off the rope yet again. She didn’t have the strength for this.

*

Pete Gayle stepped into the Exeter CID squad room and a hearty cheer went up. He paused in the doorway, grinning. Glancing around the big, open-plan office, he saw that the noise was being made by a pitifully sparse crew. The place was almost empty, just his own team there, but they were certainly making up in volume what they lacked in numbers.

A bunch of helium balloons shot up over his desk, bright and multicoloured, on strings that held them about halfway to the ceiling. Two of his three DCs stood up, stretching a ‘Welcome Back’ banner between them.

He stepped forward and took a bow to enthusiastic applause.

‘Welcome back, boss.’

‘Good to see you, Sarge.’ Grey-suited and grey-haired Dick Feeney threw him a salute with his free hand, the bright colours around him emphasising his colourless appearance.

‘About time, too.’ That was Dave Miles, at the other end of the banner from Dick.

Pete raised his arms. ‘Thank you, fans. Thank you very much.’ He headed towards them.

Clustered in the far front corner of the big office, his team consisted of Detective Constables Dave Miles, Dick Feeney and Jane Bennett and PCs Ben Myers and Jill Evans.

Dick and Dave pushed the banner onto a couple of pieces of Blu-tack on the wall behind them.

‘Nice to be back, boss?’ Dave gave him a lopsided grin. Long and lanky, he was dressed in dark trousers and an open-necked white shirt with a waistcoat over it, his dark hair neatly combed.

‘I wouldn’t know. I haven’t even got to my desk yet.’

‘It’s good to see you, Sarge,’ Jill said. Small, slender, dark and immaculate as always, Jill had been a caring but firm PC on the beat and had joined his team two and a half years ago, after impressing him on a case involving a homeless guy whose girlfriend had been raped and murdered. He had looked good for it, with no alibi and a history of drug abuse, but Jill had finally proved that he couldn’t have done it and supported him through the process of finding out who had.

He was now off the streets and the gear, and working in a betting shop. Or, he had been, last Pete had heard.

‘That’s right,’ added Ben, the spiky-haired and baby-faced newbie of the team, having moved into the office just over a year ago.

‘What did Louise think of the idea?’ asked Jane. Shockingly, her red hair, which she had always worn long, had been cut into a stylish bob, parted and swept back at the sides since he last saw her. It was a drastic change, but it suited her.

‘She hardly noticed, to be honest,’ he admitted. ‘She doesn’t take much interest in anything, lately.’

Jane’s face fell. ‘I’m sorry, boss.’

Pete shrugged as he reached his desk and sat down opposite her. ‘So, what’s the news? What’s been happening?’

They sat, the celebratory mood broken.

‘Well, today’s all about Operation Natterjack,’ Dave said. ‘Bloody stupid name. Everybody’s out, dragging drug dealers, distributors and manufacturers out of their beds and off the streets.’

‘Which is why Colin wanted me back in today, to keep you lot under control. Yeah, I know about that,’ Pete said. ‘What else?’

There was a pause. Then Jane shrugged. ‘Not a lot, really, boss. We’re just hoping for a nice, quiet day. Share a pizza for lunch. Keep the phones manned and wait for the glory boys to trickle back in with all their arrests, which they’re going to have to do the paperwork on while we sit back and take the piss.’

He looked from one face to another but no one had anything else to say. ‘OK then. A nice, quiet day it is. We hope.’

*

Lauren’s cheeks were wet with tears, her chin slick with dribbled saliva. She had pulled and pushed, twisted and wiggled the ends of the finger-thick rope around her wrists, but all she had gained were aching arms and fingers and raw, abraded wrists. She had been trying for what seemed like ages. She was exhausted, no longer caring about how disgusting the gag was in her mouth with the spit and the snot and the tears.

God, she wished she had someone who would come looking for her. Come and rescue her from this bloody middle-of-nowhere barn and the arsehole bastard who’d dumped her here. But there was no one. If she was going to get out of this, it was down to her.

She sucked in a breath and, biting down on the wet gag, set to work once more, pushing through the pain.

Curling her fingers up and around, she touched the knot at her wrists and hooked her short nails into the rough strands. She burrowed one slender finger into the knot then wiggled it around as much as she could. If she could just force the rope back through, then get a hold on it . . . She felt it slip just a tiny bit.

‘Yes,’ she gasped.

Tension and excitement mingled in her stomach. She felt queasy as she tried again. Yes, definitely. She adjusted her grip and tried once more, pulling it straight up and – yes! It finally released. She wriggled her wrists and shook her arms. The bindings fell away and her arms slumped to her sides as she fell forward, howling in agony as her shoulders, stuck for so long in one position, dropped free. It was several seconds before she dared to try to lift her arms to untie the gag.

Vision blurred with tears of pain and relief, she could see redness around her wrists, but not how bad they were, as she loosened the gag and spat it out, then reached for the rope at her ankles.

Pulling the knot around to the front, she was glad for the first time of the knee-length white socks they made her wear for school. Quickly, she untied the thin rope and got to her feet. She staggered and put her hand out to the dusty stone wall, waiting a moment until she felt steady. Now she just had to get through those doors and she would be free!

There was no catch or lock on the inside.

She leaned her full weight against the junction of the big, old wooden panels and heaved.

Nothing.

‘God! What now?’ Her voice sounded strange after being gagged for so long. She felt reluctant to make a lot of noise. Not that she had heard any sign of anyone since the man left, but . . . If she was heard by a friend of his, and caught, then . . .

She flinched as a hiss came from the rafters, above and to her right, all the way at the end of the barn. She looked up into the darkness under the roof tiles. Saw a pair of eyes staring down at her. Then another pair.

‘What are you looking at?’ she muttered to the two young owls.

Their parents had it easy. They came in and out of the barn through a hole in the corner of the roof. She had watched them numerous times. She, on the other hand, had to get through these bloody doors.

CHAPTER 2

Pete heard the door open behind him. He finished pouring his coffee, put the jug back on the coffee maker and turned to see who had come into the small kitchen.

‘Jane.’

‘Hey, boss.’

‘So, come on. What weren’t you telling me earlier? What’s been going on while I’ve been gone?’ He took a sip of his coffee and moved aside so she could get some for herself.

‘Well . . . there hasn’t been much, really. Just the usual odds and sods. Burglaries . . . We cracked that string that we were working on when . . . well, you know. A hundred and eighty-seven, it ended up at. All down to one bloke. Derek Atkins. He’s due in court in a couple of months.

‘There was an illegal licence plate deal going on, down on the Marsh Barton industrial estate. We closed that down a few weeks back. They were making them and selling them for cash, without documentation, to all and sundry. Mainly crooks wanting falsies for getaway cars. Major coup, that was. The blokes doing it kept records of who they sold to, stupid sods. We got loads of leads out of that, for all over the place. Here, Dorset, Avon and Somerset, West Mids, Thames Valley, even the Met. I don’t know how many cases got solved out of that one bust. Anyway, they’re the highlights, I suppose.

‘Currently, DS Phillips has got a job on out at the airport, in conjunction with the Transport Police and Customs and Excise. A smuggling ring. They’re hoping to make some arrests on Wednesday, I think. And DS Hancock has got something else going on, on the industrial estate. A series of break-ins. Tools and equipment nicked and safes and cash boxes raided. I don’t know all the details, but I don’t think they’ve got much yet. What about you? How are you doing?’

Pete pursed his lips. He’d known Jane since they were in uniform together, eight or nine years ago. She’d been the first recruit to his team when he’d got his sergeant’s stripes, closely followed by Dave, and he knew full well when she was prevaricating. ‘Never mind me. What’s been happening about Tommy?’

Jane sighed. ‘Boss, you know how it works. You’ve got to stay out of that. If you don’t, anything we find can be compromised.’

‘I don’t need lectures, Jane. I need facts. I’m his dad. I need to know what’s happening and Simon’s told me sweet FA over the last month or more.’

Jane grimaced. ‘As far as I know, there’s been nothing to tell. He hasn’t got anywhere.’

‘Well, why the hell not?’ Pete set his coffee down before he spilt it. ‘Surely, a missing kid – and a copper’s kid at that – takes priority over a smuggling ring that the Transport guys should be handling on their own, anyway?’

‘Of course. But they’ve got nothing new to work on. They’ve run down all the leads they had. It’s like he’s just disappeared off the face of the earth, from what I can gather. And I have been keeping up with things on the quiet.’

Pete sighed, reaching out to put a hand on her shoulder. ‘Sorry, Jane. I’m just—’

‘Frustrated to hell and back, I expect,’ she cut in. ‘We’ve been helping where we can, but it’s Simon’s case, so . . .’ She shrugged. ‘How’s Louise coping?’

Pete pursed his lips. ‘Not so good. If anything, she’s been getting worse, not better, the past few weeks. And I can’t seem to help. If I try, all she does is snap my head off, so . . . I just leave her to it as much as I can. I don’t like to, but . . .’ He shrugged.

‘Must be tough on you, too, though, eh?’

‘Yeah, well. It’s supposed to be, isn’t it? It was me that wasn’t there to pick him up.’

‘Oh, come on. It wasn’t your fault.’

He felt a swell of bitter guilt. ‘If I’d been there when I was supposed to be, it wouldn’t have happened, would it?’

‘Yes, but it wasn’t like you forgot or didn’t bother, was it? You were busy. Saving my arse, as it happened.’

Pete smiled, knowing what Dave Miles would have said to that, as persistently politically incorrect as he was. It was true; he had been working – caught up in an arrest with Jane and a couple of PCs. An arrest that had gone horribly wrong until he managed, somehow, to rescue the situation.

They had been going to bring in a shopkeeper who had been using the cover of furniture imports to bring in cannabis from Thailand. A job that had, ultimately, been a contributing factor leading towards today’s Operation Natterjack. But when they got there, the guy had not been where they expected him to be. Instead, he had been in the back room, unpacking a delivery. When Jane went in through the back door, a PC in tow, while Pete went in the front with the other uniform, the bloke had seen her badge and panicked. The Stanley knife in his hand had become a weapon. He’d grabbed her, threatening to cut her throat. It had taken Pete twenty minutes to talk him down.

Twenty minutes that made him late getting away at the end of his shift.

‘What, so now it’s your fault, is it?’ he asked with a smile.

Jane’s green eyes flashed. ‘No. If anyone’s to blame its Ranjit bloody Seekun, the bastard who held a knife to my throat. Or whoever actually took Tommy.’

‘Mmm.’ Pete picked up his coffee and took a sip. ‘Ugh. This is bloody cold already.’

*

The doors at the back of the barn had straw bales stacked along in front of them, a double row then a single, like a line of seats in one of those old Roman places. Lauren imagined a row of men sitting there, watching her as she lay in the straw, and a shiver ran through her. Suddenly, it seemed to get darker and the temperature dropped. Then the noise started. An intense rattling on the roof above her. She wondered what the hell it was, then she heard a rustling from outside as well. Hail, she realised. But hail or not, she had to get out of here. She jumped up onto the bales, heaving at the doors behind, throwing all her weight into it.

The doors barely moved, but, as she pushed, she saw light down behind the bales.

A gap.

She jumped down, heaved on the bale in front of her and shrieked as she fell back, the bale coming away far more easily than she had expected. She got up, pulled another one away, then another. Behind them, the ancient wood had rotted away and a sheet of corrugated iron had been fixed over it, on the outside.

And metal could bend.

‘Yes!’ Lauren was breathing hard, but the excitement of possible escape kept her going. The rattle of hailstones on the roof continued as she sat down, put her feet against the metal and pushed.

*

By five o’clock, the squad room was back to full capacity and as noisy as Pete remembered it with the incoming officers chatting and joking about the arrests they had made that morning. They had begun to drift in from mid-afternoon. Teams brought in the men and women they had arrested during the morning raids, processed them into custody and interviewed them, then came upstairs to type up their notes and reports. Even with an extra man on the custody desk it was a slow process. Officers were frustrated and short-tempered by the time they got to the squad room, but when they came in and saw Pete at his desk, they each came over and welcomed him back, asked how he was doing, expressed their sympathy or asked after his wife and daughter.

Leaning back in his chair, his day almost over, Pete heard a phone ring among the hubbub and looked up to see whose it was. DS Mark Bridgman picked up his phone and held a hand up to the two men who were chatting next to his desk. Pete watched as he spoke briefly into the phone, then put it down and stood up, heading for the door to the DI’s office at the far end of the squad room.

He knocked and went in. Emerged a minute later and returned to his desk.

‘So, what do you reckon, boss?’ Dave Miles asked.

Pete spun his chair back around.

Dave was looking at him with a half-smile. ‘Looks like gardening season’s over, so are you back for good, or what? Do you reckon you’ll be able to stand the pace?’

‘Well, if today’s anything to go by, I reckon I’ll cope.’ We’ll see how Louise dealt with it when I get home, he thought.

The door at the far end of the room opened and both DI Colin Underhill and DCI Adam Silverstone entered the room.

Hello. Something’s up.

He hoped they were not going to make a meal out of welcoming him back. He’d had plenty of that through the afternoon. He didn’t need the official version, especially from Silverstone. He sat up straighter in his chair as Underhill raised his hands for quiet.

Silverstone stepped up beside the older man. In his immaculate uniform, he looked exactly what he was – a career desk-jockey who’d barely know one end of a baton from the other and had certainly never felt the greasy collar of a drug-pusher or a burglar. The contrast between the two men was almost laughable. Colin was the bigger man in every sense apart from rank. An inch taller, a good four stones heavier, fifteen years older and hugely more experienced, he was a man-manager, not a pen-pusher. He’d walked the beat, come up through the ranks and he looked every inch of it in his slightly rumpled tweed jacket and cord trousers.

‘Right,’ said Silverstone. ‘What’s everyone doing at the moment? I need to know what cases each DS has on their desk, as of now, excluding this morning’s haul. Mark?’

Bridgman looked up and set his pen down. ‘We’ve got the city centre muggings and the break-ins down on the Marsh Barton industrial estate, sir. We’re at a crucial stage with the muggings.’

The DCI nodded. ‘Simon?’

Phillips glanced at Pete. ‘Tommy and the Jane Doe, sir. And the airport job.’

‘Jim?’

‘We’re leading on the drugs, sir. All this morning’s stuff, plus trying to track down where it’s coming from.’

‘Right. OK. I think, Simon, you ought to have this new one. A missing girl. Thirteen years old. Rosie Whitlock. Dropped off at school this morning and never went in. Parents are Alistair and Jessica. Live in the St Leonard’s area of the city. Mark’s got the details.’

Pete spun around to face his team. ‘What are we? Invisible?’ He pushed himself up out of his chair as Dave shrugged.

‘Maybe he thinks it’s too soon for you, boss,’ Jane suggested.

‘I’m here, aren’t I?’

*

Lauren peered with a sinking heart through the gap she’d created at the blackened forest of stinging nettle stems beyond. But, she only had two choices – stay or go. And if she stayed . . . She didn’t even want to think about what would happen to her. She grabbed a couple of big handfuls of loose straw, pushed it out through the gap in front of her, then started to wriggle through, arms in front of her face, hoping that the sleeves of her cardigan might offer some protection from the burning stings.

Metal scraped the back of her head and she ducked lower. She felt the dull edge dig into her shoulders. There was no going backward now, even if she wanted to. It was forward or nothing. As long as she didn’t get stuck . . .

‘Oh, God.’ A vision filled her mind of her stuck half in and half out of the barn, wedged under this bloody door when the man came back and found her. Caught hold of her legs and . . . Throat clogged with terror, she scrambled forward. The old stems crackled like fire as they snapped and broke, adding to the noise of the hail. Then, between her panting breaths, she thought she heard something else.

She stopped moving. Held her breath, straining to hear.

‘No, no, no.’

An engine.

He was coming.

She pulled herself forward. The corrugated iron pressed down on her backside. Her thighs. Then she was rolling out and free, curling into a ball to protect herself from the nettles, barely registering the miracle that she had yet to be stung. Her bare legs felt suddenly chilled. Goosebumps rose on her skin. She got up, pressing herself against the stone wall and looking around for the first time.

The hail was still coming down hard, thick enough that she could not see clearly through it. The nettles were bending and swaying beneath it – nettles that stretched away, dense black and brown, in front and to the right, all the way to a dense thorn hedge, beyond which lay open fields. To her left, there was a gap at the side of the barn, a barbed-wire fence and woodland, dark and inviting.

The van sounded terrifyingly close. She began to edge along the side of the old stone wall, reaching out with her left foot to press down the nettles, breaking the stems before moving over them. The engine stopped.

Oh, God. Her breathing got shallow and fast as terror gripped her.

He was here. She moved faster. At least the noise of the storm would mean he couldn’t hear her.

The side door of the van slid open and she stepped forward, pushing through the wet stems rather than pressing them down. She would just have to suffer the consequences for the next couple of days.

But she was amazed to find that she wasn’t stung.

She heard the door roll shut.

Nearly there. Just another metre to the end of the barn and about three more across the gap beyond. She ran and leapt for the fence and the sweet freedom of the dark and sheltering woods.

CHAPTER 3

Pete stalked up the length of the room as the two senior officers turned back into Colin’s office.

The door had not quite closed behind them when his open hand hit it hard. Silverstone was halfway through the interconnecting door to his own office when the loud slap behind him made him stop and turn.

‘A word. Sir,’ Pete said stiffly.

The DCI’s eyebrow rose. ‘DS Gayle?’

Pete ignored Colin for now. He was standing behind his desk, out of the direct line between him and Silverstone. ‘That case should have come to me and my team. You know it and I know it.’

‘This is your first day back, Peter. And it’s a missing girl.’

‘So? I haven’t got anything else on the board and if it’s a missing girl, it’s not likely to be related to Tom, is it? Paedos’ 101. Basic training. Ninety-eight per cent of the time, they go for boys or girls. Not both.’

Silverstone stepped forward and let the door close behind him. ‘That may be, but I still feel it’s too close and too soon, Peter. I want the parents to know that the person handling this is on it one hundred per cent. No distractions.’

‘Right. So you give it to a guy who’s already got a full caseload. That makes sense. Sir. And what progress has DS Phillips made on the Jane Doe or my son?’

Silverstone sighed heavily. ‘This is not about DS Phillips, Peter. Can you honestly tell me that you’re ready to cope with something like this? Whether it’s a boy or a girl. Because I don’t know that you are, and I’m not going to risk the safety of a thirteen-year-old girl to prove a point.’

Not going to risk the safety of your promotion, more like, Pete thought. ‘If I wasn’t ready, I wouldn’t be standing here. And I’ve got a damn good team behind me so, even if you doubt me, there’s no reason to doubt them.’

‘It’s not that I doubt you, Peter. Your abilities as a detective are well established. I simply don’t want to put you in a position where you might become overwhelmed, for personal reasons – the similarities between this case and your own, albeit this one’s a girl.’

DI Underhill sat down at last and Silverstone turned to him. ‘Help me out here, Colin. What do you think? Honestly?’

‘Honestly?’

Pete looked at him. Honesty was the last thing the DCI wanted from his deputy right now. What he wanted was support.

‘I can see both sides here, sir,’ the older man said. ‘I mean, I can understand why you’d show Pete some consideration, in the circumstances, but I can also understand how it might leave him feeling frustrated. Not trusted. And how it will look to the rest of the guys out there.’ He nodded towards the squad room.

Silverstone’s eyebrows pinched closer together. ‘And how is that, Detective Inspector?’

‘Well, like you’re hedging your bets, sir, possibly to the detriment of the case. And the girl.’

‘I see.’

‘What it comes down to, sir, is who’s able to give the case most commitment at this moment in time. And I have to admit, Pete’s right. If he’s back with us fully and completely, it’s him.’

Silverstone turned to face Pete. ‘And are you, Detective Sergeant? Back with us fully and completely?’

‘Yes, sir.’

The DCI sighed noisily. ‘Very well. But I want you to share the case with DS Phillips. That way, if it does get too much, you can hand it over without any break in continuity. And it may tie in with what he’s already working on, which was why I chose him to begin with.’

Pete drew a long, slow breath. What was he – some bloody rookie on his first job? He’d been a detective since before this jumped-up twat got to bloody secondary school. He didn’t need his hand holding. He let the air out through his nose. ‘Sir.’ He turned away, grabbed the door handle and went back through to the squad room before he had a chance to let himself down.

‘Simon.’

The younger detective looked up. Tall but a couple of stones overweight, with curly brown hair and a baby face, he had been a DS just over two years and Pete still struggled to take him seriously in the role.

‘Hi, Pete.’

‘I’m taking that new case off your hands. The missing girl. DCI’s had a change of heart.’

‘You sure?’

‘Don’t you bloody start.’

‘I mean that he’s got a heart to change.’

Pete smiled. ‘No, but he’s changed something. What have you got?’

Simon handed him a sheet of paper. ‘Just what you heard a few minutes ago. And the parents’ address and phone number.’

‘Apparently, I’ve got to keep you in the loop. Might be a connection to your Jane Doe. What’s that about?’

‘She was found ten days ago in the river, down by Powderham Deer Park. About ten, eleven years old. Sexually assaulted, strangled and naked. We’re still trying to find out who she was.’

‘Shit.’ Pete let his eyes close for a second as he absorbed that information. Still trying to ID her and still trying to find Tommy. Some detective you are, he thought. ‘All right. We’ll have to keep an open mind on a possible link then.’

‘Yup.’

Pete went back to his desk and sat down. He put the report sheet on his desk, picked up the phone and, taking a deep breath, started dialling.

The phone was picked up almost before it had rung. ‘Alistair Whitlock.’

‘Mr Whitlock, this is DS Peter Gayle. I’ve just been handed your daughter’s case and I’d like to come and talk to you about it – and your wife, if she’s there?’

‘She is.’

‘Perfect.’ He glanced at the address. ‘We’ll be there in a few minutes, OK?’

‘Thank you.’

He put the phone down and stood up. ‘Jane, you’re with me.’

‘Boss?’

‘Interview time. The Whitlocks.’ He headed for the door.

‘Wh—We’ve got that now?’

‘Yes. Come on, chop-chop.’ He paused long enough to hold the door for her, then hurried on down the stairs, feet clattering on the polished concrete.

They were moving along the back corridor, towards the car park behind the police station, before she caught up with him. ‘How did you swing this then?’

‘By being open and honest. You didn’t mention the Jane Doe earlier, when I asked you what had been going on. None of you did.’

‘Yeah, well . . . We thought it might be a bit close to home, boss.’

He hit the release button by the back door and pushed through. The late afternoon air struck him with a chill that had not been there this morning. An after-effect of the storm they’d seen earlier, he guessed. ‘You’re driving.’ He followed her across the car park towards her car. ‘My son is missing, Jane. What we’re talking about now is a murdered girl. How would that be close to home?’

‘One paedo case, another potential one. We were trying to do you a favour, that’s all.’ She stopped at the side of her bright green Vauxhall Nova and pressed the button on the remote. The car beeped and the locks snapped open. They climbed in.

‘If there’s something to know, I want to know it, Jane. I’ll hear things eventually. If they’re sensitive, then maybe I’d be better hearing them from one of you, rather than some plod I barely know. Did you think of that?’

She sighed. ‘No, boss. Sorry.’ She slipped the car into gear and back out of her space. ‘Where are we going?’

*

Lauren charged headlong through the green twilight of the woods, the hail a distant clatter on the leaves far above. Down here, it was almost dry, the ground firm beneath her flying feet. She did not look back or sideways, just concentrated on what was in front of her. Running, chest heaving, jumping over brambles and ferns, darting around trees, kicking through low-growing weeds, she went as fast as her exhausted legs would carry her. She had no idea how far these woods stretched, what they held or what lay beyond. She just knew she had to run, to get as far away from that barn as she could, to have any hope of escaping the man she was sure was behind her.

Chasing her.

She had heard the twang of the barbed wire as he jumped over it, the crashing of heavy footsteps through the undergrowth. He had shouted once.

‘Hey! Come back here!’

But since then, nothing.

The noise she was making combined with the rattle of the hail on the leaves above her to cover any more distant sounds. But she knew he was still coming. He had to be. There was no way he’d have given up.

She hit a narrow trail, barely visible on the ground, and turned onto it. It was too narrow to be man-made – must have been an animal of some sort – but it had to be going somewhere and it was away from the barn, which was all she cared about for now.

She ran on.

The trail wove around trees and bramble thickets and weird little prickly bushes that she’d never seen before. She began to see light through the trees ahead. The edge of the wood? A pool? A road?

Her legs were getting wobbly and weak. Her chest and throat felt raw. It was hard to suck enough air into her burning lungs, but she had to keep going.

The brightness spread across her field of view. It had to be the edge of the woods. She had no idea what that meant but, whatever it was, she would deal with it when she got there. She just had to get there. Get away from the man behind her.

The trail was helping – it made the running easier – but she didn’t know how much longer she could go on. She tripped on a root, staggered, exhausted, put out a hand to a narrow tree trunk for balance and pressed on. She couldn’t stop. Not now. She glimpsed a grey sky between the leaves up ahead. Noticed that the rattle of hail had stopped. The storm was over. Then, lower down, she could see the bright green of leaves in sunshine. A hedge, maybe? A road?

She caught the glint of wire. A fence. The trail led right up to it and through into the long grass beyond. A huge, rough-textured oak tree stood just to the right, its bark green with algae.

She ran up to the fence, panting hoarsely and bent to climb through.

Then screamed as an arm darted around her waist and snatched her off her feet.

‘Come here!’

CHAPTER 4

Traffic was queueing into the city on Heavitree Road so Jane turned left out of the station.

‘You look a damn sight better than you did last time I saw you,’ she said as she changed up through the gears.

July, Pete recalled. Annie’s tenth birthday. Jane and Dave had called round to give her a little something from the team and to let him and Louise know the latest on Tommy’s case. Not that there had been much news to pass on. ‘Yeah, well. I hadn’t been sleeping too well for a few weeks by then.’ He’d lain awake for hour after hour every night, getting up two or three times a night. Sometimes he would stand in Annie’s doorway and just watch her sleep. Other times, he would wander the house, check the doors and windows or go to his office and sit at the computer, trying whatever he could think of in a search for clues – anything that would tell him where Tommy might have gone.

‘It showed. You looked like you’d done five rounds with Frank Bruno.’

Pete grunted. ‘Thanks. Back to my normal, handsome self now, am I?’

She slowed, indicating right. Gave him a brief laugh. ‘Don’t know about that, but you certainly look a bit more normal than you did then.’

‘That’s all right then. Wouldn’t want to frighten the punters.’

She made the turn into a side street lined on both sides with parked cars and accelerated again.

‘So, come on. What’s the latest on Tommy?’

She glanced at him, meeting his gaze for an instant before returning her eyes to the road ahead. Sighed. ‘There’s nothing to tell. It’s like he vanished into thin air.’

‘Except people don’t. He went somewhere, somehow.’

She took a left turn, working her way through the back streets towards the home of the Whitlocks. ‘Well, yeah. But, how are we supposed to find out where and how if he wasn’t seen?’

Pete sighed. This was not a discussion to be had with Jane. It wasn’t her problem. It was Simon Phillips’. But, one thing he was certain of – there was no way the Whitlocks were going to suffer months of the same agony that he and Louise had. Not if he could help it. Whatever it took, he would find their daughter.

‘Here we go.’ Jane turned at another junction and drove slowly until she spotted the right number on a gatepost.

‘Blimey, they ain’t poor, are they?’

The house was set in its own neatly manicured grounds behind a high, thick hedge.

Jane turned in through high wooden gates that already stood open and parked in front of the double-width garage.

‘You never been round this way before?’ Pete asked as they stepped out and made their way to the front door.

‘Don’t get too much crime up here, do we? And you know me. I come from the other side of the river.’

Pete laughed. ‘Well, that’s closer than me. Only money round Okehampton is the old kind. Manor houses and the like.’ He reached for the bell-push, but hadn’t touched it when the door opened to reveal a man in shirtsleeves and smart trousers.

‘Detective?’

‘DS Peter Gayle. And this is DC Bennett.’

‘Come in. My wife’s through there.’ He stood back and indicated a door to the right of the big hallway.

They went into a large, bright sitting room where Mrs Whitlock sat on one of three cream sofas, a barely touched cup and saucer on the coffee table in front of her. In her thirties, blonde hair held back from her face in a chignon, Pete could see that she was a woman of natural style and beauty, despite the haunted look she wore now.

Her husband followed them in and sat beside her, taking her hand. ‘Please, have a seat. These are the detectives, Jess.’

She glanced up, clearly in shock.

Pete took the sofa at right angles to theirs. ‘Pete Gayle. This is Jane Bennett. We just need to establish the facts of the situation, then we’ll get out of your hair.’

‘Please. Ask us anything,’ Alistair said. ‘Just . . . find her, Sergeant.’

Pete took out his notebook and saw Jane doing the same. ‘That’s what we’re here for. Now, we only have what you told my colleague on the phone, so… We need to build as full a picture as we can.’

‘Why? Surely, it’s not Rosie’s fault she’s gone? What can we tell you that’ll help find whoever took her?’

‘If she’s been abducted, rather than gone off on her own . . .’

‘Of course, she hasn’t gone off on her own,’ Whitlock snapped over him. ‘She has no reason to. She’s perfectly happy at home. And at school.’

Pete raised his hands. ‘As I was saying, if that’s the case, then whoever took her would have probably at least seen her before. It may well be someone she knows or someone you do. Or, if it was random, then one of you may have seen something out of the ordinary. Perhaps an unusual vehicle on the road out there.’ He waved towards the street. ‘Someone hanging around when you picked her up from school or in town. Anything.’

Whitlock squeezed his eyes shut and tilted his head back for a moment. ‘I’m sorry. Where should we start?’

‘We’ll need a picture of her. As recent as possible. Mrs Whitlock, you took her to school this morning. Is that usual?’

She looked up, a dazed look in her hazel eyes, took her hand back from Alistair and clasped them in her lap. ‘We share the job. Sometimes I do it, sometimes Alistair does.’

‘All right. Which way did you go? As much detail as you can, please.’

She shook her head slightly. ‘The same way as always. Left at the end of the road, bear right then turn right by the junior school. It’s really not that far. We only drive her because she’s never up in time to walk.’

‘Did you see anything out of the ordinary along the way?’

‘No.’ She shook her head. ‘Nothing. It was just an ordinary morning.’

‘No one following you, perhaps?’ Pete pushed. ‘An unusual vehicle parked nearby when you got there? An accident or roadworks?’

‘No, there was nothing. As I said, just a normal morning. I dropped Rosie barely a hundred yards from the school gates. There were mothers and kids everywhere, just like always. I pulled away and . . .’ Her face crumpled and she covered it with her hands as she burst into tears. Her husband put an arm around her shoulders and held her.

Pete recalled Louise’s similar reaction in this same situation, just a few months ago, and his own seething need to stop talking and get out there, searching for his child. Emotion swelled like a lump in his chest. ‘I’m . . .’ He coughed and cleared his throat. ‘I’m sorry, Mrs Whitlock. But this is very necessary. You didn’t see anyone you knew when you got there? Stop for a chat, maybe?’

She took a deep, shuddering breath and shook her head. ‘As I said, I dropped her off, pulled away and went on to work.’

As she took out a tissue and dabbed at her eyes, Pete turned to her husband. ‘And if you take Rosie to school, you go the same way?’

‘Yes.’

‘At the same time?’

‘Of course.’

‘And when you realised she was missing, you phoned her friends?’

‘Yes. That was my first thought. Maybe she’d gone home with one of them. She doesn’t have any evening activities on a Tuesday. But they said they hadn’t seen her all day.’ His voice seemed to clog. He swallowed.

Instinctively, Pete was inclined to believe the couple. They gave every appearance of being genuine and honest and, having been in this same situation himself, just a few months ago . . . Or was it that that made him feel this way? He was going to have to work hard to maintain his objectivity on this one. ‘Evening activities?’

‘She swims at county level. Loves tennis, too.’

He nodded. ‘We’ll need a list of her friends. Has she got a boyfriend?’

Jessica looked horrified while Alistair shook his head. ‘Not that I’m aware of.’

‘Mrs Whitlock?’ Pete pushed.

‘No. Good Lord, she’s only thirteen.’ She looked about to crumble again, but held herself together somehow.

‘Of course. But, kids these days – you never know, do you? We also need to know about anywhere she goes regularly. Like for the tennis and swimming. Anywhere she goes with friends. Or with you or other family members.’

Alistair shook his head like a man confused by what was happening around him. ‘She goes into town with her friends, like all teenage girls, and she has school and her sports. That’s it, apart from the occasional party or sleepover and the usual family stuff.’

Pete nodded. ‘If you could make us a list of her friends, with their contact details, and where she goes to swim and play tennis, then, sir.’

‘Right.’ He got up and stepped out of the room.

‘Does she have a favourite place, Mrs Whitlock? Somewhere she might feel safe?’

‘What? Why?’ She looked confused.

Pete shrugged. ‘We have to allow for every possibility.’

Alistair came back into the room, a small beige book and a notepad and pen in his hands. ‘What’s this?’

‘I was asking if there’s anywhere Rosie might consider special. A safe haven. Favourite place. Anything like that.’

Alistair shook his head. ‘We’ve never . . . Why would she need a place like that?’

‘You’d be amazed at what goes on in kids’ heads,’ Jane said. ‘She doesn’t have any history of depression or anything like that, does she? Mood swings beyond what you’d expect from a teenage girl?’

‘No. Certainly not.’ Mrs Whitlock’s eyes grew wide with outrage.

Alistair sat down and took her hand again. ‘She’s just a normal teenager.’

‘What about school?’ Pete asked, thinking of his son, Tommy. ‘Is everything OK there? No undue pressure? Exams coming up?’

Jessica shook her head.

‘Has she been bullied at all? At school or perhaps online?’ Jane asked. ‘All this twittering and Facebook, chat rooms and so on.’

‘She’s not into that kind of thing,’ Alistair said. ‘She uses her mobile a fair amount, texting and chatting with her friends, but that’s all as far as I know. And she’s not bullied. She’s very popular, by all accounts.’

‘We’ll need her computer, tablet, whatever, just to make sure,’ Pete said. He’d still never seen Tommy’s again after all this time, he remembered suddenly. He’d have to ask Simon about that. ‘I expect she had her mobile with her?’

‘Yes,’ Jessica said softly. ‘But it’s switched off. Goes straight to voicemail. That was the first thing we tried when I came home.’

‘OK. We’ll need the number then, and the service provider. I take it it’s all right for us to check the call log?’

‘Of course.’

‘And you, sir. You were already home?’

‘Yes. I worked from home today. I’m a lawyer. Look, is anyone actually out there searching for Rosie, Sergeant?’

Pete paused, writing in his notebook, then looked up again. ‘As soon as we have somewhere to search, we’ll be going over it with a fine-tooth comb, sir. But we need all the information we can get in order to get to that stage. What other relatives are there?’

They glanced at each other and he spoke again. ‘We both still have our parents. I have a brother, Jason . . .’

Pete noticed a faint grimace cross the woman’s face.

‘. . . Jess has a sister, Penny. Penny Child. She’s divorced, but she’s kept her husband’s name.’

‘So, she’s single now?’

‘No,’ said Jessica. ‘She’s got a boyfriend. Michael Gibbons. They’ve been together – what?’ She glanced at her husband. ‘Two years or so? But what’s this got to do with anything? None of the family would have—’

‘And that’s it?’ Pete broke in.

‘Family-wise, yes.’

‘Right. We’ll need a list of contacts – family, friends and colleagues, even if they don’t know Rosie.’

Alistair frowned. ‘Why?’

‘For elimination and for cross-reference. People forget things, don’t notice them, do notice them. You’d be surprised. Tell you what, you’ve got your little book there. While you do that for us, would it be OK if you made us all a drink, Mrs Whitlock? Jane can give you a hand.’

‘OK,’ she said, looking a little surprised by the request. ‘I’m sorry. I should have offered before. It’s just . . .’

‘We understand.’ He nodded to Jane to go with her, then waited until Jessica had led the way out of the room. ‘Jane.’ He got up and went to the door, stuck his head through and said quietly, ‘Ask her about her brother-in-law. And if the girl’s all right around her father as well as anyone else you can think of. Grandfathers, friends.’

‘Right, boss.’

‘What was that about?’ Alistair asked as Pete returned to his seat.

‘Oh, just something I remembered at the last minute. How are you doing?’ He glanced down at the notebook on the coffee table in front of the other man.

‘Coming along.’

‘So, you’re a lawyer. What kind of law do you practice?’

‘Corporate, Sergeant. Company takeovers, property purchases and sales, staff disputes, that sort of thing.’

‘Big money involved at times then.’

‘Yes. But it’s the client’s, not ours.’

‘Nevertheless.’ He glanced around the room. ‘You’re obviously not on the breadline.’

‘And, Sergeant?’

‘Well, one of the things we have to consider in these circumstances is the possibility of kidnapping. For ransom.’

‘What?’ He stopped writing as he stared at Pete in shock. ‘I’m just a West Country lawyer, not some big City banker. Why on earth would that kind of thing affect me?’

Pete shrugged. ‘You never know, sir.’ In his own case, Simon had looked not just at ransom, but at the influence someone might want Pete to bring to any of the cases that were being worked at the time. ‘You haven’t received a demand of any kind?’

‘Certainly not.’

‘If you do, you will tell us?’

‘Of course.’

‘Only, very often, these things include a proviso that you mustn’t contact the police. It’s never a good idea to go along with it. It’s aimed at isolating you, making you more vulnerable, that’s all.’

‘As I said, Sergeant, we’ve heard nothing from anyone. And, if we do, we’ll be sure to inform you.’

Pete nodded.

Alistair leaned back in his seat. ‘Anyway, why are you – a sergeant – handling this? I thought an inspector would have come out.’

‘That’s the TV and the movies, sir. In the real world, especially these days, with all the cutbacks, there’s usually only one DI in a station, if that. And he or she’s in a more supervisory, management-type role than an active investigative one. They allocate cases, oversee progress and chip in if we ask them to.’

‘I see.’ He resumed writing, resting the pad on his raised knee.

‘So, you were at home all day?’

‘Yes.’

‘And you didn’t hear anything from the school, asking why Rosie hadn’t turned up, anything like that?’

‘No, they . . .’ He sat forward again. ‘It’s not like your average comprehensive, Sergeant. They assume the students have some level of responsibility. They allow them a day for sickness before chasing them up.’

Pete grimaced. He’d never heard of a school treating its students like that before. Maybe a college or university, but not a senior school. ‘OK. We spoke about her mobile and so on. Do we have your permission to check on your landline and Internet provider, too?’

‘Of course. Anything that’ll help find Rosie, though how they might is beyond me.’

‘The more information we have, the better.’ Hopefully, the records would allow him to verify Alistair’s whereabouts for at least part of the day without needing to ask him directly at this stage. That could come later, if it proved necessary – statistically, the majority of missing kids were missing because of something a parent or close relative had done, but, at the same time, he knew how distressing that kind of suspicion could be. He remembered answering these same questions five months ago, from Simon Phillips. How he’d seethed to get out there, do something – anything – towards finding Tommy instead of wasting time, answering damn fool questions.

Jane opened the door and held it for Mrs Whitlock to come through with a tray, which she put on the coffee table.

‘Great. Just what we need,’ Pete said, as she handed him a cup and saucer.

‘Thanks, Jess. There we are, Sergeant. Rosie’s mobile number is at the top. Our home line. Then you have my parents’, Jessica’s, my brother’s, her sister’s, Rosie’s school. Her best friend is Becky Sanderson. We spoke to her earlier. You’ve got the numbers there for our tennis club, King’s, plus Northbrook swimming pool, which she uses at this time of year because the outdoor one at Topsham is closed, my office and Jessica’s school. The other ones are just friends of ours. Purely social. From uni and so on.’

‘Excellent. Thank you. That should speed things up considerably.’ He took a sip of his tea. ‘So, she uses Topsham pool when it’s open?’

‘Yes.’

Tommy had enjoyed swimming, too, but he had never bothered with the open-air pool. Had preferred to stick to the indoor one in the city – where he’d been waiting for Pete to pick him up on the evening when he’d . . . Pete sucked air in through his teeth, breaking the chain of thought. ‘One thing I would say. I don’t know how – it baffles me, even after all these years – but it never takes the press long to get hold of things like this. My strong advice, for now, would be not to say anything to them. Just in case. As soon as we’ve established there’s no reason not to keep things quiet, we’ll probably call a press conference ourselves and involve you both in that, if you’re up to it. It keeps things under control a bit, that way. Less intrusive, at least to start with.’

‘Why wouldn’t we want to talk to the press? Jessica asked. ‘I’d have thought . . .’

‘In case she was kidnapped,’ Alistair said before Pete could reply.

‘What?’

‘It’s unlikely,’ Pete said gently. ‘But if she was, and the press are already involved, that might not be a good thing.’

‘Oh my God! I hadn’t even thought of that. You mean, if it gets out they might . . . ?’

Pete held up his free hand. ‘As I say, it’s only a faint possibility. It’s just one of the things we have to consider at this stage.’

Clearly, the missing girl was desperately loved. Pete felt the old determination building inside him. He wasn’t going to allow these people to go through what he and Louise were going through. He would do his level best to bring their daughter back alive and well, whatever the odds.

‘God, this is unbelievable. It’s just so awful!’ She looked as if she was going to break down again.

‘I’m sorry. I know how you feel, Mrs Whitlock, and—’

‘Don’t be so bloody patronising,’ Alistair snapped. ‘How the hell can you possibly know how we feel?’

‘Sir, I . . .’

‘Has your daughter ever gone missing, Sergeant?’

Pete felt himself go pale, a wave of coldness sweeping through him.

‘DS Gayle lost his son in similar circumstances, just a few months ago, sir,’ Jane said stiffly. ‘So he knows exactly how it feels. I don’t, but he does.’

‘That’ll do, Jane,’ Pete said softly.

‘I’m sorry. I didn’t know.’

‘Yes, well . . . As DS Gayle was saying, we’ll do all we can to find your daughter and bring her back safe.’

*

Lauren woke in complete darkness, snuggled tight against the warm body of another person. For a brief moment she felt safe and cosseted. Then the smell of the hay brought her back to reality with a jerk. Who was this other person? Another girl. She smelled feminine. Lauren could feel her long hair, a skirt and bare legs against her own. Where had she come from? She tried to ask, but there was a gag in her mouth. She moved to free it but her hands were tied behind her with something thin and hard. Shifting in the hay, she found her ankles were bound too. Shit, they really meant business now.

‘Iss OK.’

The other girl tried to say more, but was clearly also gagged.

‘Uh-huh.’ Lauren swallowed, but it went the wrong way and she began to choke and cough. She heard the other girl trying to say something through her gag, but couldn’t make it out. Then she moved in the darkness. Lauren felt hands brush against her clothes. Her choking was getting more urgent as she fought for breath. The other girl’s hands fumbled blindly, moving from her cardigan to her blouse to the knee-length sock that was tied across her face as a gag. She felt the gag being pulled away and stiffened her neck, pulling back to help. The knotted cloth snapped free and she was coughing and gasping.

Finally, with a clear airway, the coughing fit ended, leaving her panting for breath.

‘Thanks,’ she gasped. ‘That nearly killed me. Roll over, I’ll get yours.’

Lauren felt the girl roll away, heard the rustle of movement, then felt hair against her face. The girl’s body pressed warm against hers before moving downward as Lauren went the other way until her head bumped painfully into the wall.

‘Ouch. You’ll have to go further. I’ve hit the wall,’ she said.

‘Uh-huh.’

Lauren rolled over and got to her knees. Felt around with her bound hands. ‘Where are you?’ The sharp ends of the hay dug into her shins, but she ignored them as she searched awkwardly. She touched wool, then cotton. Skin, firm over bone, then the softness of a cheek. Cloth. A sock. She grunted and fumbled along the tightly stretched material, towards the girl’s mouth. Her finger brushed a lip and the girl grunted something. Lauren got a hold of the material and pulled. She felt the other girl pulling back, the material stretching. Lauren’s fingers ached with the strain, but she kept pulling, straining to get the gag free. Then her fingers gave way. She cried out as sock snapped back into place and the other girl moaned in frustration.

‘Sorry.’

They tried again. The girl opened her mouth as wide as she could, tilting her head and working her jaw to try to get it free. Lauren felt the gag catch briefly on the girl’s front teeth, but then it was out.

‘There.’ Lauren heard the snap of the girl’s teeth closing, then the draw of breath. ‘No use yelling,’ she said. ‘Nobody will hear.’

The other girl moaned and rolled onto her back. ‘Where are we? What’s happening?’

CHAPTER 5

Pete waited until they were in the car and Jane had turned out of the Whitlocks’ drive.

‘So, what did you get from her?’

‘You were right. She doesn’t like her brother-in-law. He’s way too familiar for her taste – with her and with Rosie – but she’s not aware of any signs of actual abuse, from him or from anyone else. And, as a teacher, she should know what to look for.’

‘Yes, but is she being honest? With us or with herself?’

Jane shrugged. ‘I suppose she could be in denial because it’s easier that way.’

‘Regardless of what she says, we’ve got to check everyone out for ourselves. Friends, family, colleagues, the lot. I’d better phone Lou. Tell her I’m going to be late.’

‘You already are, boss. You should have been home forty minutes ago.’

‘Shit.’ He pulled his mobile from his pocket, called up his home phone and hit ‘dial’.

‘Hello?’

‘Lou? It’s me. Sorry, love, I’m running a bit late. We had a case come in about twenty minutes before I was due to knock off. The kind of thing I can’t just leave to the morning.’

‘Why’s it got to be yours?’

‘Everybody else has got a full caseload. I’m just back, so mine’s empty. Simple as that.’ He shot Jane a glance that told her to keep her raised eyebrow to herself.

He heard Louise sigh on the other end of the phone. ‘All right.’

‘I’ll bring fish and chips, how’s that?’

‘We’ll see you when we do then.’

‘I shan’t be too late.’ He ended the call and looked across at Jane.

‘None of my business, boss.’ She shrugged.

‘That’s right. But, no, I’m not deliberately trying to stay away from home. This does need sorting. And she wouldn’t understand that, in the circumstances, so I just tried to make both our lives easier, all right?’

‘So, where do we start?’

‘We need to speak to this Becky Sanderson and do background checks on the people Alistair Whitlock’s given us. Also, we need to check Jessica’s route from home to the school for CCTV cameras, get the call log on Rosie’s phone and see if we can get into her laptop. Then we see who we can get hold of and go from there.’

*

‘We’re in a barn in the middle of bloody nowhere. And what’s going on is some sicko bastard and his sidekick have snatched us and put us here, to play with as they feel like.’

‘But . . .’ The girl paused. ‘You mean . . .’

‘Yeah. Bloody paedos.’ Lauren shuddered. ‘Perverts.’

‘What’s your name?’ The girl was well spoken, almost posh sounding.

‘Lauren Carter. What’s yours?’

‘Rosie. Rosie Whitlock. How old are you?’

‘Ten last month. You?’

‘Thirteen.’

‘Well, thanks again for getting that bloody gag out of my mouth. I bloody near choked on it.’ She felt the damp material hanging around her neck like a cowboy’s bandana.

‘That’s all right. Thanks for helping with mine.’

‘So, what now?’

‘What do you mean?’

‘Well, we’ve got to get out of here, haven’t we? I mean, for one thing, they’re not going to like it that we’ve got our gags off. Plus, if we stay put, they’re going to . . . Well, you know what they’re going to do.’

‘Oh God!’

‘Yeah, where’s he when you need him?’

*

Pete handed Rosie Whitlock’s laptop to Dave Miles.

‘Here, see if you can get into that, will you?’ He sat down at his desk. ‘Jane, you get hold of Becky Sanderson. Find out what she’s got to say about Rosie. Is Colin still in?’ He directed the question to Dave.

‘No, he’s gone off home.’

‘What about Fast-track Phil?’

‘In his office.’

‘He would be, wouldn’t he? OK, I’ll go and have a word.’ He got up and headed for Adam Silverstone’s office, going via the corridor, rather than through the DI’s office. He knocked sharply on the door.

‘Come.’

He stepped in. Silverstone was behind his desk, a file open in front of him. ‘Ah, Peter. What have we got?’

He closed the file as Pete shut the door and stood opposite him.

‘A thirteen-year-old girl, the mother a junior school teacher, father a corporate lawyer, disappeared from outside her school. Bearing in mind their address in St Leonard’s and the school she goes to, which is Risingbrook, we have to at least consider the possibility of a kidnap, although there’s been no contact as yet, according to the parents.’

‘And you believe them?’

‘Yes, sir.’

‘So we need to get a team in there for the night and perhaps tomorrow. Phone taps on landline and mobiles so that we can trace any callers.’

‘Yes, sir.’

‘I take it you’ve got their permission for all that?’

‘Sir.’ Pete nodded.

‘I’ll get on to HQ and set it up then. Perhaps Jane can go with the team, to introduce them. I’ll also get on to the press office, get them to hold off until we’ve established a few of the facts. And you’re following up other leads, I take it?’

‘Friends and family. Local paedophiles. Possible contacts on her mobile and computer. Considering the time of day, there’s only so much we can do immediately, of course. But, come morning, we can look for possible witnesses and so on. Go down to the school and interview parents, teachers and pupils.’

‘Quite. Carry on, then, Peter. And let me know if you need more manpower. As I said, we have to give this top priority.’

‘Sir.’

Silverstone was lifting his phone as Pete turned to leave.

Back at his desk, he saw that Dave was working on Rosie’s laptop. ‘Any joy yet, Dave?’

‘Not yet. I got on to her mobile phone provider, though, got her call log. Nothing out of the ordinary on it. No calls from unusual numbers. And I had it pinged to get its location, but it’s not just off, it’s completely dead.’

So, the battery and/or SIM card had been removed. Someone wasn’t stupid, Pete thought. If this was an abduction, that was not a good sign. And how many thirteen-year-olds knew that you had to take the battery out of a phone to prevent it giving away its location, even if it was turned off? ‘I don’t like that. Not at all. I’ll get onto the PND and see what I can find out about the people on Alistair’s list.’ He fired up his computer and logged into the Police National Database. With Alistair Whitlock’s list at his elbow, he began to search.

First Jason Whitlock then Michael Gibbons came up clean. No criminal record or known associations on either. He looked up. ‘Jane, have you got the names of Becky Sanderson’s parents there?’

She put a hand over her phone. ‘Neil and Geraldine.’ She returned her attention to the person on the other end of the line. ‘Sorry about that. You were saying . . . ?’

Pete typed Neil Sanderson into the computer. The screen flashed up.

‘Hello.’

‘Thank you,’ Jane said into the phone and hung up. ‘What you got, boss?’

‘Neil Sanderson. No criminal record. Regular CRB checks. Looks like he’s into judo. And, it says here, he’s a known associate of one of Jim’s customers, downstairs in the holding cells. One Stephen Lockwood. Priors for drug possession and distribution and living off immoral earnings.’

‘Ooh. A pimp and a pusher. Maybe we’d best go and have a word?’

‘I’ll call down first, see who actually brought him in. Don’t want to go stepping on toes as soon as I get my foot back in the door, do I?’

Jane laughed.

‘What, you going soft in your old age, boss?’ Dave asked, looking up from Rosie’s laptop.

‘I suppose you’ve never heard of old age and treachery, Dave.’

‘What?’

‘It always beats youth and skill.’ Jane grinned. ‘Not that you’ve got that much youth on your side.’

‘Oi!’ He hit a key on the laptop and sat back abruptly in his chair. ‘Gotcha. I’ve got into this thing though.’

‘Well, she didn’t keep a paper diary,’ Pete said. ‘So if there’s going to be anything to indicate she was unhappy at home or at school, it should be on there. What did Becky Sanderson have to say?’

‘She’s not aware of anything wrong in Rosie’s life, boss. No bullying, cyber or otherwise. Apparently, she’s quite the girl to be seen with. A leader, not a follower. Not a bad girl though. Good grades, into sports, friendly. An all-round nice kid. She just didn’t turn up at school today. No phone call, no text, no nothing. And it’s not something she’s done before. Not her style at all. She’s too conscientious.’

‘Boyfriends?’

‘Not that Becky’s aware of. And you saw her parents’ reaction to the idea.’

The phone on Pete’s desk rang and he picked it up. ‘DS Gayle.’

‘This is DS Parker from Middlemoor. Communications. I gather you need a phone tap set up?’

‘Ah. Yes. Possible kidnap. Seems unlikely, but we’ve got to cover all bases. The address is in St Leonard’s. My DC’s been there. She can go with you and give you the intro, if you pick her up from here.’

‘Right. We’ll be there in twenty.’

He put the phone down and Jane was looking at him, eyebrows raised. ‘Nice of you to volunteer me, boss.’

‘I didn’t. Fast-track did. I just forgot to tell you. It shouldn’t take long if you go in your car. Just lead them round there, introduce them, then you can scoot off.’

‘What about all this?’ She indicated the paperwork on her desk, her notebook, computer and phone.

‘There’s only so much we can do tonight,’ he said. ‘I’ll stay and carry on. What about you, Dave?’

‘I’m all right. I can stop as long as it needs.’

‘Right. Between the two of us, what we can do at this time of day won’t take too long.’

‘OK. Thanks, then, boss.’ She got up, picked up her coat and bag and headed for the door. ‘Goodnight.’

‘’Night, Red,’ Dave called, closing Rosie’s computer down and setting it aside. ‘So, what else do we need to do, boss?’

‘Well, when you’ve done with that thing, there’s the parents’ alibis to check, you could carry on down this list of contacts or see who we’ve got in the area in the way of known paedophiles and check on them.’

‘Right. Lovely.’

‘Meantime, I’ll see about Stephen Lockwood.’ He slid the list across to Dave, picked up the phone and dialled an internal number.

‘Custody desk. Sergeant James.’

‘Bob. Pete Gayle. You’ve got a guest down there, Stephen Lockwood. Who was his AO?’

‘Hello, Pete. How you doing? Hold on, I’ll find out for you.’

Pete waited, hearing the tapping of a keyboard behind James’ heavy breathing. ‘Here we are. The man himself. Jim Hancock. Why? What’s up?’

‘Oh, I might have a connection with another case. I’ll talk to you later.’

‘Cheers, Pete.’

He ended the call and dialled again.

‘DS Hancock.’

‘Jim, it’s Pete.’

‘Hello. You still in the office?’

‘Yeah. Looking into this missing girl. Thing is, I’ve got a crossover between that case and one of your arrestees from this morning. A Stephen Lockwood. He’s a known associate of the father of my victim’s best friend. Do you mind if I have a word with him? Not as a suspect or anything, just a possible witness.’

‘He’ll want something in return, mate. I’d bet on it.’

‘If so, what can I offer him?’

Jim sucked in air. ‘He’s a prime player, Pete. He’s going down this time, so the cupboard’s bare unless he can give us his international connections as well as what you want.’

‘Oh, well. I’ll have a go anyway, if that’s all right.’

‘Sure. Go for it. Just don’t hold out too much hope, eh?’

‘Fair enough. See you tomorrow.’

He put the phone down again and got up from his desk. ‘Right, I’m off to the dungeons.’

Dave looked up from his screen. ‘There’s nothing on her laptop to indicate anything amiss.’

‘OK. That was quick.’

‘We aim to please, boss.’

Pete headed for the door, the squad room almost empty now, with the day shift nearly all gone.

Downstairs, he signed into the custody suite and let the fat, wheezing middle-aged sergeant lead him along the narrow corridor between the cells. He stopped at one about a third of the way along on the left, shot the steel shutter on the hatch and peered in, then inserted the key and turned it. ‘There you go.’

‘Thanks, Bob.’

Pete stepped in and the door clanged shut behind him. ‘Hello, Stephen. DS Gayle.’

Lockwood was in his mid-thirties with long, straggly brown hair and skin that looked like it had needed a wash since soap was invented. He stared blankly up at Pete from the built-in bed at the back of the cell, where he slouched indolently.

‘What do you want?’

‘I gather you’re a pal of Neil Sanderson’s.’ Pete leaned against the wall, just inside the door and folded his arms.

‘Don’t know him.’

‘Yes, you do. I’m not involved in the drugs thing. His daughter’s a friend of a girl who’s gone missing. I want to know if he’d be involved in something like that. As far as you know.’

‘What? Kiddy-fiddling? I don’t know nothing about that.’

Pete sighed. ‘I didn’t say you did, did I? I want to know if Neil Sanderson might, that’s all.’

‘Then why don’t you ask him?’

‘Because I don’t like being lied to, Stevie. And if he was involved, that’s what he’d do, isn’t it? Lie to me.’

Lockwood laughed. ‘You’re in the wrong job, ain’t you? If you don’t like being lied to.’

‘I don’t like it. Doesn’t mean I can’t see it when it happens. Or that I won’t do something about it.’

‘Well, screw you, piggy. I ain’t telling you anything. And that’s no lie.’

‘So, you’d rather see a paedophile get away with it than talk to me?’

‘What of it?’

‘Makes you an accessory after the fact, that’s what, Stevie. And kiddy-fiddling, as you call it, gets you a whole lot more downtime than pushing a few pills. Whether or not I let it be known in Her Majesty’s hotel, up the road, that’s what you’re in for.’

Lockwood looked considerably paler all of a sudden. ‘You wouldn’t.’

Pete raised an eyebrow, his gaze locked on the other man’s, and waited.

Lockwood swallowed and wiped a hand over his face. ‘Look, I know he likes them young, but I don’t know nothing about nothing like that. Why don’t you ask his missus? His kid? They’d know, wouldn’t they?’

Pete watched him carefully for a long second. ‘All right. Thank you, Stephen. And how to you know Sanderson?’

‘Judo. I used to do a bit.’ He sat up straighter, staring at Pete.

Pete smiled and pushed himself off the wall. He tapped on the door. The key turned and it swung open. ‘Thanks, Bob.’

‘You get what you need?’ The uniformed man swung the door shut with a clang and locked it.

‘Mm. Not that it got me any further forward.’

CHAPTER 6

By the time Pete turned into the street where he lived, barely a mile from the station, the smell of fish and chips that permeated the car had gone from appetising to nauseating as he worried about the problems this case could throw up. Its similarities to their own were bound to cause trouble at home. It would be a reminder, if nothing else. But there was nothing he could do about that. The girl needed him – and needed him to be on top of his game. To find her before the sick bastard who’d taken her – if that was what had happened – went one step further and killed her like the Jane Doe they had discussed earlier.

His mind conjured an image of a forlorn-looking body, naked and filthy, lying in the mud at the side of the river like so much discarded rubbish. A young life snuffed out as if it meant nothing. He shook his head. He could not afford to think like that. He had to be positive. He had to expect and plan to find Rosie Whitlock alive and soon. For her sake as well as his own.

He turned into his drive and got out of the car, warm paper package in hand. The front door opened before he reached it.

‘Daddy! Good day?’ Annie grinned up at him in jeans and T-shirt, a glittery pink elephant covering most of her slim chest.

Pride swelled like a physical lump in his throat and he wrapped his free arm around her, lifted her up and kissed the top of her head. Her long brown hair smelled mildly of shampoo. He took a long breath and set her down again. ‘Hello, Button. You smell nice. It didn’t go to plan, I can tell you that. I was hoping for a nice, easy slide back into things, but instead I went and picked up a big case. Here, take these into the kitchen, will you?’ He handed her the food and shut the door against the chill of the night.

‘OK.’ She took the package and skipped away.

‘Hi, Lou,’ he called, as he slipped off his shoes and jacket, but there was no response.

He went through. She was sitting in her usual place on the sofa, dressed in jogging bottoms and a sweatshirt, her dark, greasy hair tied back in a ponytail. The TV was playing some kind of game show, the sound barely audible.

‘How you doing?’

She didn’t take her eyes off the TV. ‘OK.’

‘What you been up to?’

‘Nothing.’ Her voice was dull, uninterested. She’d been like this, or worse, for months now, ever since the first flush of frantic panic faded a few days after Tommy’s disappearance. It was like she’d suffered an emotional overload that had used up everything inside her and she had been unable to replenish it.

He kept trying. Anything to get a response. ‘Heard from anyone?’

She shook her head.

‘Thought you might have gone out,’ he said. ‘Gone shopping or something.’

‘What for?’

‘To get out of these four walls. Get a bit of sunshine. See some people, other than me and Annie.’

‘See a bloody doctor, you mean,’ she said sourly.

‘I didn’t, but it couldn’t hurt, if you feel ready.’

‘I don’t.’

‘Tea’s ready,’ Annie called from the kitchen.

Pete let out a long breath. He was finding it harder and harder to cope with the expressionless monotony of her depression. But what could he do? If Louise didn’t want to see a doctor, a grief counsellor or a psychiatrist, he couldn’t force her to. He’d made the suggestion more than once and she’d steadfastly refused. ‘I don’t need a grief counsellor. Tommy’s not dead,’ was her standard answer. Or, ‘Our son’s missing, for God’s sake. What do you expect?’

‘Thanks, Button,’ he called. ‘Hold on, I’ll fetch it through.’

Annie had plated up the food and poured three glasses – two of shandy and one lemonade. Pete reached out and drew her into a hug. ‘You’re a wonderful daughter, you know that?’

‘I know.’ She gave him an impish smile.

Pete laughed and ruffled her hair.

‘Dad,’ she complained, swiping her fingers through it to settle it.

‘Come on, let’s eat.’ He picked up two of the plates and carried them through to the dining table in the conservatory while Annie carried her own, then he came back for the drinks. ‘Lou,’ he said as brought them through.

She got up, turned off the TV and came through to sit with them. Which was an improvement on a couple of weeks ago, he thought. Then, she would have eaten on the sofa, staring at the TV and barely noticing what was on her plate.

‘You done your homework?’

‘Yep. Didn’t have much. Just a bit of maths and some geography.’

Her two favourite subjects. ‘Good girl. I’m going to have to go back in for a couple of hours, so you’ll need to get yourself to bed, all right?’

‘Why?’

‘What do you have go back for?’ Louise asked.

‘I need to get things organised for the morning. We need a search team and canvassers out first thing and I’ve got people to call to arrange interviews.’

Louise grunted and shoved another chip in her mouth, chewing silently.

Pete glanced at Annie, picking apart her fish, and suddenly pictured the photos of Rosie Whitlock that he’d seen in the sitting room of her home. How would she be coping right now, wherever she was? How would Annie cope in the same situation? Would she panic? Would she lose it and get completely stressed out? Or would she deal with it as capably as she seemed to be dealing with Louise’s condition and the disappearance of her brother?

She had been as distraught as Pete and Louise when it happened, of course, crying night and day, demanding answers, but she had grown up a lot in the following weeks. As Louise spiralled downwards, withdrawing into herself, Annie had stepped up. Taken on the role of mother in the household.

He didn’t know what he would have done without her, if he was honest. But the thought of her going through what Rosie Whitlock must be enduring right now clogged his throat with horror.

‘Dad?’

He blinked. Cleared his throat. ‘Sorry, Button. What was that?’

‘Are you all right?’

‘Yeah, of course. Don’t worry about me.’ He forked up a piece of fish, unsure how long he had been lost in his awful thoughts. ‘What was it you said?’

‘Nothing. Just, you looked . . . I don’t know. Like you’d seen a ghost or something.’

Pete smiled. ‘Nothing that exciting, love. I was just thinking, that’s all. These chips are good tonight, aren’t they?’

‘Yeah. Did you go somewhere different?’

‘Same place, but there’s different people in there. They looked Greek or something.’

‘What, the old guy’s retired, has he?’

‘Must have. I didn’t ask. Maybe I’ll find out later. See what the gossip is in the station.’ He glanced at Louise, but she didn’t respond. Simply chewed stoically, her gaze turned inward, barely aware of her surroundings or the people in them. ‘I shan’t be too late back, anyway. Just do what’s needed and come home. No sense getting overtired. Nobody does their best that way, and we need to be on top of our game on this one.’

‘Bad, is it?’

‘As bad as it gets. But nothing for you to worry about.’

‘Dad. I’m ten years old. I’ll be able to get married in another six.’

Pete almost spat out his fish. ‘No, you won’t, young lady. Not without mine and your mother’s permission. Not until you’re eighteen, at least, and not then if you’ve got any sense.’

‘Why? You and Mum are all right.’

‘We didn’t get married until much later than that. When we were old enough to know what we wanted out of life and who we were. Getting married as young as that never lasts. You’re still growing up. Anyway, what’s the rush? You’ve got your whole life ahead of you. And you haven’t even got a boyfriend yet, have you?’

‘No,’ she said heavily. ‘But that’s not the point.’

Pete’s eyebrows went up. ‘Oh. And here I was thinking that was the whole point.’

‘See, you just don’t understand, do you?’

‘Honestly . . . not a clue.’ He grinned and reached out to tousle her hair. ‘I just know that I love you and I want you to be happy.’

She ducked away. ‘Well, so do I. That’s why I need to plan ahead. To be aware of my options.’

Pete suppressed a laugh. ‘Oh, yes? And who’s been putting ideas like that in your head, eh? You got a life coach started working at that school of yours? If so, send them round here. I need some lessons of that sort.’

‘What’s a life coach?’

‘Someone who gets paid enormous amounts of money for talking a mixture of common sense and pointless rubbish.’

‘Sounds like a good job. Easier than yours.’

‘Too right. I’ll tell you what – give it a couple of years, then look into it. See if your careers teacher can point you in the right direction.’ He swallowed the last of his chips. ‘But in the meantime, you make sure you’re in bed and asleep before I get home tonight, all right?’

‘Yes, Dad.’

‘Good girl.’ He stood up, briefly touched her cheek then rested a hand on Louise’s shoulder and kissed her forehead. ‘See you in a bit.’

*

Pete paused, shocked, in the doorway of the squad room. His whole team were at their desks, working quietly and, across from them, a whiteboard had been set up with photos of Rosie and her parents and the basic details of everyone they knew of who was linked to the case, all in Dick Feeney’s neat hand.

Dick looked up from his computer. With his cheeks darkened by a day’s stubble, he looked every inch his nickname of Grey Man. But this was the kind of commitment and work ethic that should have seen Tommy found, months ago. And, Pete was sure, would have if the same team were on it. He just wished they could have been.

‘How’s the missus?’

‘Pissed off at me for coming back in, but she’ll get over it. What’s going on?’

‘We’ve just been doing a few background searches. Seeing if there’s anyone linked to the family with a record,’ Jane told him.

‘And?’

‘Nothing yet, apart from your man, Sanderson.’

‘What did you find on known local paedophiles, Dave?’

‘There’s three on the register. I’ve got the details here.’ He held up a piece of paper.

Pete nodded. ‘We’ll need to visit them. Get their alibis, if they have any. Also, talk to the neighbours and the people who live around the school gates. But, before that, we need to make certain of the parents’ alibis. Ben, if you’ve got a minute, you could do that. Call the head of the school where the mother works and one of the partners of the father’s firm. Meantime, I’ll take Jill and see if we can knock the mother’s sister up. Jane, you and Dick see if you can get hold of Alistair’s brother, Michael. Dave, when you’ve finished what you’re doing, take Ben and follow up on the registered paedophiles. Verify whatever alibis you can.’

‘Bearing in mind who and what they are, have we got to be gentle with them?’ Dave asked.

‘Until you can put one of them in the frame, Dave, they’re as innocent as you are, as far as this case goes.’

‘If they were innocent, boss, we wouldn’t be looking at them,’ Jane pointed out.

‘You know what I mean. Anyway, I thought you were going home?’

She shrugged.

‘Well, thanks for coming back. All of you. Come on, Jill. And don’t forget your brolly; it’s pissing down out there.’

‘Bugger, we thought you were just sweating from the stairs, boss,’ Dick said, as Jill rose from behind her desk.

Pete ignored him. ‘If we’re done by nine, I’ll pop back in here. Otherwise, I’ll see you all in the morning.’ He held the door for the slim, dark-haired constable.

‘Thanks, boss.’ She finished shrugging into her heavy coat and started down the stairs ahead of him. ‘So, where are we going?’

‘Exmouth. They live down near the front, just up from the river mouth.’

‘Very nice.’

‘Hmm. Especially for a bar manager and a social worker.’

‘Jane was saying the mother reckons he’s a bit too touchy-feely.’

‘Yes. So, you take his missus and I’ll have a word with him, assuming they’re in.’

‘Right, boss.’

Pete pushed open the back door and let her through, then ran for the car, the rain now turned to sleet again and coming down hard.

CHAPTER 7

‘Susan Whitlock?’

‘Yes.’

‘DS Peter Gayle. This is PC Evans. Jill. Can we come in?’

‘Of course.’ She stepped back. ‘This is about Rosie, yes?’

‘That’s right.’

‘Jason’s in the bath, I’m afraid,’ the willowy brunette said as she led them into the wide hallway. ‘Jason,’ she called. ‘The police are here, darling.’

‘I’ll be down shortly.’

Pete heard the faint slosh of water from upstairs.

‘That’s all right,’ he said to Susan. ‘We can wait.’

‘Would you like something to drink in the meantime? Tea? Coffee?’

‘Tea would be excellent. Thanks.’

‘So, have you started the search yet?’ she asked.

‘We’ll get going on that in the morning. No sense stumbling about in the dark, destroying evidence.’

‘Oh.’ She paused, unsure whether to lead them into the kitchen or the sitting room. ‘I thought . . . Well, that little boy in Scotland, they were out looking straight away, weren’t they? And that little girl in Wales, a year or so before.’

‘Different circumstances.’ Pete raised a hand towards the kitchen and she led them through.

‘How do you mean?’

‘Well, Rosie’s older, for one thing. She’s not likely to have run off or got lost. And her family situation – Alistair’s job, for instance – brings other possibilities. Talking of which, there are no issues that you’re aware of, are there? People they’ve had a problem with? No one who would want to hurt them?’

‘No.’ She flicked the kettle on and set about making drinks.

‘What can you tell us about Rosie herself? How does she get on with her dad? With Jason? With you and her mum?’

‘Oh, she’s fine. She hasn’t got to the rebellious stage yet. Wait a minute . . .’ She looked up from what she was doing. ‘What do you mean – how does she get on with Al and Jason? You don’t think . . . ?’

‘We don’t think anything yet. We’re gathering information and we have to look at all possibilities, however unlikely or unsavoury, if only to eliminate them.’

‘Well, you can eliminate that for a start. Al would never . . . And Jason – he’s very tactile, very huggy, but that’s just his way. There’s nothing sexual about it. Trust me – I’m his wife.’

Pete heard heavy footsteps coming quickly down the stairs.

‘What do you mean by that?’ Jill asked.

‘Nothing. Just . . . We have a normal sex life, he’s not a pervert, that’s all.’

‘Who, me?’ Jason Whitlock asked from the doorway. ‘Why are we discussing my sexual proclivities, may I ask?’

‘For elimination purposes,’ Pete told him.

‘Ah. Well, that’s all right then. I think. Elimination from what, exactly?’

‘From the possibility that you were involved in what happened to Rosie,’ his wife told him.

‘Of course I wasn’t! Al said it happened this morning, around eight-fifteen, yes? Well, at eight-fifteen I was at work. I had a call to make, to California. I left here about seven-thirty.’

‘And can anyone verify that?’

‘I don’t know. I often see George, next door, on the way out. Didn’t notice him this morning, though. And there wouldn’t be anyone else at Stone’s at that time of day unless there was a delivery scheduled.’

Pete grunted. Bars were not known for being overpopulated at eight in the morning but he would still have to verify Jason’s story. ‘We’ll need details of who you called and when.’ He would also check on what car Jason drove and see if it could be spotted on CCTV or if it had been seen near the bar that morning. ‘Is there anyone either of you can think of that might have been involved in Rosie’s abduction?’

‘No.’ Jason glanced at his wife, who shook her head. ‘Al’s not the type to make enemies like that. And Jess is a primary school teacher, for God’s sake. Who’s she going to piss off enough to make them abduct her daughter?’

‘You don’t have children?’ Jill asked.

Pete glanced at her as the couple both said, ‘No.’

‘Then, could this be a revenge attack one step removed? Has either of you “pissed anyone off enough” for them to abduct your niece?’

She focused on Jason as she asked the question, but it was Susan who said firmly, ‘No! Certainly not.’

Pete picked up on this. ‘Jason? No disgruntled creditors, people you’ve let down or annoyed enough for them to want payback?’

Jason shook his head. ‘Not that I can think of.’

‘Well, if you do think of anything, let me know right away, yes? We don’t know where Rosie is or what she’s going through, so the sooner we can find her, the better.’

‘Of course.’

‘And I’ll need the details of that call you were making this morning.’ Pete turned over the page of his notebook and handed it over, with his pen.

*

Pete watched Annie running towards her friends at the bus stop and felt suddenly reluctant to let them out of his sight. Danger was stalking these streets. Tommy was gone, so was Rosie Whitlock and there was the Jane Doe, down by the river. The thought of losing Annie too was more than he could bear. He watched as she merged into the cluster of uniformed girls and boys on the grass behind the shelter, waiting until he could no longer see her in the crowd, then drew a long, shuddering breath and turned away. Much as he would have liked to, he couldn’t stay here until the bus came.

As understandable as it was for a father to want to protect his little girl, it wouldn’t be good for her, or for him. Or for Rosie Whitlock.

By the time he got to Risingbrook School, the rest of the team were already on-site and the road, which would be near deserted in another hour, was beginning to get busy. He pulled up behind a patrol car and climbed out. Jane was across the road, talking to a mother who had just sent her daughter into the school with a couple of others. She waved to him without pausing in her conversation. He crossed towards her and waited a few feet away until the woman stepped away and Jane turned towards him.

‘How’s it going?’

‘Still quiet, yet. And early. Another ten minutes to when Rosie was dropped off.’

An Audi saloon turned into the top of the road as a BMW pulled up across from them. Pete crossed the road. A woman in her early thirties, long blonde hair hanging loose over her shoulders, looked up as he approached.

Pete flashed his badge. ‘DS Gayle. Can I have a moment of your time, please?’

‘What’s this about?’

‘A young girl went missing here yesterday morning. We’re checking to see if anyone saw anything unusual or out of place.’

‘Missing? You mean she was abducted?’

‘We’re not sure at this point.’

‘Well, I don’t think I saw anything unusual here yesterday. It was just a normal morning. Sarah?’

‘Nor me. I met Angie and Richard at the gates and we went in together. You saw us.’

‘That’s right.’

‘Richard said later that he hadn’t seen Rosie all day. Is that who’s gone missing?’

‘Rosie?’ Pete countered, seeking confirmation.

‘Rosie Whitlock.’

Pete pursed his lips. This was going to be all over the school by lunch-time, whether he announced it or not. ‘Yes, I’m afraid it is.’

‘Oh my God! I take history and maths with her.’ The young girl’s eyes went wide. ‘What happened?’

‘We don’t know yet, but myself and another officer will be coming into school later to speak to everyone.’

‘Can I go in now?’

Pete nodded.

‘Yes, but be careful,’ the mother said. ‘I’ll pick you up later, as usual. Don’t come out of the gates until you see me, all right?’

‘Yes, Mum.’

‘Love you.’

‘You too.’ The girl leaned over the seat to give her mother a quick peck on the cheek, then climbed out and ran across the road, her satchel clutched to her chest.

‘You were here at the same time yesterday?’ Pete asked.

‘Yes.’ The woman checked her watch. ‘Pretty much spot-on. I drop Sarah off on my way to work.’

‘I see. And where’s that, Mrs . . . ?’

‘Taylor. Jeanette. I work in Exmouth, at Diehl and Slaughter, solicitors.’

‘Oh, you’re a lawyer?’

‘No, no,’ she laughed. ‘I’m the receptionist.’

‘Ah. And you didn’t, perhaps, see a girl in school uniform walking away from the school yesterday morning?’

She shook her head. ‘No.’

‘OK. Well, thanks for your time, Mrs Taylor.’ He stepped back as she pulled away. Turning around, he saw Jane’s Audi moving away, too, the two cars purring off in opposite directions. Up and down the street, other officers, some in uniform, others not, were approaching vehicles as they stopped or pulling over those that looked to be driving straight past. He saw Dick Feeney, in his customary grey suit, flag down a black VW Golf and lean down to the passenger window as Dave Miles straightened up from a bright blue Porsche and waved it on.

Five months ago, these same things would have been happening outside the swimming pool. Cars and pedestrians being stopped. Questioned. Asked if they’d seen anything relevant to the disappearance of a young boy. Signs would have been put up, asking any witnesses who hadn’t been questioned to come forward. The difference was that another crew had been handling that case. Pete and his team had been specifically excluded, in accordance with standard protocol.

And the other difference, he thought, was that they would find Rosie Whitlock. Her parents would not go through the protracted hell that he, Lou and Annie were suffering. He would not allow it.

CHAPTER 8

‘Right, what have we got then?’

Pete stood by the whiteboard that Dick had set up the night before and surveyed the team as the last uniformed PC closed the door behind him. None of them looked pleased with themselves or glad to be here. ‘Dave, what did the street search turn up?’

‘Bugger all, basically, apart from the remains of a mobile phone that may or may not have been the victim’s. It was smashed to bits. Looked like it had been chucked out of a moving vehicle and run over by an artic. But we’ve sent the bits to the tech boys, to see if they can do anything with them. Other than that, we combed the street from the junction down to the corner, both sides. There were one or two little bits and pieces. The odd fag end and so on, but nothing that could be from the victim and nothing that says, “Kidnapper was here.” We’ll get what we did find off to forensics, but unless he smokes or chews gum – and there were only two bits of that fresh enough to be relevant – I don’t think it’ll get us anywhere. Certainly not before we’ve got him in custody some other way.’

Pete nodded. ‘Thanks, all of you, for trying anyway. As far as the school itself, an initial search turned up nothing but we’ve got a full team going in there, to do the job properly, in…’ he checked his watch ‘. . . about an hour. Other than that, the only thing that came up was a young lad who seems to have had something of a crush on Rosie, from a distance. Richie Young. The consensus among the other kids seems to be that he’s a bit weird, a bit of a loner, but essentially harmless. Follows her around at a distance. He’s not in school today, though. His mother phoned in this morning. He’s off sick.’

‘Could be a coincidence, boss,’

‘Could be, but you know me, Jane. I don’t like ’em. So I’ll follow up on him when we’re done here. Anybody got anything to add on the school before we move on?’

Heads were shaken in a silence that Pete allowed to stretch for a few seconds.

‘Right. We need to check with the school – and with the one Rosie’s mum works at – that all the staff have current CRB checks in place. No one’s there that shouldn’t to be. Make sure they’ve all got solid alibis for yesterday morning. Any that haven’t, we’ll need to interview. The rest of us need to carry on with last night’s interviews. Track down those we weren’t able to get in touch with and check on the alibis of those we spoke to. Dick and Jill, if you want to start checking alibis, grab a couple of uniforms to help out. Jane, you can get a list together of all the people we still need to interview and get started on that with Ben. Usual drill – neighbours, close family and friends first, then widen the net. Colleagues, friends of friends, schoolmates and the parents of, and don’t forget the folks that live around Risingbrook itself. Right. Anything else?’ He gazed around the assembled team. They looked determined, ready to go. ‘No? Let’s get to it then. And anybody who finds her by lunch gets a pint on me.’

A ripple of cynical laughter went around the room and Pete gave it a few seconds before holding up his hands. ‘Rosie’s been missing for twenty-six hours now, so it’s time to pull our fingers out and get a wiggle on. And the press moratorium has been lifted, as of five minutes ago. I spoke to our beloved leader and he’s got that in hand.’

‘I bet he has,’ Feeney said dryly.

‘We might as well make what use of him we can. Now, come on. Let’s try to find this girl before any harm comes to her.’ Pete stepped away from the whiteboard as those who were seated stood up and everyone moved off to get on with their assigned tasks. ‘Sophie,’ he called.

One of the PCs who were on the way to the door stopped and looked around.

‘I need you with me, OK?’

Her eyes widened in surprise. ‘Yes, Sarge.’ She stepped out of the group. ‘What are we doing?’

‘Having a talk to the Young boy. Best to have two of us there.’ Pete often found that a female presence helped in such situations. It tended to keep things calmer. Plus, there was the different perspective that they brought to an interview. They tended to see things differently – and see different things – to men, which could be useful. It was one of the reasons he worked so well with Jane. ‘We need to find out if young Richie Young is as innocent as he ought to be, or if his mum’s covering for him.’

*

Richie Young’s dark hair was lank and longer than Pete would have expected to be allowed for a boy at a school like Risingbrook. Its central parting was failing miserably so that it hung down like a ragged curtain in front of his too-bright eyes and pale, shiny face as he sat sullenly against far too many pillows in a bed that smelled stale and unwelcoming. His thin chest was heaving as if he’d just run all the way from school. His mother sat on the corner of the bed, her hand firmly on his knee as if to prevent it from bouncing in front of the two police officers.

Pete pulled the chair out from under the desk and turned it around. With a jolt, he noticed a maths textbook on the desk that was the same one Tommy had been using. Then, on a shelf beside the desk, what looked like a brass coin. He recognised it as a token from an amusement arcade. There were several in Tommy’s room, from time he’d spent in the place down Fore Street.

Pete had been shocked when he realised that his son was gambling. He remembered wondering what else the boy got up to that he didn’t know about. Did this lad and his son know each other? He leaned forward in the chair, fighting the urge to ask. Come on, Pete. Stick to the subject.

He shared a glance with Sophie, who was standing by the door, arms folded as if guarding it. ‘So,’ he said. ‘Do you know of anyone Rosie’s receiving any unwanted attention from? Anyone she’s having problems with?’

‘No.’

‘And you would know, right? You being a close friend of hers?’

‘Are you taking the . . . ’ he glanced at his mother ‘. . . mick?’

‘Why would you think that?’

‘You must have got my name from school, so you must have talked to the other kids.’

‘And?’

‘No, I don’t know of anyone she’s having problems with. She’s popular. She’s not bitchy or stuck-up like some of them. She includes people, you know?’

People like you, Pete thought. Outsiders. He nodded. ‘And you’re sure you didn’t see anything unusual, anything out of place when you got to school yesterday? Or hear anything, maybe?’

‘No. If I had, I’d say, alright?’ For a moment, he looked like he wanted to continue, but then he clammed up once more, his arms folded across his thin chest.

‘Well, that just leaves me wondering one thing, Richie. What aren’t you telling me?’

‘Nothing.’

Pete couldn’t read Richie’s expression through his hair, but his mother straightened in her seat, about to object, then held her silence as a tiny doubt took hold in her mind. She’d seen it, too. The question was, was it relevant? Did he want to push the kid now, in front of his mother, or keep him as a potential witness for later?

‘Who did you see when you got there? Give me some names.’

The boy’s lip curled. ‘I don’t . . . There was Matt Andrews and a couple of his friends. Holly Gregson. Tess Carver.’ He shrugged. ‘That’s about it.’

Pete wrote the names down. He would check with them later. He stood up, putting away his notepad and pen. ‘Well, if you think of anything, or remember anything that might be relevant, you call me, right?’ He took out a card, but the boy had retreated into himself. Pete turned the chair back around and put the card on the desk. ‘My number’s there. Any time.’ He nodded to the mother. ‘Thank you, Mrs Young. Sorry to have troubled you.’

*

‘What d’you reckon, Sarge?’

Pete started the engine and glanced across at Sophie. ‘I reckon he knows more than he’s letting on. Maybe it’s because his mother was there, maybe more than that. But she saw it too, so maybe she’ll have a go at him now that we’ve gone. Meantime, we’ll check with the kids he mentioned, see if they corroborate his arrival time.’

Pete’s phone rang in his pocket. He fished it out and handed it to her. ‘Here, answer that, would you? Stick it on speaker.’

‘Hello? DS Gayle’s phone. Hold on, I’m putting you on speaker.’

A tinny voice came from the little speaker. ‘Hey, boss. Wanted to check something with you.’

‘What’s that, Dave?’

‘I’ve just been visiting with one of our local sex offenders, a Barry Enstone. He claims to have an alibi, provided by his girlfriend. Only he doesn’t want us to speak to her until he’s had a chance to tell her about his past, which he hasn’t done yet. I don’t think he’s involved, so am I all right to just check up on her indirectly and leave him be until tomorrow?’

‘You’re sure about him, are you?’

‘As sure as I can be.’

Pete drew a breath. ‘All right. If the girlfriend pans out, then move on.’

‘OK. Cheers, boss.’ There was a click and the connection was cut.

Sophie handed him back the phone. ‘Another one bites the dust?’

‘We can’t always drop on the right guy first time out the door.’

‘No, but once in a while would be nice, wouldn’t it? Especially when we’re on the clock, like we are with this case.’

CHAPTER 9

‘Bloody weather.’ Sophie knocked the rain off her hat and replaced it neatly on her head as the lift carried them up to Neil Sanderson’s workplace.

‘Yes. Which is another reason why we need to find Rosie as quick as we can.’ Pete looked up at the row of numbers above the lift doors. Number two lit briefly as they passed that floor. ‘We don’t know where she is or, if someone’s taken her, what conditions she’s being held in. If she’s still being held.’

‘Yeah, but . . . statistically, they reckon we should have another twenty-four hours before . . .’ Her voice trailed off.

‘That’s what the stats say.’ But we all know what they say about stats, he thought, but kept to himself.

The lift stopped with a ping. The doors slid open and they stepped out. Pete showed his badge to the receptionist. Molyneux and Richards was picked out in large, silver lettering on the wall behind her. ‘We’d like to speak to one of the owners, if possible.’

‘Mr Richards is in. I’ll tell him you’re here.’

‘Thank you.’

She picked up the phone and dialled. ‘Mr Richards, there are two police officers here. Can you speak to them?’ She nodded. ‘OK.’ Putting the phone down, she looked up at Pete. ‘He’ll be out in a second.’

Moments later a tall, well-built man in his fifties came through the door to her left, his brown eyes direct as he shook Pete’s hand. ‘Brian Richards. How can I help?’

‘DS Gayle. This is PC Clewes.’ Pete glanced at the girl on the front desk. ‘If we could perhaps go through to your office?’

‘Yes, sure.’ He led the way through a large, open-plan workroom where Pete counted nine staff at a mixture of desks and drawing tables. His office was one of two half-glassed enclosures at the far side. He stepped in and offered them chairs. ‘Now . . .’

‘We’re looking into the disappearance of a young girl,’ Pete said. ‘Her best friend is the daughter of one of your employees, Neil Sanderson. As a known associate, we need to eliminate him from the inquiry, so I was hoping to ask you about him.’

‘OK.’

‘How well do you know him?’

‘Not well, in the sense of spending time together outside the office, but I’ve known him as a colleague for . . . seven years now, I think.’

‘Is there anyone here he does spend time with outside the workplace?’

‘He’s big mates with Tony.’

‘We’ll need a word with Tony then, if that’s OK. But, before that, is there anything you might want to tell us about either of them? Anything you might be aware of that’s in any way irregular?’

‘What, you mean . . . ? No. They’re just two regular guys, as far as I’m aware. They’ve both always been the height of professionalism at work. Both very good at their jobs. There’s never been any hint of anything inappropriate with either of them.’

‘OK. We haven’t spoken to Mr Sanderson yet. We’re just compiling backgrounds and alibis for now. But if you could point him out?’ Pete turned in his chair.

‘There, second from the right.’

‘Dark-haired guy with the blue and yellow check shirt?’

‘That’s right.’

‘And his mate – Tony?’

‘Sitting across from him.’

‘Right. Well, we don’t want to disrupt your day any more than we have to. Is there somewhere we could have a word with Tony?’

‘We have a conference room. Grand title for an office not much bigger than mine, really, but it has a table and a projector with a screen for talking to clients and so on. It’s next door.’

‘That would be perfect.’

‘Right.’ He stood up and went to the door. ‘Tony. Have you got a minute?’

The man looked up, then stood and came towards them. As he stepped into the small office, Richards said, ‘Tony Stillwell, DS Gayle and PC Clewes. They’d like a word if that’s OK. I said you could use the conference room.’

Pete stood up and held out his hand. ‘Nothing to worry about, sir. We just need to ask you a few questions about a friend of yours, that’s all.’

Stillwell’s handshake was tentative. ‘OK.’

Sophie moved to replace her chair in the corner.

‘Don’t worry about that, I’ll get them,’ Richards told her. ‘If you want to take them through, Tony . . .’

‘Uh . . . Yes, sure.’ He led the way back through the studio to the reception and past the receptionist’s desk to the door at the other side of it. ‘Here we are.’

There was a table big enough to seat ten people. A projector on it was aimed towards a screen on the far wall. Stillwell went around to the far side and took a seat, the windows behind him. ‘So, what’s this about?’

‘A young girl went missing yesterday,’ Pete told him. ‘Her best friend is the daughter of a friend of yours, Neil Sanderson, so we need to ask you about him.’

Stillwell relaxed visibly. ‘OK. No problem.’

Pete saw Sophie readying her notebook from the corner of his eye. ‘First, as a matter of protocol, where were you yesterday morning, between eight and nine o’clock?’

‘Me? I was on the way here, I suppose. At least part of that time. I leave home around eight-fifteen, get here about ten to nine, as a rule.’

‘And that was the case yesterday?’

‘Yes.’

‘Can anyone verify that?’

‘Yes, I suppose. I thought you wanted to ask about Neil?’

‘We do, but we have to establish reliability. Who can verify where you were? Do you drive in with someone?’

‘No. My wife saw me off from home. Bridget out there saw me arrive. What do you mean, “reliability”?’

‘And was Mr Sanderson here when you arrived?’

‘Uh . . . No, in fact, he was late yesterday. He didn’t get here until just after nine-thirty. Said he’d had a flat tyre.’

Pete glanced at Sophie, who was writing swiftly.

‘I see. And how well do you know Mr Sanderson?’

‘Pretty well, I guess. We hang out together sometimes. Go to the pub on a Friday night, or bowling. Play five-a-side. The odd barbie.’

‘You know his family, then?’

‘Yes. We were over there on Sunday.’

‘We?’

‘My wife and I.’

‘I see. Who was there, apart from you and your wife?’

‘Neil, Geraldine, Becky, her friend Rosie and her parents, Alistair and Jess. Then there was another couple, Derek and Polly Howe, and their daughter Karen. I think she’s at school with Becky and Rosie. They were off on their own most of the time, of course – the three girls, I mean. And Jerry and Linda Bateman.’

Alistair had included the Howe family on his list, but Pete didn’t recall the Batemans. He wrote the name down, followed by the note: ‘Party Sunday’. ‘How do the Whitlocks know the Batemans?’

‘I think Jerry and Alistair were at school together or something. It goes back a lot of years, anyway.’

‘And Neil and Alistair?’

‘Uni, I think.’

‘OK. And you just know Neil through work, yes?’

‘Yes. We met when I started here five years ago.’

‘And you share a number of interests.’

‘Yes. Look, what’s this all about?’

Pete drew a breath. ‘How’s Neil around Becky and Rosie?’

‘What? Fine. What is this?’

‘The girl who went missing is Rosie Whitlock, Mr Stillwell. You’ve confirmed that Mr Sanderson wasn’t at work at the time. We need to make sure he’s not involved in her disappearance. We’re looking at all known associates of hers and her parents. It’s standard procedure. So I’ll ask again. Have you ever noticed Neil take anything other than a normal interest in Becky or Rosie, or the girls to have any reluctance or excessive keenness to be around him?’

‘No. He has a perfectly normal father–daughter relationship with Becky, as far as I’m aware. Why would you ask these things?’

‘As I said, Mr Stillwell, elimination. OK. I think we’ve taken up enough of your time for now. Sophie, do you want to go with Mr Stillwell and send Mr Sanderson in here?’

He had planned to leave talking to Sanderson until later, when he’d had a chance to corroborate his alibi, but Stillwell’s comments had blown that out of the window. With Sanderson having no alibi, it was essential to talk to him now.

‘OK, Sarge.’ She snapped her notebook closed as Stillwell stood up and headed for the door.

‘And Sophie?’

‘Sarge?’

‘When you’ve sent him here, have a word with Richards. Get any password that might be needed and have a quick shufty through Sanderson’s computer, all right?’

‘Is that legal?’ asked Stillwell.

‘It is, if we’ve got your boss’s permission,’ Pete told him.

As they left the room Pete moved around to the far side of the table then made a few notes while he waited for Sanderson to come through.

He had just finished writing when the door opened and he looked up to see the tall, slim architect enter and close the door behind him.

‘You wanted to see me?’

‘That’s right. Take a seat.’ Pete waited for Sanderson to sit opposite him.

The sun had come out and Sanderson squinted slightly against the brightness although the window was facing west and it was still not yet noon. ‘We’re looking into the disappearance of Rosie Whitlock. We understand you know her.’

‘Yes, of course.’

‘Where were you between eight-fifteen and eight-forty yesterday morning?’

‘Uh . . . On my way here. I was late getting in because I had a flat tyre. Why?’

‘Where exactly did you get this flat?’

‘Between Marsh Green and the airport. We live at West Hill.’

‘So, a minor road with very little traffic.’

‘That’s the idea. Better for getting here in the rush hour.’

‘Did anyone see you while you were dealing with your flat tyre?’

‘As you said, it’s a minor road with not a lot of traffic. So, no, I don’t think so.’

Pete pursed his lips. ‘Anybody see you leave your house?’

‘Why? Am I a suspect here?’

‘Everybody who knows Rosie is a suspect until we eliminate them. Did anyone see you leave home?’

‘No. My wife leaves before I do.’

‘So you have no one to corroborate your whereabouts from – what time did your wife leave the house?’

‘Eight.’

‘From eight o’clock to nine-thirty-ish, when you arrived here, then?’

‘I suppose. But that doesn’t mean I had anything to do with whatever happened to Rosie. What did happen, anyway? Alistair couldn’t tell me much last night when he rang.’

‘What’s your relationship like with her? I understand she’s your daughter’s best friend.’

‘What’s my . . . ? Wait a minute. What is this? It sounds like you’re accusing me of being some sort of paedophile.’

His answers were all perfectly reasonable but, with the victim being his daughter’s best friend, he had been just a bit too offhand until the last question. Pete decided to push him a bit, now the opportunity had arisen. ‘Not at all. But she is a pretty girl. And they grow up fast, don’t they? Look sixteen when they’re thirteen, given half a chance. And the fashions these days . . .’

Something flickered in Sanderson’s eyes then he frowned sharply. ‘You must have me confused with someone else, Sergeant. I’m certainly not attracted to my daughter’s friends.’ He rubbed at his cheek. ‘I’m a married man. A happily married one, in fact. Ask my wife.’

Pete nodded. We will, he thought. And your daughter, if needs be. ‘OK,’ he said.

The door opened and Sophie entered. She gave him a slight shake of the head. Nothing untoward on Sanderson’s computer. Not that Pete had expected anything on a work machine, but you never knew. Sanderson watched her move around the table and sit down next to Pete. Pete could see the question in his eyes. ‘Right then,’ he said. ‘I understand my colleague spoke to you yesterday evening, asking for your permission to check your daughter’s computer, her emails and so forth, to see if there’s anything in there that might point towards any problems Rosie might have been having.’

‘Yes, and I gave it.’

‘Your wife just works mornings, yes?’

‘Yes, but . . .’ He shrugged and straightened his collar. ‘If it’s all the same to you, I’d like to be there when you check. I’m not really comfortable with strangers being in my house when I’m not.’

Pete grimaced. ‘Have you got a number for your wife?’

‘Of course.’ Sanderson reeled off the number and Pete wrote it down then clicked his pen shut and stood up.

‘OK. Thank you for your time, Mr Sanderson. We must crack on now. Time is of the essence in cases like this. Come on, Sophie.’ He ushered her quickly out of the room and towards the lifts.

Once the doors had closed behind them, she turned to him with a frown. ‘What was that all about? You were out of there like a cat with a banger up its arse.’

‘He’s got no alibi for the time in question, he had plenty of time to get to Risingbrook and snatch the girl. And there was something not right about his reaction when I mentioned girls her age and the way they dress. So, I want to talk to his wife before he can and get her to let us in and check out both the daughter’s computer and his. What time is it?’

‘Ten to eleven.’

‘So, if she finishes at twelve-thirty – give her an hour to get home – we’ve got a couple of hours to get there and be ready for her.’

CHAPTER 10

‘How’s it going?’

Jane watched him rub some of the rain out of his hair. ‘I’ve been to Alistair’s office, spoken to his colleagues and run their names, as well as those of all their recent clients. I got confirmation from him while I was there that the phone we found in bits outside the school was Rosie’s. I also checked his computer. Nothing. So I went back over to their place, spoke to several neighbours to see if they’ve seen or heard anything out of the ordinary lately.’

The phone on Pete’s desk began to ring.

‘They haven’t. Of course, they weren’t all in.’

Pete held up his hand for her to pause and picked up the phone. ‘DS Gayle.’

‘Hey, boss. It’s Dave.’

‘What can I do for you?’

‘Just calling in to let you know what we’re up to. I’ve got Mick Douglas with me. We’re with one of the blokes you asked me to follow up on. A Kevin Haynes. He claims to know nothing, but he’s got no alibi, so we’re just popping round to his place to see if we can establish where he was yesterday morning.’

Pete glanced at the board, where Dave had added three names under the heading RSOs –registered sex-offenders. Kevin Haynes was the second of them. ‘OK. Anything else to report?’

‘Not a lot. We’ve checked on Enstone’s supposed girlfriend. Colleagues confirm she’s got a bloke who matches his description. Been going out for four or five months. They don’t know where she was night before last and into the morning though.’