I pulled my gaze away from her and over to Stephen, who looked faintly confused to see us standing here in silence.
“All okay?” I asked him. He made a noncommittal noise, and I frowned slightly. I glanced over to Keira and gave her a nod. “Ta for the help.”
She nodded back, her eyes intense on mine. “I’ll inform you when we know more,” she told me, before turning on her heel and walking away.
I looked over to Stephen and considered him with concern as we headed out into the corridor by silent agreement. “Mate, what’s wrong?” I asked him gently. “Who was the phone call from?”
He sighed, his big shoulders drooping. “My missus,” he sighed. “My little girl is sick again.”
His daughter had been badly ill back in the autumn, and though she’d gotten better since, Stephen had said she’d seemed tired and listless ever since.
“Christ, I’m sorry,” I murmured. “The doctors found anything yet?”
He shook his head, sitting heavily down in his desk chair when we reached it. “Mind if I head off early?” he asked.
I bumped him lightly on the shoulder. “Of course I don’t,” I said softly. “Go on, go home. I’ll tell Gaskell.”
He gave a tight nod, his face looking drawn with worry, before beginning to gather his things. He looked so different from his usual jovial self that it was painful to see and I watched him with a concerned frown.
“Let me know if I can help, won’t you?” I said, as he pulled his coat on. “If you need me to go food shopping for you, or anything like that.”
He sent me a grateful look. “Yeah, mate, thanks.”
I sighed as he headed out and hoped that his daughter would be okay. I fetched myself a coffee, wanting a moment to myself before I went to speak to Gaskell. His office was occupied by the time I was ready to go in, so I settled into looking over the information Keira had supplied for us and writing it up in my report.
Sedgwick headed out of Gaskell’s office; the first time I’d seen him in a while and I wondered what case he was on that was keeping him out of the station so much. Getting to my feet, I went to knock on Gaskell’s door and waited for him to call me in.
He looked up at me as I entered. “What is it?” he said, blunt as usual. “A problem with the case? The kidnapping?”
“No, that’s going alright, sir,” I said. “New information today, actually. But it’s not that. Ste- Huxley was called away. His daughter is ill.”
“Again?” Gaskell said, not like he doubted it, but in concern. “Will she be alright?”
I shrugged helplessly. “They don’t know, sir. The doctors are still trying to find a reason for it, Stephen told me.”
Gaskell sighed, frowning. “I’m sorry to hear it. He knows he has my support to be with her, if he needs to.”
I nodded in thanks. “I appreciate that, sir, and I know he does too.”
Gaskell grunted. “And if you need a temporary partner, let me know.”
I was silent a moment, taken aback. It hadn’t occurred to me that I might need someone else to step into Stephen’s shoes if he needed an extended period of leave.
“I’ll bear that in mind, sir, thanks.”
He focused back on his computer, and I saw myself out. Now that I’d been at Hewford station for half a year or thereabouts, I couldn’t imagine having a partner other than Stephen. Despite getting off to a slightly rocky start, I liked his company enough to consider him a friend, and he and I balanced each other out well. I tended more towards intense emotional reactions combined with a stubborn determination, with Stephen’s steady, light-hearted company tempering me. He was a good listener and a smart, funny bloke, and I knew he loved his family dearly.
Whatever was best for his little girl, whatever would help her get better, I knew that Stephen would do everything in his power to care for her.
Five
I had been prepared to spend the following day alone, so it surprised me to come in to see Stephen at his desk.
“You’re not needed at home?” I asked. I was fresh from the showers after my morning run, and my wet hair dripped down onto my shirt collar.
He looked up. There were dark circles under his eyes, but he seemed less shaken than last night.
“She’s at the hospital,” he said. “My wife wanted to be with her today and, well, there’s nothing I can do. She’s stable, and they’re running tests.”
I sat down slowly, reaching out to lay a hand on his shoulder. He sent me a weary smile.
“Just sitting there all day would drive me nuts,” he said. “At least I’m actually useful here.” He glanced over towards Gaskell’s office. “I’ll ask the supe for tomorrow, though, so you’ll be on your lonesome then.”
“I’ll miss you terribly,” I teased gently.
He huffed. “Alright, what’s on the agenda today then?”
He clearly didn’t want to talk about it anymore, and I rubbed my chin. “I thought it would be good to go for a visit up at the Wooding house. They’ve got quite a luxurious pad up in the Dales. Might be worth having a look round.”
“Sounds like a good plan.”
“A big house like that, they probably have a housekeeper,” I said. “I was planning to give them a heads-up that we’re coming over, so we don’t have to do any breaking the windows.” I sent Stephen a small smile to show I was joking.
He got up out of his chair. “You can get on with that, then, and I’ll go and get some tea. God knows I need a cup.”
He headed off to the breakroom, and I watched him go with a slight frown, concerned that he’d rather be at work than with his family. But, like me, he didn’t like to feel helpless and maybe working would help him stay steady and support his family better in the long run. But I would make sure that he took some time off to be with his daughter and wife, and his little boy too.
I was right to assume that the Wooding family would have a housekeeper who promptly answered the phone once I tracked down the number.
“I’m DCI Mitchell, and we’re looking into the disappearance of the Woodings. Would you be in the house later today, so we can have a look around?”
She hummed. “Yes, my husband and I live on site. We’ll be available to answer the door all day. What time can we expect you?”
I checked my watch. “I should think no later than twelve.”
“Very good,” she said politely.
Stephen came back with his soup-bowl-sized mug of tea, and a coffee for me. “Thanks, mate,” I said gratefully, breathing in the sharp-smelling steam and feeling more awake already.
“Any success with the house?” Stephen asked.
“Aye, we’ll head over as soon as we’re ready. It’s a bit of a drive. The housekeeper said she’ll let us in.”
“Did you ask about security footage?”
I grimaced. “No, I forgot about that. We’ll have to ask when we’re there.”
“I wonder if the housekeeper knows anything about it,” Stephen mused. “I mean, I reckon she’d need to know the ins and outs of whatever they were up to, right? Like, to make sure the house is ready and there are canapes for the guests, or whatever it is rich people think they need these days.”
I exhaled a laugh. “Yeah, you’re right. We’ll have a chat with her, see what she knows.”
We finished up our drinks, the silence between us comfortable but weighted down with the knowledge of what was going on with Stephen’s family.
Stephen tipped back the last of his tea. “Alright, I’m done.”
I raised my eyebrows, honestly impressed that he’d managed to finish all that tea. “You’ll need a stop at the services after drinking that.”
He grinned. “Probably, but it’s worth it. And don’t tell me you’re complaining about the opportunity for a trip to Costa?”
We bickered lightly back and forth, keeping to light topics, as we headed downstairs and out to the station’s car park.
“You want to drive, or shall I?”
&
nbsp; “I’ll drive there. You do the trip back?” I offered.
“Good, I can have a nap,” Stephen said with an easy smile.
We set off, my focus on navigating the post-rush hour traffic around York. I still had to pay close attention to my driving in the city after so long spent living in a small village where it was more important to look out for escaped sheep and horse riders than negotiating multi-lane roundabouts and buses swinging around the corner.
Once we were out of the busier roads and heading out towards the Dales, I relaxed back into the driving seat and turned the radio up slightly. I couldn’t look too closely while I was driving, but the views rushing past were full of green fields and rolling hills, and it relaxed me.
“You like it out here,” Stephen said, a statement rather than a question.
I glanced over at him. He also looked more relaxed, his shoulders not so stiff and tight.
“Aye, the city gets a little oppressive after a while, with all the people.”
“I knew you were a misanthrope at heart.”
I grinned. “Maybe a little.”
“More than a little.”
“Talking of avoiding people,” I started, “I might’ve brought my running kit.”
Stephen groaned dramatically, but he was smiling. “I suppose I’ll have to suffer through a pub meal all on my own while you’re off making the rest of us look bad.”
“You don’t mind, then?” I said. Once I’d found out about the Wooding’s house being all the way out here, I’d harboured a longing to get out there for a nice, long run, but I wasn’t sure Stephen would be alright with me abandoning him for a while.
But he just patted my shoulder, none too gently, and said, “Of course I don’t mind. Keeps you out of my hair, doesn’t it?”
I rolled my eyes, still smiling. “Anyone would think I was a right pain the way you go on.”
“You said it not me,” Stephen chuckled.
It was nice to hear him laughing again, and we ribbed each other some more, before the car fell quiet again, the radio chirping away in the background.
“Okay,” Stephen said, after twenty minutes or so, “You get to say ‘I told you so’ now.”
I raised my eyebrows. “That’s not surprising, but what was I right about this time?”
“The call of nature is calling me pretty urgently right now,” he laughed.
I chuckled. “Alright, alright.”
After Stephen had sorted himself out, it was another good hour of travelling through the countryside scenery, passing through small villages and isolated farms, before we reached the bottom of the Wooding’s drive.
“This looks suitably pretentious,” Stephen said, looking up at the wrought-iron gates, elaborately shaped into curling designs with the letters ‘A’ and ‘W’ in the centre.
“Aaron Wooding, I presume,” I said, faintly amused.
Climbing out of the car, I went to ring the intercom and waited for a response, which didn’t take long.
“Who is calling?” The voice was tinny, but I recognised it as the housekeeper’s, Rebecca.
“It’s DCI Mitchell and my partner, DI Huxley. We spoke on the phone?”
The gates buzzed open. “Come right through, Inspector Mitchell.”
I headed back to the car and climbed in, catching the bemused look on Stephen’s face. “How the other half live, right?” I said.
He huffed. “Exactly.” He muttered something less complimentary about the elite, and I chuckled.
“Get it out now,” I said, “I don’t think Rebecca will take too kindly to you calling her employers that.”
Stephen wrinkled his nose. “You sure? Maybe some good working-class solidarity would help.”
I snorted. “Mate, you’re definitely middle class.”
He sent a wry look. “Nah, my wife is middle class. My folks were Welsh miners.”
I looked over at him in surprise. “Really? You don’t sound Welsh.”
He grinned. “Obviously. My dad lost his accent completely, sounds like a born ‘n’ bred Yorkshireman now, and I never picked up my mum’s. I’m built like a Welsh rugby player though, aren’t I?”
I pulled up on the gravel car park in front of the impressively huge house. “You’re right there,” I agreed absentmindedly, looking up at the place. I had no idea about how to judge the ages of houses, but this one looked stately.
“Looks like it ought to be National Trust,” Stephen said, mirroring my thoughts.
I made a noise of agreement. “I feel underdressed.”
We climbed out, and I tried not to gawp too much, focusing my thoughts back onto the case and the questions I wanted to ask Rebecca and her husband. I knew that they may very well not have heard about Lawrence being found, and might still believe him missing. I’d have to decide when and how to tell them.
“Darren.”
I glanced at Stephen, standing at my side by the door. “Yeah?”
He shot me a grin. “Don’t forget to lift your pinkie if they give us tea.”
I rolled my eyes at him as the door opened and a tall woman in a smart, blue dress looked down at us from the top step.
“Inspectors Mitchell and Huxley? Please come in.”
“Thanks.” I followed her inside, allowing myself a moment to look around the place. The entrance hall was wide and tall ceilinged with paintings hanging in neat rows across the walls. I half expected a middle-aged man in tweed to walk in with a hunting rifle over his shoulder and demand to know what we were doing.
But Rebecca just led us efficiently through the house and round to the kitchen which was another meticulously clean, echoing space, a rack of copper saucepans hanging from the middle of the ceiling and catching the bright sun through the window.
“We’re here about the Woodings’ disappearance,” I started, after Rebecca indicated for us to take a seat at the long, oak table. “We’d like to ask you and your husband a couple of questions, before we look round the house, if that’s alright with you.”
Rebecca had listened politely while I spoke, but only gave me a nod. “Some tea first?” she said, gesturing towards the counter where a pot of tea and a plate of shortbread biscuits had been laid out.
“Oh,” I said. “That’d be lovely, ta.”
So we nibbled on biscuits and drank the fragment tea, and it was another few minutes before I tried to broach the subject again.
“Can you tell me when was the last time you saw the Wooding family?”
She looked at me for a moment, her blue eyes seeming disapproving, as if I was breaking some rule of decorum that I wasn’t aware of. But she set her teacup down in the saucer with a quiet sigh and dapped her mouth with a napkin.
“I’m sure you’re aware of the date when he didn’t turn up to school?” she asked. I nodded. “The last time I spoke to young Lawrence,” she continued, “was on the Friday evening, after his return from school. I didn’t see him at all that weekend, and we assumed he’d gone to stay with friends.”
“‘We’ being who exactly?” Stephen asked.
Rebecca glanced over at him and looked him up and down, a faint wrinkle at her brow. “Myself and Mr and Mrs Wooding,” she said primly. She turned back to me, ignoring Stephen.
“Was it usual for Lawrence to disappear without telling anyone?” I asked, leaning forwards slightly.
She pressed her lips together slightly. “Lawrence is a willful child,” was all she seemed to want to say.
I let that one go. “And his parents? When did you last see them?”
She tilted her head slightly as she considered. “Mr Wooding, I saw on Monday morning as he left for work. Mrs Wooding left around mid-afternoon to attend her friend’s daughter’s christening.” She paused to take a delicate sip of tea. “When neither returned that evening, it understandably concerned me. The school called about Lawrence, too, and, well,” she sighed, “there really wasn’t much that I could tell them.”
I frowned. I had my notebook and was
making notes. “And you reported them missing when exactly?”
She looked at me a touch coldly. “I called to report the family missing on Tuesday evening. While I might have expected Lawrence’s absence, and even Mr Wooding’s, Mrs Wooding rarely goes a few hours without being in contact with me.” She sounded a touch proud of this. “Her lack of communication was very unusual, and their safety has concerned me ever since.”
I flicked back a couple of pages. “An officer called round a few days after, didn’t they?” I said.
Rebecca’s eyes tightened. “Yes,” she said, a definite snap to her voice. “On the Friday. And he proceeded to tell me that they were adults, and the law could do little without concrete reason to believe that they were in danger.”
“I see,” I said carefully.
“Lawrence, he was more concerned about,” she said, “but inclined to think that his parents had taken him on an ‘impromptu holiday’.” The icy way she said the words made it clear that she was parroting this other officer.
“I’m… sorry he didn’t take your concerns more seriously,” I said, wincing slightly. “My partner and I are determined to find out what happened, and we will give the case its due diligence, I assure you.”
Rebecca made a disbelieving noise in the back of her throat, before she lifted her cup for another sip of tea. “Better late than never, I suppose.”
It was clear that she thought badly of the police’s usefulness, after her previous experience, and I sensed that we needed to move back into more friendly waters, so that she wouldn’t clam up entirely.
So I asked her about how long she’d worked for the Wooding family, and about their interests and her work around the house. She seemed to relax into it and was evidently a woman who took a great deal of pride in her work.
“Have you any idea of where Lawrence or his parents might have gone?” I asked cautiously, a while later. Rebecca had poured more tea, and Stephen and I had worked our way through the delicious biscuits.
Rebecca frowned slightly, before giving a small shake of her head. “They gave no indication that they were planning to go away,” she said flatly. “I believe they were taken, or otherwise coerced. From all my years working for the family, they have never failed to inform me of their plans, even for a late night. Leaving with no word for nearly a month is entirely unlike them.”
The Stolen Children Page 4