Nowhere to Run

by Jack Slater

  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 miser
ably 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?’

&nb
sp; ‘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.’