Nowhere to Run

by Jack Slater

  ‘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 R
isingbrook 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.’

  ‘OK. Carry on with this other one then. See what you find.’

  ‘Will do.’

  Pete put down the phone and looked up at Jane. ‘Where were we?’

  ‘They’re still searching the school grounds. Nothing yet. I spoke to the officer in charge about ten minutes ago. He reckons they’ll be there until around four. Only other thing to report is the CCTV just came in. There isn’t much. You want me to check through it?’

  ‘If you get a chance. If not, give it to Ben. I’ll take Sophie with me again. We’ve got to visit Neil Sanderson’s place. Check his daughter’s computer and so on. The wife’s going to be there in a little while. I want to catch her before Neil has a chance to talk to her. We tried her mobile – it’s switched off.’ He stood up and lifted his jacket off the back of his chair. ‘Let me know if anything comes up.’

  ‘Will do.’

  Pete tilted his head at Sophie Clewes, who was waiting tentatively by the door. She stood up straighter. ‘You and me again, kid. Let’s go.’

  *

  Sophie checked her watch. ‘We’re early. She won’t be here for another ten minutes at least.’

  ‘Better to be on the doorstep when she gets here than knocking on it just after. She can’t ignore us that way.’ And her husband can’t call her before we get to her, he thought but didn’t say. He swung the car into the drive of the big, expensive-looking house and parked well over to the left so that Geraldine Sanderson could get past if she wanted to put her car in the garage. ‘Come on. That porch will keep us dry.’

  They ran through the fine, icy rain and into the open-fronted porch. Pete rang the bell. Waited. Rang it again. ‘You’ve got a hat on, PC Clewes. Pop round and check the windows and the back door, would you? I’ll stay here.’

  ‘What for, Sarge?’

  ‘Just to see what you can see. You never know – she might be back already and ignoring us. And you might spot where Mr Sanderson keeps his computer while you’re at it.’

  ‘Yes, Sarge.’

  ‘Off you go. Don’t get too wet. Don’t want to drip on the carpet when we get inside, eh?’

  ‘No, Sarge.’

  She ran to the nearest window, peered in through cupped hands then moved on. She was still around the back of the house when Geraldine Sanderson’s dark red SEAT hatchback pulled into the drive. Pete saw the front of the car dip as she braked, seeing the unexpected car in the driveway.

  ‘Constable,’ he called.

  Sanderson drove up to the garage doors, switched off the engine and climbed out of the car. Pete saw her eyes shift to the left and her expression change as Sophie appeared around the corner of the house behind him, feet crunching on the gravel pathway, her uniform giving away the identity of the strange presence at the front of the house. The woman pulled her long coat up over her head and ran for the porch.

  Pete showed her his warrant card. ‘Mrs Sanderson? I’m Detective Sergeant Gayle. This is PC Clewes.’

  She was small with large, liquid brown eyes. She was dressed conservatively but smartly, and her hair was pulled back into a clip.

  ‘Detective. I take it this is about Rosie?’ She took her keys from her handbag and stepped past him.

  ‘Yes. We’d like a quick word if we may. And I believe you’re aware that your husband gave us permission to check the computers in the house and Becky’s phone, if it’s here. See if we can find anything that would indicate Rosie was having problems with anyone. You know how girls confide in each other.’

  ‘Come in. Yes, of course . . . As you say . . .’

  ‘Do you know of anything in that way? Anything that Rosie might have said, perhaps, or Becky, to suggest there was anything out of the ordinary going on in her life?’

  ‘No. No, she’s always been such a happy girl. Well adjusted, friendly . . .’ Her gaze finally met his as she shrugged off her coat. ‘No, I can’t think of anything, Detective.’

  He nodded. ‘Well, if it’s OK with you, perhaps we can start with the main computer of the house then?’

  ‘Of course.’

  Pete glanced at Sophie. There was their permission. Anything they found now was covered. Emails, Twitter, Facebook, photos, he could check it all. Geraldine opened a door almost opposite them.

  ‘This was supposed to be a dining room, but we never used it. The sitting room and kitchen are both big enough to double up, so it’s our joint office,’ she said as she led them in.

  There were two desks – one under the window that looked out over a plain grass back garden, the other against the wall to their right. Both held laptops. Bookshelves covered the walls between them. The desk at the window was cluttered with papers and books, the one to their right neat and orderly. On a small table behind the door was a combined printer and scanner, a shelf underneath holding paper and inks.

  ‘This one’s mine. The other one’s Neil’s.’ She stepped across to the right and opened her laptop, switching it on. While it powered up, she crossed to the other desk and opened the second computer. She logged on to both machines and stepped back. ‘Help yourselves. Would you like some tea? Coffee?’

  ‘No, thanks. We don’t want to put you to any trouble, Mrs Sanderson. What we could do with is passwords and so forth. Emails, Facebook, Twitter, that kind of thing.’

  ‘Oh, I only use email. Neil uses Facebook a bit, but not Twitter. Here.’ She crossed to her desk, drew a notepad out of one of the drawers and wrote on a clean page then handed it to Pete.

  ‘Thank you. We’ll give you a shout when we’re done if that’s OK.’

  She hesitated then reached for the door. ‘I’ll be in the kitchen or the lounge if you want me.’

  ‘Thanks.’ Pete moved across towards the window as she stepped out and closed the door behind her.

  ‘Nice of her to give us permission.’ Sophie grinned.

  Pete put on a strong Irish accent. ‘It’s the way I tell ’em.’

  She laughed as they took their seats and settled down to work.

  Pete started with the My Photos f
ile. There was not much in it. A few holiday snaps from the last couple of years, filed by date. He opened My Documents and found folders for work, home, sport, music and videos. The music and video folders were empty. Sport contained a fixtures list for Bristol Rovers football club and another for the local five-a-side team that Tony Stillwell had mentioned. It also contained a diary spreadsheet titled ‘Squash’, and another for ‘Judo’.

  ‘Busy bloke,’ he muttered as he closed the folder and opened the one titled ‘Home’. Five sub-folders popped up: Bills, DVDs, Phonebook, Appointments and Banking. Pete opened DVDs and found a list of titles with actors and genres. Movies ranging from Harry Potter to The Exorcist to Die Hard. Nothing out of the ordinary. He closed it and tried the other folders. Again, all was boringly ordinary, though why anyone would want to keep a telephone list on their computer, rather than on paper by the phone, Pete couldn’t imagine – and why two diaries, one for sports fixtures and the other for doctor, dentist and other routine appointments? Again, he didn’t understand, but clearly Sanderson liked to keep the different sides of his life separate.

  He wondered what Simon Phillips had made of his own home computer when he’d done this same thing, five months ago. He had taken Louise out for half a day while Simon and his team checked their house and devices. It was easier that way. The only problem was that it left him not knowing what they’d found, if anything.

  He closed the folder and clicked on Work. Behind him, Sophie sighed.

  ‘Nothing on here, Sarge.’

  ‘I’m nearly done.’ He scanned down a list of files, most of them either Word files or JPEGs with some PDF files mixed in. The titles all suggested architectural subjects apart from one. ‘Ah-hah.’

  ‘What you got?’

  ‘His CV. Might tell us something we don’t know.’ Pete double-clicked on it as Sophie scooted across on her chair to look over his shoulder. The file opened and he scanned down it. Education in Exeter. University in Bristol – a degree in architecture. Then a job in Bath for two years, followed by the move back to Exeter. ‘Didn’t know he’d worked in Bath,’ Pete said. ‘Might be worth checking out. Make a note of the details, would you, and get on to the locals up there. See if they’ve got anything tied to him or any cases similar to what we’ve got here with Rosie.’