by Damien Boyd
‘Erica Bawden.’
‘Miss Bawden, it’s PC Cole again. You were going to get Miss Tapper to ring me?’
‘I can’t get hold of her, I’m afraid. She’s not answering her phone. I don’t think she was going away.’
‘What’s her address?’
‘She got one of the new houses in Gielgud Close. Number forty-nine, I think.’
‘Thank you. And her phone number?’
Cole scribbled the number in his notebook as Miss Bawden read it out from her emergency list.
‘Thank you.’
‘D’you want me to keep trying her?’ she asked.
‘No, leave it to me.’ Cole rang off and ran up the steps into the flat to find Bateman standing in Alesha’s bedroom, looking at the posters on the wall.
‘She’s seems like a normal kid,’ he said, shaking his head, ‘which is quite something when you look at the parents.’
‘Yes, Sir.’
‘And this must be a health hazard,’ he said, pointing at the black mould on the wall, much of it hidden behind a wardrobe. He wrenched open the door. ‘Her clothes smell damp. Would you want your child sleeping in here?’
Cole shook his head.
‘Me neither,’ muttered Bateman. ‘What about the teacher?’
‘I’ve got an address for her. Shall I go?’
‘Send someone else. You’re reporting officer, so you’ll be staying with me. Have you notified Somerset Direct?’
‘Not yet, Sir.’
‘Better do it. Social Services will need to know. And the Safeguarding Coordination Unit. Then you can knock on the door of number ten opposite. The curtain’s been twitching pretty much non-stop the whole time we’ve been here.’
Cole was sitting in his patrol car twenty minutes later with his phone clamped to his ear when Chief Inspector Bateman dropped into the passenger seat; the sound of a helicopter in the distance cut off when Bateman closed the car door again.
‘Well?’
‘I’ve notified Somerset Direct and the SCU, Sir. And we’ve got addresses for her friends, Evie and Mia. Officers are on the way now. The hovercraft’s out along the waterline and the Coastguard are working their way along the River Brue.’
‘What about the nosy neighbour?’
‘Mrs French. Lots of background information about Alesha, but she’s not seen her since yesterday morning.’ Cole opened his notebook. ‘She keeps an eye out for her, feeds her when Tanya is otherwise engaged. Social Services have been involved and she gave me the name of the social worker, Diane Bradshaw.’
‘When did she last see Sailes?’
‘Not for a couple of days, but she rarely sees him anyway.’
‘Nothing from the lot on foot?’
‘Not yet.’
‘What about Family Liaison?’
‘Karen Marsden is with the father now, pouring black coffee down his throat by all accounts.’
‘Well, we’d better go and see him,’ said Bateman, fastening his seatbelt.
Bateman raised his eyebrows when Karen Marsden opened the front door wearing jeans and a red fleece top. ‘No uniform, Sergeant?’
‘I live in Burnham, Sir, so I came straight here when I got the shout. My uniform’s in my locker at Express Park.’
‘How is he?’
‘Still conscious, which is an achievement in itself when you see how much he’s had to drink.’
‘Don’t tell me he’s still drinking.’
‘He hasn’t had one since I got here and I just made him another coffee.’
‘Well, that’s something, I suppose.’ Bateman sighed. ‘Lead on.’
Cole and Bateman followed Karen up the stairs and into the lounge. Daniels was slouched on a black leather sofa in front of a coffee table that was covered in empty cans, leaving just enough room for an ashtray and the TV remote control.
‘Ryan, this is Chief Inspector Bateman,’ said Karen. ‘And you’ve met Nigel Cole?’
‘Where’s the other one?’
‘She went to the hospital with Tanya,’ replied Cole.
‘Is she all right?’
‘She’d been using, Ryan.’ Karen sat down next to Daniels and put her hand on his arm. ‘She was unconscious, but we think she’s going to be OK.’
‘What about Alesha?’
‘We’ve got search teams out looking for her, Mr Daniels,’ said Bateman. ‘We’re tracing her mobile phone and the helicopter’s up with its thermal imaging camera. The hovercraft and Coastguard are out looking too.’
‘We’re checking the town CCTV,’ said Cole. ‘And we’ve tracked down her friends, Evie and Mia. Officers are over there now.’
‘We’re doing everything we can,’ said Karen.
‘We need to talk about a Child Rescue Alert,’ said Bateman.
‘What’s that?’
‘Local news, radio and television. We use her photo, a press conference with you. It’s the fastest way of getting the public to keep an eye out for her.’
‘I’m not sure I—’
‘It really is the best way,’ said Karen.
Tears began trickling down Daniels’s cheeks. ‘All right, all right. Anything,’ he said.
‘I’ll set that up now,’ said Bateman.
Daniels sat up. ‘Where’s Kevin?’
‘We don’t know.’
‘So, he could be with Alesha?’
‘We’re checking his mother’s address in Weston.’
‘D’you know his mobile number?’ asked Cole. ‘We’ve got Tanya’s phone but it’s locked and she’s still unconscious.’
‘The code’s twenty-two twelve. Always used to be anyway. It’s her date of birth.’
‘We can’t access her phone without her consent,’ said Bateman.
‘Why not arrest her for possession of a Class A drug?’ asked Karen. ‘Then we could.’
‘She’d need to be conscious for that.’
Cole stepped backwards out of the lounge door unseen and tiptoed down the stairs. Once out on to the street, he opened the boot of the patrol car and picked up Tanya’s iPhone. He tapped in 2212, unlocked it, then went to ‘Contacts’ and scribbled down Sailes’s mobile number in his notebook.
He arrived back at the top of the stairs just as Bateman was coming out of the lounge.
‘Where have you been?’
‘I just remembered, Sir. This was last number redial on the landline in Tanya’s flat.’ He handed his notebook to Bateman, open at Sailes’s mobile number.
‘The landline’s been disconnected,’ said Daniels, still on the sofa just inside the door.
‘It may have been on a piece of paper by the phone.’
‘Where’s that piece of paper now?’ asked Bateman, frowning.
‘I may have mislaid it, Sir.’ Cole shrugged his shoulders.
Bateman smiled. ‘Just find that phone.’
‘Yes, Sir.’
Cole was leaning back against the patrol car with his eyes closed when he heard footsteps coming down the stairs, and lurched forward just as Bateman wrenched open the front door.
‘Well?’
‘Alesha’s wearing blue jeans, a white T-shirt with The Walking Dead on it and her green—’
‘The Walking Dead? What the bloody hell’s she doing watching that at her age?’
‘Dunno, Sir.’
‘Some people,’ muttered Bateman. ‘Go on.’
‘And her green shiny coat with the fake fur on the hood,’ continued Cole, reading from his notebook. ‘Evie left them outside the pavilion and cycled home. She got home about five fifteen. Then Mia was picked up by her Mum outside Fortes in Pier Street just after five thirty. That was the last time anyone saw Alesha.’
‘Well, at least it gives us a starting point for the CCTV.’ Bateman was pacing up and down on the pavement in Tyler Way. ‘Let everybody know and let’s start some house to house. Marine Drive and the houses facing on to Apex Park. Worston Lane too.’
‘Isn’t it a bit early, Sir?’
‘What time is it?’
‘Eight thirty,’ replied Cole. ‘And it’s Sunday, don’t forget.’
‘Tough.’
Cole nodded and opened the driver’s door of the patrol car.
‘And we’d better put the dive team on standby,’ continued Bateman.
‘What about the helicopter, Sir? It’s found nothing at Apex.’
‘Get them searching back gardens between here and Worston Lane, if they’ve got enough fuel left.’
Cole picked up the radio, watching Bateman in his rear view mirror briefing the press officer, Vicky Thomas. ‘All units, all units, this is QPR three-ten, stand by for observation message. Over.’
Bateman opened the passenger door of the patrol car and leaned in. ‘Where’s the photo of her?’
‘I sent it down to Express Park to be copied, Sir. It’s on its way back now with the house to house team.’
Bateman nodded and slammed the door of the patrol car before disappearing inside thirty-three Tyler Way with Vicky Thomas.
‘All units, this is QPR three-ten, description confirmed. Blue jeans, dark green shiny bomber-style jacket with fur lining to hood. White T-shirt with zombie logo. Shoulder length brown hair, not tied back. Jeans ripped at the knees. Over.’
Cole looked at his watch. On another day he’d have fifteen minutes left, then it would be home to bed. He sighed. Not today.
‘QPR three-ten from QPN two-nine-two. Over.’
‘QPN two-nine-two, this is QPR three-ten. Go ahead. Over.’
‘We’re in an area of dense undergrowth opposite Parsons Road, repeat Parsons Road, behind the narrow channel into the boating lake. Acknowledge. Over.’
‘QPR three-ten, received. What is your status? Over.’
‘We’ve found something. Over.’
Chapter Four
‘Sorry to interrupt.’ Cole peered around the lounge door.
Karen Marsden was sitting next to Daniels on the sofa, with Vicky Thomas sitting on the one armchair in the room. Bateman was standing with his back to the window.
‘What is it, Cole?’ he asked.
‘I wanted to ask Mr Daniels about the tassels on Alesha’s handlebars.’
‘Is it urgent?’
Cole hesitated.
‘They’re pink streamer things,’ said Daniels, looking up at Cole over his shoulder. ‘I got ’em on eBay. They’ve got a plastic thing on the end that pushes into the end of the grip.’
‘And they’re pink?’
‘Pink and silver. Shiny, like tinsel.’
‘Thank you.’ Cole ducked back out of the room.
‘Give me a minute,’ said Bateman, following him. He closed the door and lowered his voice. ‘Have we found something?’
Cole nodded.
‘Where?’
‘Apex Park. In the trees opposite Parsons Road. It sounds like one of the tassels.’
‘We’d better get over there now.’
Cole had turned the car round by the time Bateman appeared at the top of the steps. He ran down and jumped in the passenger seat.
‘I didn’t tell him,’ he said, fastening his seatbelt. ‘What’ve they found? Exactly.’
‘Just a tassel, Sir, hanging in a tree. One of the dogs—’
‘How far from the lake?’
‘Twenty yards or so.’
Bateman picked up the radio handset as Cole raced out of Highbridge on the A38, coming up behind a queue of traffic at the junction with Burnham Road. ‘Put the siren on.’
‘Yes, Sir.’
‘Control, from—’ Bateman frowned. ‘What’s this car’s call sign?’
‘QPR three-ten.’
‘Control, from QPR three-ten, this is Bronze Commander requesting underwater search unit. Immediate assistance required. Parsons Road, Highbridge. Acknowledge. Over.’
‘Received. Stand by.’
Less than sixty seconds later Cole screeched to a halt behind a police van parked in Parsons Road. Several officers were talking to residents on the doorsteps of houses off to his right, and a dog van was parked on the grass to his left.
A small copse overlooking the lake had been cordoned off with blue tape, the grass around it recently mown, giving the appearance of dense undergrowth in the trees. One hundred yards or so from the houses opposite, and perhaps eighty from the two bungalows on the corner, it would have been deserted on a rainy Saturday night in April.
‘What about fishermen?’ asked Bateman.
‘It’s closed season, Sir,’ replied Cole.
‘Bloody well would be, wouldn’t it.’ Bateman unfastened his seatbelt and opened the passenger door. ‘Let me know what the dive team say.’
‘Yes, Sir.’
He was watching Bateman striding across the grass when the radio crackled.
‘QPR three-ten, dive team en route. ETA fifty minutes. Repeat. ETA fifty minutes. Over.’
Cole ran across the grass, a rumble of thunder in the distance just carrying over the helicopter that was moving slowly north, high above Marine Drive. Cole glanced up as he ran, looking for the flash of lightning, then he caught up with Bateman just as he was ducking under the police cordon.
‘Dive team will be here in fifty minutes, Sir.’
‘That’ll have to do.’
They followed a uniformed officer along a muddy path through the undergrowth to a small clearing in the middle of the copse. Several footprints and a single bicycle tyre track had been taped off on another path coming in from the other side of the trees.
‘She came in that way, Sir.’
‘What about the footprints?’
‘They’re not a child’s that’s for sure. We’ve marked off what we can see, but it’s been raining all night.’
‘Let’s get Scientific Services out here straightaway.’
‘Yes, Sir,’ said Cole.
‘The streamer thing’s round the other side, Sir,’ said the officer, pointing at a small conifer where the paths crossed.
The tassel was hanging from a branch near the top of the conifer, but no more than three feet off the ground; several of the streamers tangled around the branch above.
‘And nobody’s touched it?’
‘No, Sir.’
Cole looked along the path that led down towards the lake where several more footprints had been cordoned off. He was able to follow the bicycle tyre track for a few yards, then it stopped.
‘Looks like he picked up the bike and carried it,’ said Bateman.
‘Must’ve thrown it in the lake, Sir,’ said the uniformed officer.
‘Well, we’ll soon see.’
‘What time is it?’
‘Nearly midday, Sir,’ replied Cole.
‘What time does your shift end?’
‘Four hours ago.’
Bateman smiled.
‘Alesha’s mother has woken up,’ continued Cole. ‘But she’s had to be sedated.’
‘Didn’t they get anything out of her?’
‘Only that she didn’t know where Alesha was. She had a row with Sailes last night and he’d gone off in a huff.’
‘What time?’
‘We don’t know.’
‘We can’t rule him out then.’
Cole turned back to the water and watched the air bubbles breaking the surface twenty yards from the bank. He had spent the last half an hour watching the line of bubbles and following the diver’s progress as he crawled along the bottom of the lake feeling with his fingertips, searching for a child’s bicycle or a phone. Or a child’s body.
The diver was following a rope with a weight on the end. Follow it out from the bank, move the weight two feet to the right, follow the rope back to the bank, each time fanning out across the lake from a gap in the reeds usually occupied by an angler.
A second member of the dive team was feeding a line out to the diver and retrieving it as he swam back towards the bank. ‘Compressed air and comms’, apparently. A third was crawling through the reed bed along the margins
.
Maybe the life of a police diver wasn’t so glamorous after all?
A small crowd of dog walkers was watching from the far bank, some of them pointing cameras.
‘I’d better go,’ said Bateman. ‘The press conference is set for twelve thirty to catch the lunchtime news. Let me know straight away if they find anything.’
‘Yes, Sir. D’you want the car keys?’
‘I can walk back from here.’
‘Yes, Sir.’
‘And send someone round to move that lot on.’ Bateman gestured to the onlookers on the other side of the lake. ‘Ghouls,’ he muttered.
Seems a bit harsh, thought Cole, turning to watch the camera flashes in the trees behind him. One minute he’s doing a press conference to ask the public for their help, and the next he’s calling them ‘ghouls’. Still, searching for a missing child was hardly a spectator sport. He walked down to the edge of the water and waved at the group to move on, which they did. Hastily.
‘He’s got something!’
The shout came from the dive team officer on the bank.
Cole spun round to see a pink streamer emerging from the water, followed by a set of handlebars and behind them a diver, the torches on either side of his full face helmet still on. He carried the bicycle to the bank and passed it up to another dive team member, who placed it on a plastic sheet.
Cole watched a Scenes of Crime officer taking photographs of it, while he waited for Inspector Bateman to answer his phone.
‘They’ve found the bike, Sir.’
‘Are you sure?’
‘Yes. It’s got the other tassel.’
‘What about the phone?’
‘That’s going to take a lot longer, Sir. He could’ve thrown that forty or fifty yards out.’
‘I’m going to have to tell Daniels. I don’t want to spring it on him in the press conference, and he can identify it afterwards. Where is it now?’
‘On the bank here. SOCO are looking at it.’
‘Good. Look, I’ve arranged for someone to take over from you. Brief them when they get here, then you can go home.’
‘I’d rather stay, Sir.’
By mid-afternoon more than fifty local people – friends, neighbours and dog walkers – were out searching Apex Park and along the River Brue, long lines of them covering different areas under the watchful eye of a uniformed constable.