Chasing Innocence

by Potter, John

  But not tonight. He poured another drink, looking across at the sofa and the sheet of paper, ignoring it for now. He drained the glass and got on with the job in hand, preparing for what he used to do best. He walked through to his bedroom and pulled his old kit bag from the creaking wardrobe. The bedside clock ticked past three as he packed everything he knew would be useful into the bag. The bottle of prescription tablets dropped in last. Then he carried it back to the living room and poured himself another measure, staring at the sofa until the glass was empty. He steeled himself and stepped over, plucking the picture from the sleeping bag.

  Andrea loved drawing fairies and angels. A large collection adorned the walls of the hall and his bedroom. Each picture had a purpose which she would earnestly explain. This one did not need explaining. It showed herself at one side of the page, her hair hanging either side of a round smiley face. She was standing on a green-coloured surface he assumed was the park, an outlined white shape by her feet with a long neck and orange beak. She had drawn him stood at her side holding her hand, looking like a caveman in a green jacket. Just the limitation of a child’s artistic skills? He suspected not. As always with Andrea there was an angel. She had drawn gigantic wings that emerged from his back either side of his jacket, so big they disappeared off the page. The bottom corner was filled with little blue kisses. He could hear her voice. Daddy’s burns look like angel wings.

  A ceaseless, child’s hope, to see something good in something so debilitating. She saw good in him when he was too weary of life to even look anymore. A maladjusted ex-soldier discharged from a world he had thrived in, handed a medal and a disability pension and thrust into a civilian world he cared nothing for. Until now.

  He pushed the folded picture into the kit bag and took a last slug of whiskey, screwing on the cap and dropping it onto the sofa. He flicked through her neat stack of books, stopping at her dog-eared favourite, recalling the numerous times she had tried reading it to him. He slid that into his bag as well. He contemplated her diary, picking it up and skimming through the pages, half afraid of what he might find of himself reflected in her words. He dropped it onto the sofa next to the whiskey. The police would find better use for it.

  Brian closed the front door and stepped again into the night, moving back across the field and through the town, down onto the tow path, through the park and past the bench overlooking the canal. The night was still and quiet save for the persistent rain beating against trees and evergreen leaves, the canal a chaotic dance of expanding ripples.

  Twenty minutes saw him pause as the bordering trees gave way to a wide lawn and modern apartments. Soft spotlighting highlighted the slanting rain and three joined buildings with Edwardian façades. He walked across the wet grass to a gravel car park, checking the three entrance doors. Number five was in the first block, probably the middle flat on the first floor. He walked around to the back and looked up at the first floor balconies, each with black painted metal railings.

  A collection of small toys had been neatly stacked against a wall. He picked a knee-high plastic slide and positioned it, testing his weight. It would probably hold. He pulled the strap up over his head so the kit bag hung from his back and took two steps back. He clenched his fists and opened them and launched himself forwards. The slide cracked loudly as he propelled himself upwards, clamping his fingers over the edge of the balcony floor, swinging for a second and scrabbling to get leverage. He caught his breath, looking through a ground floor window and straight into the wide impassive eyes of a cat. He then pulled himself over the railing and onto the balcony.

  The garden lighting cast his shadow long, through the windows into the dark apartment. He could make out a leather sofa faintly outlined, Adam stretched on the sofa, a glass on his chest.

  Satisfied he was in the right place, Brian moved one of the two plastic chairs beneath the partial cover of the upstairs balcony. He would let Adam sleep a while, the peace before the storm. Sarah Sawacki was his lifeline. Andrea had vanished to thin air. Sarah had left a trail. Waiting went against his every instinct but experience had taught him patience now would save him wasted time in the next days. This was the time to focus and let his mind work through the detail. Besides, being in the open reminded him of the good times, of hunting demons. He pulled Andrea’s favourite book from his bag and started reading.

  TWENTY-FOUR

  She blinked twice but it was dark. Something was wrong. Not just physically, it was wrong inside her head. She was there but deep inside. A small glowing firefly surrounded by shards of memories and broken images, all knocked loose and switched about. The probing pathways that once connected smells to colours, colours to emotions, shapes to faces and images to places, had been disconnected or misplaced, realigned on the dial of recollection.

  She blinked again but it was still dark. Where was she? Where was Adam? Who was Adam? She had dreamed, dreamed of herself as a child before. Before what? Dreamed of herself as a child crouched down over herself, could feel her hot hands, tears wet and warm on her cheeks. Just like her own world, her escape world where the rain was always warm and the fields rolling green. It felt like home, she had been there so many times. To escape from what? Where was the horseman? There was always a horseman. Warm rain on her face and the sea crashing onto a beach, the sound soothing and repetitive, vivid blue. She could feel the sun hot on her skin, the sand burning her feet and his arms around her shoulders. Simon? Real happy smiles as a plane buzzed across the sky, a large banner trailing: You’ve been drugged. Why couldn’t she remember? What is my name? I can’t remember my name? A face, pale, dark hair and sad. Was that Adam? Who was Simon? Was she married yet? She could hear her mother’s voice. Time to stop screwing around. If only she knew, why can’t I get clean? Erase it. Surely she must know? Must have guessed. But guessed what? She closed her eyes and opened them again.

  He had a grey beard, had been a winner. She so wanted to please him. Guilt, what had she done wrong? Why her? She could see herself as a child. The warm rain. Who was Andrea? Why can’t I wake up, WAKE UP! You’re already awake sweetie.

  She tried reaching out from inside, to move her arms and legs, but there was nothing, no feeling. Just the intention to move a leg, but nothing back that said Moved leg as requested. Could she feel anything? She could feel but the dark made it hard to place the component parts floating on the salty sea. Her arm was curled around her head, but stuck and cold like dangling from a car window. Her other arm was bent at the elbow, pushed against something hard. Was it a door? She was lying on a hard floor. Could she hear something? Something move outside? Outside where? Something small, breathing. Something pushing against her elbow; or had she moved her elbow? Could she hear voices? Distant, a conflicted sound. And then close by, soft and almost pleading Are you awake? Little more than a child’s whisper. Was she talking to herself? Something warm on her arm, a small hand feeling in the dark. The conflict a little closer. She couldn’t speak, wanted to say; I’m awake, who are you? But her mouth refused, so she tried with her fingers. Imagined them moving, willing her fingers to life. Contact! A little shriek then something warm shuffled closer. You are awake, are you OK? A girl child.

  For some time there was nothing more, just that sense of something small and feral on the verge of panic beside her. Then something heavy moved and she could see a thin vertical sliver of light, growing wider to the sound of heavy stone moving. She tried turning her head, drawing up her legs, but they refused to move. Her eyes struggled to focus, seeing the contrast but not the shapes. The light blotted out as something large moved in. Don’t, I won’t go. A small voice pleading next to her. Stop him, please stop him! Lifted from beside her, thrashing. Her mind screamed. Stop, stop, stop! But she could not move and an instant fury, anger, slashing, blood-stained, standing in the expansive field. Feeling the warm rain on her upturned face. And then the light grew thin and disappeared to the heavy sound of concrete over concrete. Alone, silence but for the blood pumping inside her head,
her heart, the glow larger inside her mind, reaching out and slowly reconnecting. Sarah, she was Sarah.

  TWENTY-FIVE

  Adam was not in the mood for bed when he got home, not for their bed neatly made and minus one. Everything in their flat was Sarah, from the colour of the walls, the sofa, the pictures on the walls. He turned off the lights and lay on the sofa, stretched out with a long measure of Jack Daniels in a glass on his chest, playing through the events of the day. Their argument in the restaurant. Wondering what he might have done to cheat chance and have Sarah sleepily peering around the door, a naked shoulder and hip on show. Wanting to know when he would come to bed.

  Everything was chance. He slept in short bursts, dreamed she called to say she was coming home. He woke in starts. The clock on the wall marched past twelve and two and on. Nudging towards five when he suddenly opened his eyes and remembered he had not checked their home voicemail. He juggled the drink as he stood, managing to catch it as the remaining liquid sloshed in the glass. Then two things happened in quick succession. He realised there was a message and as he pressed the button and turned to listen, he looked out through the balcony door, almost shouting with fright when he saw Brian looking right back at him.

  He let Brian in without thinking. Then his dilemma was how to listen to Sarah’s message in secret, which was now impossible. So he just got on with it, playing it over several times with pen and paper in hand. Brian stood sentinel by the patio doors, his kit bag still hanging from his shoulder, listening to Sarah’s voice with eyes cast intently on the floor.

  Sarah’s message contained every detail from the moment she left Delamere. Of her bag being taken and Simon retrieving it, telling her his name, that she had followed him for almost two hours and of her waiting in the farmhouse. That she used the woman’s phone to leave the message. She detailed where the woman said she was and where the Rover might be heading, a description of the farmyard. Her voice was a monotone throughout, save for emotion at the end and then Sarah had disconnected.

  For Adam the message was initially hopeful. The hope quickly turned to dread when he considered a lot of time had since passed. It was now five in the morning, a different day, it was Sunday. And there were no new messages.

  For Brian the message was confirmation this woman genuinely believed she was following a car with a child in the boot. Andrea. The message also held a whole lot of new information that started with Delamere. Its location would be important in relation to Hambury and where Simon was heading. All Brian had to do now was prise Adam out of his cosy little nest.

  TWENTY-SIX

  The gurgling slowed to intermittent bursts then stopped altogether. Adam pulled the pot from the hotplate and poured the coffee, taking both cups in search of Brian. He followed the smell of musty clothes through the hallway, past his empty study and, incredulously, to the bedroom. Brian was stooped, peering at the picture beside the dressing table, of Sarah topless on the beach.

  ‘Christ, Brian, what’re you doing in here?’

  Brian straightened and took the offered cup. ‘Just looking around, trying to see what sort of woman your wife is. Get an idea for how she thinks.’

  ‘You seen enough to reach any conclusions?’ He failed to keep the indignation out of his voice.

  ‘Yup.’ Brian grinned back at him. ‘Your wife is hot with a big fat capital H. How’d you pull a bird like her?’

  ‘That’s totally out of order. I’m a good match for Sarah.’

  Brian shrugged. ‘Bet you spend your holidays warding off a beach of hard-ons.’

  ‘You’re so crude, of course I don’t.’ Adam faltered at his partial lie. Brian had cut straight at his Achilles heel. Adam was tall and decent looking, but photos of Sarah’s previous boyfriends or those he met had always daunted him. Six years on and he was now almost immune to the stares she attracted. He knew she valued who he was above all else. And then he realised the important detail in what Brian had said.

  ‘Why would you want to understand how Sarah thinks?’

  ‘I’d have thought that was obvious.’

  ‘Not really, enlighten me.’

  ‘Understanding how your wife thinks will help us find her and my daughter.’

  ‘Us, find? Aren’t the police doing that?’

  ‘Sure they are, but you’re not going to sit on your hands and do nothing are you?’ Brian stepped across to the bedroom door.

  Adam stared incredulously at his uninvited guest. ‘What could I do that the police can’t?’

  ‘A lot. We pull on our thinking caps, there’s a lot we can do.’

  ‘I’m sorry but the best people are already looking for Sarah and your daughter, the police. Where would we start, what would we do?’

  Brian did not immediately answer. Instead he looked over at Sarah’s picture, the hopeful smile and those eyes, the body. He walked through to the hall, pausing outside Adam’s study.

  ‘It’s a shame,’ he said, looking into the study. ‘I was thinking, all this expensive kit and pretty furniture you’d have something more about you.’

  Adam followed, wrinkling his nose. ‘There is, but unsurprisingly it doesn’t include finding missing people, and I won’t be made to feel stupid because of that!’

  ‘I didn’t say you were stupid, you’re obviously not. You’re just not thinking straight. Remove the emotion and finding your wife is just a puzzle to be solved. The police have an advantage but they’re also slow and crippled by bureaucracy. We can do things and go places the police can’t.’

  ‘You mean like break the law?’

  ‘No, I mean like do whatever it takes to find your wife. You do want her back?’

  ‘Of course!’

  ‘Well that’s a relief, for a minute there I was wondering.’

  ‘That’s not fair, there’s nothing I want more than Sarah here.’

  ‘So stop feeling sorry for yourself. I’m going to find my daughter. You can come with me and help put things straight or sit here and face the alternatives.’

  ‘Which are?’

  Brian turned and faced Adam, leaning against the study doorway. ‘For a start I’m not hanging around to be one of those haunted fathers at a press conference, begging for some nutter to let his daughter come home. No chance of that. I’m not going to have everyone staring at me thinking I messed with my own girl. Do nothing and this whole fucking country will be watching our sad little faces over their TV dinners. It’ll be the big game, guessing which one of us is the bad guy. No way.’ His eyes briefly flared, scared.

  Adam walked through to the living room, thoughtful. ‘Which one of us? Why ever would anyone think I was guilty?’

  ‘I guarantee you the police will think your wife took Andrea.’ He followed Adam. ‘When they realise that’s not the case, your wife being missing will put you in the spotlight.’

  ‘Then I have no desire to make things worse. Besides, and I repeat, I don’t track missing people for a living.’

  ‘So what do you do?’ Brian dropped down onto the sofa.

  ‘Digital security.’

  Brian looked thoughtful. ‘What’s that?’

  ‘Mostly it’s about companies paying us to break into their computers and security systems, to make sure their competitors can’t. We profile staff, do background checks and the like. Almost everyone has a digital footprint these days. You’d be amazed.’

  ‘So you’re like a computer investigator?’

  He shook his head. ‘Not at all, a large chunk of what we do is testing internal security. More often security is compromised by the people using it. The important point is I don’t have the first idea how you would find a missing person.’

  ‘If you can break into a company’s computers you can go a long way to finding your wife. You just have to start thinking straight.’

  ‘And you are?’

  ‘I’m what?’

  Adam blinked theatrically back at Brian, mostly to give himself chance to think. He had underplayed how good he was by
some margin. Twenty grand pay rises were not given to the ordinary, even if he had needed to resign to get it. All he wanted was to deflect Brian’s attempt at recruitment. ‘Are you thinking straight?’ he answered. ‘What qualifies you as being the straight thinker over me?’

  ‘I didn’t say I was. You don’t need to worry about me, I’ll pull my weight.’

  ‘You’re a bouncer, Brian!’

  ‘I wasn’t always a bouncer.’

  Adam looked at his unwanted and unwashed guest on the sofa, wondering what Sarah would have to say about that. ‘The police are best placed to find my wife and your daughter. And I’m going to be right here just in case there’s anything else I can do to help.’

  Brian sighed and pinched the skin above the bridge of his nose, creasing his forehead. He gestured to the armchair across from the sofa. ‘Sit down.’

  Adam shook his head. ‘I don’t see there’s much to discuss. I’d rather stand.’

  ‘You’re starting to piss me off, Adam, sit down before I lose my temper, you stubborn fuck.’

  Adam remained still. He wanted to be alone and to get his bearings. Looking at Brian he realised just how exhausted the man looked, his right hand shaking as it had the night before. He stepped across to the chair and sat down.

  ‘Your wife is missing and you’re going to wait here for a call?’

  ‘Yes I am.’

  ‘Then wake up, open your eyes!’ Brian placed his empty cup on the floor and glared across the room. ‘The reality is you and me are the best chance Andrea and your wife have.’

  ‘No, the police are the best chance they have.’ Adam’s voice was higher in pitch than he would have liked.