by K. J. Frost
“But they had another child?”
She nods her head. “Yes. And for a while everything carried on as ever it had been, with her barely saying two words to anyone, from one day to the next, and him moaning at her to make more of an effort. But then all of a sudden, about six months or so ago, the mistress changed.”
“How?” I ask.
“Well, she just came out of herself. She started taking an interest in things again, and even went out – all by herself, and everything.”
“Do you know what brought about that change?” I ask. She falls silent and sits back in her chair.
Her eyes shoot up to mine. “You can’t say I told you,” she murmurs.
“I won’t.”
She nods her head. “Well, I think she started seeing someone,” she says. “We all do, actually.”
“All the staff, you mean?” I assume she’s not referring to Mr Sanderson.
“Yes. It came up just this afternoon actually, when Miss Sutton came back from her shopping trip, before she took the children out. She was a few minutes later than expected and was worried the mistress would be cross, but I told her Mrs Sanderson wasn’t back herself yet, and Miss Sutton gave me a knowing look. Lois, not being known for her tact, asked outright if we thought she was with Mr Cooke, and I had to tell her not to talk about it – not in front of the child, anyway…”
“Mr Cooke?” I query, picking up on the name.
“Yes. His name’s David Cooke and he’s an old family friend – except he’s not that old. He’s only in his late twenties, I think, so not more than four or five years older than the mistress. But his family has known the master’s family for years. I remember him coming here as a boy, many years ago now…” Her voice fades.
“Can you describe him?” I ask.
“He’s tall,” she says. “With dark hair, a slim build… and he’s very handsome. Always dresses very smartly.”
“Has he been to the house recently?”
“Not for a while now,” she says.
“Would you say, not since before their affair started?”
She tips her head to one side. “If it is an affair, yes. But then I suppose it would be awkward for him to keep coming here, if they were…” She stops talking and two tiny dots of red appear on her cheeks.
I’m tempted to say that, after the last few days, nothing would surprise me, but I just smile instead.
“Of course, I might be wrong,” she adds quickly.
“But you don’t think you are, do you?”
She hesitates, and then shakes her head slowly. “No, I don’t.”
Thompson is waiting outside the house, having just arrived back. He’s talking to a uniformed PC, standing off to one side. I recognise him as PC Adams, who came and helped dig up my aunt’s garden, when I found myself incapacitated.
“Tooley’s giving the men a bit longer,” Thompson says as I approach, looking up into the gloomy skies. “Then he’s going to call it off for tonight.”
“We’ll head back to the station,” I tell him, then turn to Adams. “Stay here. I’ll make sure someone is sent over to relieve you later on.”
He nods his head and goes to stand nearer to the front door, as Thompson and I climb into the car.
“You missed all the excitement,” I point out as he starts the engine.
“Oh yes?”
“I had a long and fruitful chat with the Cook, a Mrs Doreen Slater.”
“And?”
“And it seems Mrs Sanderson is having an affair.”
“Is she now? Any idea who with?”
“Yes. A man by the name of David Cooke. We’re going to have to try and track him down.”
He stares at me. “David Cooke?” he repeats. “Is that a joke? It’s hardly the most unusual of names, is it?”
“Even so…”
“I’ll do my best,” he huffs, and engages reverse, pulling out of the driveway.
“Did you notice the other point of interest?” I ask.
He glances at me. “You mean there was only one?”
I smile, shaking my head. “Well, one that stuck out, yes.”
“Which was?”
“The fact that both Mrs Sanderson and the nanny talked about Amy in the past tense.”
“They did? I didn’t notice.”
“I did.” I gaze out of the windscreen. “It might not mean anything. It could be a slip of the tongue...”
“Or it could be really quite significant.”
“It could...”
We drive in silence for a while, as I try not to read too much into the actions and words of people who are clearly in shock, and aren’t behaving like themselves, and then I turn to him again.
“Can you speak to Gilmore and Deakin when we get back?”
“They’re not at the station,” he replies. “They’re out with the search parties.”
“Damn… Okay, tomorrow morning will have to do.”
“What am I speaking to them about?” he asks.
“Someone’s going to have to take over the investigation into these burglaries,” I explain. “I need you working on this case with me, so they’re just going to have to manage by themselves. Tell them they’re to report anything to me, or to you, if they can’t get hold of me.”
“Understood.”
Chapter Three
My Darling,
This is just so awful. I don’t even know where to start, although I suppose that by the time you read this, you’ll probably have heard about it on the wireless, or read about it in the newspapers anyway.
But just in case you haven’t… dearest little Amy is missing.
I’m absolutely devastated. The house was simply crawling with policemen earlier, although they’ve gone now, and there’s just one left at the door. What he’s there for, I’m not sure, but I feel as though everyone’s looking at me all the time, judging how I behave, what I do and how I look. ‘His lordship’ came home early from work – which is understandable – but he’s watching me more than anyone else, and it just makes my skin crawl.
I wish I could be with you. I know it’s wrong at a time like this to be thinking of myself, and of you, but I can’t help it. I think about you all the time, and wish you could be here to make this all seem so much less hideous. I need to feel the reassurance of you, my love, to feel the strength of your body and the comfort of your words. I’d love to be able to write you longer and more detailed letters, just as you asked, so I could remind both of us how much we’re meant to be together and what we’re missing out on, but I can’t. Not right now. It’s simply too hard. I’m sorry, but my mind is all over the place with worry. Please forgive me and please don’t forget that I love you.
I miss you, my darling,
Your beloved,
Kitten x
*****
The search was called off at just after five last night, but we all stayed on, continuing with enquiries and following up on the few leads we had, because it felt wrong to go home when we hadn’t found the girl. But at two in the morning, I decided that some sleep was necessary, and dismissed everyone, in a cloud of disappointment.
Thompson took me home, concerned that I was overdoing it so soon after my release from hospital. I told him the same as I told Amelie… I’m tired, but I’m okay. I think he believed me. He certainly didn’t argue, and then he informed me that he’d found at least thirteen David Cookes in our area and would continue looking in the morning, before starting the laborious process of interviewing and eliminating them. Feeling deflated that there were so many, I told him not to bother, and that we’d find a way to get the information directly from Mrs Sanderson instead.
I spent the rest of the journey trying not to think about Amy’s fate, although I failed dismally, and I imagined Thompson, and every other officer at the station, was just as haunted as I. I kept thinking that, if Amy had run off by herself, then the chances were she’d struggle to survive in the freezing overnight temperatures. But then,
if this stranger had taken her – whether it was David Cooke or not – then she was probably no better off. He may have already killed her, or she could still be alive, but facing untold dangers at his hands. None of the scenarios bore thinking about, but as we drove home in the still silence of the early morning, I knew, without a doubt, that I wasn’t alone in my thoughts and I imagined that those men who’d been working late with us, who have children themselves, would be making sure to check on them before getting into bed.
This morning, we drive straight to the London Road station. Thompson is under instructions to brief Gilmore and Deakin, on the strict premise that, while they obviously have to know of the doctor’s movements on the night his house was burgled, they’re to keep that information to themselves. Meanwhile, I need to speak with the chief superintendent, and then we’ll head over to Long Ditton, where the search parties will have already started work again, even though it’s barely light.
I leave Thompson running through the burglary files with the two DCs and make my way upstairs. Miss Parsons isn’t at her desk, but then it is only seven-fifteen in the morning. The chief super’s office door is open, however, and I go over and tap gently on the frame, poking my head around and discovering him at his desk.
“Come in, Stone,” he says. “I got in early myself. Couldn’t sleep.”
“I know the feeling, sir.” I’ve probably managed an hour, maybe two, of very fitful rest, my thoughts plagued by the idea of that child, freezing cold somewhere, and by the knowledge that someone in that house knows more than they’re telling. I’m sure of it. I just can’t work out who, or what… or why.
“Any news?” he asks.
“No, sir. Nothing. I’ve actually come to see you about something else.”
“Oh yes?” He leans forward, clasping his hands together on the desk.
“These burglaries… I haven’t forgotten them, but obviously I’m sure you appreciate that the missing girl takes priority.”
“Naturally.” He nods his head.
“Sergeant Thompson is briefing DCs Deakin and Gilmore at the moment, and they’ll be taking over the investigation into what happened at your sister’s house, and the other properties,” I explain. “They’ll report to me, and I’ll keep you abreast of any developments.”
He nods again. “Thank you, Stone. I appreciate that.”
I wonder for a moment if he thought I was going to let the burglaries slide altogether. But then, he doesn’t know me.
“And now, we’ve got to go back over to Long Ditton,” I add, backing out of the room as I speak.
“Well, let me know how it goes,” he says, waving me away.
Downstairs, Thompson is still talking to the two young officers, their heads close together, leaning over a table in the main office. I walk straight past them and go into my own room, closing the door gently behind me and sitting down at my desk, before picking up the telephone.
I know Amelie will be awake, and that she won’t be leaving for work just yet, so I ask the operator to connect me to her number, barely disguising my surprise when it’s Amelie herself who answers.
“Hello, I didn’t expect to hear your voice,” I say.
“Then why did you call me?” she replies and I have to smile.
“What I meant was, I didn’t expect you to answer the phone.”
“Well, given that it’s only twenty-five past seven in the morning, I rather assumed it would either be you or Uncle Gordon telephoning. And I answered because I hoped it would be you.” I can hear the smile in her voice now. “Are you alright?” she asks, her concern obvious.
“No.” I run my finger along the edge of my desk, feeling the emotion rising in my chest.
“What’s wrong?” she asks. “What’s happened?” She sounds afraid.
“It’s nothing to do with me,” I reply quickly, to allay her fears. “At least, not in the way you think. It’s just this case…”
“Do you want to talk about it?” she offers.
“I wish I had the time, but I’ve got to go out again in a minute. I just wanted to hear your voice, that’s all.”
“Well, that’s nice to know.” She pauses. “Can I assume you haven’t found the little girl?”
“You can.”
“Oh. But it was freezing last night, Rufus,” she whispers.
“Yes. Although we’re not sure whether she ran off, or whether she was taken. A man was spotted near the place she was last seen.”
“Oh God…”
“I know.” I don’t want to voice my worst imaginings, not until I have to. “I’m afraid a case like this means very long hours, my darling.” I change the subject slightly, aware that I need to let her know how hard it’s going to be in the coming days.
“I understand.”
“And that means I might not be able to see you for a while.”
“Just take care of yourself, and remember… I’m here, if you need to talk.”
I smile my gratitude, because that emotion that was in my chest is bubbling up again. “Well, I doubt you’ll want to hear from me at two in the morning.”
“Is that when you finished last night?”
“Yes.”
“You must be exhausted,” she murmurs, then adds, “But I don’t mind. If that’s when you need to talk, just call me earlier in the evening, if you can, and I’ll wait up for you.”
“Until two in the morning? I don’t think so.”
“If that’s what you need Rufus, then I’ll do it.” Her voice is firm, bordering on bossy, and it brings a broad smile to my face. “Do you remember saying you didn’t like the idea of me crying by myself, and that you’d come to me if I needed you, no matter what the time was?”
“Yes, of course I do.” It was a conversation we had when I was still in the hospital and I’d learned that she’d cried herself to sleep the night I’d been stabbed.
“Well, it works both ways,” she says. “If you need me, then I’m here for you, and the time of day – or night – is irrelevant.”
I can’t argue with that, so I give in gracefully. “Thank you.”
“You don’t have to thank me,” she says.
“Then what do I have to do?”
“Take care of yourself,” she replies. “And remember to give me a kiss the next time you see me.”
“That won’t be hard at all. It already feels like forever since I’ve kissed you.”
“I love you, Rufus.”
“I love you too, darling.”
We end our call, although I wish we didn’t have to. I wish we could just go on talking and I could forget the horrible day that lies ahead.
“Ready?” Thompson knocks on my door and enters at the same time, reminding me that my time is not my own, any more than it’s Amelie’s.
“Yes.” I get up from my desk and follow him back out into the main office. Tooley is standing in front of the wall, staring at the map of Long Ditton and doesn’t even notice us passing through, and Deakin and Gilmore are putting on their coats and hats, clearly intent on following up on something.
“Are those two okay?” I ask Thompson as we make our way down the stairs.
“They’ll be fine,” he says. “They know to report anything they find to you – or me – and they understand the importance of the case, being as the chief super’s sister is one of the victims.”
“And you stressed the need for discretion?”
“I made a point of it,” he says, opening the car door. “Where to?” he asks.
“As it’s still quite early, I want to go and take a quick look at this park, before we go to the Sanderson house. There’s something nagging at my brain and I need to see the lie of the land for myself.”
Thompson pulls up behind a police van and we both get out, walking along the pavement to the gated entrance of the recreation ground. There’s a pathway running around the edge, but other than that, it’s really just a patch of grass, with a fence around the perimeter and a few bushes dotted along
either side, which is currently overrun with police officers.
“As I thought,” I murmur, standing to one side.
“What?” Thompson says, surveying the view.
“She’s not here.”
He rolls his eyes. “You don’t know that yet. That’s why we’re searching.”
I turn to face him. “Look around.” I wave my working arm in the vague direction of the park, then wince and quickly lower my arm again, as my wound stretches and pulls for the first time in days. I wish I hadn’t done that.
“Are you alright?” Thompson asks.
“I’m fine” I look at him. “Thanks.”
He nods his head. “What did you mean?”
“Other than those bushes, there’s nowhere to hide, and nowhere to be hidden.” I nod in the direction of the park this time, keeping my arms still. “This place was searched for nearly two hours yesterday, without a trace of the girl being found. Nothing’s going to change today… she’s not here,” I reiterate.
He follows my gaze, before looking back at me. “Then where is she?” he asks. “Does this mean she was definitely taken?”
“How the hell do I know?” I shake my head even as the words leave my mouth. “Sorry, Harry. I’m tired and fed up, and my side hurts now.”
“Do you want me to take you back to the station?” he offers.
“What do you think?”
“I think you’d probably walk over hot coals before you’d admit defeat,” he says.
“Something like that, yes.” I take a deep breath. “Find out who’s in charge here, will you?”
He wanders off, returning a few minutes later with a constable in tow. I recognise him straight away as PC Wells. He’s hard to miss, being the size he is.
“Wells,” I say in greeting.
“Inspector.” He nods.
“This is a waste of time. If she was taken, she won’t be here anymore, and if she ran away, then there’s nowhere here for her to hide.”