Graham conceded the point. “Beth, we’re ready to take action against your mother, but what do you want us to tell her about you?”
She shrugged. “As little as possible.” She had calmed down now. She fidgeted for a moment. “Tell her I’m alive. That I’m happy. And that I’m never coming home.”
Graham’s first instinct was to try to help put the family back together, to act as a mediator between an angry daughter and a deeply flawed mother, but he knew utter conviction when he saw it, and he let the thought pass without comment.
“I have someone else with me. He is waiting outside.”
“Who is he?” Beth asked. “Another cop?”
Graham nodded. “We both spent time with your mother, investigating what might have happened to you, and… The other officer is a friend of yours. The young man I believe you used to call ‘Bug.’”
Beth was stunned far beyond words.
“Would you like me to call him? I know he’d love to see you again.”
She managed, at length, to nod slightly. Graham saw a flicker of guileless innocence cross her face. He pressed a button to send the text he’d prepared earlier.
“Beth… or Bettina, if you’d prefer?”
“Beth…” she cleared her throat, “Call me Beth.”
The intercom buzzed. Beth rose to walk across the room and press the button on a wall panel by the door. She looked at the small grey box, hesitating for a moment before glancing up at the ceiling, her hand in mid-air as though considering the wisdom of what she was about to do. Then she covered the button with her finger, giving it a long, definitive press. She said nothing as she returned to her stool.
“It’s been ten years,” she said, “and I look a sight.”
“Please don’t worry. He’ll just be so glad to see that you’re alright.”
She was at the door before the knock came, and then it was open, and she was beaming shyly at him. “Hey, Bug.”
Roach’s eyes shone. “Hey, Barbie.”
Graham averted his eyes during the very long hug that followed. His eyes lighted on the joint languishing forgotten in the ashtray. His hand gave a tiny twitch.
“I can’t believe it.” Roach pulled back to look at her. “You’re even prettier than you used to be.”
“Oh, stop it,” Beth said, waving him away. “You’re tall,” she marveled. “I’d never have thought it.”
“Give a man ten years, and he’ll grow a bit,” Roach said, before dropping his voice, his expression serious. “We’ve all been so worried about you. Out of our minds.”
Beth made to speak, but Roach shushed her, looking at her carefully. “You don’t have to say anything now, if you don’t want to.”
She waved him over to the much-abused leather couch, and there they sat, catching up on old times and old friends. Tactfully, Graham made his way outside for a breath of fresh air, although if he were honest, he’d much have preferred a cup of tea.
An hour later, Graham knocked on the apartment door.
“We have to make a move. We have a plane to catch.”
“Yes, of course,” Beth replied, and Roach made a move for the door. “You say you’ve got Lyon under arrest?”
“Yes,” Graham said. “We think we can get him between six and eight years in jail for his Internet crimes, especially if we get the right jury and a judge who takes a sufficiently dim view of that sort of thing. We could get more, if you would…”
Beth ignored him but reached for Roach and pulled him into a hug. “Thanks for coming. It was so good to see you.”
“You too.” Jim whispered. He blinked rapidly, his lips trembling. “Take care, Barbie.”
“One last thing, Inspector,” Beth turned to Graham. “You’re wrong about one thing. It wasn’t Mr. Lyon who kidnapped me.”
Graham stared at her, time standing still.
“Then who did?”
“Mr. Grant. He’s the headmaster now, I believe.”
CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE
ONCE AGAIN, GRAHAM, Roach, and Harding worked through the night. They called in Jack, and he sat alongside them in a t-shirt and sweatpants, having been brought from his bed.
Before they left Copenhagen, Beth had told Graham what happened.
“He did his student teacher training at our school the previous year. He had digs with Mrs. Devizes, two streets down from ours and would sometimes walk home with me if I’d stayed late to do my homework in the library. When he joined the school as a teacher the following year, I didn’t have classes with him, but that morning, I recognized his voice. It was definitely him. Irish.”
After a consultation with the Chief Constable, a pre-dawn raid was swiftly executed at the home of the headmaster of Gorey Grammar.
Graham and Harding led the charge, backed up by three constables drafted in at short notice from St. Helier. They found Grant asleep in bed. He put up no resistance and was driven away quietly from his home without disturbing the neighbors.
Now, Graham looked at him from across the table in the interview room. Next to Graham sat Janice Harding. The headmaster looked bleary-eyed and was blinking rapidly, the early morning light catching the gray in his stubble. His hands, placed one on top of the other, were on the table, relaxed.
“So, Mr. Grant, tell me about your association with Beth Ridley.”
“There is none. I told you before, I never taught her.”
“But you lived near to her, did you not?”
“Gorey is a small place. Everyone lives close to one another here.”
“You are obfuscating. Why would you do that, Mr. Grant?”
“Oh, I’m sorry. I don’t mean to. Must be the early hour. I’m happy to help however I can, but I fear that isn’t much.”
“So you keep saying. You have nothing to do with Beth Ridley’s disappearance, then?”
“Of course not. Absolutely none.”
Graham turned over a page that was in a folder in front of him. He wanted to keep this interview moving. Grant had had a long time to perfect his story.
“Tell me about your movements on the morning of her disappearance.”
The headmaster let out a deep breath. He started to explain. “It was just an ordinary day. I got up. I was renting a room on Bryony Road. Had my usual breakfast of cereal and a mug of tea, then I left for work. I was an English teacher back then. It was my first year.”
“What time did you leave the house?”
“I always got up at seven and liked to be at school by eight to prepare my classroom before school started. It was about a twenty minute walk so I’d always leave at seven forty, or thereabouts.”
Graham got out his phone and looked on a map, tracing the route from Bryony Road to the school.
“The majority of your route was the same as Beth’s, including the spot at which she disappeared.”
“So? I repeat, I had nothing to do with her disappearance. I didn’t even see her.”
“You didn’t see her.” Graham repeated. “Did you see the leg?”
“The leg?”
“Yes, the leg of the doll that was left in the street. The only trace of Beth that was left behind.”
“No,” Grant replied. “I had already been and gone from that spot by the time she went missing.”
“So you didn’t see Beth at all?”
“No.”
“Okay, tell me about your phone records.”
With Jack’s help, they had gathered Grant’s phone records from ten years ago. It had been a feat of almost superhuman endurance taking nearly the whole night, but he’d eventually cracked it, to Janice’s delight and Graham’s eternal gratitude.
“They show you made a phone call at 8:16 on that morning. What was that about?”
“I forget. It was a long time ago. Nothing important.”
“But a student from your school disappearing isn’t a common occurrence. Surely you remember what happened that morning.”
“No, sorry. Not that.”
Graham rapidly switched tack again.
“Your bank records, Mr. Grant.”
“Yes, what about them?”
“You were badly in debt, weren’t you? Why was that?”
“Oh, you know, I was young. Living beyond my means, student debt, that kind of thing. That’s all an unpleasant memory, now.”
Graham looked hard at the man across the table. Grant was wearing a pair of jeans and a red t-shirt that advertised a local hardware store across his chest. On his feet were flip-flops. His hair was short, and he looked a little disheveled after his rude awakening, but otherwise he seemed unruffled. He didn’t show any signs of anxiety or concern. Certainly nothing that Graham would like to see. Some sign of guilt.
“Brand new teacher to headmaster in ten years, Mr. Grant. That’s some ambition you’ve got there.”
“Not really. Not if you work hard and get some lucky breaks. I’ve been very fortunate.”
“What drives you, Mr. Grant? What are your ambitions?”
“Oh, you know, same as most other people, I expect. A nice house, car, professional respect. I like to see the kids get a good education.”
Grant said this all with a straight face, looking directly at Graham.
“Okay, Mr. Grant. We’ll leave it there for a while. Let’s take a break. I’ll come back for a chat later.”
Graham switched the tape off and left the room. As he walked into his office, he fought the impulse to punch the filing cabinet.
“He’s not giving us an inch, sir. What’s the next step?” Harding said.
“Give me a timeline, Sergeant.”
“Well sir, we know that Beth left the house just after eight o’clock. Updike saw her at 8:15. Susan normally met her at 8:20 but she didn’t show up. Everything points to her going missing in the intervening five minute period between being seen by Updike and not arriving at her meeting point. The location of the doll’s leg confirms it, sir.“
“What about Grant?”
“Sir?”
“His timeline. What do we know about that?”
“He left the house at 7:40. Got into school at eight.”
“He made the phone call at—?”
“Sixteen minutes past eight, sir.”
Graham stood at the window of his office and tapped the wooden frame furiously with his pen. Harding wisely waited.
Then, without a word, Graham took off. Harding watched as he grabbed his jacket and walked out into the reception area.
“Roach?” he barked.
“Yes, sir!” Roach stood to attention at the sound of the DI’s voice as he strode across the room.
“Keys!”
Roach spun around, taking the keys to the police vehicle from their hook and throwing them smartly across the room. He watched with satisfaction as his boss caught them equally smartly with one hand and strode out of the station without stopping.
CHAPTER THIRTY
GRAHAM DROVE SWIFTLY, and as he passed through the gates of Gorey Grammar, he looked around for the visitor parking spaces. He jumped out of the car and quickly trotted up the steps to the school.
Inside, he made his way to the school secretary’s office and rapped on the door. Mrs. Gates looked up from her computer screen.
“DI Graham! Good to see you again. Can I help you with anything?”
“I certainly hope so, Mrs. Gates.
“You didn’t see Mr. Grant outside, did you? School has started, and there’s no sign of him. No message either. Most unlike him. I’m getting worried.”
Graham sidestepped her question, not wanting to impart that he knew exactly where her employer was.
“Mrs. Gates, what time does Mr. Grant typically make it in?”
“Oh, he’s normally here at eight. We get in around the same time. We’re both creatures of habit.
“Who opens up the school?”
“The caretaker unlocks the school and classrooms, but Mr. Grant and I have keys to our own offices. Whichever of us gets in first opens them both. I’ve worked with my heads of school like that for years.”
“I wonder if I can ask you to cast your mind back, Mrs. Gates. To the day Beth Ridley disappeared. What happened that morning?”
“Well, let’s see. Most of the teachers pass by my office and say good morning.” Mrs. Gates tapped her chin with her forefinger. “It was a long time ago, but of course, I’ve gone over the day in my mind many times.”
Graham let her think in silence, even though he was desperate to hurry her up.
“Mr. Bellevue was off sick. With hindsight, it was an early sign of his heart problem, but we didn’t know that then. Oh, it was so embarrassing. You see, I’d forgotten my key! Most unusual! I couldn’t open our offices. I had to go home for it. When I got back to school, there were parents and students waiting for me in the corridor outside my office.”
“So you missed seeing the teachers come in to work?”
“Yes, most of them.”
Graham sighed. He felt the energy drain out of him.
“Except for Mr. Grant.”
“Oh?”
“I remember because he walked up the steps with me.”
Graham pounced. “And what time was that?”
“8:32 precisely.”
“Are you quite sure?” Graham felt blood rush to his face.
“I’m positive. I pride myself on my punctuality and when I saw those parents waiting for me, I looked up at the clock to see how late I was. I had to apologize to them profusely. I’ve only been late three times in twenty years, so I remember exactly how late I was. Thirty-two minutes.”
DI Graham stormed back into the police station.
“Harding! We’re going back in.”
“Yes, sir!”
Back in the room, Grant jumped as the door to the interview room opened.
“Mr. Grant, you told me earlier that you arrived at school at eight o’clock as usual. Fifteen minutes before the final sighting of Beth Ridley.”
“Yes, that’s right.”
“But you didn’t, did you?”
“Didn’t what?”
“We have a witness who says you were late that day. She says you didn’t arrive until after half past eight. She’s prepared to testify to that. What do you say?”
Grant didn’t say a thing.
“Mr. Grant, it is in your best interests to tell us exactly what happened that morning.”
Still nothing. Grant merely blinked back at him.
Graham tried again, “Mr. Grant, I believe that you were deeply in debt and were looking for a way out. We can place you at the spot where Beth disappeared. You have no alibi. You did, however, make a phone call just after the last sighting of Beth. Were you paid to abduct a girl, Mr. Grant?
“Of course not. What is this?” Grant appealed first to Janice, then to Graham. Beads of sweat began to appear on his upper lip.
Graham looked squarely into Grant’s brown eyes. “We also have Beth’s own account of her abduction. She recognized your voice, Mr. Grant. Your accent.”
At this, Grant twitched violently.
“She’s alive?”
Grant stared at the two police officers in front of him, his eyes switching between them for several moments. His head sunk into his hands. When he looked up again, his face was red, his expression desperate.
Janice and Graham stared back at him, still playing their parts in this game of poker face. Grant turned his face to the wall and closed his eyes before turning back and opening them again. He looked directly at Graham. He still said nothing. Later Graham estimated they faced off for a full thirty seconds.
He began quietly.
“I was using. I started in college. But now I couldn’t pay. They needed a girl. A blond girl. They said if I could get one for them, they’d wipe out what I owed. And if I didn’t… Well, they didn’t specify exactly but you know…” He trailed off. “I thought of Beth. I knew her routine. So I set it up.”
“What was the plan?” Graham asked his
question quietly.
“They would have a car waiting and I was to call them to initiate the pickup.”
“Who were these people?” This time, it was Janice who spoke.
“I don’t know, exactly. Contacts of my drug dealer. Cocaine,” he added, answering their unspoken question. “On that morning, I left my digs as usual and waited for her. I followed her and made the call when the coast was clear. A car pulled up and I pushed her inside,” Grant shrugged.
Janice and Graham waited.
“There was no struggle, but the doll got caught in the car door. The leg must have come off. I didn’t notice. They drove away. That was it.”
“What did you do then?”
“I carried on walking to school.”
Grant glanced across at Harding, who was looking at him impassively, apparently unmoved by his admission. This seemed to light a fire under Grant. He slammed the table with his palms.
“I was in a bad place, okay? I owed them money. A lot of money. God knows what they would have done to me!” Grant was shouting now. “I didn’t have a choice!”
He stopped and lay his head on the table in front of him. The room was silent except for the faint sound of seagulls screeching overhead.
Graham considered for a moment the contrast between the freewheeling, seaside bird and the shaking, terrified wretch before him, but unable to feel any sympathy, he clicked off the tape and left the room.
CHAPTER THIRTY-ONE
AN ELDERLY COUPLE waited patiently in the reception area, trying to ignore the inconsolable wailing coming from the interview room a few yards away.
“I’m sorry to keep you waiting,” Constable Roach told them, doing his best to bring some brightness to the room amid the sound of the woman’s distress. “I’m hoping for a call back from the pound in a moment, and they’ll confirm with you that the dog is yours.”
“He’s never run off before,” the old man said. “Always been a good dog.”
“We’ll have him back to you in a couple of hours,” Roach assured him. The phone was ringing yet again. It had been, by any standards, an extremely busy morning.
The Case of the Broken Doll (An Inspector David Graham Cozy Mystery Book 4) Page 15