"I wouldn't say it was odd per se," he said. "Maybe a little weird. We thought maybe the boy had hurt himself and crawled in underneath the branches, but there wasn't anything there."
"Have they searched the body dump site from the weekend?" Maz asked. Harriet tried to conceal the surprise that rocked her. She hadn't heard about anything about a body being found in the area at the weekend, but it seemed a little too coincidental to her, and if there was one thing she didn't believe in, it was coincidences.
"They’re up there now, but so far there's no sign of the boy."
Maz nodded. "Cheers, mate."
"You still up for a pint at the weekend with the lads?" Barry asked, and Harriet tried to stifle her smile as Maz shuffled awkwardly.
"Now's not really the time, mate."
Barry nodded. "I'll give you a bell about it later on." And then Barry was gone, jogging back to the other officers who had gathered to receive instructions on the search groups they were creating.
"What's wrong?" Maz asked, turning his full attention to Harriet.
She shook her head. "The more I learn here, the more concerned I am that this isn't just a child who has run away or forgot to tell their parents where they were going."
"You think somebody took him?"
"Why would Oliver hide his coat, DS Arya?"
Maz pursed his lips. "He wouldn't."
"No, but somebody who was trying to conceal an abduction, or something worse, might."
“Why not take it with them?”
Harriet shrugged. “I don’t know. Maybe they want us to know he’s been taken. Maybe they panicked…”
Maz glanced over towards Dalby forest. "You think he's in there?"
Harriet shrugged. "I have no idea. But I know if we want to bring him home safely, then our window is rapidly closing."
Drew raised his hand, indicating for her to come over. "You going to tell the boss man your theory?"
Harriet nodded. "I've got to. It's the reason I'm here after all."
Maz smiled sympathetically. "No offence, doc, but I hope in this case you're wrong."
"So do I," she said, before she turned on her heel and crossed the road to where Drew stood with the others.
"Where is Mr Poole?" Harriet got the question out before Drew could ask her what she'd been discussing with Maz.
"I managed to persuade him to return to the house; that his wife needed him."
Harriet dropped her gaze to the ground and was unsurprised to see frost beginning to glisten on the tarmac. "There's something you need to know," she said quietly. When he didn't reply, she glanced up only to find him watching her intently. "As you know, they found Oliver's coat."
"We won't know for certain it's his coat until we can have one of the Poole's look at it, and forensics confirm it."
"One of the uniformed officers said when they found the coat it seemed as though somebody had made an attempt to conceal it."
Drew had raised his hand to his jaw to scrub his hand over his day-old stubble, but as Harriet spoke he halted. "What?"
"It was found beneath some branches. It frames this situation in a whole new light, and it's not a good one."
Drew swallowed. "You think somebody took him?"
"And you don't?"
He shrugged miserably. "I was hoping it wouldn't amount to that," he said. "Most kids who go missing are just runaways, and by all accounts that home hasn't exactly been the happiest."
"I think that's a little harsh," Harriet said a little more fiercely than she'd intended. "They love their son."
"Right, but Mr Poole has a temper on him that would make me want to run away if I was his son."
"You don't mean that," Harriet said sharply.
Drew dropped his gaze to the ground. "Probably not, but you know how I have to look at this, Harriet. I can't afford to show too much sympathy, at least not so much that it clouds my judgement of the situation."
"You mean the Poole's might be suspects?"
"Most abductions involve people who are known to the victim. And we haven't been able to verify any alibis yet."
"I know you're right, but I'm just not getting that feeling from them."
Drew raised an eyebrow speculatively at her. "Since when do you base your theories on feelings?"
"Not everything I do is based solely on statistics," she said. "Instincts play a part in it, along with empathy. And all I see when I look at the Poole's are a family who are grieving."
Drew nodded. "You can think that, but I'm going to hold on to my suspicions a little longer."
"What makes you suspicious of them?"
"There's something they're holding back. I don't know what it is, but it's there. And Oliver stumbled over a dead body at the weekend, broke his arm in the process, and Mrs Poole never bothered to inform us of that little fact."
"The body in the woods." Harriet said, sounding unsurprised.
"Wait, how did you know?"
"Well, for one it was on the news. But Maz mentioned it a few minutes ago."
"I'm not saying it's connected, but--"
"But it's too much of a coincidence?"
It was Drew's turn to nod. "If we are looking at a stranger, what should we expect regarding bringing Oliver home alive?"
Harriet's shoulder's tightened as tension coiled its way around her spine. "Most kidnappings as you said are done by somebody known to the victim. In the case of children we get around a thousand abductions a year, and of those roughly a hundred of them are by strangers." She swallowed hard around the lump in her throat before she continued. "If Oliver was taken by a stranger, we're looking at something already quite uncommon. Most are failures, because the child escapes, but around half of the children taken in a stranger abduction never return home."
"Shit," Drew said harshly. "I thought we'd have better odds than that."
Harriet shook her head. "It's not an exact science because that number is skewed by the simple fact that children who are cared for in the first place are much more likely to be reported. Many children go missing, but because of their background they are never reported to the police."
"Don't social services notice when a kid goes missing?"
"Sometimes," Harriet said. "But social services are already overworked, and understaffed. There is only so much they can do, but mistakes are inevitably made, and children slip through the cracks."
Drew blew out his cheeks, his expression thunderous.
"But Oliver was reported. His mother called as soon as she realised something wasn't right."
"I know that," Drew said. "But we don't even have a clear timeline on when he went missing."
"We know he never met up with his friend," Harriet said thoughtfully. “I think it's safe to assume he disappeared almost as soon as he left home. And there’s something else I think you need to know.”
“The caretaker from the school,” Drew said.
“Mr Poole told you?”
He nodded. “I got it out of him, eventually; wasn’t easy, mind.”
“And you still want to hold on to those suspicions regarding the family?”
Drew smiled wryly at her. “It’s my job, Harriet. I have to keep everyone in the frame until I can tick them off the list. This case is too important to miss something, that boy’s life depends on it. But the caretaker is definitely an angle worth pursuing.” He sighed and closed his eyes. "I've got one more question," Drew said. "And I'm almost certain I'm not going to like the answer."
"Ask it."
"If a stranger took him, what's the likelihood that we're going to bring him home, versus us looking for his body?"
Wrapping her arms around her body, Harriet rocked back on her heels. "I can't tell you that, Drew."
"Just give me a rough guide."
Closing her eyes, Harriet pulled in a slow breath. When she opened her eyes again, it was to find Drew peering down at her intently. "If a violent, or predatory offender took him, then the odds are not good."
"H
ow not good?"
"Around 74% of children are dead within the first three hours."
"So he's probably already dead?"
"The statistics would suggest that's true," Harriet said. She watched as Drew's expression twisted into one of anger. As much as she wanted to go to him, to offer some kind of comfort, Harriet knew it was impossible. There was nothing she could say to him that would cushion the blow of what she'd just told him.
"I don't care what the numbers say," Drew said fiercely. "We keep looking until we bring that boy home safely."
Harriet nodded, but they both knew Drew's bravado was just that. A front to keep hope alive, when the truth of the matter was too dark to handle.
Chapter Twenty-Two
Turning over in her bed the next morning, DC Martina Nicoll closed her eyes against the shaft of sunshine that cut through her blackout curtains. Ten more minutes, that's all she needed. Ten more hours would have been preferable, but that wasn't going to happen considering everything that was going on. She broke away in the early hours of the morning when the physical search had been called off. Some of the uniforms had decided to stay on and send a drone up with heat seeking equipment to scan the area from the air. As far as Martina was concerned, they should have done that sooner, instead of letting them traipse around in the darkness of the trees.
Not that she minded. There was something about children that sent them all off the deep end. She didn't have children, but that didn't stop her from feeling compelled to find Oliver safe and well.
The phone next to her bed buzzed quietly, and Martina sat bolt upright in the bed. She smacked her hand against the locker next as she searched for the phone. Finding it, she answered the call and pressed it against her ear.
"DC Nicoll."
"Just me," Ambrose said.
"Any news on the boy?"
"Nothing yet. They're checking CCTV for the area so they can try to retrace his movements yesterday evening. And they’re going through ANPR to see if there are any hits from cars in the area. And the rest are speaking to people who knew him."
"That's good, we can't keep going in circles."
"That's not why I'm calling," he said. Ambrose sighed, and Martina could practically see him leaning back in his chair, a cup of Yorkshire builder's tea on the desk in front of him as he swiped his hand down over his face. "Jackson said he has an ID on our body. And the forensic anthropologist wants us to come in for a word. How fast can you be ready?"
"Ten minutes," Martina said, and she was already out of the bed and stumbling around the room.
"I'll be there in fifteen," Ambrose said. "That'll give you chance to get a cuppa down you." The line went dead, and Martina tossed it onto her rumpled duvet cover as she raced for the bathroom.
Twenty minutes later she stood in the kitchen sipping a black coffee from her favourite mug. She’d have preferred tea but she needed the caffeine. Her damp hair clung to her neck, sending icy droplets of water down the back of her shirt. Mum had always told her not to go out with wet hair or she'd only get sick. As she'd got older, Martina had learned that not everything her mum told her was the god's honest truth.
The kitchen door swung open, and her father stepped into the small room. "You got in late again last night," he said, his tone icy as he moved to switch on the kettle.
"Something came up." She sighed, guilt swimming in the pit of her stomach as she sipped at her coffee before glancing surreptitiously down at her watch. Why was it every time she needed Ambrose to be on time, he was late? If she didn't know better, she might have thought he planned it that way.
"Something always comes up," he said stiffly from the other side of the kitchen. "Your mum was upset is all."
"Dad, I don't want to get into this right now. I really did want to come home early yesterday, but I couldn't." She finished the coffee and moved to the sink. Rinsing the cup under the tap, Martina could feel her father's gaze boring into her.
"Do you think this is easy for me?" The question took her by surprise, and the cup almost slipped from her hand, but she caught it before it could hit the bottom of the sink.
"Of course not."
"Then why do you behave as though it is?"
Exasperation ripped through her as she set the cup on the draining board. Before she could reply, there was the blare of a horn outside.
"Saved by the bell," her father said bitterly.
"I have a job to do, dad. I can't just drop everything."
Another blare of the horn. "Go, before he wakes your mother."
"How is she?"
"Go, Martina."
Emotion burned in her chest as she headed out the back door. Her father could always do that to her, make her feel like she was eight years old again and in trouble. Tears pricked at her eyes, but she swiped them away as she hurried down the footpath, and slipped into the passenger seat next to Ambrose.
"Bad morning?" His tone was amicable, but talking was the last thing she wanted to do.
"Just drive, Ambrose."
"Got it."
Martina settled back into the seat and closed her eyes. She needed to concentrate on the day ahead and leave her problems at home. It was easier said than done, but the further Ambrose drove her from her house, the easier it was to crush the lump that burned in the back of her throat.
Chapter Twenty-Three
"I want a word with you, Haskell." The monk's voice carried over the chatter in the office, drawing Drew's attention to his boss stood in the doorway. The monk at least looked like he'd managed to get a full eight hours. By comparison, Drew had caught a glimpse of his reflection in the metal paper towel dispenser in the gents and was horrified by what he'd seen.
Pushing away from the desk he'd commandeered, he made his way slowly toward Gregson's office. As he knocked on the door, Gregson beckoned him inside, his eagle eyed gaze scanning over Drew's appearance.
"You look like shit," Gregson said finally, folding his hands over one another on the desk's surface.
"I feel worse," Drew said, scrubbing his hand down over his rough stubbled cheeks and chin.
"From where I'm sat, I'm not sure that's possible." Gregson arched an eyebrow. "You're the face of this operation. Well, you and DI Appleton. And Melissa is doing an admirable job of looking like someone who has her shit in order." Gregson indicated to the other Detective Inspector who was at that moment moving purposefully through the desks. She slipped into her office space and disappeared from view. "The public need to know that we've got a handle on this, Drew."
"Of course, sir," Drew said. "We contacted the NCA and had them put out a CRA last night." The Child Rescue Alert system was the responsibility of the National Crime Agency, but it was at the disposal of any force in the country, and for that Drew was grateful. Right now they needed every bit of help they could get.
"That's why I called you in here," Gregson said, his expression sombre.
"I thought it was regarding my appearance, sir."
"Unlike you, Haskell, I'm capable of multi-tasking." Gregson spoke drily. "The NCA have offered to send us over some help if we need it."
"That's very generous, sir, but I think we--"
"Sorry, perhaps I wasn't quite clear; the NCA are sending over some analysts to sift through the data coming in." There was no mistaking the edge to the monk's voice as he spoke, and Drew had the distinct impression that they'd all been manoeuvred into a corner that would undoubtably come back to bite them in the arse at a later date.
"That was very generous of them, sir," Drew said, managing to keep his voice measured and devoid of any kind of emotion.
"It was." Gregson sighed. "It's no harm. We're sorely lacking in computer analysts. I've been looking for some new blood to liven this place up, but so far I haven't found anyone who meets the criteria for what we need. With any luck, the NCA will send us someone we can entice to our side of the fence."
"Aren't we all on the same side, sir?"
The derisive noise Gregson made in re
sponse took Drew by surprise.
"We should be, but I haven't always had the best of luck with their sort," Gregson said darkly. "Anyway, I wanted to let you know they were arriving—"
"When?"
"Now," Gregson said. A wicked grin curled the other man's lips as he inclined his head in the direction of the office. The sound of a commotion pulled Drew's attention back toward the space he shared with the rest of the team and was surprised to see several people carrying boxes of equipment pour into the office. "I expect you'll get them all squared away here," Gregson said.
"What do you expect me to do with them, sir?" Irritation coloured Drew's words. The last thing he needed was to waste his time babysitting a lot of analysts. Oliver was out there somewhere, Drew needed to be out there searching for him.
"Get them settled and start feeding them the information they need. I want backgrounds on everyone in the area. And we need to know about any offenders who might have moved to the area. They’re good at ferreting out information like that."
"But, sir--"
"Make use of them, Haskell. I might not be particularly fond of them and their tactics, but they are useful. At the end of the day, the sooner we get that boy back to his parents, the better for everyone involved."
Drew knew when he'd been managed. Sighing, he pushed to his feet and made his way to the door.
"What does Doctor Quinn think of us getting the boy back safe and sound?" Gregson's question brought Drew up short. He paused with one hand on the door handle and contemplated his options before he answered.
"She's concerned, sir, like we all are."
"So she thinks he's already dead?" Drew was accustomed to his boss' usual blunt manner, but even that took him somewhat by surprise.
"She didn't say that."
"Just because she didn't say it aloud, doesn't make it untrue," Gregson said sadly. "We know the statistics, Drew. The chances are in a case such as this, we're looking for a body, and not a young boy we can bring home safe to his parents."
He was right, but that didn't mean Drew had to accept it. "I prefer to keep an open mind on these things, sir. I find people are far more motivated in these situations when they think we can have a happy ending."
Hunting the Silence: The Yorkshire Murders (DI Haskell & Quinn Crime Thriller Series Book 4) Page 13