by Ken McClure
‘No need to worry, then,’ said Steven, but to his puzzlement he noticed that Spicer’s expression was not one of relief.
TWELVE
Edinburgh
Karen Doig left Paul Grossart’s office feeling as if the bottom had fallen out of her world. She walked slowly down the stairs in a daze and out through the front door without really seeing anything or anyone. It was raining heavily but she didn’t notice as she walked hesitantly across the car park to where she’d left the car. Not even the deep puddle that lapped over her shoes as she unlocked the door seemed to register with her. She sat stock-still and stared unseeingly through the windscreen for fully five minutes before driving off.
Karen’s mother, Ethel Lodge, who had come over to baby-sit her granddaughter, Kelly, opened the door as Karen drew up outside her house, a smart semi-detached villa on the new Pines estate on the outskirts of Edinburgh.
‘You’re drenched, love,’ fussed her mother. ‘Give me your coat or it’ll drip all over the place. I’ll hang it up in the kitchen. Go and warm yourself by the fire. The kettle’s just boiled. I’ll make some tea.’
She brought through two mugs of tea and handed one to Karen. ‘Well, what did Mr Grossart have to say for himself?’ she asked. ‘Any news?’
Karen looked at her with tear-filled eyes. ‘Oh yes,’ she said quietly, ‘Peter’s left me. He’s run off with Amy Patterson.’
‘Who the hell’s Amy Patterson?’ exclaimed Ethel, sinking slowly into a chair.
‘The scientist Peter went to Wales with.’
‘I don’t believe it.’
‘That’s what Mr Grossart told me,’ said Karen. ‘He said he was sorry but there was nothing he could do about it. If Peter didn’t want to talk to me about what had been going on, that was his prerogative. The company couldn’t involve itself in domestic matters.’
‘But this is absolutely crazy!’ exclaimed Ethel. ‘You two are so happy together.’
‘That’s what I thought too,’ said Karen distantly. ‘I can’t… believe he’s done something like this.’ She buried her face in her hands, and her shoulders heaved as she sobbed silently.
‘Oh, love, there has to be some mistake, Peter wouldn’t do something like this. You two have everything going for you and you know how much he dotes on Kelly. What did this man Grossart say exactly?’
‘I asked him if he knew why Peter had stopped phoning me and why there was never any answer from the number I’d been given for the Welsh field station. I was worried and angry… I demanded an explanation… and he gave me one. He said that the pair of them had gone off together and he’d no idea where. He’d only just heard about it himself.’
Ethel Lodge looked at her daughter, sharing her distress as only a mother can. ‘I don’t believe any of this,’ she said. ‘People don’t just do things like this without having anything planned beforehand. Peter didn’t give you any cause to suspect that anything was wrong, did he?’
Karen shook her head. ‘No,’ she whispered, ‘absolutely not.’
‘Well, you can’t live on love alone, despite what the songs may say. You need money and clothes and food and a roof over your head. Have a look in the wardrobe and see what he took with him, then phone the bank and find out if he took out any money.’
Karen looked at her mother, seeing in her an inner strength she hadn’t realised was there.
‘You do love him, don’t you?’ asked Ethel.
‘Yes.’
‘Then start fighting, girl.’
Karen checked her husband’s wardrobe and found that most of his clothes were still there. He’d taken just what he said he was going to take, ‘the bare minimum’, as he had put it, because there was ‘no one to impress at the field station, apart from the animals’. As soon as she remembered it, the thought planted a seed of worry in Karen’s mind. Maybe the loneliness of being marooned in rural North Wales when the days were short and the nights were long had brought Peter and whatsername together. But even if it had, surely it would have just been a physical thing? Peter wouldn’t have abandoned her and Kelly over something like that… would he?
‘Anything missing?’ asked her mother when she went back downstairs.
‘Nothing,’ said Karen.
‘Good. Get on to the bank.’
Karen did as she was told and contacted the bank to ask about account balances. ‘Nothing taken out,’ she reported.
‘Drink your tea,’ said Ethel. ‘It’s getting cold.’
Karen sipped her tea.
Ethel stared out at the rain-swept garden. ‘Do you know this Patterson woman?’ she asked.
‘I think I may have met her once at a works barbecue in the summer.’
‘Did she seem the type?’
‘What type?’
‘You know what I mean.’
‘I thought she was a bit mousy, to tell the truth, a typical bluestocking, all ethnic skirt and glasses. Didn’t strike me as Peter’s type at all. She and her husband went on about their bird-watching trips. Peter can’t tell a thrush from an ostrich.’
‘Then she’s married, too?’
‘That’s a point. Maybe I should get in touch with her husband?’
‘You certainly should,’ agreed Ethel. ‘It’ll be interesting to find out if he’s as surprised as you.’
The sound of crying came from upstairs. ‘Oh, Kelly,’ murmured Karen as she leafed through the phone book. ‘Give me a moment.’
‘I’ll see to her,’ said Ethel. ‘Sounds like the afternoon nap’s over.’
Karen started dialling her way through the Pattersons in the local book, asking each time if she had the right number.
She was on her eighth call when a man’s faltering voice said, ‘I’m afraid Amy’s not here at the moment.’ He sounded upset.
‘Are you Amy’s husband?’ she asked.
‘Who’s that?’
‘Karen Doig, Peter’s wife. I take it you’ve heard?’
‘I just can’t believe it,’ said Patterson.
‘You didn’t suspect?’
‘No, nothing. Paul Grossart’s call came completely out of the blue. You?’
‘The same. Look, maybe the company’s wrong about this,’ said Karen, her confidence growing by the minute. ‘Peter didn’t take any extra clothes with him and he hasn’t touched our bank account.’
‘So what are you suggesting?’
‘Just because the pair of them have disappeared doesn’t necessarily mean that they’ve run off together. Maybe that’s an assumption on the company’s part.’
‘I hadn’t even considered that,’ admitted Patterson.
‘Nor had I until this very moment.’
‘My God, they could have been involved in some kind of accident or be lost somewhere in the hills… or anything!’
‘I think we should go to the police,’ said Karen. ‘Right now.’ She turned to look at her mother to see if this were possible. Ethel nodded, and Karen and Patterson arranged to meet outside the police station in fifteen minutes.
‘Thanks, Mum,’ said Karen as she put down the phone and started rushing around.
‘It won’t hurt your father to get his own tea for once,’ said Ethel. ‘Off you go.’
Karen recognised Ian Patterson as soon as she saw him. She remembered the thin, serious man who had been wearing a T-shirt with ‘Save the Planet’ on it at the summer barbecue. Today he was wearing a waxed cotton jacket over a Shetland sweater, dark-green corduroy trousers and thick-soled brogues. They didn’t shake hands and Karen could only just manage a wan smile. ‘Shall we go in?’ she asked.
They had to wait in line in the police station, which smelt vaguely of disinfectant, its institution-green walls adorned with a variety of warnings and posters promising rewards for information. It was an alien world, thought Karen as she waited patiently while the man in front tried to explain why he couldn’t produce his driving licence.
She had to step back as the man, having been given a further twenty-fou
r hours, wheeled round sharply and barged his way out. She stepped forward to the desk and explained to the middle-aged sergeant why she and Patterson were there.
‘Nothing we can do’ was the verdict he offered almost before she’d finished. He closed the daybook with a slap as if to emphasise his point.
‘What do you mean?’ exclaimed Karen, taken aback at his offhandedness. ‘You’ve got to do something. It’s your job. Two people have gone missing!’
‘They’re both adults. If they choose to go off together, it’s not against the law. I’m sorry but we can’t get involved in domestic matters like this,’ said the sergeant.
‘But they didn’t “choose to go off together”,’ exclaimed Karen. ‘They’ve disappeared and they could be lying injured somewhere. Surely you don’t want that on your conscience? Can’t you contact the Welsh police and ask them to check?’
A queue was building up, making the sergeant uncomfortable. He picked up the phone and after a short conversation he said, ‘Inspector Grant will have a word with you, madam. He’ll explain our policy on these matters.’
Karen and Patterson were shown into a small office which lacked light, space and anything resembling charm. They were invited to sit on two hard chairs and Karen felt that they had been called to the headmaster’s study to account for some misdeed. This time, Patterson had a go at explaining what had happened, with interjections from Karen where appropriate. At the end of it Grant nodded sagely and said more or less what the desk sergeant had. ‘The police really can’t become involved in domestic matters.’
‘But can’t you see that it’s only an assumption on the company’s part that Peter and Ian’s wife have run off together? They could just as easily have had an accident or be lying injured somewhere out on the hills.’
Grant looked at her thoughtfully. ‘This man who told you they’d run off, you said his name is Grossart?’ he asked.
‘Paul Grossart at Lehman Genomics. He’s the managing director.’
‘Phone number?’
Karen recited the number and Grant wrote it down. He got up and went to another room. When he came back he said, ‘I’m sorry but there really is nothing we can do.’
‘What did Mr Grossart say?’ demanded Karen. ‘Did he offer you one scrap of evidence that Peter and Amy had run off together?’
Grant looked uncomfortable. ‘Well, no,’ he admitted. ‘But employers do get a feel for these sorts of things. I know it’s difficult for you, and I do sympathise, but frankly this sort of thing happens much more often than you’d think.’
‘Then you won’t help us?’
‘Not so much won’t as can’t,’ said Grant. ‘As the law sees it, they’re both adults and this is a free country.’
Karen ran out of adrenalin. Her shoulders sagged and she felt a wave of hopelessness wash over her. Tears started to run down her face and she hung her head.
It seemed to have an effect on Grant. ‘Did they both take their cars with them to Wales?’ he asked.
Karen shook her head. ‘No, the company provided transport.’
‘The same for your wife, sir?’
Patterson nodded. ‘They travelled down together.’
‘Mr Grossart hasn’t reported the loss of a company vehicle,’ said Grant thoughtfully. ‘Where is this field station?’
Karen looked blank. She looked at Patterson, who shrugged.
‘Neither of you knows?’
‘I don’t think Peter knew exactly,’ said Karen, feeling embarrassed about it.
‘Amy didn’t say, either,’ said Patterson.
‘So you couldn’t write to them or send them anything, even if you had wanted to?’
‘I suppose not,’ agreed Karen. ‘Not that the need arose. I suppose we could have sent things to them through the company. We had a telephone number, though. I used to speak to Peter every night at the beginning.’
‘And me with Amy,’ said Patterson.
Grant said, ‘That’s something. Have you got the number?’
Karen checked her handbag and handed over a piece of paper. Grant excused himself and was gone for several minutes. When he came back he said, ‘I’ve checked with Mr Grossart about the transport. He thinks they travelled to Wales in a company Land-Rover but he’s not sure.’
‘Not sure?’ exclaimed Karen and Patterson in unison.
Grant’s look suggested that he might share their surprise. ‘He’s going to get back to me with details of the vehicle and registration number and whether or not they want to report it missing.’
Karen and Patterson went quiet for a moment while they digested this information.
‘I have to stress once again that there’s nothing we can do in a situation like this, unless of course the vehicle is reported stolen, but… in the interests of… crime prevention, shall we say, I might just pass on the registration number to our Welsh colleagues. If the vehicle should still happen to be in North Wales, they might care to stop the driver and enquire about ownership and destination.’
‘Thank you,’ said Karen.
Ian Patterson added his thanks. ‘It’s really the not knowing,’ he said.
‘As for the telephone number Lehman gave you,’ said Grant, ‘it’s ex-directory so I can’t pass on the information to you.’ As he spoke, he pushed across the desk a piece of paper with an address on it.
‘Of course not,’ said Karen, slipping the paper into her handbag. ‘Thank you for seeing us, Inspector.’
‘Sorry I couldn’t be more help,’ said Grant, getting up to show them to the door.
Outside on the pavement, Karen looked at the paper and read out, ‘Plas-y-Brenin Experimental Field Station, near Capel Curig, Gwynedd, North Wales.’ She looked at Patterson. ‘I’m going there,’ she said with sudden resolve. ‘I have to know for sure. Well, what d’you say? Are you coming?’
‘All right,’ he said. ‘I’m game. We’ll use my car — it’s a four-wheel-drive.’
Next morning Karen dropped Kelly off at her mother’s along with a bag full of the essentials required for looking after a seven-month-old baby. She gave Ethel a big hug and said, ‘I can’t thank you enough.’
‘That’s what grannies are for.’ Ethel smiled, cuddling Kelly. ‘Didn’t you know?’
‘I’ll call you as soon as we get there.’
‘Take all the time you need. And take care!’
Karen nodded and ran to her car. It was already seven-thirty and she was due to meet Ian Patterson back at the house at eight. Despite her fears, she was only a few minutes late in getting back after the stop-go frustration of driving through rush-hour traffic. She swung her car into the small run-in in front of the garage and locked it, then ran up to the house to collect the overnight bag she had left ready behind the front door.
Patterson was sitting waiting in a dark-green Toyota Land Cruiser adorned with wildlife stickers and one proclaiming his membership of the RSPB. For some reason the fact that he was ‘Saving Whales and Dolphins’ registered with Karen as she climbed into the passenger seat and she wondered idly how.
‘Sorry I’m a bit late,’ she said. ‘Kelly was playing up.’
‘No problem,’ said Patterson. He took off from the kerb and headed south.
‘How long do you think it will take?’ asked Karen.
‘I reckon from the map it’s about three hundred miles,’ replied Patterson. ‘Normally about five hours but I’m not sure about this trip. I don’t know what the mountain roads are like; I’ve never been there before. How about you?’
‘I once went to a Girl Guide camp in Llandudno,’ said Karen. ‘We went by train. I remember it rained a lot.’
‘We’ll just have to play it by ear,’ said Patterson.
They stopped for coffee in the Scottish borders and again for lunch at a service station on the M6, although neither of them was particularly hungry. It just seemed like a welcome gesture of normality. Patterson ate a bacon roll while Karen pushed a salad around her plate, trying to make it lo
ok smaller than when she started.
Patterson asked, ‘How are you feeling about all this?’
‘Scared,’ admitted Karen. ‘I just don’t know how I’m going to cope if we find out that they really have run off together. You?’
Patterson shrugged and said, ‘About the same, I think. I just can’t bring myself to imagine life without her. We were talking about having a baby only the week before she went to Wales. This whole thing just doesn’t make sense.’
Karen took comfort in yet another snippet of information that didn’t fit with Peter having deserted her.
‘There’s something else that worries me,’ said Patterson. ‘If they really have had an accident or got into some kind of trouble… it’s been about five days since I last heard from Amy and it’s winter in the Welsh mountains.’
They took this as their cue to get up and head back to the car.
The dark clouds that had been building and threatening most of the way down the M6 turned to torrential rain as they turned west into Wales along the M56. The wipers struggled to cope as they made their way to the junction with the A55 North Wales coast road. After an hour or so the strain of driving in such appalling conditions made Patterson turn off into the car park of a roadside cafe. He said, ‘Let’s have some hot coffee and take a look at the map.’
The air in the cafe was heavy with the smell of cooking and wet waterproofs. Steam drifted up from the service counter and condensation streamed down the windows.
They sat down at a red plastic table and opened the AA road atlas that Patterson had brought in with him.
‘I reckon our best bet is to turn off at Llandudno Junction and head south through the Vale of Conwy,’ he said. ‘Then, if we turn west through Betws-y-coed on to the A5, that’ll take us right to Capel Curig. We can ask for directions from there.’
Karen agreed.
It was dark and just after five in the evening when Patterson brought the Land Cruiser to a halt outside a hotel in Capel Curig in the heart of the Welsh mountains. The rain was still hammering down. They dashed across the cratered surface of the car park to seek sanctuary in the entrance hall, which was warm and dry but deserted. They looked around for a bell to ring but without success. Karen leaned her head through the hatch at Reception and called hopefully, ‘Hello!’ There was no response.