Seven Days

by Alex Lake

  ‘I know,’ Sandra said. ‘I always knew. We have to go home. She might get away from him again. We need to be there.’ She stared at Martin. Why did he look so worried. ‘Martin. You know what this means. She’s alive! Our daughter’s alive!’

  ‘Yes,’ he said. ‘But she’s with Best. And until she’s back with us, I won’t be celebrating.’

  Wynne

  Every airport, ferry terminal and other kind of border crossing was alerted to the possibility that Best might be trying to leave the country with Maggie Cooper and a toddler, either male or female, one or more of them with significant injuries.

  They were also alerted to the fact it might only be Best and Maggie.

  Or Best alone. In that case, they were looking for a man in his sixties, travelling alone.

  And there were plenty of them. She pictured him on the Eurostar to Paris, settling into his seat with a cup of coffee and a newspaper, one more businessman in a suit making his way to a meeting.

  Leaving Maggie Cooper in an unmarked grave, her child beside her.

  No. He had dumped the car and left in another vehicle. He had a destination in mind and it wasn’t abroad. But they had no idea where it was. They had found no records of any property he might have had. Of course, it could be in another name, a fake identity, and finding that could take a long time. Time they did not have.

  The truth was, Best could be anywhere.

  She banged her desk in frustration. DS Chan looked at her.

  ‘I know,’ he said. ‘I can’t believe we missed him. We were so close.’

  ‘It’s more than that,’ Wynne said. ‘It’s the whole thing. I was involved in this at the beginning, and I went to Best’s house. He was known to be interested in school girls, taking photos from his window, that kind of thing. We searched his house – without a warrant, I bullied him into it – and we missed her. I went in the garage. His car was there, parked over the fucking trapdoor.’

  ‘You couldn’t have known,’ Chan said. ‘He must have excavated that room himself.’ He shook his head. ‘He must have been planning this for years, getting ready for the right opportunity.’

  ‘I should have known,’ Wynne said. ‘If I’d only taken more time.’

  ‘No,’ Chan said. ‘There was no link to Best. It’s not your fault.’

  ‘It feels like it is. And now we – I – have missed him again. I’m starting to think it’s not meant to be.’ She picked up her phone. ‘Time to call the Coopers. Give them the bad news.’

  Martin

  The phone rang as they were pulling into the house. Martin put it on speakerphone.

  ‘DI Wynne,’ he said. ‘Is there any news?’

  ‘I’m afraid not.’ She paused. ‘We did find Best’s car. It was on the Sparkedge industrial estate. He’d abandoned it.’

  Sandra leaned forward. ‘Was there any sign of Maggie?’

  ‘No. We had a lot of officers on the scene and they did a thorough search of the premises and the surroundings. There was nothing. We think Best left his car there and switched to some alternative means of transport.’

  ‘He had a second car?’ Martin said.

  ‘That seems the most likely explanation.’

  ‘So he was planning this?’ Sandra asked.

  ‘Perhaps not for today,’ Wynne said. ‘But it wouldn’t be a surprise to find out that he had a contingency plan should he need to flee. And this could be it.’

  ‘So where is he?’ Martin said. ‘Where are you looking?’

  ‘We have a description of Best out nationally, along with what we think Maggie would look like now. All border control officials have been alerted to stop any couple who fit their description.’

  ‘He might have changed his appearance,’ Sandra said. ‘And Maggie’s.’

  ‘They’re looking for any older man and younger woman.’ Wynne cleared her throat. ‘There is something else.’

  Martin glanced at Sandra. From her expression he could see that she too had picked up on the tone of Wynne’s voice.

  ‘What is it?’ he said.

  ‘There was evidence in the room where Maggie had been held that she might have had a child. A toddler. Aged from two to four.’

  The world seemed to stop. For a second there was only silence.

  ‘A child?’ Martin said. ‘Maggie has a child?’

  ‘Possibly. If so, then it should make them easier to identify.’

  Sandra was shaking her head. ‘No,’ she said. ‘No. She can’t have. He can’t have done that to her. Not my little girl.’

  ‘I’m sorry to break the news this way,’ Wynne said. ‘But it’s important you know the facts. You should also know that we are looking into every aspect of Best’s life to see if there are any indications as to where he might have gone. We will have all available resources on this. You can be assured of that.’

  ‘Thank you,’ Martin said. ‘And please call if you have news. Anytime.’

  He ended the call and turned to his wife.

  ‘Holy shit,’ he said. ‘I can’t believe this is happening.’

  ‘She has a child,’ Sandra said. ‘Our grandchild.’ She closed her eyes. ‘They have to find her, Martin. They have to.’

  ‘It’s his child too,’ Martin said. ‘We need to think about that.’

  ‘I don’t,’ Sandra said. ‘I will love any child of Maggie’s. But we need her back. That’s all that matters now.’

  ‘I’m going to tell James. I want him here with us.’

  ‘OK,’ Sandra said. ‘Good idea.’

  James

  James wrapped the rubber band around his bicep and cinched it tight. His pulse sped up. Saliva filled his mouth. God, he wanted this.

  His phone rang. He looked at the screen. Dad. He rejected the call. It rang again. He ignored it. Nothing mattered any more.

  There was a buzz as a text message arrived.

  Call now. Urgent.

  Shit. Was it mum? She’d been ill. Maybe she was sick again. Well, if she was, all the more reason to go through with this. He picked up the needle and looked at the point, examined its sharpness, got ready for the prick and the rush.

  His phone buzzed again.

  Call me. It’s about Maggie.

  Maggie? What the fuck was this? He put the needle down and called his dad.

  ‘Dad? It’s me. What’s up?’

  ‘Where are you?’

  ‘At the flat.’

  ‘I’m on my way. I’ll pick you up there.’

  ‘No.’ He didn’t want to see him. ‘What did you mean, it’s about Maggie?’

  There was a pause.

  ‘They found her.’ His dad sniffed. ‘But then they lost her again.’

  ‘They what?’

  ‘It’s a long story. I’ll tell you when I see you.’

  ‘Tell me now.’

  ‘James—’

  ‘Dad! Tell me now! I want to know what happened!’

  ‘OK.’ He heard the sound of an engine starting. ‘I’ll be there in a few minutes, but I’ll fill you in on the way.’

  ‘Best,’ James said. He was sitting in the front seat of the car. ‘That fucking bastard. If I ever get my hands on him I’ll rip his fucking throat out. I was at his house, and she was there, under his fucking garage.’

  ‘That’s what DI Wynne said,’ his dad replied.

  ‘And he ran away?’

  ‘Yes. He had a plan. He must have wondered if this day would come. They found his car at the Sparkedge industrial estate. He must have had a spare one hidden there.’

  ‘So now he still has her but no one knows where he is.’

  His dad drummed his fingers on the steering wheel. ‘I know. I feel like someone has their hand in my stomach and is twisting it around and around.’

  ‘Can we go to Sparkedge? I want to see.’

  ‘I don’t think there’s much—’

  ‘Just go, Dad. I want to have a look. She’s my sister.’

  His dad nodded. He turned left at the n
ext roundabout. Ten minutes later they were approaching the gates of the industrial estate.

  A PC was standing by a car, arms folded. He walked over to James and Martin.

  ‘I’m afraid you’ll have to move on,’ he said. ‘This is a crime scene.’

  ‘I’m Martin Cooper. Maggie’s my daughter.’

  ‘Oh. I see. I’m sorry, sir, but the premises are still off-limits.’

  James listened. His hands shook. He looked at them, surprised at the physical manifestation of his need. For the last hour he hadn’t thought of the needle or pills; all he had thought of was Maggie.

  For the first time in years he felt alive. For the first time in years, he felt there was something worth doing.

  He sat on his hands and made himself a promise. If Maggie was returned he would clean up. The drugs would be history.

  His dad pointed towards the industrial estate. ‘They think he kept a spare car here. One not linked to him, that he could use to flee if he needed it.’

  He looked out of the front window at the four sprawling, derelict buildings. On one side was a scruffy field; on the other was run-down housing estate. Behind was the slick, oily canal.

  James stared at it.

  Best had talked to him once about canals, when he was tutoring him. What was it he’d said? Something about what he’d do if he won the lottery?

  He grabbed his dad’s elbow.

  ‘Dad,’ he said. ‘I know where she is.’

  Wynne

  DI Wynne stood by the gates of the industrial estate. She had met James Cooper years ago and it was hard to believe this was the same person. He was thin, his hair patchy, his eyes sunken in a pallid, slack face.

  ‘So,’ she said. ‘You have an idea where your sister may be?’

  James shuffled from foot to foot.

  ‘Maybe,’ he said. ‘Sort of.’

  ‘Talk us through it,’ Wynne replied.

  ‘It’s the canal,’ he said. ‘He brought her here because there’s a canal. He didn’t switch to a car, he switched to a boat.’

  Wynne folded her arms ‘You think he kept a boat here?’

  ‘Yes.’ James looked at her. ‘When he was my tutor we were doing probability. He used the lottery as an example. He asked if I thought there was more chance of a set of random numbers coming up than a sequence of numbers – say one to six. I thought it was random but he showed me why it was mathematically the same. Then I asked him what he would do if he won the lottery. He told me he would get a canal boat and live on it. I remember him saying how you could go anywhere you wanted on the canals and no one would know. They go over the whole country …’

  ‘Did he have a boat?’ Wynne said. ‘Did he ever mention that?’

  ‘No,’ James said. ‘But I’ve not seen him for years. He could easily have bought one.’

  ‘And if he had,’ Wynne said, ‘using it to conceal them would make sense. He’d know we’d be looking for a car.’

  James Cooper turned to his dad. ‘Them?’ he said. ‘He has more than one prisoner?’

  DI Wynne glanced at the PC. ‘Let’s go and look for evidence of a boat,’ she said. She turned to Martin Cooper. ‘I think you might need to talk to your son for a few minutes.’

  Wynne stood by the bank of the canal. At the far end of the industrial estate, and hidden from view unless you happened to be standing at this exact spot on the towpath, the canal widened. It was some kind of turning circle. It didn’t look like it got much use – this whole stretch of the canal was not exactly popular with the pleasure boaters – and at the far end a large section of it was overgrown with thick, brambly bushes.

  She walked over. If someone wanted to conceal a small houseboat they could do it there. It wouldn’t exactly be hidden, but it would be obscured, and there was no one here to see it anyway.

  Her heart rate rising, she approached the bushes. As she did the ground grew softer, the moisture kept in by the foliage.

  She stopped and stared at the ground.

  ‘Shit,’ she said. ‘He was right.’

  In the soft ground there were sets of fresh footprints.

  Saturday, 23 June 2018

  Evening

  Maggie

  They were on a boat. The man had dragged her from the boot of his car and led her across some kind of wasteland to a white boat, moored on a canal. In those few moments she had stared at the sky. Breathed in the air. It was the first time she had been outside in more than a decade.

  There was a cabin in the front and he had thrown her in. Max was still in the car and she had tried to ask about him but the words were muffled by the gag. The man slammed the door and left.

  Maggie’s arms were bound at the wrists and her ankles were tied. There was a gag stuffed in her mouth – I’ll do something more permanent later, the man said – and she had a throbbing headache where the shovel had hit her.

  The door opened and the man pushed Max into the cabin. He, too, was gagged. She had managed to pick him up by putting her bound wrists over his head and under his bottom. His face was dirty and streaked with tears; she pictured him, eyes wide with panic, as the man tied the gag around his head and shoved him into the cabin.

  It was the first time he had ever been outside. Not a great way to start.

  Then the engine had fired up and the boat had started to move. It was slow, and, in a small mercy, the gentle rocking had sent Max to sleep.

  Leaving her alone to try and think what the man was planning.

  Clearly, he was hoping to hide. The police would have come to the house and worked out what had been going on, and they would be looking for the man everywhere. The boat was perfect; nobody would think anything of another canal cruiser moored up for the night. He could keep them here as long as he wanted. She might be on a boat instead of in a cellar, but other than that her situation had not changed at all.

  She lay down, Max asleep on her chest.

  There was a bump and the rocking of the boat ceased. The hatch opened, and the man stepped into the cabin. He was wearing a hat and sunglasses.

  ‘Well,’ he said. ‘You went and messed it all up.’

  Maggie gestured to the gag. Take it out and we can talk.

  The man gave a sardonic laugh. ‘And have you start screaming? I can’t trust you, Maggie. I thought I could, but I was wrong.’ He pressed his palms together and held his forefingers against his mouth. ‘You know, I thought, at first, that we could have a normal life together. Man and wife. Once you understood what I’d done for you, I was convinced you would see past my age and see that I was a good person. That I had your best interests at heart. Think about it for a second, you ungrateful bitch. Have you any idea how much work it was to excavate that basement? And you threw it back in my face. You were too ungrateful to see it. And too stupid. Too self-absorbed.’ He folded his arms. ‘But then, this. How could you do it?’

  He took off his sunglasses. His eye was gone, a gaping red hole where it had been.

  He winced in pain. Maggie was amazed he could stand it, but then he was not the same as other people. He was insane in ways she barely comprehended.

  ‘How could you?’ he said. ‘How could you do this to me? All I wanted was to take care of you, and this is how you repay me?’

  Maggie stared at his eye. It didn’t repulse her; she wished she had done the same to the other one.

  ‘Well,’ he said. ‘There’s no way back after this. An argument I could have forgiven. Even an attack. But not this. This is too much. I’m afraid it’s over between us, Maggie.’

  She tilted her head. Over? What was over?

  ‘If I can’t have you, nobody can.’

  He reached up to a shelf by his head and picked something up.

  It was a knife, the blade long and sharp.

  ‘You brought this on yourself, Maggie, you really did. I can’t go home now – the police will have been there – and I can’t keep you two with me. If I’m to survive, I need to be on my own. I could let you go, but you
know about my boat and you can’t be trusted. So I’m afraid I have no option.’

  He looked at the knife, his eyes running up and down the blade.

  ‘I’ve thought it through and I have no choice.’

  Maggie kept her eye on the knife. She knew now what was coming, but that was fine. Death was better than the life she’d had.

  She nodded, and shrugged.

  Wynne

  Wynne turned to DS Chan. ‘How far can they be? Those boats are pretty slow, right?’

  ‘Four miles an hour,’ Chan replied. ‘Maybe five.’

  ‘And Best has two or three hours’ start? So they’re within ten or fifteen miles. We need to look inside every boat within twenty miles of here. Get a map of the canal and get officers on bikes pedalling every foot of them.’

  Chan nodded. ‘He may have ditched the boat, too,’ he said. ‘He could be back on the road.’

  ‘We’ll keep that search ongoing,’ Wynne replied. ‘Either way, we’ll find the boat and we’ll track the bastard down from there.’

  PC Oliver Reid

  PC Oliver Reid had come off his shift at six a.m. and slept until one in the afternoon. Then he’d spent a few hours watching his son’s rugby match, and arranged to meet a friend for a pint after he walked his dog, Benjy.

  The springer spaniel ran ahead of him, sniffing in the hedges and picking up this trail or that before moving on. Reid lived in a small village south of Warrington, and his dog walks took him deep into the Cheshire countryside. It always surprised him how remote it seemed. Liverpool was thirty miles to the west and Manchester thirty miles to the east, but out here felt like the middle of nowhere.

  Up ahead, a humpback bridge crossed the Bridgewater canal. He normally picked up the canal towpath at the bridge and followed it back towards the village. As he approached, his phone rang. He glanced at the screen.

  It was the station.

  ‘Olly,’ it was Pete Faro, the duty sergeant. ‘You still sober?’

  ‘I’m tempted to say no,’ Reid replied. ‘In about an hour I planned not to be. I’m assuming you need something?’