Nowhere to Run. Jack Slater
no,’ she laughed. ‘I’m the receptionist.’
‘Ah. And you didn’t, perhaps, see a girl in school uniform walking away from the school yesterday morning?’
She shook her head. ‘No.’
‘OK. Well, thanks for your time, Mrs Taylor.’ He stepped back as she pulled away. Turning around, he saw Jane’s Audi moving away, too, the two cars purring off in opposite directions. Up and down the street, other officers, some in uniform, others not, were approaching vehicles as they stopped or pulling over those that looked to be driving straight past. He saw Dick Feeney, in his customary grey suit, flag down a black VW Golf and lean down to the passenger window as Dave Miles straightened up from a bright blue Porsche and waved it on.
Five months ago, these same things would have been happening outside the swimming pool. Cars and pedestrians being stopped. Questioned. Asked if they’d seen anything relevant to the disappearance of a young boy. Signs would have been put up, asking any witnesses who hadn’t been questioned to come forward. The difference was that another crew had been handling that case. Pete and his team had been specifically excluded, in accordance with standard protocol.
And the other difference, he thought, was that they would find Rosie Whitlock. Her parents would not go through the protracted hell that he, Lou and Annie were suffering. He would not allow it.
‘Right, what have we got then?’
Pete stood by the whiteboard that Dick had set up the night before and surveyed the team as the last uniformed PC closed the door behind him. None of them looked pleased with themselves or glad to be here. ‘Dave, what did the street search turn up?’
‘Bugger all, basically, apart from the remains of a mobile phone that may or may not have been the victim’s. It was smashed to bits. Looked like it had been chucked out of a moving vehicle and run over by an artic. But we’ve sent the bits to the tech boys, to see if they can do anything with them. Other than that, we combed the street from the junction down to the corner, both sides. There were one or two little bits and pieces. The odd fag end and so on, but nothing that could be from the victim and nothing that says, “Kidnapper was here.” We’ll get what we did find off to forensics, but unless he smokes or chews gum – and there were only two bits of that fresh enough to be relevant – I don’t think it’ll get us anywhere. Certainly not before we’ve got him in custody some other way.’
Pete nodded. ‘Thanks, all of you, for trying anyway. As far as the school itself, an initial search turned up nothing but we’ve got a full team going in there, to do the job properly, in…’ he checked his watch ‘. . . about an hour. Other than that, the only thing that came up was a young lad who seems to have had something of a crush on Rosie, from a distance. Richie Young. The consensus among the other kids seems to be that he’s a bit weird, a bit of a loner, but essentially harmless. Follows her around at a distance. He’s not in school today, though. His mother phoned in this morning. He’s off sick.’
‘Could be a coincidence, boss,’
‘Could be, but you know me, Jane. I don’t like ’em. So I’ll follow up on him when we’re done here. Anybody got anything to add on the school before we move on?’
Heads were shaken in a silence that Pete allowed to stretch for a few seconds.
‘Right. We need to check with the school – and with the one Rosie’s mum works at – that all the staff have current CRB checks in place. No one’s there that shouldn’t to be. Make sure they’ve all got solid alibis for yesterday morning. Any that haven’t, we’ll need to interview. The rest of us need to carry on with last night’s interviews. Track down those we weren’t able to get in touch with and check on the alibis of those we spoke to. Dick and Jill, if you want to start checking alibis, grab a couple of uniforms to help out. Jane, you can get a list together of all the people we still need to interview and get started on that with Ben. Usual drill – neighbours, close family and friends first, then widen the net. Colleagues, friends of friends, schoolmates and the parents of, and don’t forget the folks that live around Risingbrook itself. Right. Anything else?’ He gazed around the assembled team. They looked determined, ready to go. ‘No? Let’s get to it then. And anybody who finds her by lunch gets a pint on me.’
A ripple of cynical laughter went around the room and Pete gave it a few seconds before holding up his hands. ‘Rosie’s been missing for twenty-six hours now, so it’s time to pull our fingers out and get a wiggle on. And the press moratorium has been lifted, as of five minutes ago. I spoke to our beloved leader and he’s got that in hand.’
‘I bet he has,’ Feeney said dryly.
‘We might as well make what use of him we can. Now, come on. Let’s try to find this girl before any harm comes to her.’ Pete stepped away from the whiteboard as those who were seated stood up and everyone moved off to get on with their assigned tasks. ‘Sophie,’ he called.
One of the PCs who were on the way to the door stopped and looked around.
‘I need you with me, OK?’
Her eyes widened in surprise. ‘Yes, Sarge.’ She stepped out of the group. ‘What are we doing?’
‘Having a talk to the Young boy. Best to have two of us there.’ Pete often found that a female presence helped in such situations. It tended to keep things calmer. Plus, there was the different perspective that they brought to an interview. They tended to see things differently – and see different things – to men, which could be useful. It was one of the reasons he worked so well with Jane. ‘We need to find out if young Richie Young is as innocent as he ought to be, or if his mum’s covering for him.’
*
Richie Young’s dark hair was lank and longer than Pete would have expected to be allowed for a boy at a school like Risingbrook. Its central parting was failing miserably so that it hung down like a ragged curtain in front of his too-bright eyes and pale, shiny face as he sat sullenly against far too many pillows in a bed that smelled stale and unwelcoming. His thin chest was heaving as if he’d just run all the way from school. His mother sat on the corner of the bed, her hand firmly on his knee as if to prevent it from bouncing in front of the two police officers.
Pete pulled the chair out from under the desk and turned it around. With a jolt, he noticed a maths textbook on the desk that was the same one Tommy had been using. Then, on a shelf beside the desk, what looked like a brass coin. He recognised it as a token from an amusement arcade. There were several in Tommy’s room, from time he’d spent in the place down Fore Street.
Pete had been shocked when he realised that his son was gambling. He remembered wondering what else the boy got up to that he didn’t know about. Did this lad and his son know each other? He leaned forward in the chair, fighting the urge to ask. Come on, Pete. Stick to the subject.
He shared a glance with Sophie, who was standing by the door, arms folded as if guarding it. ‘So,’ he said. ‘Do you know of anyone Rosie’s receiving any unwanted attention from? Anyone she’s having problems with?’
‘No.’
‘And you would know, right? You being a close friend of hers?’
‘Are you taking the . . . ’ he glanced at his mother ‘. . . mick?’
‘Why would you think that?’
‘You must have got my name from school, so you must have talked to the other kids.’
‘And?’
‘No, I don’t know of anyone she’s having problems with. She’s popular. She’s not bitchy or stuck-up like some of them. She includes people, you know?’
People like you, Pete thought. Outsiders. He nodded. ‘And you’re sure you didn’t see anything unusual, anything out of place