Nowhere to Run. Jack Slater
you didn’t hear anything from the school, asking why Rosie hadn’t turned up, anything like that?’
‘No, they . . .’ He sat forward again. ‘It’s not like your average comprehensive, Sergeant. They assume the students have some level of responsibility. They allow them a day for sickness before chasing them up.’
Pete grimaced. He’d never heard of a school treating its students like that before. Maybe a college or university, but not a senior school. ‘OK. We spoke about her mobile and so on. Do we have your permission to check on your landline and Internet provider, too?’
‘Of course. Anything that’ll help find Rosie, though how they might is beyond me.’
‘The more information we have, the better.’ Hopefully, the records would allow him to verify Alistair’s whereabouts for at least part of the day without needing to ask him directly at this stage. That could come later, if it proved necessary – statistically, the majority of missing kids were missing because of something a parent or close relative had done, but, at the same time, he knew how distressing that kind of suspicion could be. He remembered answering these same questions five months ago, from Simon Phillips. How he’d seethed to get out there, do something – anything – towards finding Tommy instead of wasting time, answering damn fool questions.
Jane opened the door and held it for Mrs Whitlock to come through with a tray, which she put on the coffee table.
‘Great. Just what we need,’ Pete said, as she handed him a cup and saucer.
‘Thanks, Jess. There we are, Sergeant. Rosie’s mobile number is at the top. Our home line. Then you have my parents’, Jessica’s, my brother’s, her sister’s, Rosie’s school. Her best friend is Becky Sanderson. We spoke to her earlier. You’ve got the numbers there for our tennis club, King’s, plus Northbrook swimming pool, which she uses at this time of year because the outdoor one at Topsham is closed, my office and Jessica’s school. The other ones are just friends of ours. Purely social. From uni and so on.’
‘Excellent. Thank you. That should speed things up considerably.’ He took a sip of his tea. ‘So, she uses Topsham pool when it’s open?’
‘Yes.’
Tommy had enjoyed swimming, too, but he had never bothered with the open-air pool. Had preferred to stick to the indoor one in the city – where he’d been waiting for Pete to pick him up on the evening when he’d . . . Pete sucked air in through his teeth, breaking the chain of thought. ‘One thing I would say. I don’t know how – it baffles me, even after all these years – but it never takes the press long to get hold of things like this. My strong advice, for now, would be not to say anything to them. Just in case. As soon as we’ve established there’s no reason not to keep things quiet, we’ll probably call a press conference ourselves and involve you both in that, if you’re up to it. It keeps things under control a bit, that way. Less intrusive, at least to start with.’
‘Why wouldn’t we want to talk to the press? Jessica asked. ‘I’d have thought . . .’
‘In case she was kidnapped,’ Alistair said before Pete could reply.
‘What?’
‘It’s unlikely,’ Pete said gently. ‘But if she was, and the press are already involved, that might not be a good thing.’
‘Oh my God! I hadn’t even thought of that. You mean, if it gets out they might . . . ?’
Pete held up his free hand. ‘As I say, it’s only a faint possibility. It’s just one of the things we have to consider at this stage.’
Clearly, the missing girl was desperately loved. Pete felt the old determination building inside him. He wasn’t going to allow these people to go through what he and Louise were going through. He would do his level best to bring their daughter back alive and well, whatever the odds.
‘God, this is unbelievable. It’s just so awful!’ She looked as if she was going to break down again.
‘I’m sorry. I know how you feel, Mrs Whitlock, and—’
‘Don’t be so bloody patronising,’ Alistair snapped. ‘How the hell can you possibly know how we feel?’
‘Sir, I . . .’
‘Has your daughter ever gone missing, Sergeant?’
Pete felt himself go pale, a wave of coldness sweeping through him.
‘DS Gayle lost his son in similar circumstances, just a few months ago, sir,’ Jane said stiffly. ‘So he knows exactly how it feels. I don’t, but he does.’
‘That’ll do, Jane,’ Pete said softly.
‘I’m sorry. I didn’t know.’
‘Yes, well . . . As DS Gayle was saying, we’ll do all we can to find your daughter and bring her back safe.’
*
Lauren woke in complete darkness, snuggled tight against the warm body of another person. For a brief moment she felt safe and cosseted. Then the smell of the hay brought her back to reality with a jerk. Who was this other person? Another girl. She smelled feminine. Lauren could feel her long hair, a skirt and bare legs against her own. Where had she come from? She tried to ask, but there was a gag in her mouth. She moved to free it but her hands were tied behind her with something thin and hard. Shifting in the hay, she found her ankles were bound too. Shit, they really meant business now.
‘Iss OK.’
The other girl tried to say more, but was clearly also gagged.
‘Uh-huh.’ Lauren swallowed, but it went the wrong way and she began to choke and cough. She heard the other girl trying to say something through her gag, but couldn’t make it out. Then she moved in the darkness. Lauren felt hands brush against her clothes. Her choking was getting more urgent as she fought for breath. The other girl’s hands fumbled blindly, moving from her cardigan to her blouse to the knee-length sock that was tied across her face as a gag. She felt the gag being pulled away and stiffened her neck, pulling back to help. The knotted cloth snapped free and she was coughing and gasping.
Finally, with a clear airway, the coughing fit ended, leaving her panting for breath.
‘Thanks,’ she gasped. ‘That nearly killed me. Roll over, I’ll get yours.’
Lauren felt the girl roll away, heard the rustle of movement, then felt hair against her face. The girl’s body pressed warm against hers before moving downward as Lauren went the other way until her head bumped painfully into the wall.
‘Ouch. You’ll have to go further. I’ve hit the wall,’ she said.
‘Uh-huh.’
Lauren rolled over and got to her knees. Felt around with her bound hands. ‘Where are you?’ The sharp ends of the hay dug into her shins, but she ignored them as she searched awkwardly. She touched wool, then cotton. Skin, firm over bone, then the softness of a cheek. Cloth. A sock. She grunted and fumbled along the tightly stretched material, towards the girl’s mouth. Her finger brushed a lip and the girl grunted something. Lauren got a hold of the material and pulled. She felt the other girl pulling back, the material stretching. Lauren’s fingers ached with the strain, but she kept pulling, straining to get the gag free. Then her fingers gave way. She cried out as sock snapped back into place and the other girl moaned in frustration.
‘Sorry.’
They tried again. The girl opened her mouth as wide as she could, tilting her head and working her jaw to try to get it free. Lauren felt the gag catch briefly on the girl’s front teeth, but then it was out.
‘There.’ Lauren heard the snap of the girl’s teeth closing, then the draw of breath. ‘No use yelling,’ she said. ‘Nobody will hear.’
The other girl moaned and rolled onto her back. ‘Where are we? What’s happening?’