Dark Place to Hide (33 page)

‘No…no, we haven’t found her, Dr Penn.’ DS Tolland assures me, allowing a touch of sympathy into his voice.

He gives me a few moments grace to settle down before resuming his persistent tone.

‘You sent false texts and messages from her social media sites using her phone, then destroyed it. Then three days after she was last seen, you caught a train to Heathrow and used your wife’s pin number at an ATM, making sure there was no CCTV to catch you.’

Martin finally steps in. ‘This is pure supposition. Where’s your evidence for this?’

‘We have a warrant to search your property again, Dr Penn. This is being carried out as we speak.’

I hold out my hands. ‘That’s fine. I’ve nothing to hide.’ I stab my fingers against my temples. ‘I never leave shoes in the car. Ask anyone – I never do that.’

It’s a stupid thing to say. Who would know that apart from you, Dee?

Tolland shrugs. ‘Double bluff, perhaps. You’re an expert at this game, Dr Penn.’

‘But why would I be searching for Diane so frantically – calling on my mates in the force to help, if this is what I’d done?’

‘Because that’s what a caring husband would do. In any case – you seem to be spending most of your time looking for a young child.’

‘She’s missing too, from the
same
village – I think they’re connected. They have to be.’

I’m taken to a cell after that. Martin sits with me for a while as we go over what I’m being accused of.

‘What the hell is going on, Martin? How did my shoes get in the car?’

‘It’s all circumstantial,’ he says, leaning forward, his elbows on his knees. I know enough about his body language to know he’s perturbed.

‘I’ve been set up,’ I snap. ‘Someone planted those shoes. The same person who sent the messages from my wife’s phone and shifted the car.’ I think about Morrell; what part does he play in all this?

‘You’re going to have to sit tight and wait until they’ve swept your house. Hold your nerve.’

‘They won’t find anything. There’s nothing there!’ I get up and sit down again.

‘Good. Then you’ve just got to wait it out. They can only hold you for twenty-four hours without making an arrest.’

I stomp around in my cell, panic and fury bubbling up until I’m convinced it’s going to overwhelm me. The car, parked on a caravan site. And the blood…your blood, Dee – what does it mean? Was it a simple scratch…as someone forced you into the car? Or is it far worse than that?

My head is burning, there’s what feels like a flashing light in my eyes; I’m certain I’m going to pass out at any moment. They think you’re dead…of course, they do. Breathe…breathe… All I want to do is run, but I must stay in control, keep still…wait until this dreadful panic lifts.

It’s 10am, but time no longer seems to be moving forward and I check my watch too often, thinking it must have stopped. I’m relieved when I see an hour has passed…then another. Gradually, my body is getting heavier, the air is thicker, everything is slowing down. I try my utmost to space out, imagining I’m in the chicken coop in the garden having one of my episodes where I gradually let everything go.

To my astonishment, it actually helps. Another hour goes by, then an officer comes in with a plastic tray. There’s an egg sandwich and beside it, a cup of weak tea. I choke them down without tasting a thing. Mid-afternoon I’m granted a toilet break and afterwards I sit on the bench and think; about you, about Clara, the Morrells. That only starts to wind me up again, so I let my mind drift, start to wander inside my memories, catch moments from our history together, then go further back to my childhood. It is then, when a powerful new idea comes to me, out of the blue, about my father. I’m not sure where it comes from – maybe it’s because I have only blank walls and a long stretch of time with no distractions, but I feel a major breakthrough taking place in my thinking.

Dee, you’ve always tried to convince me that I wasn’t the reason my father left when I was a kid. I could never see it – never truly grasp that you were right and perhaps there was another reason he went. I’d always felt so pathetic around him, so second rate – it had to be my fault.

Suddenly, being here – all these hours to think – I can see everything differently. I know it wasn’t because I was useless at football or inadequate as a son, was it? He’d stopped loving my mum and had found someone else. He made a choice to leave us as a family – I haven’t been able to understand that – not until now. I didn’t let him down; I was just a kid, growing up, trying my best. I’m not responsible. I can be angry with him for what he did, but I don’t need to turn the anger in on myself any more. I don’t need to get the anger tangled up with fear and shame and punishment.

I’m on my feet as these revelations hit me, but my brief elation gives way to despondency. I miss you more than ever. You should be here, hearing this.

Eventually, I sit down. All this can wait. I should be out there, now I know about the Morrells, the car, the blood… I need to focus on dealing with this mess I’m in. I need the police to stop wasting their time on me and find out what actually happened. I could be stuck in here until tomorrow morning, so the best thing I can do is to run through all the facts regarding the two disappearances – dispassionately. I flick through all my internal film footage and snapshots; I travel along the timelines for both incidents. I think about Dr Pike and Dr Norman; is he taking advantage of the fact that she treats a steady stream of children? And how many people had access to hospital records to find out the dates of Marion and Clara’s appointments?

And you? The car was found locally, Chichester is only a few miles away – so maybe the passport and the visit to the cash machine at Heathrow were meant to throw us off the scent. You could be right here under our noses. I think again about Morrell, but he has an alibi for the time you went missing, and he’s definitely gone abroad – I checked with the neighbours and rang the hotel in Monaco. I even consider Victor – he’s living in the area unexpectedly and blabbed, not long ago, that he has the hots for you, Dee – has he overstepped the mark again?

As it happens, I’m held for twenty-three hours and forty-seven minutes, but I have used my time wisely. I’m released on the basis of good character and no previous offences. Tolland tells me to stay in the area and keep my nose out of the case.

‘Don’t worry – I’m not going anywhere,’ I say, reassuring him about his first point, at least.

I’m re-energised, but it’s not simply about getting my freedom back. Nor is it following my mind-blowing epiphany. During my long wait, I’ve remembered a vital piece of the jigsaw and it changes everything.

As soon as I’m outside, I call Tara.

‘Where’ve you been? I’ve been trying to call you.’

‘I’ll tell you when I see you. Listen – I’ve got something. I think I know what was in the pocket of the guy in the foyer around the time Clara was last seen. I’m pretty sure it wasn’t an apple, but I think I know what it could be. It’s all in the detail.’

‘What? Tell me.’

‘I can’t. Not yet. Not until I’m sure. Anyway, as it stands, it’s purely circumstantial. We need more.’

‘What do you want me to do?’

‘Meet me at the hospital as soon as you can.’

Twenty minutes later, I watch Tara’s red mini swoop into the car park and she leaves it, in her customary fashion, at an angle crossing the bay markings. Either she doesn’t notice or doesn’t care. I join her as she’s aiming the key fob at it, waiting for the locks to clunk into place. Together, we begin scouring the hospital car park, outhouses and peripheral buildings. Tara scuttles after me as we go from place to place.

‘Haven’t the police gone over this whole area with a fine toothcomb – as the last place Clara was seen?’

‘Yes, but I think our abductor may have moved her. It’s one way of keeping a step ahead of the police. I think this guy is clever.’

‘You know who it is?’

‘I can’t be sure yet, but I’ve got a pretty good idea.’

We cover all the external buildings, annoying several porters in the process.

‘What about inside?’ Tara suggests.

‘There’s too much risk involved in hiding a child within the main building. The chance of accidental discovery, by cleaning staff or maintenance workers, is too high. Stock rooms and broom cupboards – you never know when someone may need access.’

‘So, now what?’

We’re outside near the barrier by the parking booth. ‘I’m not sure.’

I look up at the front façade; the relentless pattern of rectangular windows, anonymous and uniform. The sky is thick with charcoal clouds and thin shards of sunlight squeeze between them, bouncing against the glass. I slide my eyes from window to window, not really looking, instead thinking, remembering, letting my mind wander in order to crack open the answers. A movement catches my eye; a nurse is pulling the blinds down and my gaze freezes. I stray to the adjacent frame and notice a static shape in the stairwell; a figure. Only half of his body is visible, but I know he has spotted me. I step closer so I can see him better and his face melts into a half smile; smug and self-satisfied. He’s been watching me and he knows I’m looking in the wrong place.

I stare at the window speculating on who will move first. I watch as he cracks his knuckles on each hand in turn, then turns to the stairs. I remember Clara asking me if I could do it – just before she went missing. She must have seen him do it, too.
In that simple act, he has given himself away.
I run through the relevant dates in my mind – everything is set into my brain by now. It adds up. I wasn’t absolutely certain before, but now I am. Although once again, all the evidence I have is circumstantial and by the look on his face, he knows it.

I turn to Tara, who has been watching new casualties arrive at the ambulance bay. ‘We need to go somewhere,’ I tell her.

‘You’re really not going to tell me a thing, are you?’ She stomps under the canopy as it starts spitting with rain.

‘Can you drive – slowly – the back route to South Wickham? Take the B2177 from Cosham High Street.’

‘Why there?’ We hurry back to the car as the rain develops into a battering deluge.

‘We’re looking for hiding places on the way,’ I say as I snatch at the seatbelt. ‘Old farm buildings, derelict properties, building sites – that sort of thing.’

‘I hate to repeat myself, but haven’t the police covered the whole area?’ Tara points out.

‘Like I said, Clara could have been moved.’

‘Fine. If you give me the directions,’ she says, dropping the map on my lap. ‘I haven’t got around to getting a Sat Nav for this old girl, yet.’

The rain is set in for good and I realise it’s the first downpour since the day we lost the baby. It feels like it’s been gathering in the sky for weeks, like tears, and has finally broken through. Tara’s windscreen wipers are whizzing back and forth in a frantic race to catch up with each other. Water hurtles towards the gutters and within minutes puddles form in dips in the pavement, pot holes and at the roadside. Everything is on the move.

‘You remember the DVD of
The Dark Crystal
I found at Clara’s house?’

‘Okay?’

‘I knew I’d seen it before somewhere. And I’ve remembered. If I’m right, it will have the culprit’s fingerprints all over it.’ I punch the dashboard in triumph. ‘That will finally be some real evidence.’

‘I’ve no idea what or who you’re talking about.’

‘It doesn’t matter. Let’s find Clara.’

Clara wakes up and finds herself in a new place. She’s never been anywhere like it before – instead of a normal square, this room is round without any corners. It doesn’t seem to belong inside a house either – there’s no big marble ‘n’ around the fireplace; there are no comfy chairs. No sofas or lampstands. No wallpaper or paintings. There are blue tits and blackbirds outside; she knows what they sound like and can hear them chattering to each other. The branch of a tree scrapes the window, high up, when the wind blows. It’s more like a tall, thin shed – but that makes it all the more interesting.

There is a plate on an upturned crate with tuna sandwiches and scones and a small carton of orange juice. On a rug on the floor is a dolls’ house nearly as tall as she is – complete with two floors, an attic, tons of furniture and people inside having tea. Next to it is a set of farm animals, plastic trees, fences and tractors. Everything looks brand new, like a toy shop. Clara squeals – she can’t believe her luck. Toys she’s asked Santa for at Christmas and never got! For a second she thinks she might be in heaven. Her mother talks about it a lot. She says she might be going there herself soon and she’s very pleased about it, because she says it’s the best place you could ever imagine.

Beneath her is a patchwork of square padded seats taken from chairs, blankets and soft cushions. Behind her, stacks of round wooden shapes are leaning against the wall; they look to Clara like the workings of a clock. The shapes have nicks in the edges like teeth. ‘I’m Alice in Wonderland,’ she says out loud. ‘Look at the big wheels. I’m inside Granddad’s watch!’

She helps herself to an apricot, a bag of crisps and five chewy snakes left on a floppy beanbag, before losing herself in the dolls’ house. The tiny sign on the door of the first room says ‘drawing room’, but she can’t see anyone with crayons. She puts two small people and a dog into that room, with a baby’s cradle and a tray of cupcakes. She designs a little story around them and another and another. When all the rooms have been visited, she turns to the farm. She builds a wall in the shape of a circle with plastic pieces that join together and puts a gate in the front. Inside the circle she puts horses and a boy with a saddle. In the space of half an hour, he learns to ride, jump over hedges and groom the pony’s tail.

Eventually, the birdsong stops altogether and the world outside settles into silence. Clara runs out of steam under a gluey fog of tiredness.

It is then she realises that she doesn’t know what time it is or how long she’s been there. Her mother will be wondering where she is. She can’t even remember how she got into the place to start with. It’s like she was magicked there. She looks up at the tiny window. It’s too high and small to see out of, but the colour outside has changed from blue to grey to black. Clara knows that means it’s late. There is a single light bulb swinging from a beam in the ceiling keeping everything inside from being night. ‘Mummy will be cross if I’m out too late,’ she mutters.