Dead of Winter (14 page)

‘I know, Bob, the chances are Issie is already dead or soon will be. He’ll panic at some point, realise he can be identified and kill her. Or botch things so badly she dies. If indeed he has her, but listening to that tape we have to take this seriously. I’m going to head back to the team as soon as the coast is clear.’

‘What about your bacon sandwich?’

Fenwick looked at Cooper’s impressively dimensioned stomach and smiled.

‘Somehow, Bob, I don’t think it will go to waste.’

Mariner continued to watch Saxby Hall for a few minutes after he broke the call. He was feeling confident again. His thinking had moved beyond escape to the needs of his new life. Saxby had said yes; as meek as anything! What would he have said if he had known his beloved daughter was trussed up in a disused pump station less than ten miles away? Mariner laughed and turned on the radio.

The idea of hiding at the pump house had come to him as he left Goosegreen Avenue that morning before it was light. It had been years since he, Dan and Annie had needed a place but the memory of those hot, sticky afternoons had boosted his unnatural optimism as he drove away from his past without a backward thought. Breaking into the pump house had been easy. The bolt cutters in his toolbox made fast work of the padlock, which he replaced with one of the spares he routinely carried. It fitted through the hasp as if made for the job.

He patted the key in his pocket as he turned on the wipers to clear fresh snow. He should be getting back. The idea of the chill pump station made him shiver. He fingered the sixty pounds in his jacket pocket. Was it enough for an oil heater? Maybe, if it was second-hand; and he knew just where to find one.

Before midday he was locked inside with the girl, his car parked out of sight up the disused road leading to the pump house. There would be car tracks of course but it was snowing so hard they would soon be covered. Everything was going his way. She was where he had left her on a mouldy mattress some squatter had abandoned, trussed up and tied to an iron fitting on the wall. He set up the oil stove just out of her reach.

He fed them both from the store of cans he had taken from home and made them strong mugs of tea with sugar. The girl ate and drank in silence. The only words she spoke were to ask to go outside to relieve herself. The afternoon was growing dark. He had already read his paper and he was bored. There was nothing to do; he hated puzzles and had forgotten to bring a radio. Should he risk going out and finding a pub? He glanced at the girl and shook his head. He didn’t want anything to drink. His hangover headache was back and he felt exhausted. Best thing would be to have a nap. He made sure the stove had enough fuel before opening out a camp bed, layering on blankets and zipping himself up tight in his sleeping bag. He shut his eyes and fell asleep almost immediately.

Fenwick returned to spend the night with the Saxbys. Even though the children were expecting him for supper he knew he would never forgive himself if the kidnapper changed his plans and he wasn’t on hand. Technically he didn’t need to be there; Norman had a team on site, including an abduction expert from the Metropolitan Police, who had arrived dressed as a priest just in case the house was still being watched. Fenwick doubted it was. They had searched the surroundings thoroughly and found nothing but indistinct car tracks.

Bob Cooper had also been asked by Saxby to sleep at the Hall. They would share the guest wing with a police team of seven including the FLO. Tony had volunteered to move in for the duration when the Saxbys asked him to do so.

Fenwick and Bob headed for bed just before eleven.

‘Get as much sleep as you can, Andrew. You look tired and this one could run on; you know it’s not going to get easier.’

‘You have no hopes for tomorrow, Bob?’

‘Do you?’

Fenwick shook his head.

‘Between us, I have a bad feeling, have had from the moment I arrived at the school but I can’t tell you why.’

‘My gut’s telling me the same.’

Fenwick looked down at the expanded stomach in question.

‘Could be the food you consumed today. Their cook was so pleased to find at least one person eating I think you put away the family’s rations.’

‘I only did it to make her feel better. What about your day. Any progress?’

‘Nothing; we’ve worked through the staff and teacher lists at the school for a second time. The right pre-employment checks were taken; there’s no one remotely suspicious employed there. All the alibis for the time of Issie’s disappearance have been checked and reconfirmed by the team. I’ve read their reports, every last page, and nothing leaps out. There are just three people they haven’t been able to track down to talk to a second time: a maths teacher, a maintenance man and a music tutor so they are top priority. The teacher went to Cyprus Wednesday evening …’

‘That’s sloppy of Surrey. Surely it’s a “don’t leave the area” one this.’

‘You’re right, but he had been off recovering from an operation and had a good alibi so I think they let him go. Even so …’

‘Exactly. What about the others?’

‘The maintenance man is married. He was interviewed Tuesday evening at the school and had a clear alibi; his brother confirmed they were together all Monday night. Still, Bazza’s trying to track him down for a second interview, not least because he volunteered for the search party. And the music teacher we can’t find.’

‘That’s not good. I never trust the music teachers, all this one-on-one tuition and they sit so close.’

‘He’s supposedly gay and uninterested in the girls, which is one of the reasons he was hired. He was at a concert in London
on Monday night and stayed up there but now nobody’s home when we call. Everything’s being double-checked. Anything else happened here today?’

‘No. They’re going nuts with worry, particularly Lady Saxby. I like her.’

Fenwick noted Bob’s soft spot and wondered at it. He typically didn’t relate to women – other than his wife, daughter, and Nightingale, of course. Now where had that thought come from?

‘They did manage to triangulate the call from Issie’s mobile to an area of north-west Guildford.’

‘Not precise enough to be much help.’

‘No and I’m worried about the press. They’re calling Saxby Enterprises non-stop and there’s a risk that they’ll pick up on the ransom demand.’

Cooper looked sceptical.

‘Norman’s decided we need a contingency plan just in case. Bernstein’s sorting it out.’

Cooper’s hand jerked and spilt tea onto the carpet.

‘Who?’

‘Deidre Bernstein; do you know her?’

‘Too well. She’s the bi—the one who handled the internal investigation into me last year.’

‘The one who found you blameless?’

‘Almost, if you remember; she’s not someone I’d like to bump into again. So I’ll be off tomorrow morning sharpish.’

‘What will you do with yourself?’

‘Why, do you need a hand?’

‘I wouldn’t mind benefiting from the Cooper nose.’

‘The one my wife accuses of being into everything?’

‘That’s the one.’ He leant over to where his jacket was hanging on the back of a chair and rummaged in the pocket. ‘These are copies of stills of the search volunteers. Bazza and his team are going over them but while you’re sniffing about, see if you think anything smells.’

‘No problem.’ Cooper stretched and yawned prodigiously. ‘I’ll
leave you to your beauty sleep. Remember, at least five hours.’

‘Five hours, hmm,’ Fenwick glanced at his watch. ‘Do you want a wake-up call at four-thirty-three precisely?’

‘Bugger that!’ Cooper stood up, scratching his stomach. ‘I’m retired, mate, which means I’m going to enjoy the luxury of a full seven. G’night.’

‘Good night, Bob. And don’t snore; you’re only next door and it’ll keep me awake.’

‘Do I ever?’

The answer was yes but Fenwick was dead to the world before the first reverberations penetrated the party wall.

His alarm went off at four-fifteen and he pressed the snooze button in his sleep, surfacing ten minutes later when it buzzed again. He was suddenly wide awake, adrenaline directing his movements in a way that left his brain behind. He showered, managed a bad shave with a disposable razor and was dressed before a quarter to five. In his socks, Fenwick padded downstairs and found his way to a kitchen twice as large as the first flat he had owned. He worked the espresso machine by instinct. His first coffee of the day was so good he poured another and then forced himself to eat a mound of toast in order to absorb the caffeine that was mixing with his adrenaline to produce a dangerously strong cocktail that would consume his energy too quickly.

He rang Chief Constable Norman at six o’clock to be briefed on the plans for the day.

‘The Home Office called me last night. They want real-time updating on any significant development. You still want to be at the drop itself?’

‘Of course, sir.’

‘If this goes wrong Fenwick … are you sure?’

‘The answer is still yes.’

‘Is this for real do you think? He hasn’t offered any proof of life.’ Fenwick grunted. ‘I hate these crimes. What must her parents be going through?’

Fenwick thought back to the time Bess had been taken by a
suspected murderess. She had been gone less than a day but the anxiety had been crippling.

‘A hell neither you nor I can imagine, sir.’

‘And Rod Saxby, do you think he’s involved?’

‘In the kidnap; as the brains behind it?’ Fenwick paused, ‘I don’t think so. Jane Saxby blames him for everything but he couldn’t have made the second call and if he was going to hire someone I think he’d have chosen a professional. This is opportunistic or a hoax.’

‘You mean someone found Issie, picked her up and kept her?’

‘Possibly, or maybe it didn’t start out as abduction but ended up that way.’

‘Which increases the chance that she’s dead, doesn’t it?’

‘Yes. Amateurs make mistakes, professionals don’t. Even if she is still alive, I think the chances of us recovering her unharmed are low. If he’s an opportunistic amateur he might have let her see his face. She may even know his identity. At some stage this is going to occur to him and he might force himself to kill her, even if he’s kept her alive up to now. The money is his attempt to find a way out. It would explain why the initial ransom was so low.’ Fenwick lost his appetite and put down his piece of toast.

‘He wasn’t thinking straight but by the second demand he’s planning his escape.’

‘Exactly; he’s realised he needs to have something to live on.’

‘We had a sniff from the press last night on the ransom demand but the PO fobbed them off. I’m about to spoil Bernstein’s beauty sleep so that she can work on a contingency plan with the press officer. Horrible thought.’

‘Sir?’

‘Bernstein in bed.’ Fenwick held his tongue. ‘You two getting on all right?’

‘Coping with each other; she resents me on her patch and I understand her feelings. It isn’t getting in the way.’

‘Good. She has a reputation for being prickly – which is politically correct speak for impossible to work with – but I want
to keep her as Silver. She’s one of my most senior female officers and she’d never let me forget it if I didn’t. If you can keep the peace and still make good progress, I’d appreciate it.’

‘Of course.’

‘I have an excellent officer in charge on location today; Jim Perkins. He’s the best. All the team are hand-picked by me.’ There was a muttered expletive. ‘Is that the time? I’ve got a briefing planned in thirty-five minutes. I need to go.’

‘I could call Bernstein if you like, sir. She’ll need to sort out the publicity officer before she starts on Rod Saxby.’

‘She’s holding him?’

‘Flight risk; he avoided us all day and there’s a suspicion he might have abused Issie.’

‘You wait until his brother finds out that he’s in custody. Any points you’ve scored will disappear faster than a whippet up a hare’s arse.’

‘I’m hoping that he’ll be so focused on finding his stepdaughter that he won’t even remember Rod until the operation’s over and if he does I’ll leave him to Lady Saxby.’

Bernstein was predictably annoyed that Fenwick had spoken to Norman directly. She accused him of keeping her out so that he could take all the glory.

‘Or the pain,’ he reminded her. ‘I’m not confident that this is going to end well.’

‘And I suppose you’ll blame the crap initial investigation if it doesn’t.’

‘That remark doesn’t even deserve a reply. How you can think about recriminations and covering your own backside when a seventeen-year-old girl is still missing and we’ve an imminent meeting with her supposed kidnapper is beyond me.’

The words slipped out before he could stop himself, his anger fuelled by worry for Issie, adrenaline and the coffee … and he had just been asked by the chief constable to keep her sweet! He heard an intake of breath.

‘You’re right,’ she said at last. ‘That was stupid and I’d be
grateful if you could forget everything I’ve said from my grudging good morning until now.’

Fenwick confirmed their previous conversation had never happened.

‘Apart from interviewing Rod Saxby and the press side of things, what else does Norman expect me to do?’

His momentary silence said it all.

‘So I’m the Silver with bugger all to do beyond PR; great. But I suppose you’re allowed to be at the drop-off?’

‘Yes.’

‘Bloody typical. Well, whether he likes it or not I’m going to join Norman at HQ while he relies on his pal Jim. It’ll be better than biting the rest of my nails off in the incident room and wishing I was with you.’

It was honestly said and the call ended almost amicably. Fenwick wondered why she had such a bad rep, then mentally criticised himself for being a fool. She was tough and refused to put up with anything she thought a slur on her character. He realised he had been on the verge of treating her just as programmed: as a difficult woman with too much attitude and not worth getting to know. Did that mean that, deep inside, he was as much a misogynist as the colleagues he looked down on?

With a pang he realised he missed Louise Nightingale. She was the best partner he had ever had. He still regretted that they no longer worked together. With her around it had been second nature to treat women as equals; since he had moved to MCS his world was a duller place.

He shook himself and made fresh coffee. The money was due to arrive at six-thirty and he expected the Saxbys to be awake despite their pills. There was still no sign of their cook so he laid out a tray, added fresh toast, marmalade and butter and made his way through to the sitting room, where Tony the FLO was already awake, waiting for the family and the start of the day in which they might have their daughter returned to them … hopefully alive.