The Blasphemer: A Novel (48 page)

London. Present day. Five and a half months after the crash

‘CAN I COME AND LIVE WITH YOU?’

Hamdi looked up from the textbook he was marking to see Martha standing by the door studying her shoes.

‘What are you still doing here, Martha? Your mummy running late?’

‘Can I come and live with you?’ Martha repeated.

Hamdi laughed. ‘No you can’t. Why do you say that?’

‘Because …’

Because her heart felt like a big bumblebee trying to escape her chest whenever she looked at him. Because she had given it a lot of thought and it was time the world knew that she loved him, always had and always would. Because when she was old enough they were going to get married. It would be a spring wedding, when the lambs were being born and the leaves were on the trees. She could picture the house they would live in, a thatched cottage in the country, by a wood, with a stream running alongside it full of fat trout. She also knew what car they would drive, a hybrid utility vehicle, because Mr and Mrs Said-Ibrahim were going to be an environmentally aware couple. She had named the three children they would raise. Peter, Sally and little George. She would be a primary school teacher herself by then. Marriage was a big commitment to make at her age but she had no doubts, she
knew that. None at all. She knew in her heart that she and Hamdi were destined to be together for ever. Because with love comes certainty.

‘Because what?’ prompted Hamdi.

‘Just because.’

‘Is everything OK at home?’

‘No.’

‘Want to talk about it?’

Martha was still examining her shoes. ‘No.’

Hamdi checked the parents’ book. ‘You were supposed to be going home for tea with Clare and her mummy.’

‘I know.’

‘Is Clare’s mummy late?’

‘Told her there had been a change of plan.’

Hamdi frowned. He didn’t need this complication. It would make him even further behind with his marking. ‘I’d better ring your mummy,’ he said in a tone that was calculated to sound unfriendly. He looked in his desk for the sheet with all the parents’ numbers on it.

‘I’ve got it programmed into my mobile,’ Martha said, placing her iPhone on the teacher’s desk. ‘You can use it if you like.’

‘You have an iPhone?’

‘Daddy bought me it. It’s ringing.’

‘Lucky girl.’ As it rang he looked at Martha and smiled tightly. ‘Answering machine. Hello. This is Hamdi Said-Ibrahim, Martha’s teacher. There’s been a mix-up. She was supposed to be going home with Clare’s mother. It’s…’ He checked his watch. ‘Three forty-five now. I’m going to be driving past your house so I can drop her off … I have my mobile with me if you need me. And Martha has hers.’

‘You and Daddy are friends, aren’t you?’

‘Yes,’ Hamdi said. ‘I suppose we are.’

In the Mini, Martha continued staring at her shoes. Hamdi studied her out of the corner of his eye. He clicked the radio on to Classic FM.

Martha said, ‘Have you ever been in love?’

‘Why?’

‘It’s a yes or no answer.’

‘I’m sorry, Martha, but I don’t feel comfortable talking about such things with you. These are inappropriate conversations for a teacher to have with his pupil.’

She was in a passage of the conversation that she had rehearsed. ‘Do you love me?’

Hamdi swerved slightly. ‘Enough, Martha. We cannot have this conversation.’

‘I need to know if you love me or not.’

As Daniel and Philip came out on the English side of the Channel Tunnel, sitting in their car inside the train carriage, their mobiles bleeped in unison – a re-entry into the modern world after a brief, subterranean silence. Daniel looked at his screen and frowned. ‘
Twelve
missed calls?’

‘I’ve got six,’ Philip said. He looked puzzled.

They both pressed their phones to their ears. As they waited to be connected to their messages, the air in the car seemed to loosen. The colour drained from Daniel’s lips as he listened. ‘It’s Martha,’ he said in a distant voice. ‘She’s gone missing.’

The three MI5 officers standing in front of the screen moved to one side to allow Bloom to join them. He was carrying a tray with four steaming cardboard mugs on it. These he handed round. ‘Who was having skinny?’ he said in a gristly New York accent.

‘Mine,’ Turner said, reaching for it.

All four men stood taking careful sips of coffee as they rewound a film and watched a young man in a jacket and tie leave his house
with a cello case and get into a Mini Cooper. ‘We got enough to pull him in yet?’ Bloom said.

‘Depends,’ Turner said, pausing the image on the screen.

‘It’s not so much what he’s done as what the chatter says his lot are planning to do.’

‘We’re sure they
are
his lot?’

‘Fits the profile. They’ve been looking for a teacher.’

‘They’re after a child, that’s not the same thing.’

‘Do we know which website they are planning to show their little snuff movie on?’

‘Not yet.’

‘On Tuesday we saw this one using a mobile and immediately afterwards he walked into a phone box to make another call.’ Turner sat down and put his feet on the desk in front of him, revealing red socks that were an apology for the greyness of his suit.

Bloom took another sip. ‘Perhaps his phone needed recharging.’

‘Perhaps he didn’t want his number traced.’

Bloom was opening a sandwich. He carefully removed the lettuce from it and left it on the side of his plate. ‘He knows his phone is being tapped. That guy Kennedy told him. Wouldn’t you use a pay phone?’

‘He shreds his paper,’ Turner said. ‘Why would a teacher bother to shred his paper?’

The square in Clapham Old Town was being cordoned off with police tape as Daniel and Philip pulled up outside the house. ‘Missing girl’ posters were going up. Because three police cars were blocking the road, Daniel left his engine running and the driver’s side door open. He shouted instructions over his shoulder as he ran up the steps to his front door. ‘Can you find a parking space, Dad?’

Nancy was wearing paint-flecked jeans and a baggy grey sweatshirt with the sleeves rolled up. Her hair was wound up on top of her head and held by a white headscarf. She was in the kitchen
staring blankly at the mobile in her shaking hand. Mascara had run in dark lines from the corners of her eyes. Her nose was pink and her face looked puffy. When she saw Daniel she ran to him, spread her arms and began crying again.

‘Anything?’ Daniel said, his own eyes welling.

Nancy sniffed, wiped her nose and shook her head.

‘She was supposed to be going back for tea with Clare, right?’

‘She told Clare’s mother …’ Nancy’s breathing snagged. Her voice sounded hollow. ‘She told Clare’s mother that there had been a change of plan and that she was coming home with me.’ It was as if Nancy were rehearsing the details, reassuring herself her own version of events was consistent.

‘What time was that?’

‘Three thirty. Pick-up time.’ They both looked at the clock on the kitchen wall. It was ten to seven. Still light, just.

‘Did anyone see her leave the school?’ Daniel asked. ‘She couldn’t have got her days mixed up and thought she was doing an afterschool club? What night is her chess club?’

Nancy shook her head again, dark fronds tumbling across her face.

‘Cello was last night, right? Have you tried …’ He struggled to remember Hamdi’s name. ‘Her form teacher, the guy who takes her for cello?’

A small-boned man in a charcoal-grey suit approached them. ‘Nothing reported yet from the school. We’re questioning all the teaching staff, as well as her schoolfriends.’ He held out his hand. ‘Detective Chief Inspector Alan Mayhew … I want you to know we’re doing everything that can be done at this stage. There are photographs going out to every station.’

Daniel held on to his hand. It was as cool as wax. ‘You’ve checked the common?’

‘Several times. Battersea Park, too.’

‘What about the Bowling Green Café? She loves it there.’

The detective extracted his hand gently. ‘We have an officer there now, in case she turns up.’

‘We’ve tried the toy shop on Northcote Road and the Latchmere swimming pool,’ Nancy said. ‘And Mum and Dad haven’t heard from her. Nor has Amanda.’

Daniel stood in the centre of the kitchen, rubbing his face with his hands. ‘Clapham Picture House?’

‘Checked.’

Daniel’s shoulders sagged. ‘What about the Natural History Museum? She could have taken a taxi.’

‘Unlikely. Black cab drivers aren’t allowed to pick up unaccompanied minors,’ DCI Mayhew said. ‘Can she use the Tube on her own?’

Nancy shook her head.

‘We’ve got an officer at Clapham Common, Clapham North and Clapham South. And there’s an alert out to all Underground staff. And we’ll ask the museum to keep a lookout. Anywhere else she goes?’

‘She might have tried going to my college. Trinity … I’ll call Wetherby.’

Philip had entered the kitchen and was clearing his throat. ‘Kew Gardens?’ he offered.

‘We’ll notify both places.’

Daniel said, ‘What about that counsellor you’ve been seeing?’

Nancy recoiled. ‘No, I … I’ve tried him.’

‘You definitely checked her phone?’

Nancy looked at the kitchen counter. Daniel followed her sight line. Martha’s iPhone was next to her school satchel.

‘She came home?’

‘Someone deleted a message on the answering machine. It had been left at three forty-five. Her
Finding Nemo
rucksack is missing and her toothbrush and …’ Nancy ran to the sink and heaved. Nothing came out.

Daniel crossed the kitchen and stroked her back.

‘Crush. She’s taken Crush with her.’ Nancy wiped her mouth.

‘They think she might have tried to run away from home. Look.’ She pointed to four crusts that had been cut off on the counter. ‘She’s made herself sandwiches.’

‘If that’s what’s happened,’ DCI Mayhew interrupted, ‘her prospects are good. We get called out to situations like this more often than you’d think and the missing child usually turns up within a few hours. In all probability she is sitting in a café somewhere wondering how best to get home.’

Nancy was rubbing her temples. ‘Kevin isn’t here. I think she might have taken him too.’

Mayhew: ‘Kevin?’

‘Our dog … When a child is abducted …’

‘We don’t know she’s been abducted,’ Daniel interrupted. ‘If she’s taken Crush and Kevin it is far more likely that she ran away.’

‘Once a child sees her abductor’s face …’ Nancy continued.

‘Stop it, Nance. It won’t help to think …’ Daniel frowned. ‘Did she have any money?’

Nancy shook her head and chewed on her lower lip. ‘And she doesn’t have her insulin pouch with her.’

Daniel picked up Martha’s iPhone. ‘You’ve checked this for texts and photographs?’

‘Nothing,’ Nancy said.

‘Anything we should be doing?’ Daniel said helplessly.

DCI Mayhew said, ‘Have you phoned everyone you can think of ?’

‘I could call Bruce,’ Daniel said. ‘He’s her godfather.’

An hour and a half passed as phone calls were made and remade from police lines, so that the home landline would be left free. Mayhew kept checking his watch. At 8.40pm he nodded at his sergeant and squared his shoulders. He didn’t want to alarm the parents more than was necessary. ‘Are you familiar with the Amber Alert System?’

Nancy put her hand to her mouth. ‘That’s for abducted children.’

‘Missing children,’ Mayhew corrected gently, resting a hand on Nancy’s arm. ‘We’ve scanned a photograph of Martha and it’s been sent to every police force in the country. All the airports and seaports are covered.’ He blew out his cheeks. ‘We now need to start thinking about a media appeal.’ He checked his watch. ‘It’s been five
hours since she was last seen.The child rescue alert system is a procedure designed to achieve rapid cross-border publicity. We send out texts and emails and Martha’s picture will be broadcast with a police contact number every hour on ITV and Sky.We should also be thinking about getting you in front of a news crew as soon as possible.’

The sergeant stepped forward. ‘We have a crew waiting outside, sir,’ she said.

‘Good.’ He looked at Nancy. ‘Do you think you can manage this? It’s best coming from the mother. Keep it simple. It will be pre-recorded. We should be able to get it on the nine o’clock bulletins.’

Nancy and Daniel were holding hands as they stood on the steps of their house, blinking in the lights. Nancy didn’t look at the camera as she spoke softly and haltingly, on the threshold of tears. ‘If anyone has seen. Our beautiful little. Girl. Can they please contact the police.’ She looked at Daniel. Put her hand to her mouth. The tears came. ‘If someone has. Taken her … please … please do not hurt. Her.’

Daniel squeezed her hand and spoke in a stronger voice: ‘Please let us know where to find Martha, or put her in a place of safety and tell somebody where that is. She is nine years old with long blonde hair in a ponytail. She has green eyes and a discoloration of skin on her neck. She was wearing a dark green school uniform and a pink jacket. She is short for her age. She may have a mongrel dog with her called Kevin.’

‘She’s diabetic,’ Nancy added, her voice clotting again. ‘If she doesn’t get her insulin she will …’

For twenty-five minutes after the appeal was broadcast, Nancy sat on the sofa in the drawing room, sometimes crying, sometimes staring blankly ahead, sometimes drawing her knees up and wrapping her arms around them. Daniel sat next to her. He held her hand. Put his arm around her. But he couldn’t sit still for long. Instead, he kept standing up to check his own iPhone and the message alerts on his MacBook. He made fresh cups of tea. Tapped his watch face. Stood by the window staring out across the garden.
Every ten minutes or so he wandered next door to the kitchen where the three policemen assigned to their house were waiting with Philip. Had they heard anything yet? Every time the phone rang, both parents jumped. It was always a friend or relative who had seen the appeal. After a while they let the calls go straight to the answering machine, screening them as the messages came over the speaker.