Nowhere to Run

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 when you got to school yesterday? Or hear anything, maybe?’

‘No. If I had, I’d say, alright?’ For a moment, he looked like he wanted to continue, but then he clammed up once more, his arms folded across his thin chest.

‘Well, that just leaves me wondering one thing, Richie. What aren’t you telling me?’

‘Nothing.’

Pete couldn’t read Richie’s expression through his hair, but his mother straightened in her seat, about to object, then held her silence as a tiny doubt took hold in her mind. She’d seen it, too. The question was, was it relevant? Did he want to push the kid now, in front of his mother, or keep him as a potential witness for later?

‘Who did you see when you got there? Give me some names.’

The boy’s lip curled. ‘I don’t . . . There was Matt Andrews and a couple of his friends. Holly Gregson. Tess Carver.’ He shrugged. ‘That’s about it.’

Pete wrote the names down. He would check with them later. He stood up, putting away his notepad and pen. ‘Well, if you think of anything, or remember anything that might be relevant, you call me, right?’ He took out a card, but the boy had retreated into himself. Pete turned the chair back around and put the card on the desk. ‘My number’s there. Any time.’ He nodded to the mother. ‘Thank you, Mrs Young. Sorry to have troubled you.’

*

‘What d’you reckon, Sarge?’

Pete started the engine and glanced across at Sophie. ‘I reckon he knows more than he’s letting on. Maybe it’s because his mother was there, maybe more than that. But she saw it too, so maybe she’ll have a go at him now that we’ve gone. Meantime, we’ll check with the kids he mentioned, see if they corroborate his arrival time.’

Pete’s phone rang in his pocket. He fished it out and handed it to her. ‘Here, answer that, would you? Stick it on speaker.’

‘Hello? DS Gayle’s phone. Hold on, I’m putting you on speaker.’

A tinny voice came from the little speaker. ‘Hey, boss. Wanted to check something with you.’

‘What’s that, Dave?’

‘I’ve just been visiting with one of our local sex offenders, a Barry Enstone. He claims to have an alibi, provided by his girlfriend. Only he doesn’t want us to speak to her until he’s had a chance to tell her about his past, which he hasn’t done yet. I don’t think he’s involved, so am I all right to just check up on her indirectly and leave him be until tomorrow?’

‘You’re sure about him, are you?’

‘As sure as I can be.’

Pete drew a breath. ‘All right. If the girlfriend pans out, then move on.’

‘OK. Cheers, boss.’ There was a click and the connection was cut.

Sophie handed him back the phone. ‘Another one bites the dust?’

‘We can’t always drop on the right guy first time out the door.’

‘No, but once in a while would be nice, wouldn’t it? Especially when we’re on the clock, like we are with this case.’

CHAPTER 9

‘Bloody weather.’ Sophie knocked the rain off her hat and replaced it neatly on her head as the lift carried them up to Neil Sanderson’s workplace.

‘Yes. Which is another reason why we need to find Rosie as quick as we can.’ Pete looked up at the row of numbers above the lift doors. Number two lit briefly as they passed that floor. ‘We don’t know where she is or, if someone’s taken her, what conditions she’s being held in. If she’s still being held.’

‘Yeah, but . . . statistically, they reckon we should have another twenty-four hours before . . .’ Her voice trailed off.

‘That’s what the stats say.’ But we all know what they say about stats, he thought, but kept to himself.

The lift stopped with a ping. The doors slid open and they stepped out. Pete showed his badge to the receptionist. Molyneux and Richards was picked out in large, silver lettering on the wall behind her. ‘We’d like to speak to one of the owners, if possible.’

‘Mr Richards is in. I’ll tell him you’re here.’

‘Thank you.’

She picked up the phone and dialled. ‘Mr Richards, there are two police officers here. Can you speak to them?’ She nodded. ‘OK.’ Putting the phone down, she looked up at Pete. ‘He’ll be out in a second.’

Moments later a tall, well-built man in his fifties came through the door to her left, his brown eyes direct as he shook Pete’s hand. ‘Brian Richards. How can I help?’

‘DS Gayle. This is PC Clewes.’ Pete glanced at the girl on the front desk. ‘If we could perhaps go through to your office?’

‘Yes, sure.’ He led the way through a large, open-plan workroom where Pete counted nine staff at a mixture of desks and drawing tables. His office was one of two half-glassed enclosures at the far side. He stepped in and offered them chairs. ‘Now . . .’

‘We’re looking into the disappearance of a young girl,’ Pete said. ‘Her best friend is the daughter of one of your employees, Neil Sanderson. As a known associate, we need to eliminate him from the inquiry, so I was hoping to ask you about him.’

‘OK.’

‘How well do you know him?’

‘Not well, in the sense of spending time together outside the office, but I’ve known him as a colleague for . . . seven years now, I think.’

‘Is there anyone here he does spend time with outside the workplace?’

‘He’s big mates with Tony.’

‘We’ll need a word with Tony then, if that’s OK. But, before that, is there anything you might want to tell us about either of them? Anything you might be aware of that’s in any way irregular?’

‘What, you mean . . . ? No. They’re just two regular guys, as far as I’m aware. They’ve both always been the height of professionalism at work. Both very good at their jobs. There’s never been any hint of anything inappropriate with either of them.’

‘OK. We haven’t spoken to Mr Sanderson yet. We’re just compiling backgrounds and alibis for now. But if you could point him out?’ Pete turned in his chair.

‘There, second from the right.’

‘Dark-haired guy with the blue and yellow check shirt?’

‘That’s right.’

‘And his mate – Tony?’

‘Sitting across from him.’

‘Right. Well, we don’t want to disrupt your day any more than we have to. Is there somewhere we could have a word with Tony?’

‘We have a conference room. Grand title for an office not much bigger than mine, really, but it has a table and a projector with a screen for talking to clients and so on. It’s next door.’

‘That would be perfect.’

‘Right.’ He stood up and went to the door. ‘Tony. Have you got a minute?’

The man looked up, then stood and came towards them. As he stepped into the small office, Richards said, ‘Tony Stillwell, DS Gayle and PC Clewes. They’d like a word if that’s OK. I said you could use the conference room.’

Pete stood up and held out his hand. ‘Nothing to worry about, sir. We just need to ask you a few questions about a friend of yours, that’s all.’

Stillwell’s handshake was tentative. ‘OK.’

Sophie moved to replace her chair in the corner.

‘Don’t worry about that, I’ll get them,’ Richards told her. ‘If you want to take them through, Tony . . .’

‘Uh . . . Yes, sure.’ He led the way back through the studio to the reception and past the receptionist’s desk to the door at the other side of it. ‘Here we are.’

There was a table big enough to seat ten people. A projector on it was aimed towards a screen on the far wall. Stillwell went around to the far side and took a seat, the windows behind him. ‘So, what’s this about?’

‘A young girl went missing yesterday,’ Pete told him. ‘Her best friend is the daughter of a friend of yours, Neil Sanderson, so we need to ask you about him.’

Stillwell relaxed visibly. ‘OK. No problem.’

Pete saw Sophie readying her notebook from the corner of his eye. ‘First, as a matter of protocol, where were you yesterday morning, between eight and nine o’clock?’

‘Me? I was on the way here, I suppose. At least part of that time. I leave home around eight-fifteen, get here about ten to nine, as a rule.’

‘And that was the case yesterday?’

‘Yes.’

‘Can anyone verify that?’

‘Yes, I suppose. I thought you wanted to ask about Neil?’

‘We do, but we have to establish reliability. Who can verify where you were? Do you drive in with someone?’

‘No. My wife saw me off from home. Bridget out there saw me arrive. What do you mean, “reliability”?’

‘And was Mr Sanderson here when you arrived?’

‘Uh . . . No, in fact, he was late yesterday. He didn’t get here until just after nine-thirty. Said he’d had a flat tyre.’

Pete glanced at Sophie, who was writing swiftly.

‘I see. And how well do you know Mr Sanderson?’

‘Pretty well, I guess. We hang out together sometimes. Go to the pub on a Friday night, or bowling. Play five-a-side. The odd barbie.’

‘You know his family, then?’

‘Yes. We were over there on Sunday.’

‘We?’

‘My wife and I.’

‘I see. Who was there, apart from you and your wife?’

‘Neil, Geraldine, Becky, her friend Rosie and her parents, Alistair and Jess. Then there was another couple, Derek and Polly Howe, and their daughter Karen. I think she’s at school with Becky and Rosie. They were off on their own most of the time, of course – the three girls, I mean. And Jerry and Linda Bateman.’

Alistair had included the Howe family on his list, but Pete didn’t recall the Batemans. He wrote the name down, followed by the note: ‘Party Sunday’. ‘How do the Whitlocks know the Batemans?’

‘I think Jerry and Alistair were at school together or something. It goes back a lot of years, anyway.’

‘And Neil and Alistair?’

‘Uni, I think.’

‘OK. And you just know Neil through work, yes?’

‘Yes. We met when I started here five years ago.’

‘And you share a number of interests.’

‘Yes. Look, what’s this all about?’

Pete drew a breath. ‘How’s Neil around Becky and Rosie?’

‘What? Fine. What is this?’

‘The girl who went missing is Rosie Whitlock, Mr Stillwell. You’ve confirmed that Mr Sanderson wasn’t at work at the time. We need to make sure he’s not involved in her disappearance. We’re looking at all known associates of hers and her parents. It’s standard procedure. So I’ll ask again. Have you ever noticed Neil take anything other than a normal interest in Becky or Rosie, or the girls to have any reluctance or excessive keenness to be around him?’

‘No. He has a perfectly normal father–daughter relationship with Becky, as far as I’m aware. Why would you ask these things?’

‘As I said, Mr Stillwell, elimination. OK. I think we’ve taken up enough of your time for now. Sophie, do you want to go with Mr Stillwell and send Mr Sanderson in here?’

He had planned to leave talking to Sanderson until later, when he’d had a chance to corroborate his alibi, but Stillwell’s comments had blown that out of the window. With Sanderson having no alibi, it was essential to talk to him now.

‘OK, Sarge.’ She snapped her notebook closed as Stillwell stood up and headed for the door.

‘And Sophie?’

‘Sarge?’

‘When you’ve sent him here, have a word with Richards. Get any password that might be needed and have a quick shufty through Sanderson’s computer, all right?’

‘Is that legal?’ asked Stillwell.

‘It is, if we’ve got your boss’s permission,’ Pete told him.

As they left the room Pete moved around to the far side of the table then made a few notes while he waited for Sanderson to come through.

He had just finished writing when the door opened and he looked up to see the tall, slim architect enter and close the door behind him.

‘You wanted to see me?’

‘That’s right. Take a seat.’ Pete waited for Sanderson to sit opposite him.

The sun had come out and Sanderson squinted slightly against the brightness although the window was facing west and it was still not yet noon. ‘We’re looking into the disappearance of Rosie Whitlock. We understand you know her.’

‘Yes, of course.’

‘Where were you between eight-fifteen and eight-forty yesterday morning?’

‘Uh . . . On my way here. I was late getting in because I had a flat tyre. Why?’

‘Where exactly did you get this flat?’

‘Between Marsh Green and the airport. We live at West Hill.’

‘So, a minor road with very little traffic.’

‘That’s the idea. Better for getting here in the rush hour.’

‘Did anyone see you while you were dealing with your flat tyre?’

‘As you said, it’s a minor road with not a lot of traffic. So, no, I don’t think so.’

Pete pursed his lips. ‘Anybody see you leave your house?’

‘Why? Am I a suspect here?’

‘Everybody who knows Rosie is a suspect until we eliminate them. Did anyone see you leave home?’

‘No. My wife leaves before I do.’

‘So you have no one to corroborate your whereabouts from – what time did your wife leave the house?’

‘Eight.’

‘From eight o’clock to nine-thirty-ish, when you arrived here, then?’

‘I suppose. But that doesn’t mean I had anything to do with whatever happened to Rosie. What did happen, anyway? Alistair couldn’t tell me much last night when he rang.’

‘What’s your relationship like with her? I understand she’s your daughter’s best friend.’

‘What’s my . . . ? Wait a minute. What is this? It sounds like you’re accusing me of being some sort of paedophile.’

His answers were all perfectly reasonable but, with the victim being his daughter’s best friend, he had been just a bit too offhand until the last question. Pete decided to push him a bit, now the opportunity had arisen. ‘Not at all. But she is a pretty girl. And they grow up fast, don’t they? Look sixteen when they’re thirteen, given half a chance. And the fashions these days . . .’

Something flickered in Sanderson’s eyes then he frowned sharply. ‘You must have me confused with someone else, Sergeant. I’m certainly not attracted to my daughter’s friends.’ He rubbed at his cheek. ‘I’m a married man. A happily married one, in fact. Ask my wife.’

Pete nodded. We will, he thought. And your daughter, if needs be. ‘OK,’ he said.

The door opened and Sophie entered. She gave him a slight shake of the head. Nothing untoward on Sanderson’s computer. Not that Pete had expected anything on a work machine, but you never knew. Sanderson watched her move around the table and sit down next to Pete. Pete could see the question in his eyes. ‘Right then,’ he said. ‘I understand my colleague spoke to you yesterday evening, asking for your permission to check your daughter’s computer, her emails and so forth, to see if there’s anything in there that might point towards any problems Rosie might have been having.’

‘Yes, and I gave it.’

‘Your wife just works mornings, yes?’

‘Yes, but . . .’ He shrugged and straightened his collar. ‘If it’s all the same to you, I’d like to be there when you check. I’m not really comfortable with strangers being in my house when I’m not.’

Pete grimaced. ‘Have you got a number for your wife?’

‘Of course.’ Sanderson reeled off the number and Pete wrote it down then clicked his pen shut and stood up.

‘OK. Thank you for your time, Mr Sanderson. We must crack on now. Time is of the essence in cases like this. Come on, Sophie.’ He ushered her quickly out of the room and towards the lifts.

Once the doors had closed behind them, she turned to him with a frown. ‘What was that all about? You were out of there like a cat with a banger up its arse.’

‘He’s got no alibi for the time in question, he had plenty of time to get to Risingbrook and snatch the girl. And there was something not right about his reaction when I mentioned girls her age and the way they dress. So, I want to talk to his wife before he can and get her to let us in and check out both the daughter’s computer and his. What time is it?’

‘Ten to eleven.’

‘So, if she finishes at twelve-thirty – give her an hour to get home – we’ve got a couple of hours to get there and be ready for her.’

CHAPTER 10

‘How’s it going?’

Jane watched him rub some of the rain out of his hair. ‘I’ve been to Alistair’s office, spoken to his colleagues and run their names, as well as those of all their recent clients. I got confirmation from him while I was there that the phone we found in bits outside the school was Rosie’s. I also checked his computer. Nothing. So I went back over to their place, spoke to several neighbours to see if they’ve seen or heard anything out of the ordinary lately.’

The phone on Pete’s desk began to ring.

‘They haven’t. Of course, they weren’t all in.’

Pete held up his hand for her to pause and picked up the phone. ‘DS Gayle.’

‘Hey, boss. It’s Dave.’

‘What can I do for you?’

‘Just calling in to let you know what we’re up to. I’ve got Mick Douglas with me. We’re with one of the blokes you asked me to follow up on. A Kevin Haynes. He claims to know nothing, but he’s got no alibi, so we’re just popping round to his place to see if we can establish where he was yesterday morning.’

Pete glanced at the board, where Dave had added three names under the heading RSOs –registered sex-offenders. Kevin Haynes was the second of them. ‘OK. Anything else to report?’

‘Not a lot. We’ve checked on Enstone’s supposed girlfriend. Colleagues confirm she’s got a bloke who matches his description. Been going out for four or five months. They don’t know where she was night before last and into the morning though.’

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