by J. E. Mayhew
“She’s in some kind of clinic up in Scotland,” Dockley said. “The Pines, it’s called. Rehab sort of thing, I think. She’s been there a while. Paul, Florence’s father, didn’t say much about her. The only thing I was told was that she couldn’t have unaccompanied access. That she was a danger to herself and to Flossy.”
“We’re contacting the clinic’s manager to assess whether or not Mrs Percival has the capacity to receive the news,” Tasha said.
Blake looked up at a photo portrait of two adults and a child. They made a handsome trio. The woman was slim and limber, with thick conker-coloured hair and deep brown eyes. The man was so well-groomed, he looked like a model. His square jawline added to the almost fabricated perfection. Blake wondered briefly if their flawless skin had been photoshopped. The little girl had dark hair, remarkably long and thick for one so young. She took after her mother and had a fierce smile that he took to be the best they could coax out of her.
“Is this them?” Blake muttered.
“Paul and Samantha Percival and Florence,” Tasha said.
Blake nodded. “Right. Mr Dockley, can you go through the moment you realised she was missing for me. I know you’ve probably been through this several times, but it helps to clarify things in my mind.”
Dockley sighed but nodded. “Paul, Florence’s father, had left on Friday for the conference, or wherever he’s gone. So I had Flossy all weekend. It was rotten weather and, to be honest, she was getting a bit bored of being in the house. So I promised her we’d go and feed the ducks this morning. I dressed her, she had breakfast. I brushed her teeth and we set off.” Dockley blinked and his eyes glistened. “We stopped next to the trees by Ashville Road…”
“That’s the road that cuts through the park…”
“Yes. I only took my eyes off her for a couple of seconds and when I looked up, she was gone. At first, I thought she was hiding in the bushes. I ran out onto the road, nearly got run over. But I couldn’t see her anywhere.”
“What was it that distracted you so much?”
Dockley reddened and looked down into his coffee. “My stupid, bloody phone. It was something and nothing, really. A video about… God, I don’t know what. One of those crap things about someone getting bullied and then getting revenge years later. It wasn’t even…” He looked up. “I feel so awful…”
Blake held his breath, trying to figure out if anything that came out of his mouth at that moment would be considered professional or non-judgemental.
“You’re only human, Brendan,” Tasha Cook said, glancing a warning shot at Blake. “Everyone has lapses in concentration from time to time. Blaming yourself won’t help us find Florence, now, will it?”
Dockley nodded and scrubbed at his eyes with the back of his hand. “Yes, I’m sorry.”
“So you were on the footpath by the gates or on Park Drive itself, Mr Dockley?” Blake said, deciding to keep to questioning rather than lapsing into a commentary about Dockley’s fitness to care for small children. Park Drive was the road that ran around the edge of the park, defining its boundary. The footpaths crisscrossed the open spaces of the park.
“On the footpath, why?”
“It just seems quite far away from the gates for a small child to run. How old is Florence? Three?”
“She was three last month.”
“She covered a lot of distance getting from the footpath, across the grass, onto Park Drive and out through the gate. For a small child, I mean.”
Dockley shrugged and smiled, sadly. “She’s a fast kid. Honestly, the number of times recently, she’s seen something and took off…”
“And yet you still felt compelled to look at your phone.” The words were out of Blake’s mouth before he could stop them. Tasha Cook’s jaw tightened.
Dockley looked as though Blake had slapped him in the face. “I’m sorry,” he said, shrinking in his seat.
“We’re going to have to search the house as well as the park,” Blake said, brusquely. He was tired of pussyfooting around this young man already, tired of the uncertainty and the thought of the search that lay ahead and all it might unveil.
“Why do you have to search the house?” Dockley said, staring in shock at Blake.
Tasha Cook intervened again, smoothly. “Sometimes missing children have been known to find their own way home and have been found cheerfully playing in their bedrooms on their own while officers and parents are out in the streets hunting frantically.”
“Adults have deliberately hidden children in their care for other reasons. You might remember the faked abduction of Shannon Matthews a few years back…” Dockley blinked and shook his head. Blake continued, “I don’t suppose you would. You probably weren’t much older than Shannon was when her mother told the world she’d gone missing when she hadn’t.”
“I’m not lying,” Dockley said, staring at Blake in disbelief.
“DCI Blake isn’t suggesting that,” Tasha Cook said. “But we do have to check every possibility. I’m sure you understand…”
Blake jumped to his feet. “Right. I’m assuming a picture of Florence and a sample of her DNA have been obtained. Kinnear, we need to get that physical search of the park moving. Do you mind if I have a look round, Mr Dockley?”
Dockley looked around as though someone other than the officers might be listening in. “I don’t know. I mean it’s not really my house. Paul is quite private…”
“Private to the extent that he’d hamper the search for his missing daughter?” Blake snapped. Feelings from the past were closing in on him and fanning the flames of hostility towards the young nanny. “You can accompany me if you feel the need…”
“It’s okay,” Dockley said, waving his hand, feebly. “Have a look around if you think it’ll help.”
“Thank you,” Blake began to say but Tasha Cook’s phone rang.
She looked concerned as she listened. “That was the clinic. Apparently, Samantha Percival assaulted a senior psychiatrist there yesterday and left in a stolen car. They suspect she might be heading for the Wirral…”
“If she isn’t already here,” Blake said, turning to Dockley. “Just how much of a danger is she to Florence?”
Chapter 4
Jeffrey Blake stood in the gents’ toilet and wondered why he was straightening his hair in front of the mirror. It wasn’t like he had a hot date. He was visiting a psychopathic serial killer. Josh Gambles had been jailed for murdering and mutilating at least four people and kidnapping another. Or at least he was awaiting trial, such that it would be. The evidence against him was damning. His DNA was spread across all crime scenes and he’d more or less confessed to several police officers and witnesses. But there was something about Gambles, something slippery and scheming. Jeffrey told himself he was tidying himself up out of self-respect because that was better than fear. Jeffrey couldn’t afford to fear him. If he feared Gambles, then he had won. Jeff had to watch him and be on his guard. That way he was less likely to let Gambles get under his skin. After all, this was the man who, if he hadn’t killed her, had watched Jeff’s mother die and then had stolen her body. He’d kept it in a cellar for two years. Jeff felt his anger towards the man building.
“Calm yourself, Jeffrey,” he muttered to himself, assessing his reflection. Every inch the author: tweed jacket, brown cords, thick glasses, swept back silvery hair, a matching goatee. Although Jeff’s inner critic hissed ‘Geography teacher’ at him. He knew he wasn’t bad looking, but he took after his mother with her fine, delicate features. His brother Will’s appearance owed more to their father’s heavy, pugnacious frame. Someone had once made the unkind observation that Jeff was what Will would look like if he’d been starved as a child.
It didn’t help that Gambles was obsessed with Jeff’s brother. That was probably the only reason Jeff had been asked to write Gamble’s biography. Gambles saw himself and Will as two sides of the same coin, good and evil. Will had washed his hands of Gambles but that didn’t stop the psycho from
trying to foul up Will’s life even from behind bars. Working with Jeff meant that Gambles could be close to the Blake family and be a thorn in Will’s side. Jeff knew he was a great writer but had never had the breaks. His work had never got the attention it deserved but this stunt would grab headlines for sure. The writer and criminal were linked. Jeff could mine that emotional well for years and make a fortune from it. Will would huff and puff about it but if Jeff didn’t write the Gambles story, somebody else would.
He entered the visiting room and saw Gambles sitting at the table, waiting for him. He was a small, dark character with a scrawny black beard. It always disturbed Jeff that the man wasn’t cuffed in any way. He couldn’t escape the whole Hannibal Lecter vibe of the situation.
“Jeffrey,” Gambles said. “So glad you could make it. What are we going to talk about today?”
“Morning Josh,” Jeff said, sitting down, trying to be casual. “I thought we could focus on childhood memories.” Gambles’ face darkened but Jeff managed to add, “not family-related but other incidents or observations. When you first realised you were… different…” He knew that Gambles hated any mention of his parents, though writing any kind of biography without bringing them in was a difficult job. Secretly, Jeff fully intended to include as much detail about Gambles’ early life as possible.
The killer’s face brightened. “Of course. There were what you might call ‘lightbulb moments’ when I realised that I was superior to my peers. In school, I remember a young arsehole trying to bully me. I can’t remember his name; he was a nobody. But for a while, he made my life intolerable. I knew I had to stop him.”
“So what did you do?”
“I knew he was allergic to wasp stings. So I collected a jar full of wasps and let them loose in his PE Kit bag. Then I stole his Epipen. You know those devices that inject adrenaline to ward off Anaphylaxis? It was joyous to see.”
“And you managed to do all that without being seen or caught?”
“Don’t you believe me Jeffrey? That is disappointing. It was in the local papers. I’m sure if you do a bit of crosschecking, you’ll see. It caused a bit of a stir at the time. The boy nearly died, and his teacher got the sack. I didn’t like her anyway. Win, win as far as I was concerned.”
Jeff scribbled a few notes down. “Thanks, that’ll be great if I can find a few news reports to give it context.”
Gambles reached to the side of his chair and put a sheaf of papers on the table. “I’ve taken the liberty of writing a few notes down of other memories. The powers that be have scrutinised them and said it’s okay for you to take them out. It’s just some random thoughts, suggestions and maybe some openings for you to use. I mean, I know you’re the writer. Just thought it might help…”
Jeff leafed through the papers and kept his face poker flat as he read the garbled sentences. “Thanks, Josh. This will be really handy. Kyle Quinlan. Who’s he?”
Gambles raised his eyebrows. “You don’t know?”
“No,” Jeff said, wondering what Gambles was up to. “Should I?”
“He’s an old friend of mine. We were in prison a few times together. Thick as thieves we were, if you’ll pardon the cliche.” Gambles’ face split into a malicious grin. “He’s also the ex-husband of your brother’s current squeeze, Laura Vexley.”
“Really?” Jeff said. “She didn’t mention it. Does Will know?”
“Of course he does. Hardly surprising that they don’t mention it. Kyle’s gone missing. Laura was the last person to see him. There’s a police investigation. It’ll probably get covered up. You know what these coppers are like; one rule for them and one for us.”
“Right. So what do you want me to do with this information?”
“Find Kyle Quinlan or at least find out what happened to him. It’ll make an interesting chapter or two.”
“But the police…”
“The police won’t find him. The case is on a back burner somewhere and, as I said, your brother will do his best to stop anything coming out. Besides, they’ve got much more to worry about than a missing criminal. But I reckon you could find him easily with a bit of focus.”
“I’m not sure. I mean what does this have to do with you and your life?”
“Kyle Quinlan was a friend. He saved my skin in prison on several occasions. There are many stories from our times together that would make great material, Jeffrey. But we need to find out what became of him.”
“Will’s not going to like this…”
Gambles smiled. “Will needs to accept that our lives are enmeshed, however much he wants to pretend that he is separate from me. There are invisible threads pulling us together. Our pasts are so interconnected it’s not funny. So find Kyle Quinlan. It’ll make a great chapter in the book.”
“I wouldn’t know where to start…”
“There are names and addresses there in my notes. His sister might be a good place to start. She’s expecting you. I spoke to her on the phone yesterday.”
“Okay,” Jeff said, cautiously. “But if this is just another way to wind Will up, I’ll close it down, Josh. I’m prepared to write your biography because I think our family dynamic will make it a fascinating piece of work but I’m not playing any of your games.”
Gambles held up his hands. “Absolutely. It’s not a wild goose chase and, trust me, I’m sure Kyle Quinlan will add a whole new layer to this story.”
*****
The house lay empty and silent apart the yapping of Charlie, the puppy, and the rumbling growl of Serafina from the top of the Welsh Dresser. Laura shivered. She wasn’t sure why she always gravitated to Will’s house when she wasn’t working. It was cold and, despite Will’s recent efforts to make it more homely, it still felt like a memorial to his parents. The décor and furniture hadn’t changed in at least twenty years and screamed ‘elderly couple in the twilight of their lives.’ Photographs of Will, Jeff and Rosie, their sister, still sat on the shelves. Who has a picture of themselves in year 11 on display?
Laura had tried to get him to redecorate. He’d got an estate agent in to value the property, but Blake threw himself into case after case and things hadn’t progressed. She knew that Jeff was pushing for his share of the house since their missing mother’s body had been found and she was confirmed as dead. Will seemed to alternate between sticking his head in the sand and wanting to sell up and move on.
Charlie snuffled around her feet and she picked him up. “Come on fella,” she said. “Let’s go in the garden.” Laura wondered when she was going to break the news to him about Chelsea and Charlie. Probably not for a few days. There was plenty of room here and Serafina would get used to the little dog.
It was cold outside, and the sun struggled to penetrate the thick grey clouds that hung over the Mersey. She loved being on the side of the river with its views and the cry of gulls. The rain in the air had crystallised the view making it easy to pick out the detail of the houses and trees on the Liverpool side of the water. The dog did its business and Laura poured praise and rewards on him. Then she froze.
A black car rolled past the front of the garden and the driver leaned forward as if to get a better look at Laura. He was just a silhouette in the driver seat, but there was something familiar about him. Something that chilled Laura to her core. Snatching up Charlie and hugging him to her chest, she ran inside and slammed the door shut.
Chapter 5
Before Brendan Dockley could answer Blake’s question, a commotion further inside the house distracted them all. The front door rattled and banged open and urgent footsteps clattered up the hall towards them.
A thin old man appeared in the conservatory. He was tall and well-kept; a mane of silver hair was combed back over his head, giving him a theatrical appearance. His black corduroy jacket and red chinos suggested to Blake a certain vanity. The man moved with the air of someone who was used to being paid attention to, stepping into the centre of the room as if he was about to give a speech.
“Where
is she? Where’s Flossy?”
“DCI Will Blake and you are?”
“Roland Percival, Flossy’s grandfather. Have you found her?” His voice was plummy and melodramatic.
“Not yet, I’m afraid. We’re organising a search…”
Red spots glowed on Percival’s pale cheeks. “You should be out there now. Time’s wasting! She could be anywhere. God!” He threw himself into one of the armchairs and then stared up at Dockley. “And you. How could you lose her like that? Honestly, what does my son pay you for if it isn’t to look after our little girl?” Roland Percival buried his face in his hands and wept.
Dockley reddened and shrank even more into his chair. Blake felt no pity for him, though. Percival was right. How could you let a poor little girl just wander off? He felt the weight of emotion returning and pulled himself back to the case. “Officers are gathering to search the immediate area as we speak, Mr Percival. We were just about to have a look around the house. Sometimes, children find their way home without the knowledge of their parents.”
Percival scowled, suggesting he wondered why all these things hadn’t been done already. “Very well.”
Blake nodded to Tasha and Kinnear who slipped away into the house. “Can you tell me about Mrs Percival?” Blake asked the old man.
“My wife? What’s she got to do with this?” Roland Percival said, looking confused. “She’s at home. Very upset as you can imagine. The sooner we find Flossy, the better.”
Blake pinched the bridge of his nose, trying to hide his frustration. “No, I’m sorry, I meant Samantha, Florence’s mother. What is the nature of her illness?”
“What’s that got to do with anything. She’s safely locked away up in Scotland,” Percival paused and searched Blake’s face. “Isn’t she?”
“She assaulted a member of staff and stole a car. We don’t know where she is.”
Percival’s eyes widened. “Oh my goodness,” he whispered. “That isn’t good at all…”
“Mr Percival, I understand that you’re anxious about your granddaughter right now, but we are doing all we can. A couple of hours ago, we had no knowledge of you or your family situation. We’ll do our level best to get Florence back safe and sound. That I promise.”
