by Simon Hall
‘You’re going to stay here?’
‘Yeah, unless we get a positive lead. I’m going to stay here and coordinate things.’
‘The outside broadcast wagon’s coming. I’ll cut a report and they want a live interview with you for lunch if that’s OK?’
‘Sure. I need all the help I can get. I can’t stop this bloody feeling growing that we’re running out of time.’
It was only when she stopped to tie up a shoelace that Claire realised who else was on her search team. There, at the back, as they walked up the winding path to their start position, his eyes flicking over the moorland. Whiting.
Too late now to turn away, he was almost level with her. ‘Hello, sir. Good to see you out here searching.’ She thought she managed to keep her voice neutral.
‘Good morning, Claire,’ he replied, no trace of a hiss in his voice. ‘And you don’t have to call me sir any more. I’m not your superior any longer. Marcus will be fine now.’
She couldn’t imagine ever using his Christian name. ‘OK … thank you, sir.’
‘And I hope we can forget about what’s happened in the past,’ he added. ‘This is far more important, too much so for any personal feelings to intrude.’
She took a breath to calm herself. ‘That’s fine. I can live with that. Just so long as you are aware I didn’t leak Crouch’s name.’
‘Claire, please, let us focus on …’
‘Stick your focus,’ she spat, couldn’t stop herself. ‘I have never in my career had such offensive accusations levelled at me – not even by criminals – and I want you to know that. I might not have liked what we were doing, but I was professional about it and I was giving it my best.’
Whiting looked surprised, raised a hand in a calming gesture. ‘Well, it scarcely matters now,’ he said, the hiss back in his voice. ‘The investigation is at an end and PC Crouch is likely to be exonerated. It would take a better man than me to find evidence of wrongdoing. After today you will probably never see me again.’
She stared at him, wondered whether to say something about the emails, that hint of a lead. But no, why should she? If it came to something, how sweet it would be for him to know it was her who’d discovered it. A better man than him uncovering the truth, perhaps not. But a better woman?
‘Fine by me,’ Claire replied, as calmly as she could. She thought he was about to say something, but they were interrupted by the sergeant in charge of their team.
‘You all know what you’re doing?’ he called. ‘Walk slowly along in a line, about ten metres apart and scan the ground around you. Make sure the person to each side of you can see further than halfway between you. We cannot afford to risk missing anything. If anyone sees or finds anything they think is suspicious, raise both arms and shout ‘here’ immediately.’
They fanned out, began walking. Claire made sure she was at the opposite end of the line from Whiting. She recognised the area from one of her Dartmoor walks with Dan and Rutherford. They were near the top of Higher Hartor Tor, about twelve hundred feet up, facing to the south, heading down the valley towards the source of the River Plym. Ahead she could see the grey sprawl of Plymouth and the English Channel sparkling beyond. To the east, another line of searchers paced carefully across the expanse of green.
A rugged wind buffeted and flapped at her coat, stinging her face as she looked from side to side, carefully checking the pockets and tufts of granite, gorse and heather. The windchill was relentless. The cold started to sting her throat and creep into her hands and feet, despite her thick gloves and walking boots.
If Nicola was up here, Claire hoped she had warm clothes and shelter.
‘So let me get this straight,’ said Lizzie, who sounded worryingly content. ‘For the lunchtime news, you’re going to name the man the police believe abducted Nicola, tell us a little about his history and why he’s so dangerous, and reveal the cops now think he’s holding her on Dartmoor.’
‘Yep.’
‘That’s three exclusive lines in one story?’
‘Yep.’
The phone went quiet. ‘News Editor’s heaven,’ she sighed finally. ‘Just divine. The kids got off to school this morning with no hassle, no forgotten lunches or play club money, and now this. It must be my day.’
She was building up into one of her fizzing crescendos, Dan could sense it.
‘The ratings will soar. I can just see them now. Everyone will be watching us, everyone. And hang on, when’s the deadline for the Royal Television Society awards nominations? It’s tomorrow, isn’t it? My God, we can get this into our entry! What a day!’
Dan had been holding the phone away from his ear. ‘OK, well, I’d better get on with it.’
‘Just one thing,’ she interrupted, her voice sharpening. ‘Why the hell are they giving you all this? It smacks of desperation to me.’
‘I think that’s exactly what it is. They’re absolutely desperate to find Nicola. It’s cold up here, so if she is out on the moor she may not survive long. They need as many people as possible looking for her to give them their best chance of finding her alive.’
‘So tomorrow we might have a missing kid found dead story as well, as a follow-up?’
He gave the phone a look. ‘That, or a missing child found safe and well.’
‘I’ll take either,’ said Lizzie dreamily.
‘Well?’ Adam asked the sergeant coordinating the search. He knew he was harassing the man and his incessant questions wouldn’t get them any further, but he couldn’t help it.
‘As was ten minutes ago, sir,’ replied Sergeant Wilcox patiently. ‘The helicopter’s found no traces of anything that looks like a man and child. It’s picked up about twenty or so tents though, and the search parties have been directed to check them. We’ve had four cleared of any suspicion so far. The rest are being completed now. The house-to-house inquiries in the villages haven’t picked up anything. We’re working through the farms and isolated houses and cottages, but so far nothing there either. We are working as fast as we can, sir.’
Adam patted the man on the shoulder. ‘I know, Sergeant, I know. I’m sorry.’
‘It’s all right, sir. We all want to find her.’
Adam stepped down from the van and checked his watch. It was coming up to one o’clock. Four more hours of searching, at most. Four more hours before darkness closed in and they’d have to give up for the night. His teeth bit into an ulcer forming on the lower lip of his mouth and he winced. He hadn’t had ulcers for years.
He walked up to the Wessex Tonight outside-broadcast van and banged on the door. Dan opened it. ‘Hop in, mate,’ he said. ‘Any news?’
‘If there was I would have said, wouldn’t I?’
Dan stared down at his notes to hide his irritation, managed not to say anything. Adam looked shattered, moved like he was sleepwalking. His face was heavily lined and his eyes were narrow and red. The normally impeccable tie was hanging low around his neck.
‘I’ve done the report,’ said Dan. ‘Have a look. I’ll be interviewing you after it’s gone out.’
Adam squeezed past Loud’s bulk and into the truck. One of the monitors flashed up a black and white clock with a five second countdown and the report began. It started with pictures of the searchers fanning out across Dartmoor, Dan talking about the hunt now concentrating on the moor and all available police looking for Nicola, along with volunteers and the military. There were a couple of clips of interview of some of the people who’d turned out to help, talking about believing they should rally together and do all they could at a time like this.
After that, there was a picture of Nicola, while Dan recapped on how she’d been abducted. Then there was a photo of Gibson. Dan talked about him being the man that detectives now believed had abducted Nicola. He added a couple of lines about Gibson’s army background, which meant he could be living rough on the moor. He wrapped up the report by saying Gibson was considered dangerous and shouldn’t be approached, but anyone who thought
they had seen him should call 999 at once.
Adam nodded his approval. ‘Good,’ he said. ‘That should make people take notice. And you’ll be interviewing me after that?’
‘Yep,’ said Dan, squeezing the plastic tube that would link him with the studio into his ear. ‘Are you ready? We’re on in about five minutes.’
They got down from the truck and walked over to where Nigel had set up the camera, looking back on the line of police cars and vans. Dan winced from the stabbing pain in his ankle and tried to keep his weight off it. It was getting worse.
‘You’ve done this with me enough times before,’ he told Adam. ‘And it’s exactly the same as usual. The studio will introduce me, I’ll do a fifteen-second scene set, the report will play, then I’ll interview you. We’ve got about a minute and a half for the interview, so I’ll probably have time for three questions.’
‘OK,’ said Adam, straightening his tie. Dan noticed he kept fiddling with the change in his pocket, the first time he’d seen his friend appear tense before going on air. He kept pacing back and forth too, looked like he was rehearsing what he was about to say.
‘Dramatic developments in the Nicola Reece abduction today,’ intoned Craig. ‘Police have begun combing an area of Dartmoor where they believe she may be being held. In a highly unusual move, they’ve also named the man they believe could have taken Nicola. Our Crime Correspondent Dan Groves joins us from Dartmoor …’
‘Yes Craig, I’m at Princetown, where the hunt for Nicola is being coordinated,’ said Dan, gesturing to the expanse of moorland behind him. ‘At this moment, hundreds of police and volunteers are out on the moor around us, looking for the little girl.’
The report played and Dan called Adam in to the shot. Nigel shifted them both around so he could get a good background of the police vans, most appropriate for Adam’s interview. ‘Ten seconds back to you, standby Dan,’ he heard in his ear. ‘Five seconds … cue!’
‘With me now is the man in charge of the operation, Detective Chief Inspector Adam Breen,’ Dan told the camera. ‘Mr Breen, I have to ask. Such a big operation as this, the police helicopter up, hundreds of volunteers called in too but no sign of Nicola. Are you getting desperate?’
‘We’re not desperate, we’re just committed to finding Nicola and we’ll do whatever we need to succeed in that,’ Adam replied calmly, but Dan thought he saw a flare of anger in the detective’s eyes. ‘I have information she may be on Dartmoor, so we will comb the moor until we either find her or we’re sure she’s not here.’
‘But it’s a tough job, isn’t it? It’s a huge area to search?’
‘It is a big area, but as you just pointed out I’ve got plenty of officers and volunteers from the local community, along with the force helicopter. I’m confident I’ve got the resources I need to find Nicola.’
‘Chief Inspector, you mentioned public help there. Is that still important to you?’
‘It’s vital. I would appeal to everyone watching to please keep a look out for anyone who looks like Edmund Gibson, the man you mentioned in your report, or Nicola herself. If you see anything, call us. And if anyone is free this afternoon and would like to join in the search for Nicola, we’d be very grateful. Your help could make all the difference.’
They were given the all-clear by the director. Nigel began de-rigging the camera.
‘That was a bit over the top wasn’t it?’ protested Adam, turning on Dan. ‘That stuff about us being desperate?’
‘It’s my job to ask tough questions, you know that. And you handled it fine. You got your appeal in. That’s what you wanted, isn’t it?’
‘Yeah, but you’re supposed to be on my side, Dan. It’s finding Nicola that’s important here, not your bloody stories.’
Dan was cold, tired and his ankle was throbbing badly. He felt a yearning to get in his car, drive straight home and shut all the doors, lock himself in, take the phone off the hook, cuddle Rutherford and sleep. The Swamp was sucking him down and his friend was making it worse.
‘If you hadn’t noticed, it’s my bloody stories that have been helping you try to find her, Adam,’ he shot back. ‘For Christ’s sake, I’ve done exactly what you asked in those appeals I made to Gibson for more clues. I’ve bent over backwards to help you and I don’t think a question about whether you’re getting desperate is a big issue. You’re just tetchy because Gibson’s been taking the piss out of you and you can’t find him.’
Adam squared up and his finger jabbed at Dan. ‘It’s nothing to do with that. Not a bloody thing and you know it. This is simply about what’s best for finding Nicola. And I don’t think …’
‘Sir! Sir!’ A uniformed sergeant calling from one of the police vans interrupted them.
‘What?’ barked Adam, wheeling around.
‘One of the search teams, sir. They’ve found something. There’s been a break in at a building on the edge of the moor. They reckon Gibson was there with Nicola.’
Chapter Nineteen
THE POLICE CARS BOUNCED and roared over the rough ground of the car park by the ford, just below Gutter Tor. Claire was waiting, pacing, and beckoned urgently. Dan realised it was where they’d walked the last time they’d been out on Dartmoor. He’d parked just here, where the police driver was manoeuvring the car. Rutherford had dived straight into the pond by the ford.
Adam jumped out and strode over to Claire. Dan hobbled painfully behind. He seemed to have been forgotten in the excitement.
‘You found it, Claire?’ asked Adam as they made their way up a stony path in the green felt of the moor.
‘Yes, sir. The hut was hidden in the trees from where we were, up on the moor, but a local farmer told me it was here. It was just a hunch. It looked like a good place to hide. The door was open and I had a look round. There are a few blankets left and a couple of mats to sleep on. I haven’t touched anything, but I noticed there were long blonde hairs on one of the mats. There are a few bits of rubbish from where they’ve eaten too.’
‘Any clues about where they’ve gone?’
‘No, sir, not that I could see. But I didn’t do a thorough search. I called in as soon as I knew he’d been here.’
‘Good work, Claire, well done.’
A small, slate-roofed stone cottage was set into a copse of trees to the right of the path. It had a couple of windows on each side and a wooden door. They walked around to the back where there was a large shed and another, smaller door to the cottage. It was ajar.
Adam studied it, asked, ‘What is this place?’
‘A scout hut sir. Younger hikers can use it as a base for exploring parts of the moor. It’s a haven if the weather gets too rough.’
Dan followed them inside, stubbing a toe on a stone, making his ankle fire with pain. He gasped. He’d have to see a doctor soon.
There was a pair of white-overalled forensic officers kneeling on the floor inside the door. ‘You’ve got half an hour,’ Adam told them, checking his watch. ‘We’ve only got enough light for another three hours searching. Don’t worry about giving the place a detailed going over. I don’t have the time. Just see if you can find any indication of where he’s gone.’
In the corner of the hall was a sleeping bag and pile of blankets. There were some wrappings from a loaf of bread, tins of beans and sausages and a small camping stove. A forensics officer picked at the blankets with a pair of tweezers. In a windowless cupboard just off the hall was a small, battery powered television.
‘That’s how he watched Wessex Tonight then,’ said Dan. Adam turned, looked, then stood silent, staring into space.
‘So how did he get here?’ he asked aloud. ‘And where’s he gone now?’
‘I expect he left after he’d called in with that last message, sir,’ replied Claire, looking down at the blankets. ‘Just in case we had a chance to trace it. He’d know we were getting close.’
‘I think you’re right Claire. Which means he can’t have gone far. He’d have intended to use this plac
e as a temporary base, then move on to wherever he planned next. Probably the place where he wants all this to end. But where? Are there any traces of a car?’
‘No sir. But we haven’t looked in the outbuilding yet.’
Adam turned quickly and strode outside. ‘Open it up,’ he barked at a young police officer standing in front of the shed’s double doors. ‘Now!’
The policeman jumped, turned and pulled hard at the catch. It groaned, but stayed put. He tried again, harder, and this time it gave. Inside it was dark, but there was the unmistakeable outline of a quad bike.
‘There,’ growled Adam. ‘That’s how he got up here.’ He walked in to the building and looked over the bike. ‘He wrapped Nicola up and put her on the back here. He probably stuck a tarpaulin over her, something like that. Anyone who saw him would think it was a farmer. Get forensics in here to see if they can spot anything that might help tell us where he’s gone now.’
‘Hang on,’ said Claire. ‘Look.’ She pointed to the front of the bike, at the handlebars. Hanging there was a tiny envelope, the sort that contain gift tags for Christmas presents. It was so small they’d almost missed it in the barn’s half-light. On the front was written “Adam.”
The detective reached down and picked it off, opened it, his fingers fumbling.
“Adam,
“I thought it was time I sent you a note, as you seem to be struggling. And after all, time is the point. It’s almost time now. But for what? And where? All I can say is this. It’s in the names and the numbers.
“Edmund.”
‘What the hell does that mean?’ Adam barked, a hand running through his hair.
‘It’s your final clue,’ said Dan. ‘He knew we’d be on to him now. He wanted it this way. He planned where he’d go and what he’d do. It’s the final chance to work out where he is and what he’s doing before the showdown. The deadline’s approaching and this is our last chance.’
Adam strode back out of the barn and looked around him. ‘Call Michael and Eleanor and tell them what we’ve found. Dictate the words in the note. Tell them to put everything they’ve got into cracking it. So where is he now? Where? Where is the bastard?’
