Nowhere to Run

by Jack Slater

  His mind conjured an image of a forlorn-looking body, naked and filthy, lying in the mud at the side of the river like so much discarded rubbish. A young life snuffed out as if it meant nothing. He shook his head. He could not afford to think like that. He had to be positive. He had to expect and plan to find Rosie Whitlock alive and soon. For her sake as well as his own.

  He turned into his drive and got out of the car, warm paper package in hand. The front door opened before he reached it.

  ‘Daddy! Good day?’ Annie grinned up at him in jeans and T-shirt, a glittery pink elephant covering most of her slim chest.

  Pride swelled like a physical lump in his throat and he wrapped his free arm around her, lifted her up and kissed the top of her head. Her long brown hair smelled mildly of shampoo. He took a long breath and set her down again. ‘Hello, Button. You smell nice. It didn’t go to plan, I can tell you that. I was hoping for a nice, easy slide back into things, but instead I went and picked up a big case. Here, take these into the kitchen, will you?’ He handed her the food and shut the door against the chill of the night.

  ‘OK.’ She took the package and skipped away.

  ‘Hi, Lou,’ he called, as he slipped off his shoes and jacket, but there was no response.

  He went through. She was sitting in her usual place on the sofa, dressed in jogging bottoms and a sweatshirt, her dark, greasy hair tied back in a ponytail. The TV was playing some kind of game show, the sound barely audible.

  ‘How you doing?’

  She didn’t take her eyes off the TV. ‘OK.’

  ‘What you been up to?’

  ‘Nothing.’ Her voice was dull, uninterested. She’d been like this, or worse, for months now, ever since the first flush of frantic panic faded a few days after Tommy’s disappearance. It was like she’d suffered an emotional overload that had used up everything inside her and she had been unable to replenish it.

  He kept trying. Anything to get a response. ‘Heard from anyone?’

  She shook her head.

  ‘Thought you might have gone out,’ he said. ‘Gone shopping or something.’

  ‘What for?’

  ‘To get out of these four walls. Get a bit of sunshine. See some people, other than me and Annie.’

  ‘See a bloody doctor, you mean,’ she said sourly.

  ‘I didn’t, but it couldn’t hurt, if you feel ready.’

  ‘I don’t.’

  ‘Tea’s ready,’ Annie called from the kitchen.

  Pete let out a long breath. He was finding it harder and harder to cope with the expressionless monotony of her depression. But what could he do? If Louise didn’t want to see a doctor, a grief counsellor or a psychiatrist, he couldn’t force her to. He’d made the suggestion more than once and she’d steadfastly refused. ‘I don’t need a grief counsellor. Tommy’s not dead,’ was her standard answer. Or, ‘Our son’s missing, for God’s sake. What do you expect?’

  ‘Thanks, Button,’ he called. ‘Hold on, I’ll fetch it through.’

  Annie had plated up the food and poured three glasses – two of shandy and one lemonade. Pete reached out and drew her into a hug. ‘You’re a wonderful daughter, you know that?’

  ‘I know.’ She gave him an impish smile.

  Pete laughed and ruffled her hair.

  ‘Dad,’ she complained, swiping her fingers through it to settle it.

  ‘Come on, let’s eat.’ He picked up two of the plates and carried them through to the dining table in the conservatory while Annie carried her own, then he came back for the drinks. ‘Lou,’ he said as brought them through.

  She got up, turned off the TV and came through to sit with them. Which was an improvement on a couple of weeks ago, he thought. Then, she would have eaten on the sofa, staring at the TV and barely noticing what was on her plate.

  ‘You done your homework?’

  ‘Yep. Didn’t have much. Just a bit of maths and some geography.’

  Her two favourite subjects. ‘Good girl. I’m going to have to go back in for a couple of hours, so you’ll need to get yourself to bed, all right?’

  ‘Why?’

  ‘What do you have go back for?’ Louise asked.

  ‘I need to get things organised for the morning. We need a search team and canvassers out first thing and I’ve got people to call to arrange interviews.’

  Louise grunted and shoved another chip in her mouth, chewing silently.

  Pete glanced at Annie, picking apart her fish, and suddenly pictured the photos of Rosie Whitlock that he’d seen in the sitting room of her home. How would she be coping right now, wherever she was? How would Annie cope in the same situation? Would she panic? Would she lose it and get completely stressed out? Or would she deal with it as capably as she seemed to be dealing with Louise’s condition and the disappearance of her brother?

  She had been as distraught as Pete and Louise when it happened, of course, crying night and day, demanding answers, but she had grown up a lot in the following weeks. As Louise spiralled downwards, withdrawing into herself, Annie had stepped up. Taken on the role of mother in the household.

  He didn’t know what he would have done without her, if he was honest. But the thought of her going through what Rosie Whitlock must be enduring right now clogged his throat with horror.

  ‘Dad?’

  He blinked. Cleared his throat. ‘Sorry, Button. What was that?’

  ‘Are you all right?’

  ‘Yeah, of course. Don’t worry about me.’ He forked up a piece of fish, unsure how long he had been lost in his awful thoughts. ‘What was it you said?’

  ‘Nothing. Just, you looked . . . I don’t know. Like you’d seen a ghost or something.’

  Pete smiled. ‘Nothing that exciting, love. I was just thinking, that’s all. These chips are good tonight, aren’t they?’

  ‘Yeah. Did you go somewhere different?’

  ‘Same place, but there’s different people in there. They looked Greek or something.’

  ‘What, the old guy’s retired, has he?’

  ‘Must have. I didn’t ask. Maybe I’ll find out later. See what the gossip is in the station.’ He glanced at Louise, but she didn’t respond. Simply chewed stoically, her gaze turned inward, barely aware of her surroundings or the people in them. ‘I shan’t be too late back, anyway. Just do what’s needed and come home. No sense getting overtired. Nobody does their best that way, and we need to be on top of our game on this one.’

  ‘Bad, is it?’

  ‘As bad as it gets. But nothing for you to worry about.’

  ‘Dad. I’m ten years old. I’ll be able to get married in another six.’

  Pete almost spat out his fish. ‘No, you won’t, young lady. Not without mine and your mother’s permission. Not until you’re eighteen, at least, and not then if you’ve got any sense.’

  ‘Why? You and Mum are all right.’

  ‘We didn’t get married until much later than that. When we were old enough to know what we wanted out of life and who we were. Getting married as young as that never lasts. You’re still growing up. Anyway, what’s the rush? You’ve got your whole life ahead of you. And you haven’t even got a boyfriend yet, have you?’

  ‘No,’ she said heavily. ‘But that’s not the point.’

  Pete’s eyebrows went up. ‘Oh. And here I was thinking that was the whole point.’

  ‘See, you just don’t understand, do you?’

  ‘Honestly . . . not a clue.’ He grinned and reached out to tousle her hair. ‘I just know that I love you and I want you to be happy.’

  She ducked away. ‘Well, so do I. That’s why I need to plan ahead. To be aware of my options.’

  Pete suppressed a laugh. ‘Oh, yes? And who’s been putting ideas like that in your head, eh? You got a life coach started working at that school of yours? If so, send them round here. I need some lessons of that sort.’

  ‘What’s a life coach?’

  ‘Someone who gets paid enormous amounts of money for talking a
mixture of common sense and pointless rubbish.’

  ‘Sounds like a good job. Easier than yours.’

  ‘Too right. I’ll tell you what – give it a couple of years, then look into it. See if your careers teacher can point you in the right direction.’ He swallowed the last of his chips. ‘But in the meantime, you make sure you’re in bed and asleep before I get home tonight, all right?’

  ‘Yes, Dad.’

  ‘Good girl.’ He stood up, briefly touched her cheek then rested a hand on Louise’s shoulder and kissed her forehead. ‘See you in a bit.’

  *

  Pete paused, shocked, in the doorway of the squad room. His whole team were at their desks, working quietly and, across from them, a whiteboard had been set up with photos of Rosie and her parents and the basic details of everyone they knew of who was linked to the case, all in Dick Feeney’s neat hand.

  Dick looked up from his computer. With his cheeks darkened by a day’s stubble, he looked every inch his nickname of Grey Man. But this was the kind of commitment and work ethic that should have seen Tommy found, months ago. And, Pete was sure, would have if the same team were on it. He just wished they could have been.

  ‘How’s the missus?’

  ‘Pissed off at me for coming back in, but she’ll get over it. What’s going on?’

  ‘We’ve just been doing a few background searches. Seeing if there’s anyone linked to the family with a record,’ Jane told him.

  ‘And?’

  ‘Nothing yet, apart from your man, Sanderson.’

  ‘What did you find on known local paedophiles, Dave?’

  ‘There’s three on the register. I’ve got the details here.’ He held up a piece of paper.

  Pete nodded. ‘We’ll need to visit them. Get their alibis, if they have any. Also, talk to the neighbours and the people who live around the school gates. But, before that, we need to make certain of the parents’ alibis. Ben, if you’ve got a minute, you could do that. Call the head of the school where the mother works and one of the partners of the father’s firm. Meantime, I’ll take Jill and see if we can knock the mother’s sister up. Jane, you and Dick see if you can get hold of Alistair’s brother, Michael. Dave, when you’ve finished what you’re doing, take Ben and follow up on the registered paedophiles. Verify whatever alibis you can.’

  ‘Bearing in mind who and what they are, have we got to be gentle with them?’ Dave asked.

  ‘Until you can put one of them in the frame, Dave, they’re as innocent as you are, as far as this case goes.’

  ‘If they were innocent, boss, we wouldn’t be looking at them,’ Jane pointed out.

  ‘You know what I mean. Anyway, I thought you were going home?’

  She shrugged.

  ‘Well, thanks for coming back. All of you. Come on, Jill. And don’t forget your brolly; it’s pissing down out there.’

  ‘Bugger, we thought you were just sweating from the stairs, boss,’ Dick said, as Jill rose from behind her desk.

  Pete ignored him. ‘If we’re done by nine, I’ll pop back in here. Otherwise, I’ll see you all in the morning.’ He held the door for the slim, dark-haired constable.

  ‘Thanks, boss.’ She finished shrugging into her heavy coat and started down the stairs ahead of him. ‘So, where are we going?’

  ‘Exmouth. They live down near the front, just up from the river mouth.’

  ‘Very nice.’

  ‘Hmm. Especially for a bar manager and a social worker.’

  ‘Jane was saying the mother reckons he’s a bit too touchy-feely.’

  ‘Yes. So, you take his missus and I’ll have a word with him, assuming they’re in.’

  ‘Right, boss.’

  Pete pushed open the back door and let her through, then ran for the car, the rain now turned to sleet again and coming down hard.

  CHAPTER 7

  ‘Susan Whitlock?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘DS Peter Gayle. This is PC Evans. Jill. Can we come in?’

  ‘Of course.’ She stepped back. ‘This is about Rosie, yes?’

  ‘That’s right.’

  ‘Jason’s in the bath, I’m afraid,’ the willowy brunette said as she led them into the wide hallway. ‘Jason,’ she called. ‘The police are here, darling.’

  ‘I’ll be down shortly.’

  Pete heard the faint slosh of water from upstairs.

  ‘That’s all right,’ he said to Susan. ‘We can wait.’

  ‘Would you like something to drink in the meantime? Tea? Coffee?’

  ‘Tea would be excellent. Thanks.’

  ‘So, have you started the search yet?’ she asked.

  ‘We’ll get going on that in the morning. No sense stumbling about in the dark, destroying evidence.’

  ‘Oh.’ She paused, unsure whether to lead them into the kitchen or the sitting room. ‘I thought . . . Well, that little boy in Scotland, they were out looking straight away, weren’t they? And that little girl in Wales, a year or so before.’

  ‘Different circumstances.’ Pete raised a hand towards the kitchen and she led them through.

  ‘How do you mean?’

  ‘Well, Rosie’s older, for one thing. She’s not likely to have run off or got lost. And her family situation – Alistair’s job, for instance – brings other possibilities. Talking of which, there are no issues that you’re aware of, are there? People they’ve had a problem with? No one who would want to hurt them?’

  ‘No.’ She flicked the kettle on and set about making drinks.

  ‘What can you tell us about Rosie herself? How does she get on with her dad? With Jason? With you and her mum?’

  ‘Oh, she’s fine. She hasn’t got to the rebellious stage yet. Wait a minute . . .’ She looked up from what she was doing. ‘What do you mean – how does she get on with Al and Jason? You don’t think . . . ?’

  ‘We don’t think anything yet. We’re gathering information and we have to look at all possibilities, however unlikely or unsavoury, if only to eliminate them.’

  ‘Well, you can eliminate that for a start. Al would never . . . And Jason – he’s very tactile, very huggy, but that’s just his way. There’s nothing sexual about it. Trust me – I’m his wife.’

  Pete heard heavy footsteps coming quickly down the stairs.

  ‘What do you mean by that?’ Jill asked.

  ‘Nothing. Just . . . We have a normal sex life, he’s not a pervert, that’s all.’

  ‘Who, me?’ Jason Whitlock asked from the doorway. ‘Why are we discussing my sexual proclivities, may I ask?’

  ‘For elimination purposes,’ Pete told him.

  ‘Ah. Well, that’s all right then. I think. Elimination from what, exactly?’

  ‘From the possibility that you were involved in what happened to Rosie,’ his wife told him.

  ‘Of course I wasn’t! Al said it happened this morning, around eight-fifteen, yes? Well, at eight-fifteen I was at work. I had a call to make, to California. I left here about seven-thirty.’

  ‘And can anyone verify that?’

  ‘I don’t know. I often see George, next door, on the way out. Didn’t notice him this morning, though. And there wouldn’t be anyone else at Stone’s at that time of day unless there was a delivery scheduled.’

  Pete grunted. Bars were not known for being overpopulated at eight in the morning but he would still have to verify Jason’s story. ‘We’ll need details of who you called and when.’ He would also check on what car Jason drove and see if it could be spotted on CCTV or if it had been seen near the bar that morning. ‘Is there anyone either of you can think of that might have been involved in Rosie’s abduction?’

  ‘No.’ Jason glanced at his wife, who shook her head. ‘Al’s not the type to make enemies like that. And Jess is a primary school teacher, for God’s sake. Who’s she going to piss off enough to make them abduct her daughter?’

  ‘You don’t have children?’ Jill asked.

  Pete glanced at her as the couple both said, ‘
No.’

  ‘Then, could this be a revenge attack one step removed? Has either of you “pissed anyone off enough” for them to abduct your niece?’

  She focused on Jason as she asked the question, but it was Susan who said firmly, ‘No! Certainly not.’

  Pete picked up on this. ‘Jason? No disgruntled creditors, people you’ve let down or annoyed enough for them to want payback?’

  Jason shook his head. ‘Not that I can think of.’

  ‘Well, if you do think of anything, let me know right away, yes? We don’t know where Rosie is or what she’s going through, so the sooner we can find her, the better.’

  ‘Of course.’

  ‘And I’ll need the details of that call you were making this morning.’ Pete turned over the page of his notebook and handed it over, with his pen.

  *

  Pete watched Annie running towards her friends at the bus stop and felt suddenly reluctant to let them out of his sight. Danger was stalking these streets. Tommy was gone, so was Rosie Whitlock and there was the Jane Doe, down by the river. The thought of losing Annie too was more than he could bear. He watched as she merged into the cluster of uniformed girls and boys on the grass behind the shelter, waiting until he could no longer see her in the crowd, then drew a long, shuddering breath and turned away. Much as he would have liked to, he couldn’t stay here until the bus came.

  As understandable as it was for a father to want to protect his little girl, it wouldn’t be good for her, or for him. Or for Rosie Whitlock.

  By the time he got to Risingbrook School, the rest of the team were already on-site and the road, which would be near deserted in another hour, was beginning to get busy. He pulled up behind a patrol car and climbed out. Jane was across the road, talking to a mother who had just sent her daughter into the school with a couple of others. She waved to him without pausing in her conversation. He crossed towards her and waited a few feet away until the woman stepped away and Jane turned towards him.

  ‘How’s it going?’

  ‘Still quiet, yet. And early. Another ten minutes to when Rosie was dropped off.’