Nowhere to Run

by Jack Slater

  ‘That’s going to be a bloody big job, with that amount of pictures to go through.’

  ‘I know. While you start on it, I’m going to see if I can find out how Enstone got to work and back. Like we said earlier, whoever took Rosie had the use of a vehicle and we’ve got nothing to suggest he had one.’

  He picked up his jacket from the back of his chair and headed out once more.

  *

  The Old Mill was a large, sprawling building with a car park at its north side, set between the main road and the river. The suspension footbridge that stretched across the two arms of the river at this point extended from just beyond the car park, its intricate and strangely decorative framework lit by spotlights now that darkness had set in. The car park was almost full. Pete found a space at the back, overlooking the river. As he climbed out of the car, the smell of roast dinners wafted warmly towards him, in stark contrast to the cold, shadowy trees and swift-flowing water in front of him. He headed inside.

  The bar was not crowded yet. That would come later in the evening. But the restaurant area was busy, the noise of numerous conversations like a physical buffer as he stepped inside. A pretty blonde girl in her early twenties was serving at the bar. She finished taking the money for a round of drinks, gave the buyer his change and turned to Pete. ‘What can I get you?’

  ‘I need to talk to the manager.’ Pete showed her his warrant card.

  ‘Oh, right. One moment, sir.’ She left the back bar and headed towards the restaurant area, to his left. Seconds later, she came back. A woman in her late thirties with dark hair pulled back from a face that was handsome rather than beautiful broke away from behind the girl to approach Pete.

  ‘Can I help?’ she asked.

  ‘I hope so. DS Peter Gayle. I need to ask about one of your employees, Barry Enstone.’

  ‘He’s not in today, I’m afraid. Why? He’s all right, is he?’

  ‘Actually, no. You are . . . ?’

  ‘Carrie Evans.’

  ‘Miss Evans, I’m sorry to have to tell you this, but Barry Enstone died.’

  ‘My God! He was only in here last night. What happened?’

  ‘We’re not sure yet, but it looks like it might have been suicide.’

  ‘Jesus. Poor guy.’

  ‘You say he wasn’t in today. Why not?’

  ‘He was due to work Sunday.’ She shook her head. ‘My God.’

  ‘Do you know of anyone he had a problem with, who might have wanted to harm him?’

  ‘No. He was always quiet, mild, got on with his job and everyone he dealt with. I can’t believe this.’ She looked around as if searching for somewhere to sit.

  ‘Do you have an office we could use?’

  ‘Uh, yes, of course.’ She led him through the bar and into the corridor that led towards the toilets. At the far end, a door was marked ‘Private’. She unlocked it and showed him into a small office. ‘Take a seat.’ She indicated a chair in the corner as she moved around to the far side of the cluttered desk and sat down. ‘I still can’t get my head around this. He was just a nice, quiet bloke. Conscientious, pleasant. Didn’t have any enemies that I know of. Wouldn’t have it in him to make any, as far as I could tell. So… You say he died, but are you suggesting he was killed?’ She shook her head slowly.

  ‘We’re not sure yet. How did he get around? Get to work and back?’ Pete asked. ‘He doesn’t appear to have had a car.’

  ‘He used the bus sometimes. Other than that, I don’t know.’

  Pete nodded. ‘You never saw him on a bike or anything?’

  She gave a short laugh. ‘I wouldn’t fancy biking up that hill, would you?’

  Pete shrugged. ‘People do.’

  ‘No, I never saw him with a bike. I don’t know exactly where he lived,’ she said as if she’d only just realised it. ‘Sad, isn’t it? You work with someone for what? Two, three years. And you never really get to know them, do you?’

  ‘Happens to a lot of us, I suppose. Is there anyone here who might have known him better than you?’

  She grimaced. ‘Derek might, I suppose. Give it a few minutes to let the rush die down and we’ll go and have a word.’

  Pete raised his eyebrows in a silent question.

  ‘He’s the carvery chef tonight. If there was someone else who could take over from him, I’d pull him off, but . . .’ She shrugged. ‘Won’t be long, anyway. There’s always a lull after about 6.45.’

  Pete looked at his watch and was shocked to see the time was after half past six. ‘I didn’t realise it was that late,’ he said. ‘I’ll have to give the wife a quick ring.’

  ‘Tell her to come over,’ she suggested. ‘Save cooking.’

  ‘I would, but she won’t come out on a Thursday.’ He stood up and lifted his phone from his pocket. ‘I’ll just step outside.’

  ‘Sure.’

  Pete stood in the corridor, the door closed at his side as he made the call. As usual, Annie answered it.

  ‘Hello, Button,’ he said. ‘It’s Dad. Sorry, I clean forgot the time. I’m out talking to a witness. You and Mum go ahead and eat, all right? I’ll grab something out for tonight. I’ll tuck you in when I get home.’

  ‘You promise?’ She knew that meant he would be back before she should be asleep.

  ‘I promise.’

  ‘All right,’ she said with a mock sigh. ‘I suppose I’ll let you off this once. But don’t make a habit of it.’

  ‘Aye, aye, Captain.’

  ‘See you later, Dad. Love you.’

  ‘And I love you, Button.’ He felt a swell of emotion in his chest as he said it. ‘You’ll never know how much.’

  He ended the call and returned to the office. Carrie Evans looked up from a ledger she had been going through. ‘Any excuse for a minute to check on things,’ she said, closing the maroon-bound book.

  ‘Good to get the chance, I expect. Must be a busy place.’

  ‘It is. Pretty much non-stop from noon to ten-thirty. Eleven-thirty on music nights.’ She checked her watch. ‘Shall we go see how it’s going out there? See if we can grab Derek yet?’

  ‘Good idea.’

  Pete held the door for her and led the way back towards the bar. He heard the key turning in the lock behind him, then her heels clicking as she hurried to catch up. Looking across as they stepped into the bar, he could see that the queue at the carvery was gone.

  ‘Looks like we’re in luck,’ she said. ‘I’ll introduce you and let you get on with it, if that’s OK.’

  ‘Perfect.’

  The chef was in his early twenties, wiry with dark, spiky hair, a stud in his nostril and a line of stubble along his jaw, but his gaze was open and friendly.

  ‘Derek, this is Detective Sergeant Gayle,’ she said. ‘Derek Smith.’

  Derek wiped his hand on his apron and extended it across the carving counter. His grip was firm and dry. ‘What can I do for you?’

  ‘I need to ask you about Barry Enstone. I gather you worked with him, knew him a bit?’

  ‘Yeah, I . . . Wait a minute. What’s with “worked” and “knew”? Has something happened to Barry?’

  ‘Yes, I’m afraid it has. You were friends?’

  ‘Yeah, I suppose. What’s happened?’

  ‘There’s no good way of telling you. I’m afraid Barry’s dead, Derek.’

  ‘Jesus! How? When?’

  ‘This evening. We’re not certain about the how yet. We’re still investigating. One of the things I need to ask you is, do you know how he got to work and back?’

  ‘Not really. I gave him a lift a couple of times, but other than that, no, I don’t. Why?’

  ‘You don’t know if he ever had access to a vehicle of any kind?’

  Derek shook his head. ‘No.’

  ‘OK. And do you know any of his other friends or associates? Anywhere he hung out, any hobbies or interests he might have had?’

  ‘Not really. I know he had some mates in Bristol, but I never met them. And I got
the impression he might have got himself a girlfriend recently. A customer from here.’

  ‘Yes? You don’t know any names?’

  ‘No. Sorry.’

  Pete saw an older couple approaching the counter. ‘OK. Thanks for your time.’

  *

  Pete stood by the car, looking out at the white-painted suspension bridge, and phoned Jane Bennett’s number in the squad room.

  ‘Jane,’ he said when she picked up. ‘Are Jill and Ben back in yet?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘What did they learn?’

  ‘Not much. They confirmed that he was engaged to Monica Devlin, as she was then, and that he was a misogynist arsehole at the time, but she couldn’t tell them much more than that.’

  ‘OK. Send one of them to meet me back at Enstone’s place, will you? The other one can help you until you’ve had enough. Have you found anything yet?’

  ‘A couple of faces match missing persons files. One from Bristol, the other from Taunton.’

  ‘Bristol again? I was told that Enstone had friends there. No details, unfortunately.’

  ‘Interesting.’

  ‘Yeah. One of the things I’m going to need to search for at his house is an address book or phone list. You could check his email account with that in mind.’

  ‘Already did. There’s nothing untoward in it at all.’

  ‘Well, if he did have friends that far away, he had to contact them somehow. Try his history. See if he had another email account. Hotmail or something, maybe.’

  ‘OK. But you need to remember, boss – I’ve got a home to go to, but you’ve got a wife and kid, too. They need to see you sometimes.’

  A car pulled in behind him. He heard the engine cut out, doors slam and happy voices: male, female and a couple of kids. He resisted the temptation to turn and look.

  ‘I know, Jane. But what can I do, eh? Split myself in two? This isn’t just about surviving relatives and public safety. There’s a live victim we’re trying to save.’

  ‘I’m just saying, boss.’

  ‘Yeah, all right. Send Jill or Ben round there, OK? I’m on the way.’

  ‘Will do.’

  He ended the call with his gaze locked on the shadowy tree-covered island in the middle of the river. Bare branches rose up to entangle the far end of the bridge, darkness reaching out to claim the bright, modern structure and draw it back from the spotlights into the night. He climbed into the car, slammed the door and started the engine, his mind once more conjuring an image of a young girl with Rosie Whitlock’s face, lying in the dark somewhere, bound and gagged, terrified and alone.

  CHAPTER 24

  ‘Jane, it’s Pete. We’ve finished at Enstone’s. One bus ticket that his boss has confirmed he used for work and one telephone/address book. No bike and no driving licence. You’ve got Ben helping you, right?’

  ‘Yes,’ she said cautiously.

  ‘Not any more. We need a full, deep background on Barry Enstone. Right down to the roots. Family ties, where he grew up, friends and associates, former girlfriends, where they live now and where they lived when he was with them, everywhere he’s ever lived, every piece of property he owns. I want to know everywhere he could possibly think of going. The bus ticket and lack of a driving licence suggest he’s not our man, but we need to be sure. Any more progress, your end?’

  ‘We’ve identified a few more of the girls on Enstone’s computer and one of the blokes.’

  ‘Oh, yes?’

  ‘Known paedophile from Swindon. He’s currently residing at Her Majesty’s pleasure in Northumberland.’

  ‘From Swindon? Sounds like this might be bigger than we thought.’

  ‘It’s a bloody lot of work, I know that.’

  ‘Then we need to find a way to prioritise because Rosie has to stay as our main focus.’

  *

  Pete’s stomach growled as they trudged up the stairs to the squad room.

  ‘Blimey, boss. Anybody would think you were hungry. They probably heard that down the takeaway.’

  Pete’s mind offered an image of the succulent meats on the carving counter at the Mill on the Exe. ‘I can think of something I wouldn’t mind getting my teeth into.’ He pushed open the squad room door and almost did a double-take then stepped forward before Jill could bump into him from behind. ‘Jeez.’

  All the lights were on and his full team were there, diligently concentrating on computer screens, printouts or files. He also saw Sophie Clewes and three other uniformed constables, two of whom he recognised from Barry Enstone’s place, earlier in the evening.

  Jane looked up from her screen, her hands pausing over the keyboard. ‘Hey, boss. What are you doing here? I thought you were going home.’

  A few other people looked up when she spoke, but most just concentrated on what they were doing.

  ‘Never mind what I’m doing here,’ he said, heading for his desk. ‘I’m leading this inquiry, remember? The question is, what are you lot doing here at this time of day?’

  Jane spread her hands in a gesture that encompassed the whole room. ‘Volunteers, boss. There’s a bloody lot to do and not much time to do it in, so . . .’

  ‘Well, in that case, what have you got?’ He hung his coat over the back of his chair and went around the desks to stand beside her.

  ‘OK, all the photos are Internet downloads rather than originals. He’s not the photographer. Which is not to say he doesn’t know the photographer, but . . .’ She shrugged. ‘They almost all appear of a type, a style, which suggests a single photographer or a small group of them. There are more than thirty different girls. I’ve managed to identify half a dozen so far, from the Missing Persons database and the National Criminal Database. They all come from different places: Bristol, Bath, Swindon, Oxford, Taunton and Minehead, so far. And still just one of the blokes. The one I told you about, from Swindon. Steven Arnold Southam, aged forty-nine.’

  ‘SAS? That’s for real?’

  ‘Yep. He’s currently in Morpeth, Northumberland, in the first of a four-year term for gross indecency with a minor.’

  ‘So, we may have stumbled onto a major ring. But does it get us any closer to Rosie?’

  ‘Not yet, boss. But if Barry wasn’t the only member in Exeter, then it could do. We just need to ID some of the other blokes in the pictures. That’s what Sophie’s working on.’

  Pete looked up. Sophie Clewes was sitting with her back to him, at the desk of one of Simon Phillips’ guys. He could see that she was running a facial recognition program. As he watched, the screen in front of her brightened and filled with two photographs, side by side. Even from this distance, Pete could tell that they were of the same man.

  She turned to face them. ‘Got another one.’

  The gentle noises of a working team stopped, silence descending heavily until Sophie declared, ‘Adrian Chandler, fifty-one, from Bristol. He’s done two terms for child sex offences, currently on parole after the second one. Got out a year ago.’

  And there was the Bristol connection again. As well, Pete thought, as the Bath one with Neil Sanderson. ‘Nice one, Sophie. What else are we doing?’ He turned back towards his crew.

  ‘I’ve got CCTV from the BP garage on the Exmouth road, the morning Rosie disappeared,’ said Dave. ‘One sighting on it of a car that may be Albright’s. It’s at the time he suggested, but there isn’t a clear view of the number plate, so I can’t confirm it. I’m just looking at the stuff from the entrance of the Royal Marines Training Centre, up the road from there, and I’ve got a request in for the footage from the roundabout outside the Fire and Rescue place. That should be coming through shortly. They work twenty-four hours there. Then there’s the M5 Deepway Junction, the A38/A380 junction at Bickham and a couple of cameras in Paignton to check. One of them’s bound to give us what we need, if he’s telling the truth.’

  ‘But how soon are you likely to get them?’

  ‘Some will come in tonight. Most of the traffic cam stuff will have
to wait for morning.’

  Pete’s phone rang in his pocket. He took it out and checked it. His home number showed on the screen. ‘Hang on,’ he said and headed for the door. Out in the corridor he lifted it to his ear.

  ‘Dad.’ Annie’s voice came accusingly over the airwaves. ‘Are you coming home tonight, or what?’

  ‘Hello, Button. Yes, of course I am. I’ve just been caught up in stuff at work, that’s all. You know how it gets, especially on a case like this. There’s never enough hours in the day or hands and eyes to cover everything.’

  ‘I know, but I’m missing you. And so’s Mum, although she won’t say so. Have you even eaten?’

  ‘Don’t you start. I get enough of that from your mum.’

  ‘Don’t change the subject, Dad. Have you?’

  ‘No, young lady, I haven’t yet. I haven’t had time. I hope you have, though?’ He glanced at his watch and grunted in shock. It was after nine. ‘God, it’s nearly your bedtime. I hadn’t realised.’

  ‘I cooked Chinese for Mum and me.’

  ‘And have you done your homework?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘Good girl. I’ll be home in a bit. And I miss you too. And your mum. Give her a kiss for me, will you?’

  ‘Dad.’

  Pete laughed. ‘I’ll tuck you in when I get home, all right?’

  ‘OK. But don’t be too late, or I’ll be asleep.’

  ‘Yes, Mother.’

  She giggled. ‘Just do as you’re told then.’

  ‘See you soon, Button. Goodnight.’

  ‘I’m not saying goodnight until you get home. That’s incentive.’

  ‘Ooh. Big words for a small person.’

  ‘I could quote you some more, but the longer you’re on the phone, the later you’ll get here. Bye.’

  ‘Bye, love.’ He put away the phone and headed back into the squad room.

  Jane looked up from her screen as he reached his desk. ‘Go home, boss. We’ve got this covered. And they need you.’

  ‘So does Rosie Whitlock.’

  ‘If we get anything, I’ll ring you myself. Promise.’

  Pete was torn. He really ought to be here, doing something useful. But, as Jane said, Louise and Annie needed him at home too. And he was all too aware of the little, plastic thumb drive nestled in his pocket, waiting to show him exactly how well his son knew Rosie Whitlock.