Cradle to Grave

by Rachel Amphlett

  ‘Not there, guv. I’m waiting for someone to call me back from the boat hire place at Allington. There were three there – two came back clear, but I need to speak to the last one.’

  ‘Where are we with the CCTV from the borough council, guv?’ said Barnes. ‘Did anything come in overnight?’

  Sharp shook his head. ‘Nothing yet. Andy Grey is over at headquarters and will chase up his contact there this morning. He’s on standby for the digital forensics once we find Greg Victor’s laptop and mobile phone, too. If we find them. Carys got a phone call from Hazel earlier this morning. There’s no word from Robert Victor yet. Both she and Annette have tried to call him repeatedly, but his phone isn’t connecting.’

  ‘Guv, you should head off and get some rest,’ said Kay. ‘I’ll call you as soon as we have a viable lead on Alice’s whereabouts.’

  The detective chief inspector checked his watch. ‘Did any of you sleep last night?’

  Barnes looked sheepish, and Gavin shook his head.

  ‘Not much,’ said Kay.

  ‘I thought so. I’ll be back at six o’clock,’ said Sharp. ‘I’ll speak with the Chief Superintendent about getting more resources in from tomorrow via uniform. Now that the summer festivals are over, we might be able to get extra help from Tonbridge, too.’

  ‘Thanks, guv,’ said Kay.

  Gavin watched the detective chief inspector leave, and then pushed his chair back.

  ‘Where are you going?’ said Barnes.

  He shoved his mobile phone in his pocket. ‘I can’t sit here doing nothing, waiting for them to call, Ian. I’m going over to that address at Allington.’

  Twelve

  A fresh breeze nipped at Gavin’s neck as he locked the car, the early morning sunlight casting dappled shadows through the trees beside him.

  He flipped up his collar and crossed the gravel car park that abutted the motel and pub next door to it, his mood darkened by the reality that Alice had been missing for over thirty-six hours, and there was still no sign of her.

  It was as if the child had vanished into thin air, and he couldn’t imagine how traumatised her parents must be.

  He shook his head to clear the thought and turned his focus to a narrow twisting lane that led from the car park to the water’s edge.

  To his right, the pub’s decking sprawled alongside the towpath. Rows of picnic tables had been set up for the patrons so they could sit and admire the scenery and the boats passing by.

  Gavin noted that the brightly coloured brewery umbrellas had been taken indoors for safekeeping overnight and propped up against the floor-to-ceiling patio doors. No doubt if the manager hadn’t done so, the same umbrellas would be cropping up that morning for sale at some of the less salubrious car boot sales in the county, to be bought by locals for their own gardens.

  Two ducks waddled between the table legs, stopping now and then to peck at morsels stuck between the cracks in the decking before moving on in search of other culinary treasures.

  Gavin turned his attention to the river.

  An array of boats lined both sides of the banks on the Maidstone side, and a peacefulness enveloped the scene. The soft lap of water against hulls carried across the water as two cyclists shot past on mountain bikes, raising their hands in thanks as Gavin stepped back to let them pass.

  He watched them recede into the distance, then turned his attention to a concrete slipway on the opposite side of the river. Next to it, a large pontoon had been piled high with equipment, and he spotted a line of boats in the yard beyond. Spotting the name of the company next to it, he turned away.

  He’d already spoken to the helpful owners, and knew Greg Victor hadn’t been in touch with them.

  He set a brisk pace along the Medway Path towards the steel and concrete structure of the lock, and took in the narrowboats and cabin cruisers moored either side of it. Talking to the boat yard owners across the other side, he’d ascertained that the lock provided a staging post between the tidal waters of the upper Medway and the calmer currents that flowed south through Maidstone and beyond into the Kentish countryside.

  An idea had started to form as he’d tossed and turned last night, but he couldn’t quite lay his finger on it yet. It nibbled away at the edges of his thoughts, fretting and worrying at the periphery.

  He kicked a stone at the side of the path in frustration, and felt a little better as it flew into the water with a satisfying plop.

  A little way past the lock, he found the small boat yard owned by Markus Tiverton.

  Unlike the two larger companies he’d already spoken to, Tiverton’s Hire appeared to be struggling.

  Two scruffy cabin cruisers bobbed on the current, their fenders scraping against the concrete kerbing that had been constructed to reinforce the path beside the yard. Faded lettering along the sides proclaimed names for the boats, both ending in cheerful exclamation marks that were a stark contrast to the tattered curtains hanging at the windows and torn canvas awnings.

  A sense of dereliction surrounded both vessels, which served as depressing examples of changing times within the hire trade on the Medway.

  Compared to the brightly painted hire boats nearer the pub and motel, Tiverton’s vessels looked as if they’d sink at the first bow wave from a passing narrowboat, and Gavin wondered if either of them were safe.

  A low-slung porta cabin served as the hire company’s office, the cream-coloured walls worn in places. A gutter pipe hung off the right-hand side, a damp patch creating an indentation in the ground below it giving an indication as to how long it had been since anyone had thought to fix it.

  He pulled out his mobile phone and dialled the landline number for the company again as he hovered at the step.

  He could hear the phone ringing on the other side of the door, but there was no movement inside. No-one in.

  Frustrated, he tried the mobile phone number he’d spotted on the side of one of the hire boats and then cursed as that went through to a lazy voicemail message as well.

  ‘Can I help you?’

  He spun around at the voice to see a squat man in his sixties storming towards him, his brow furrowed.

  Gavin held out his warrant card as the man drew closer, and noticed his shoulders sag a little.

  ‘I thought you looked too well dressed to be a burglar,’ he said. ‘What do you want?’

  ‘Sorry, and you are?’

  ‘Alan Evershall. I own the narrowboat over there, the Daisy Lee.’

  ‘Do you know where Markus Tiverton is?’

  ‘Down the coast, I reckon. He and Evelyn left early yesterday morning.’ Evershall shrugged. ‘It’s not busy this weekend, so I suppose they thought they’d have a short break.’

  ‘They went by boat?’

  Evershall gave him a withering look. ‘Well, they didn’t drive. No – Markus has a four-berth cabin cruiser. They use it with friends for holidays and stuff.’

  ‘When’s he due back?’

  ‘Well, he mentioned when I saw him on Friday that they were just going around the coast to Hastings for the weekend, so I’d imagine he’ll be back late tonight or early tomorrow morning. Needs to be, see? In case of any bookings.’

  Gavin ran his gaze over the dilapidated temporary office building and hire boats, and raised an eyebrow.

  Evershall shrugged. ‘I know, but it’s still a business that needs to be run.’

  ‘Then you’d think he’d be answering his mobile phone.’ Gavin shook his head. ‘How long have you known them?’

  ‘I moved down this way about three years ago, so I suppose it must be about two months after that – after I bought Daisy. I saw Markus most mornings when I was around and about, and we got talking. Us boat people tend to look out for each other.’

  ‘Are you likely to see him when he gets back?’

  ‘Depends what time,’ said Evershall. ‘If he’s back late tonight, I probably won’t see him until mid-morning. I’ve got family visiting later today.’

 
Gavin rummaged in his pocket and withdrew a business card. ‘I’ve been trying to phone his mobile number for the past twenty-four hours. When you see him, could you ask him to call me if he hasn’t spoken to me by then?’

  Evershall turned the card in his fingers. ‘This about the girl that’s gone missing?’

  ‘Yes. Do you know anything that could have a bearing on the case?’

  ‘Wish I did, poor mite. I’ve got two granddaughters about the same age. Dreadful business, that.’

  ‘Will you pass that on for me?’

  ‘Of course.’

  ‘Thanks.’

  Gavin made his way back to the car, his shoes scuffing on the path as he mulled over his conversation with Evershall.

  He scowled at a fisherman who tipped his hat as he passed him in the car park and called a cheery good morning, and then threw himself into the driver’s seat and banged his fist against the steering wheel.

  It galled him to think that there were people leading ordinary lives, enjoying themselves while a family waited for news about their missing daughter.

  News he didn’t have.

  Thirteen

  Barnes eyed the sign on the wall opposite the stairwell and curled his lip.

  A few metres away, Kay paced the tiled corridor of the second level of Darent Valley Hospital, one hand over her ear to mitigate the voices carrying along from the pharmacy.

  He checked his watch.

  Lucas had brought forward the time for the post mortem on their victim. He’d phoned the incident room an hour ago as Barnes had been chewing a ham sandwich that had grown warm in its plastic wrapping while he’d been scrolling through reports on his computer screen. At the sound of the Home Office pathologist’s voice, his appetite had waned and upon being summoned to the mortuary, he’d thrown the rest of the sandwich away.

  With Gavin out following up leads, it had fallen to him to accompany the DI to the hospital.

  He didn’t say anything to Kay, but he would much rather have spent the afternoon focusing his efforts on leading the search for Alice.

  Out of all his colleagues, he was the one who could most closely relate to what Annette Victor was going through. Only three years ago, his daughter had been kidnapped by a serial killer hell-bent on wreaking his revenge on Barnes and the police. It had been a miracle she had survived.

  He clenched his fists and forced himself to do the job in hand as Kay finished her call and hurried back to where he waited.

  ‘That was Gavin. No luck at the boat hire place – he spoke to someone moored close by who told him the owners are away until late tonight or tomorrow morning. In the meantime, there’s a group of locals who want to help the search team. I said we’d pop over to see them when we’ve finished here to make sure they’re coordinating with our people.’

  ‘It’s taking too long to find her,’ he said. ‘We should have something by now, but there’s been no sighting.’

  He clamped his mouth shut, hearing the tremble in his voice.

  ‘I know, Ian. I know.’ Kay jutted her chin at the sign pointing the way to the mortuary. ‘Shall we get this over and done with?’

  ‘Shouldn’t take long,’ said Barnes as he followed her. ‘Cause of death, gunshot wound to head.’

  ‘Don’t let Lucas hear you say that.’

  Fifteen minutes later, he’d swapped his suit for a set of plastic overalls that he’d pulled over his shirt and trousers, and tugged disposable bootees over his shoes. He scuffed along the polished tiled floor towards the double doors into the morgue, and held one open for Kay.

  Immediately, the stench hit him.

  He might tease Gavin about his dread at attending post mortems, but right now Barnes would rather be anywhere else than here.

  The remnants of his ham sandwich tumbled in his stomach, and he suppressed a sickly belch in his throat as they approached the gurney in the middle of the room.

  Lucas paused in his work and nodded when they drew closer, then placed the electric saw he’d been wielding to one side.

  ‘How’s it going?’ said Kay. She kept away from the victim’s head – or what was left of it – and positioned herself at the feet.

  Barnes joined her, cleared his throat, and forced himself to concentrate on what the Home Office pathologist was saying.

  ‘Our victim didn’t stand a chance,’ said Lucas.

  ‘Harriet’s team recovered the bullet yesterday,’ said Barnes. ‘She reckons it came from a nine millimetre.’

  ‘I’m surprised there was much left of it after that journey,’ said Lucas, gesturing to the victim’s head.

  ‘Point blank range?’

  ‘I would say so. I’ve examined the cranial cavity, and whoever shot him pointed the gun within inches of the base of his skull. The bullet exited through the bridge of his nose, taking most of his brain and face with it.’

  ‘So any clothing on the shooter would have gun residue on it,’ said Kay.

  ‘If he hasn’t already dumped his clothes,’ said Barnes. ‘And it sounds like the killer could’ve been shorter than Greg if the bullet travelled at that angle.’

  ‘It’s worth considering,’ said Lucas.

  Kay took a step back and assessed the pitiful form laid out on the gurney. ‘Any other injuries?’

  The pathologist stepped away from the victim’s head and gently lifted the man’s hand. ‘He has a broken wrist, probably caused when he went over the side of the boat – I’ve spoken to Carys’s chap at the Environment Agency and he confirms there were no weirs or other obstacles that he could have collided with enough force to do that on his way downstream, not the way the current flows there. There’s an old knee injury – probably ten years old or so. It looks like the sort of injury you’d expect to see in someone who played a lot of sport when they were younger. Apart from that, he was a healthy individual.’

  ‘All right, thanks, Lucas,’ said Kay.

  Barnes could hear the disappointment in her voice. ‘Will you get the fingerprint details over to us as soon as you can?’ he said to Lucas. ‘I’ll have someone run them through the system again to corroborate the evidence we’ve got to date.’

  ‘Will do,’ said Lucas. ‘We’ll also get the other samples over to Harriet and her team so they can test them against what they took from the boat.’

  ‘Sounds good. We’ll get out of your way. Thanks.’

  ‘Any news about the little girl?’

  Kay pursed her lips. ‘Not yet.’

  She turned away, and Barnes nodded to Lucas before hurrying to catch up with her, catching the door as it swung shut. She paused outside, and leaned against the wall, the back of her coveralls squashing the contents of a staff bulletin board.

  ‘She’s out there, somewhere,’ said Barnes, his voice strained.

  Her eyes met his, and she rubbed her arms to ease the goosebumps that prickled her skin.

  ‘I hope so, Ian. I don’t know what I’m going to do if we’re too late.’

  Fourteen

  Kay rolled up her sleeves as Police Sergeant Harry Davis strode across the recreation area towards her, a man and woman at his side.

  A throng of people crowded next to a marquee that had been erected next to the entrance a few metres away, gathering around a group of uniformed police officers who worked in pairs handing out leaflets.

  At the far end of the park, a swing set, roundabout and slide stood abandoned. Not a single child could be seen across the expanse of green that stretched from the back of the community hall to the primary school playing field.

  Kay turned away from the sorry sight.

  ‘Detective Inspector, this is Reverend Maureen McCaffery of the local All Saints’ church and Peter Johnson, headmaster of the primary school here,’ said Harry, and waited while Kay and Barnes introduced themselves. ‘Maureen gave the incident room a call after the media appeal went out last night and between them they’ve organised this group of volunteers to help. They’re providing food and drink for the officers
conducting the search.’

  ‘That’s brilliant,’ said Kay as she watched the groups manning barbecues under the shade of gazebos. ‘Thank you very much.’

  ‘We had to do something,’ said Peter, shaking his head. ‘I’ve got a daughter about the same age at home. I can’t imagine what her parents are going through.’

  ‘What’s your plan of action, Harry?’ said Barnes as the two local community members wandered off and joined a large group that were heading in the direction of a footpath that led across a field of barley.

  ‘The teams have finished the house-to-house enquiries for properties abutting the railway and the Medway Path,’ said the police sergeant. ‘We’ve concluded that there’s no trace of Alice on the towpath between East Farleigh and Tovil, so after speaking with Alistair Matthews I’ve moved my officers forward to the stretch beyond Tovil and into Maidstone.’

  He held up a map and tapped the page. ‘I’ve arranged to work with personnel here to start searching the wider area north of the riverbank and railway, to eliminate the possibility that Alice might have wandered further afield, or that whoever took her cut through the footpaths and woodland that borders the boundary along here.’

  Kay frowned. ‘And there’s been absolutely no sighting of her by property owners next to the river?’

  ‘Nothing, I’m afraid.’

  ‘I suppose it was a long shot, given the time of night we think Greg Victor was killed,’ said Barnes. ‘Even if it’s still light until nearly ten o’clock in the evening, most people would have been indoors watching television or something rather than sitting outside.’

  ‘I’m inclined to agree,’ said Harry. ‘But at least this way we can door knock a few more residents and ask them to check any outbuildings. Not everyone will have seen the appeal last night, or the papers this morning with Alice’s photograph inside.’

  ‘You’ll stay here until they’re finished?’ said Kay.

  ‘Yes. I’d rather be on hand in case something is found.’

  ‘How many officers have you got working with you?’