‘Let’s go and talk to them,’ she said.
Ben filled her in as they as hurried down the stairs. ‘She spent Sunday night with a school friend, Sally,’ he said. ‘Nicola drove her there and went in for a cup of tea with Sally’s mother. Robyn phoned yesterday to let her mum know she’d stay another night so she and Sally could prepare for a science presentation they were doing together.’
‘That’s the same as she told Lance yesterday,’ said Grace. ‘And I can imagine Nicola was only too relieved not to get bogged down in difficult explanations over Leonard’s absence.’
‘When Robyn didn’t come home off the bus today,’ Ben continued, ‘Nicola phoned Sally’s mother. Robyn didn’t stay with them last night, and she wasn’t in school today. No one’s seen her since school ended yesterday afternoon, and both parents insist she’s never done anything like this before.’
‘Is there a boyfriend in the picture?’ she asked.
‘Not that her parents are aware of, no,’ said Ben. ‘Though that doesn’t mean there isn’t one.’
‘So either they still haven’t worked out that she’s been talking to us, or they’re not prepared to admit it,’ said Grace.
‘I reckon the mother suspects something,’ said Ben. They arrived at the door to the soft interview room. ‘Time to find out.’
Leonard and Nicola shot to their feet as the door opened. ‘Is there any news?’ asked Nicola.
‘Not yet,’ said Ben. ‘I’ve put DI Fisher in the picture. Maybe you have some questions for her?’
‘Am I still under caution?’ asked Leonard.
‘Not for this conversation,’ said Grace. ‘Our priority is your daughter’s safety.’
‘Then I need to know who you’ve been talking to as part of your investigation,’ Leonard demanded. ‘I was sent word about an assault on someone in prison. You know who I’m talking about, right? Well, that was nothing to do with me. Quite the opposite. I’m frightened that it was a warning.’
‘Of what?’ asked Grace.
‘That bad things could happen. I need to know who else you’ve been speaking to. Who told you to go digging in the creek?’
‘I can’t tell you that.’ Grace looked from Leonard to his wife. Did they really not know? Maybe if Nicola had been kept in the dark as much as Robyn had been, then she would have no idea why her daughter might have run away. But something about the tight set of Nicola’s mouth and her downcast eyes suggested she knew more than she was saying. Leonard’s eyes, on the other hand, were blazing.
‘All I care about is Robyn,’ he said. ‘Everything I’ve ever done has been for her. Her and Nicola. You bring her back safe, and I’ll tell you anything you want. But until she’s safe I need to know who I’m dealing with.’
‘Do you think Robyn was aware of your business activities?’ Grace asked gently.
Leonard seemed oblivious to the way Nicola’s chin shot up, and to the quick, sharp look she gave him.
‘Never!’ he said. ‘I’ve always kept her out of it.’
‘You’re sure?’
‘Absolutely. There’s no way she could have the slightest idea,’ Leonard insisted.
‘Mrs Ingold?’ asked Grace. ‘You don’t think perhaps Robyn heard somehow about her dad’s arrest and has reacted badly? That maybe one of her friends knows where she is, and is fibbing to you?’
Nicola shook her head, not looking directly at anyone. ‘We just need to find her.’
Leonard gripped his wife’s hand and squeezed it hard. Grace watched Nicola move a little bit closer, shoulder to shoulder. They might have promised one another they were only doing their best for their daughter, but where had that left Robyn?
Grace could feel the weight of Ben Marrington’s silence. Now, if ever, was the time for her to speak the truth, to reassure two distraught parents that the situation might not be as dark as it seemed. Except she was certain they didn’t want to hear that. Besides, this whole mess was her fault. And there was someone else who needed to come out of this safely. If her crazy speculations were correct, then, once Robyn was safe, there were other people who needed – deserved – to hear what Leonard could tell them about his criminal connections. She had to do her best for everyone.
52
Robyn wasn’t sure what she was feeling. She was used to spending time alone and had thought, when she suggested coming here, that she’d be familiar enough with this strange and daunting building not to be spooked by it, but now, after a long day by herself, she was beginning to think she must have been crazy even to think of it. Yesterday now seemed a kind of blur, as if a freak wave had carried them along. And yet it would be easy enough to tidy away the evidence of their occupation, lock the narrow door – the only entrance to this abandoned fort – return the key to the hidden key safe, and then, by torchlight, walk the mile or so along the track to the road, where eventually a bus would pass.
But she couldn’t just pack up and leave without first seeing and thanking her rescuer. She didn’t want him making a wasted journey all the way out here only to find her gone. If it hadn’t been for him she would have jacked it in this morning and begged him to drop her off somewhere on his way to work, but he’d been so sweet last night, stoking the stove, making a treat out of cheese sandwiches and tinned soup and then talking to her as they tried to get comfortable enough to fall asleep in the fort’s narrow and creaky fold-up beds. Far better to wait for his return and spend a second night here together than go back to face all the trouble she’d caused.
Yet in the end what was the point? She couldn’t hide away for ever. At some point she would have to do something, go somewhere, decide where she belonged. She couldn’t imagine what it would be like to go home any more than she could work out where else she could go, how on earth she would manage. And it wasn’t just the immediate future she’d have to deal with; it was all so much bigger than that, too big to think about properly. She’d cried for an hour this morning after he’d left, cried until she had no more tears and her chest hurt. It had made no difference.
Her parents must have worked out by now that she had run away because of what she’d done. Last weekend, after the dredger had finished its work, had been so weird. Her dad had acted as if nothing at all had happened. And he had never – in her hearing, anyway – mentioned it to her mum. But he must have seen DI Fisher watching from the sea wall, must have realized that they’d find whatever he’d dumped there, and that, whatever it was, it wouldn’t do him any good. And yet all weekend – at least until she could stand it no more and had called Sally to ask if she could come and stay on Sunday night – he had peeled potatoes and watched TV and fed the dogs as if he hadn’t a care in the world. Once she thought she’d caught her mum giving her a funny sideways glance, but that was it.
Still, it was only a matter of time until someone told them or they realized, if they hadn’t already, that it was she who had given them up. And, once they knew, she wouldn’t have to pretend any more, wouldn’t have to steel herself to be the one to tell them. They’d probably be glad she’d gone. How could they ever want her anywhere near them again?
Lance ought to be here soon. He’d warned her he might be late, but she hoped nothing had happened to prevent him coming. She didn’t like the idea of spending the night here without him. She’d thought about climbing up to the roof to watch for the lights of his approaching car, but was frightened in case the trapdoor fell shut behind her, leaving her exposed to the darkness and the vicious wind off the sea.
The estuary was much wider here than on the creek at home. It was the coastal erosion that had convinced the local landowner, a farmer friend of her dad, to abandon his plans to convert the isolated Martello tower into a quirky holiday let; now he just allowed sportsmen to make use of the place on shoot days. Her dad had taken her up to the stone-flagged roof to show her where the artillery had once been mounted, ready to fire at Napoleon’s invading fleet, and explained that the brick vaults at the bottom of the tower were where th
e gunpowder and munitions had been kept. The walls had been made up to eight feet thick to withstand bombardment, and blocked out all exterior sound.
She wondered if she’d feel differently if she’d discovered that her dad had been involved in smuggling cigarettes or importing cannabis, some enterprise where no one ever got shot or died. Maybe she wouldn’t have cared or would even have admired him as some kind of free-enterprise buccaneer. But what he’d done was way more serious than making a little cash on the side. Last night, after Lance had come to meet her at school, she’d made him tell her everything. He’d explained that he couldn’t give her the fine detail but had confirmed what she already feared, that the bullet that had exploded inside Angie’s body had been made in her father’s workshop. OK, her dad could never have imagined the nightmare Russell Fewell was about to unleash, but why the hell did he suppose anyone wanted to buy a gun and ammunition illegally? Why did the whole licensing system exist in the first place – why was it endlessly tightened and restricted – if not to deter such horrors as Hungerford or Dunblane?
Part of her, when she wasn’t crying, wished Lance hadn’t been so certain about the evidence – even though it was evidence she’d helped supply – but there was no way now to unlearn what she knew: Angie’s murder wasn’t some random, unfortunate quirk of fate for which her dad couldn’t be held accountable, it was a direct result of what he did – sell bullets to people who were up to no good. How could she ever go home and pick up her old life again knowing that? How could he ever expect her to?
And yet she loved her dad. And the best thing about being with Lance was that he understood that. In the intimacy of the stove’s flickering darkness he’d said that just because loving someone made you feel like you knew every fibre of their being, that didn’t mean they couldn’t keep secrets from you, even bad secrets. Nor did it mean that they didn’t love you either. They might not love you as you deserved to be loved, but they loved you the best way they could.
It was the first time she’d ever spoken to a man about love. Boys her age didn’t count, and anyway she socialized so little and lived too inconveniently far away from town to have considered anyone she’d kissed and flirted with to be a proper boyfriend. Lance hadn’t really said much about his girlfriend, and, sensing how private he was, she hadn’t liked to ask – not yet, anyway; maybe she would tonight – but the exhilaration of speaking and being listened to had made her catch her breath and she’d fallen asleep dreaming she was cuddled in his arms.
She wondered what her parents would do once they realized she was missing. She’d lied to them easily enough about staying a second night with Sally, but they would have expected her home today. She couldn’t have lied to them a second time even if Lance had let her phone them, but he had impressed upon her never to turn on her mobile, because if she did, even just to check the time, the police would be able to track her signal. Would her parents go to the police? Lance said that if they did, DI Fisher was unlikely to tell them that Robyn had been talking to the police – though her dad must know it was her. That was also partly why Lance insisted he had to go to work today: to keep abreast of what was happening and so DI Fisher wouldn’t guess he’d helped her or knew where she was.
She wished for the hundredth time she could text him, but he’d said they had to drive all the way into Colchester if they wanted to use their phones. He’d even kept to the back roads so his car wouldn’t be picked up on any traffic cameras. If he said they wouldn’t find her here, then she knew she was safe. And, despite the building’s eeriness, she was comfortable enough. With only one small window cut into the walls, the whitewashed former garrison area in which she sat was perpetually dark, but the farmer had got as far as connecting water and electricity and providing a few rudimentary furnishings, along with the stove and a plentiful supply of logs. But there was nothing to do. After a day in solitary confinement, the sheer physical bulk of her fortress felt penal rather than protective.
She supposed her father would end up in prison, but she couldn’t bear to think about that. Even trying to imagine how that might be for him or for her mother left behind at home, let alone her new life at uni, made her furiously angry, not with him but with Lance’s boss. Lance said DI Fisher was just doing her job, but everything had been fine until she began sending people to root out her family’s secrets, to meddle in her family’s life, her life. It wasn’t fair. She’d done nothing. She was studying hard for her exams, preparing in her imagination to fly the nest and go to university. The course she hoped to do included lots of fieldwork abroad, and she had dreams of becoming fluent in a foreign language. Now she’d either have to lie to her fellow students or face up to being known as someone who only got to see her dad on prison visits. She doubted that her mum would be able to carry on alone; the house would probably be sold, and then she’d have nowhere to go in the holidays. Everything would be ruined and destroyed, and it was all the fault of that interfering bitch from the police!
Robyn suddenly felt nauseous as it occurred to her for the very first time that Nicola might also go to prison, her guilt compounded by an acknowledgement that she had never loved her mother with the same intensity that she loved her dad. If that happened, what would she do, where would she go? How could any of her plans ever hope to work out? For the rest of her life she’d be the pariah who had sent her parents to jail. She covered her mouth with her hand, trying not to cry out – not that anyone would hear her inside this stronghold. What had she done? What had she done?
53
When Grace got to the office the following morning she was taken aback to see Lance at his desk, having half expected him to call in sick or to have found some urgent reason to be away from the office. During another sleepless night she had mentally tossed and turned, torn between dread that she had placed Robyn – and possibly Davey Fewell too – in terrible danger and a desperate need to know for sure that Lance hadn’t put his whole future on the line in the vain hope of extorting from Robyn’s father some closure on Peter’s death. Lance looked tired but greeted her with his usual smile and followed her to her cubicle.
‘I’ve been trying to get hold of you,’ she said, watching his reactions carefully.
‘Yeah, I’m sorry. I was with a friend last night and switched my phone off, then forgot to turn it back on. I only just heard about Robyn going missing. Anything new?’
‘Nothing,’ she said. ‘Leonard is terrified that she’s been abducted by one of his criminal associates. And he could be right. Warren Cox, the guy in prison who told me about the Lion King, was knifed yesterday.’
‘OK.’ His gaze was steady, but Grace felt as if an invisible shield had dropped in front of his eyes, shutting her out.
‘When did you last speak to Robyn?’ she asked.
‘Not since I saw her after school on Monday. I’ve texted her a few times but got nothing back.’
‘What’s your view?’
‘Her parents must realize how much pressure she’s been under,’ he said. ‘I mean I assume you’ve now told them that she shopped them?’
‘Not directly,’ she said. ‘Besides, Leonard seriously doesn’t want to hear it. He’s convinced her disappearance is connected to the attack on Warren Cox.’
‘So is he worried enough to admit to being the Lion King?’ asked Lance.
‘Both her parents are out of their minds,’ she said. ‘But whatever they told us last night is off the record. They weren’t under caution.’
She saw his disappointment. ‘You have to trust me, Lance,’ she said. ‘Work with me. Don’t throw everything away.’
A shadow of doubt crossed his face, but he said nothing.
‘Look,’ she said. ‘I didn’t tell you before because I didn’t want to make out like I was a victim in all this, but I was attacked three weekends ago when I was out running. Then, last week, a threatening note was left on my car windscreen. At first I thought it might have been a warning from Warren Cox, making sure I kept his name out of i
t. Then I thought it was Curtis Mullins, because I’d pissed him off. Now I’m not so sure. I’m worried too that Robyn might be in real danger. There’s a sniper on the loose out there, remember. You have to help me.’
She could see that she’d reached something in him – and it wasn’t concern for Robyn’s safety. He completed some silent calculations and then said stubbornly, ‘Her safety is her father’s responsibility. It’s up to him to get her back.’
‘Fair enough,’ she said. ‘But you do understand what I’m saying, Lance? I’m trying to watch your back here.’
He held her gaze a few seconds too long and then looked away. She reached out to touch his arm, but he jerked away. She longed to shake some reason into him, but knew she’d lost him. ‘Lance,’ she pleaded. ‘I promise we will get Leonard to talk. If he knows anything about what happened to Peter, then I will make sure he tells us.’
He shook his head. ‘Peter Burnley probably wasn’t even his real name! I’ll never know, will I? You have no idea what it’s like to live with that!’
She watched helplessly as he walked away, snatched his jacket from the back of his chair and left the office. She had failed. But, if she hadn’t been sure before, she was now: he knew where Robyn was.
During the night she had nearly convinced herself that Lance, a detective sergeant, would never be so stupid as to help the girl disappear. Now she’d seen that he was too broken to believe he had anything to left to lose. It wasn’t just the death of his lover, it was also the obliteration of his faith in everything that the work he did stood for. Most officers – the good ones, anyway – joined because they had an internal value system that, even if words like truth and justice sounded too overblown, encompassed a simple desire to help people in distress. Ben Marrington had voiced it last night. And when that value system was abused – as it had been when PC Mark Kirkby placed a rifle in the hands of a ten-year-old boy and PC Curtis Mullins smashed a light on Russell Fewell’s van – nothing was safe. Whatever desperate measures Lance had taken, however chaotic and inarticulate his need to restore justice, she was on his side.
Shot Through the Heart: DI Grace Fisher 2 Page 28
