by K. J. Frost
“No, sir. I was coming to that conclusion myself, but we were ordered to continue…” His voice trails off and he stares at the space between us, clearly not wanting to get anyone into trouble.
“Well, spending any more time here is pointless. We need to broaden the search. The nanny told us yesterday that there’s another park around here?”
He nods. “Yes, sir. It’s just down the road.” He points over my shoulder.
“Evidently it’s being dug up for planting potatoes, but the little girl used to like it. The thing is, if she’d made it to that park, I imagine the workmen would have seen her and probably raised the alarm, so I can’t see the point in searching there, but I suppose it’s possible that she might have tried to at least make her way there by herself. The cook told me she was a rather wilful child.”
“So where do you want us to look, sir?” he asks, confused.
I lead the way back out through the gate and we all stand in the road. “It seems to me that there are several streets, and probably hundreds of houses between here and this other park.”
“There are,” Wells confirms.
“And it’s a long way away, really – if you’re only four years old. In which case, she could be anywhere between here and there.” I hear Thompson let out a long, slow sigh as I think he anticipates what I’m about to say. Even so, I say it anyway: “We’re going to need to carry out house-to-house searches. Thorough ones.”
“Yes, sir.” Wells looks over my shoulder at the streets stretching into the distance, lined with properties, and his shoulders drop.
“I’ll get Sergeant Tooley to come over. He’ll be of more use coordinating things from here than at the station, and I’ll speak to the chief super. We’re going to need a lot more men than we’ve got now.” I look up at Wells again. “In the meantime, gather everyone together and divide them up into teams of two men, then await Sergeant Tooley’s arrival.”
Wells nods and moves away, summoning another constable with a shout and a wave of his arm. Between them, they start to round up the men who are currently searching the park, while Thompson and I return to the car.
“This whole case is starting to feel very odd,” I say, as I get in and close the door.
“In what way?”
He starts the engine and pulls away from the kerb, and although we only have a short drive up the road, he takes it slowly so we can talk.
“Someone in the Sanderson house is definitely hiding something.”
“Who?”
“That’s just it… I don’t know. But I’ve got this feeling that we’re not being told everything. The thought kept me awake last night.”
“It certainly seems like a house of secrets and lies,” he says quietly.
“Deception.” He glances at me quizzically. “There’s a lot of deception going on.”
“You mean the affair between Mrs Sanderson and Daniel Cooke.”
“Yes, but also the fact that Mr Sanderson appears to be enamoured with Miss Sutton.”
“Appears to be?” he repeats. “You mean you don’t believe it?”
“I’m not sure. I just felt like there was something a bit forced about it… like maybe he was putting it on to make his wife jealous.”
Thompson huffs out a half laugh. “Well, it’s not working,” he replies, and pulls into the Sanderson’s driveway, parking alongside the owner’s car.
“I’m surprised he’s still here,” I remark. “I’d half expected him to take himself off to work today.”
“Well, I suppose he has to keep up appearances,” Thompson replies, and then bites his lip. “Or perhaps that’s being uncharitable. His child is missing, after all.”
“Yes, but all he was really interested in when we arrived yesterday was throwing his weight around and flirting with the nanny.” I can’t keep the irritation out of my voice and Thompson turns to look at me.
“Are you sure you’re alright, Rufus?”
“I’m fine. Honestly. I’m just tired. And I hate cases like this.”
“I don’t think any of us enjoy them,” he replies.
“No, I don’t suppose we do.” I let out a long deep breath. “We’re going to pick these people apart a little more today,” I explain. “We need to find the child and, if they’re keeping something from me, I intend to find out what it is.”
“Yes, sir,” he replies and I raise my eyebrows at him as he smiles and I almost manage to smile back.
Lois opens the door to us.
“Inspector,” she says, then looks over my shoulder.
“This is Detective Sergeant Thompson.” I make the introductions, remembering that they didn’t meet yesterday. “May we come in?”
“Of course.” She steps aside and we pass into the hallway.
“Before we speak to anyone, would it possible to use your telephone?” I enquire.
“Certainly. If you’d like to follow me.” She leads the way down the hall and opens a door at the end. “This is the master’s study,” she says. “The telephone is on the desk.”
“Are Mr and Mrs Sanderson available?” I ask as she goes to leave the room.
“Yes. Neither of them ate much breakfast, but they ordered coffee in the drawing room. I’ve just this minute taken it in there.”
“Good. Can you let them know we’re here and that we’ll be in to see them in a moment? We can find our own way.”
She nods her head and smiles. “Certainly, sir.”
Once she’s gone, I go over to the desk and pick up the telephone, asking the operator for the number of the London Road station. While I’m waiting to be connected, I take in the large oak desk, with its comfortable leather chair, the book cases that line two of the walls, and the doors that lead onto the back garden. It’s a smart, rather sterile room, which doesn’t surprise me at all, given its owner.
I hear an unfamiliar voice answer the phone and, giving my name, I ask for Sergeant Tooley, who must be standing close by, as he comes on the line straight away, without the need for the call to be connected. “Sir?” he says.
“I’m sorry to do this to you, but can you come over here?”
“To the Sanderson house?” he queries.
“Yes. Just briefly. The search at the park is a waste of time. We’re going to have to widen it to the surrounding houses and I need you here to coordinate that.”
“I’ll leave right away.”
“Thank you, Sergeant. Before you go, can you put me though to Chief Superintendent Webster, please?”
“Certainly, sir.”
This time the line clicks and goes dead, before it clicks again and Webster answers. It takes just a few minutes to explain my theory about the park where the girl went missing, the lack of hiding places therein, and the fact that she liked the other recreation ground rather more.
“With so many houses in between, most of which have garages and outbuildings, we’re looking at a lot of manpower,” I explain.
“Leave it with me,” he says, sounding very businesslike. “I’ll contact the Chief Constable straight away.”
He doesn’t bother with niceties and, before I’ve had the chance to thank him, he’s gone, and I replace the receiver.
“Let’s get on with this,” I murmur to Thompson and, together, we leave the study and go straight to the drawing room, knocking once on the door and entering.
Inside, Mr and Mrs Sanderson are sitting on separate sofas, at opposite ends. He’s holding a newspaper and she’s staring into space. On the table in front of them, there’s a tray of coffee things, which looks like it’s untouched. As we enter, Mr Sanderson lowers his newspaper and looks up at us.
“Inspector?” he says.
“Mr Sanderson.” I turn to his wife, but she’s still staring, seemingly unaware of our presence. “We have some more questions.”
“Really?” He sounds rather bored with the whole process, which just gets my back up.
“Yes, really. And in case you’re interested, I’ve got men s
earching the houses between the St. Mary’s Road park, and the one around the corner.”
“Why?” he asks, looking confused.
“Because there’s nowhere to hide on the St Mary’s Road recreation ground. Nowhere at all. Your nanny informed me that your daughter liked to play at the other park, so we’re working on the theory that she may have tried to get there by herself.”
“And why not just search this other park?” he asks.
“Because I’ve been informed that it’s currently being dug over by council workmen,” I point out. “I’d like to think that, if a four year-old child had arrived in the early afternoon entirely of her own volition, they’d have reported it.”
He nods his head slowly. “So… why are you back here?” he asks.
“Because, as I say, we have more questions. To start with, I’d like to know if you can think of anyone who might have taken your daughter?”
His face reddens. “Taken her?”
“Yes, sir. Can you think of any disgruntled business acquaintances? Former employees? Anyone at all who would wish you and your family harm?”
“You think this was intentional? You mean… kidnapping? But you just said you thought she might have tried to get to this other park… that’s why you’re searching those houses.”
“I’m not ruling anything out.” I stare at him. “So, is there anyone?”
“N—No,” he stutters. “I can’t think of anyone. Obviously, I’m quite well-off.” He leans forward in his seat. “There’s the income from my business, and I have a few investments, and there’s also the money from my wife’s family.” I note that he thinks of his wealth is ‘his’, not ‘theirs’, even though some of it clearly came from his wife’s family, presumably as a result of their marriage, or perhaps an inheritance. “We’ve received no demands though,” he adds, as an afterthought.
“Not at your office?” I ask.
“Well, I don’t know. I haven’t been to work today.”
“Can you telephone them?”
He doesn’t reply, but gets to his feet, leaving the room. Mrs Sanderson doesn’t move, or react in any way and, while I know I could take this opportunity to ask her about David Cooke, I can’t be sure how long her husband will be absent from the room, so I remain silent on the subject – and on everything else for that matter – and satisfy myself with staring out of the window until Mr Sanderson returns, some ten minutes later, shaking his head.
“There’s been nothing,” he says, standing in front of the fireplace, rather than resuming his seat. “I got my secretary to open all of today’s post, just to make certain.”
At that moment, the doorbell rings, but we all ignore it. “And there’s nowhere else that someone might write to you?” I ask.
“No.”
The drawing room door opens and Lois comes in, her hands clutched in front of her.
“Inspector?”
“Yes.” I turn to look at her properly.
“There’s a Sergeant Tooley here to see you,” she says.
I nod my head and turn to Mr Sanderson. “Excuse us, will you?”
He doesn’t respond and I glance at Thompson, indicating the door with a tilt of my head, ensuring that he follows me from the room.
Tooley is standing by the front door, looking at the floor.
“Sergeant?” He raises his face as I call out, and takes a step towards me.
“Sir.”
“You know what needs to be done?”
“Yes.” He sighs. “But there are an awful lot of houses between those two parks, sir, especially if we’re including all the side streets.”
“We are,” I confirm. “We need to allow for the fact that she might have tried to get to the park herself and have got confused, and wandered into someone’s shed or garage to keep warm, but also I think we should bear in mind that someone who lives in those houses might have come across her and taken her. I’m trying to cover every eventuality here.”
“I see.”
“So, those houses have got to be searched properly. Each and every one of them. I’ve asked the chief super for some extra men to help out.”
“Yes, sir. I know. He saw me before I left Kingston and explained that he can’t get us anyone until tomorrow morning. He asked me to tell you.”
“Tomorrow morning?” I can’t disguise my disappointment.
“No, sir. But I’ll work things out,” he replies. “Don’t worry.”
“Keep us posted, Sergeant.”
He leaves, going out into the damp morning, with a grim expression on his face.
Once the door is closed, I turn to Thompson.
“I need to speak with Mrs Sanderson alone – without fear of interruption.”
“Leave it with me,” he replies. “I’ve got an idea.”
I raise an eyebrow, but he doesn’t react and we go back to the drawing room, not bothering to knock this time before we enter. Mr Sanderson has sat back down again, although he hasn’t picked up his newspaper and is studying his fingernails.
“Mr Sanderson,” Thompson says, stepping forward. “I need to take a look at the nursery. We didn’t get to see it properly yesterday.”
“You didn’t?”
“No,” I explain, jumping on the bandwagon. “We interviewed your nanny in her own room. The baby was asleep at the time.”
Sanderson nods. “And you need the see the nursery? What for?”
“To see where your daughter slept and had her meals,” Thompson replies. I’m not sure Sanderson is going to fall for that, but after a momentary glance in his wife’s direction, he gets to his feet.
“I’ll take you up,” he says, with more than a hint of enthusiasm to his voice.
I’m tempted to smile. Thompson guessed, quite correctly, that Sanderson wouldn’t be able to resist the opportunity to spend some time with the nanny, and as they both leave the room, it’s hard to miss the bounce in the older man’s step.
I wait until the door is closed and then turn to Mrs Sanderson. She still hasn’t moved, and is staring into space, sat on the end of the sofa.
“Mrs Sanderson?”
At the sound of her own name, she slowly turns her head and looks at me.
“Yes?”
“I need to ask you a few questions. Would you mind if I sat down?”
“Please do.” She waves her arm towards the sofa her husband has just vacated and I sit, feeling relieved. I’m exhausted already and it’s still quite early in the morning.
Looking over at her, I decide to get straight to the point. After all, I don’t know how long Thompson will be able to keep her husband upstairs. “Tell me about David Cooke,” I say and she jumps, very noticeably, her face paling.
“D—David?”
“Yes.”
“What do you want to know?” she asks, uncrossing her legs, twisting in her seat and bringing them up beside her, so she’s curled up on the sofa. She’s trying to appear more relaxed I think, although the look in her eyes is anything but.
“Do you think your daughter’s disappearance has anything to do with him?”
Her eyes widen, just for a second, before she sits upright, rather resentful. “Of course not. He’d never do anything to hurt me. He loves me. I just wish…” She pauses and blinks a few times, and at the same time, her shoulders sink. “I—I know it’s wrong,” she says, her voice dropping to a whisper. “I know I ought to feel guilty and ashamed, but I can’t help wishing he could be here.” She looks up at me now.
“I—I can’t be anything other than miserable with Daniel. He’s so… so cold, and boring. David’s young, and carefree, and alive. And he makes me feel the same.” Her voice gets stronger as she speaks and her expression changes to one of rapturous delight – wholly inappropriate in the current circumstances, in my view. “He cares about me. He wants me and needs me. And I need him.” Her defiance is breathtaking, but it’s like she’s suddenly realised what she’s saying and her face changes again as she looks into the fire
place, the dying embers seeming to catch her attention. “I wish I’d never married Daniel.”
“Why did you?” I ask, intrigued.
She startles and turns back to me again. “Sorry?”
“I asked why you married him.”
“Oh… I suppose I just got swept away on the romance of it all. He was romantic at the beginning, you know?” Even she sounds surprised by that. “He’s not now, of course. He’s just dull, and old.”
“But surely… your children?”
“What about them?” she asks.
“Well, they make the marriage worthwhile, don’t they?” I wonder for a moment, whether I’m asking these questions because I want to know about the personalities of the people involved in the case, or whether it’s because I can see similarities between their lives and my own. The age gap between Mrs Sanderson and her husband, and myself and Amelie, is noticeably similar. Am I looking at my own future, right in front of me?
She shrugs her shoulders, rather noncommittally. “They prefer Elizabeth to me. Without David, I’d have nothing – and no-one.”
The clock on the mantlepiece chimes the hour and I realise I have to hurry up and get the information I need. “Can you give me his address?” I ask her.
“His address?”
“A man was seen in the vicinity. We’ll need to rule Mr Cooke out of our investigations.”
“It wasn’t him,” she persists.
“I still need to speak to him, Mrs Sanderson.”
She pauses and slowly nods her head. “Very well. He lives in Thames Ditton. In the High Street.” She gives me the number. “It’s a lovely little terraced house…” Her voice drifts off dreamily.
“And where does he work?”
“At the bank there. He’s the assistant manager.” I nod my head, just as I hear footsteps on the stairs. “Don’t tell my husband about this, will you?” she says, panic filling her voice.
“No.”
I get up and go to stand by the window, trying to look as though I’ve been there the whole time. The door opens and Mr Sanderson comes in with Thompson, who remains over by the sideboard, while the master of the house resumes his place by the fire.
