‘Just let’s get her back, that’s all I can think of at the moment. Oh Luke, what d’you think we ought to do?’
He stood up. ‘I’m going to go out and have a scout around for her. Would you mind staying here? I think one of us ought to.’
‘I agree. No, I’ll stay.’
At least he knew where to look, he thought as he set off. He’d done this often enough before. But never when it was his own child who was missing, never with quite this sense of urgency.
It was now half-past six and his task was made easier by the fact that the streets of Sturrenden were virtually deserted. It was the dead time of day between the rush home from work and the start of the evening’s entertainments. He began with the cafés. In one or two there were little groups of teenagers lingering over cups of coffee, reluctant to go home, but he didn’t recognise any of them as Bridget’s friends and he didn’t approach them. At this stage he wanted to keep things as low-key as possible, in case it was a false alarm.
After his round of the cafés he decided to quarter the town systematically. There was no point in trying the pubs. The fact that she was still in her school uniform precluded them, she wouldn’t even be allowed in. It was that uniform his eyes were seeking, he realised, and once or twice his stomach lurched as one was sighted; each time he was disappointed.
Where could she have gone? He’d now been right around the town twice and there was no sign of her. It was pointless to continue.
At home Joan came to the front door as soon as she heard the car, her look of disappointment when she saw he was alone reinforcing his anxiety as he realised that she had no news either.
‘No luck?’
It was almost a whisper and automatically he lowered his voice as he said, ‘No. Why are we talking in undertones?’
She glanced back over her shoulder along the hall. ‘Vicky’s here.’
Thanet groaned. ‘Oh, no.’ Vicky Younghusband’s postnatal depression was the last thing he felt able to deal with at the moment.
‘I couldn’t just turn her away, could I?’
‘I suppose not. It’s just that … Have you told her Bridget’s missing?’
‘No. There’s no point. It’s not the sort of news she can cope with, the state she’s in. And it would look as though I was trying to get rid of her, say, “Sorry, I’ve no emotional energy to spare for you just now.”’
‘Which would be true! How on earth can we deal with this situation in whispers? It’s bad enough as it is without having to lurk in corners to discuss it.’ They were still standing in the hall. ‘Where is she?’
‘In the kitchen. I decided to start supper. I had to have something to do.’
Thanet nodded understanding. A thought struck him. Cooking … ‘Have you tried Helen Mallard?’
‘No, I haven’t!’ She hurried to the phone and Thanet followed, hovered as she spoke into it. In a few moments she shook her head at him.
He waited while she finished the call.
She glanced at the closed kitchen door. ‘I thought, if I served supper …’
‘I’m not hungry.’
‘No, neither am I, that’s not the point. I thought, if I served supper Vicky might take the hint and go … Oh dear, that does sound callous, but …’
‘Good idea,’ said Thanet. ‘Yes, do that. I suppose I’d better say hello to her.’
They went into the kitchen. Vicky Younghusband was sitting at the table, hands in lap. She was almost unrecognisable as the lively, attractive, cheerful young woman of a few months ago. Her loose blouse was stained with milk and baby’s vomit, her hair uncombed and unwashed. She wore no make-up and the flesh beneath her eyes was dark with the bruises of sleeplessness and despair. She even smelt, Thanet realised with a shock, sour and unwashed. Since the baby was born he had seen her only when she was with Peter, when presumably an effort had been made to make her presentable. He could now understand Joan’s anxiety and resolved to talk to Peter the minute he got home.
She attempted a smile in response to his greeting, but it was no more than a mechanical lifting of the corners of her mouth.
‘How’s the baby?’ said Thanet.
‘The baby?’ Her forehead creased and she looked around vaguely, as if expecting to see him somewhere in the room. ‘Oh, he’s fine. He’s asleep,’ she added, after a pause. ‘Yes.’ She nodded. ‘Yes, asleep.’
‘Good.’ Thanet heard the tone of his own voice, over-hearty, and hated himself for it. ‘When’s Pete due back?’
Another pause. ‘Not until the weekend.’
Briefly, something frantic peeped out of her eyes, then was gone.
Had he imagined it? ‘Where’s he gone?’
‘Uhh …’ She put her hands up to her head and pressed her fingers against her temples, as if trying to squeeze the answer out. ‘Scotland,’ she said at last.
‘Scotland!’ Thanet was startled. Uneasy, too. He wasn’t happy about Peter being so far away, with Vicky in this state. ‘A bit off his usual beat, isn’t it?’
‘It’s the annual sales conference.’
‘I see.’ Thanet glanced at Joan, who was clattering saucepans. ‘Where’s Ben?’
‘Upstairs, doing his homework.’
‘I’ll go and have a word.’
Ben was lying on his bed, reading a book. He laid it face down on the bedspread. ‘She not back yet?’
Thanet shook his head. ‘We’ll be having supper soon.’
Ben rolled off the bed and stood up. ‘I’m not hungry.’
And that, thought Thanet, was a telling admission. Ben’s appetite was constant and voracious. He must be very worried indeed.
‘Ben, d’you have any idea at all of where she might have gone?’
‘No. Unless …’
‘What?’ Thanet couldn’t hide the hope in his voice.
‘I was wondering … She did say she wanted to see Crocodile Dundee. She missed it first time around.’
The cinema! Of course. Why hadn’t he thought of that? It was dark, warm, anonymous … A comfortable place in which to hide, to lick one’s wounds. ‘Like to come with me, to see?’
Ben was eager. ‘Sure.’
They set off, Thanet careful to take the route she would follow if she were walking home from the town.
‘Dad?’
‘What?’
‘I’m not sure this is such a good idea after all.’
‘Why not?’
‘They have separate performances. The last one would have finished by now and the next won’t start till eight. The usherettes would have checked that nobody … Dad, look! There she is!’
Ben was right! There she was, walking towards them some two hundred yards ahead on the other side of the road, shoulders hunched, feet dragging. He and Ben exchanged a jubilant glance. The uprush of relief, however, was immediately followed by a swell of anger. How could she have done this to them? Furious words and phrases began to run through Thanet’s mind. Then, as he checked for traffic, and did a U-turn, he had a brief, vivid image of the photograph he had seen in the paper after the disappearance of a French girl in London. She had been the same age as Bridget and had been missing for over twenty-four hours before being found safe and sound, sleeping rough. The photograph had shown her struggling in the street with her father, determined, apparently, not to return home. Like other parents right across the land, Thanet had sympathised with the man’s dilemma. Understandably, the Frenchman couldn’t bear to let his child walk off into the London jungle unprotected, and had in fact manhandled her back into the flat. But Thanet had wondered at the time what would happen. How long would it be before the girl disappeared again?
No, anger was not the answer. This situation must be handled with kid gloves. He said to Ben, ‘OK, Ben, now look, we’ll play it cool, right? She’s in a pretty fragile state of mind at the moment …’ He pulled up alongside her and said, ‘Hello, love.’
She stopped, glancing from him to Ben. She looked wary, apprehensive.
/> As well she might, he thought. ‘Come on, hop in.’
She hesitated a moment longer, then climbed into the back.
No reproaches, Thanet reminded himself as they headed for home. But he couldn’t think of anything to say which might not be construed as such. Safer, then, to say nothing. He could see Bridget’s face in the driving mirror. She looked thoroughly miserable.
The silence became oppressive.
‘I went to see Crocodile Dundee,’ she said at last. She was defiant, aggressive, almost. Obviously anticipating trouble and prepared to meet it.
Ben gave his father a triumphant glance and Thanet accorded him a congratulatory nod. Well guessed.
‘Next time, give us a ring, let us know where you are.’ His tone was mild, almost casual.
He caught her startled look in the mirror. Surely they’re not going to let me off as lightly as that?
Their swift return brought Joan to the front door again. Her look of joy when she saw that Bridget was with them was one that Thanet would never forget. He sent her an admonitory glance and recognised the effort it cost her simply to say, with admirable restraint, ‘Ah, there you are, then, Bridget. Well timed. Supper’s ready.’
On the way in Joan caught Thanet’s hand and squeezed it as they exchanged a look of relief.
‘Vicky gone?’
She nodded.
‘Good.’
Despite their attempts at conversation, supper was a silent meal. Guiltily, Thanet found himself ravenous. Ben, too, was eating heartily, he noticed, whereas Joan and Bridget merely toyed with their food. Halfway through, Bridget laid down her knife and fork. ‘Why don’t you say it?’ she burst out.
Thanet and Joan glanced at each other.
Joan spoke for both of them. ‘Say what?’
‘How can you sit there, pretending nothing’s the matter?’ She glowered at them. ‘I thought this was supposed to be a great family for talking things out, for “communicating”. So go on, communicate!’
Joan abandoned any pretence at eating. ‘If that’s what you want.’
‘Oh!’ Bridget jumped up out of her seat and took a few agitated paces around the room. ‘Why are you always so reasonable?’
‘You make it sound like a crime,’ said Thanet.
‘Why don’t you ever shout at me, or swear, like other people’s parents?’ She was practically in tears.
‘That’s what you’d like?’
‘At least I wouldn’t feel so guilty.’ She glanced from Thanet to Joan and back. ‘Can’t you see?’ And she rushed out of the room.
Ben had gone on eating steadily.
‘Is that how you feel too, Ben?’ said Joan.
He considered, chewing away, cheeks bulging. ‘Sometimes, I suppose. Occasionally it’s nice to have someone to kick against and have rows with, get it out of your system. But most of the time, no. Is there any pud?’
Joan shook her head. ‘Sorry, not tonight, no. You can be thankful you got anything to eat at all! Have an apple or an orange.’
He slid out of his chair. ‘Right.’
Left alone, Thanet and Joan looked at each other.
‘Now we know!’ said Joan.
‘Honestly, you can’t win, can you? If you shout at them you’re being tyrannical, if you try to be reasonable you’re not exerting enough authority!’
‘I know. So what are we supposed to do now, about Bridget?’
Thanet considered. ‘I think she wants to talk.’
‘I agree. Probably wants to get it over with.’
He grinned. ‘So do I!’
Joan stood up. ‘Come on, then.’
Bridget was lying on her bed, staring at the ceiling.
‘We’ve come to communicate,’ said Thanet with a smile. ‘If that’s what you want.’
No response for a moment, then she rolled over to sit on the edge of the bed. She looked sullen, unresponsive, rebellious. Thanet’s heart sank. If she continued in this mood they weren’t going to get very far.
Joan evidently felt the same. ‘Is that what you want?’
Bridget shrugged. ‘It’s up to you.’
Her mother frowned. ‘No, it’s up to you. We’ll have to talk about it sooner or later, and we thought you’d prefer it to be sooner rather than later. But we don’t mind, if you’d rather put it off.’ She glanced at Thanet and after waiting for a moment and receiving no response they began to move towards the door.
Bridget glanced up. ‘No. Wait. I …’ She shrugged. ‘Better get it over with, I suppose.’
‘Look,’ said Thanet. ‘I’m not sure it’s a good idea to chew it over just now, when we’re all feeling a bit het up. On the other hand, we don’t want you lying awake all night worrying about it. So I’ll just say this. Your mother and I were naturally very upset to hear you’d been playing truant. And the reason we were upset was because you hadn’t felt able to come and talk to us about it, despite the fact that you were obviously feeling pretty desperate. Now, I want to make one thing clear. As far as we are concerned, we don’t care if you don’t get a single decent grade in your GCSEs, if worrying about it is going to have this effect on you. Academic grades are not everything – you’ve got plenty of other talents and lots of qualities that employers would value. So just stop worrying about it. No exams in the world are worth this sort of stress and strain.’
‘As far as we’re concerned,’ Joan added, ‘this incident is over and done with. Unless you want to bring it up again some time, it’s finished. So long as you understand that we both mean what your father said. Is that clear?’
Bridget nodded slowly. ‘Thanks.’
She said nothing more and reluctantly they left her.
‘What else could we have done?’ whispered Thanet as they went downstairs.
Joan shrugged. ‘Nothing, as far as I can see.’
Thanet felt for his pipe. ‘Let’s have some coffee and watch something mindless on television. I’ve had more than enough emotional traumas for one evening.’
They went into the sitting-room.
‘Which reminds me,’ said Joan. ‘I saw your new Superintendent on Coast to Coast this evening, giving a statement about your case. He was … What’s the matter?’
Thanet had just remembered: he hadn’t written up a single report today.
Draco would be furious, in the morning.
TWENTY-ONE
‘What sort of example d’you think you’re setting?’
Draco was furious.
The Superintendent raked his hand through the cropped, wiry black curls and glowered at Thanet. ‘You heard what I said, the other day in this very room.’ His finger stabbed at the desk as if to impale the memory. ‘Reports, I said, are the key. Detailed, literate and accurate reports. Now, I can understand if, on the odd occasion, you’re pushed and have to put in something a bit sketchy, but you’re telling me you haven’t done any for yesterday. And on a murder enquiry!’
Ejected from his chair by the strength of his emotion, Draco leapt up and began to pace agitatedly about. The size of the office restricted his movements and Thanet began to count: two paces from desk to window, four from window to door, three from door to desk. Draco sat down with a thump.
‘What sort of excuse have you got?’
‘None that you would find acceptable, I’m afraid, sir.’
Draco expelled air through his nostrils in an affronted hiss. If he’d been a dragon the flames would have reached across the desk to burn Thanet to a crisp. His eyes bulged slightly. ‘Think I’m that unreasonable, do you, Thanet?’
Thanet saw his mistake. ‘No, sir, I didn’t mean that. I simply meant that … well, I was judging by my own standards. I always tell the men that they should try not to let personal problems interfere with their work.’
‘Personal problems! I hope you’re not sitting there telling me that the reason why these reports are late – no, the reason why they don’t even exist – is because you’re having personal problems!’
‘
Well, not exac–’
‘My God, what’s the world coming to?’ Draco was up out of his chair again. ‘When an experienced officer like you …’ He stopped and resting both hands on the desk he leaned forward, looming over Thanet like an avenging angel. ‘You’ve got problems? Everybody’s got problems. I’ve got problems. But do I let it interfere with my work? No, I do not. And do you know why, Thanet? Or should I say, how?’
Thanet had given up for the moment. He shook his head dumbly.
Draco straightened up, standing almost to attention. ‘Self-discipline, that’s how. When I walk in through that door I say to myself, “Goronwy,” I say, “that’s it. Put it all behind you now, boyo.” And I do, Thanet, I do. And so should you. Compartmentalise, that’s the answer, compartmentalise.’
So that was how you pronounced Draco’s apparently unpronounceable Christian name, thought Thanet.
On the ‘p’ of ‘compartmentalise’ flecks of saliva flew across to spatter themselves over Thanet’s face and he had to restrain both an urge to wipe them ostentatiously away and a desire to burst out laughing. Draco was rapidly becoming a sit-com character. Thanet almost expected him to say, like Reggie Perrin’s boss, ‘I didn’t get where I am today by …’
And yet, in another way, it just wasn’t funny. This man had power over Thanet’s career, Thanet’s life. A good working relationship with him was essential to Thanet’s peace of mind. And at the moment Thanet was feeling anything but peaceful. He was aware of the signs of mounting stress in himself: clenched hands, a thrumming of blood in his ears, a tension and rigidity throughout his body. Careful, he told himself. Don’t let him get to you. Don’t say anything you’ll regret later. And, above all, calm down … Deliberately he uncurled his hands, relaxed, expelled held breath in a long, unobtrusive exhalation. ‘Yes, but it’s not …’
Draco waved a hand and sat down again. ‘Oh, I know what you’re going to say. “It’s not easy”, that’s what you’re going to say. Of course it’s not, but it shouldn’t stop us trying. A bit of practice and self-discipline, that’s all …’ His eyes narrowed. ‘Not marriage problems, I hope?’
‘No, sir,’ said Thanet stiffly. ‘In fact, I was about to explain that it was strictly a one-off situation.’ I hope.
Suspicious Death Page 20
