‘What?’ Clearly unconvinced, he jabbed a thumb towards the whiteboard. ‘Like he’s handling her? I’d have thought the sooner it’s out there the better, ma’am.’
Polite tone, earnest delivery but Madison was pushing his luck. And trying to push her. Maybe he thought being Baker’s current blue-eyed boy gave him some sort of status; that rules and respect for senior ranks didn’t apply in his case. Or maybe he had a problem with women. As well as annoying, she found it faintly amusing. She’d spat out more sexist pricks than Madison had scoffed hot meat pies.
‘And what if that provokes the perp, detective? What if that really pisses him off?’ Cool, calm but behind her back a fist was clenched; she recalled pictures shot at a crime scene years back, now used in training: a young woman dangling lifeless from a wire noose; her kidnapper had panicked, abandoned her on a narrow ledge over a concrete floor in a derelict warehouse.
‘It’s what he wants, isn’t it? Publicity? Stories splashed all over the papers, pictures on the telly?’ Madison could be right. But the abductor’s mailing list hadn’t included the media. If he really wanted exposure, why not take the direct route?
‘Know him, do you?’ She cocked her head.
‘No but—’
‘Neither do I.’ None of them did. It was anyone’s guess and it was why not making sweeping generalizations or jumping to conclusions was drummed into every cop from day one. ‘And even if it is what he wants, Madison, we just roll over and oblige, do we?’
‘I didn’t say that.’
‘And I didn’t veto press coverage. We will use it. But we’ll use it carefully, tread wisely. There’s an old saying about rushing in and—’
‘Stupid wankers.’ Twelve heads swivelled as the back door whacked the wall behind it. ‘Stupid time-wasting wankers.’ Baker stormed in, suit jacket flapping open, tie over his shoulder. The puce shade matched his flush. ‘Briefs? Who’d fucking have ’em, eh?’
Sarah’s relationship with Adam, a lawyer, had broken up last month. Not that the DCS was commenting on her sex life. She surmised the Blake case hadn’t gone ahead.
‘Half a day sitting on my arse, thumb-twiddling, while they argue the toss over piddly legal points. Fucking wig-wearing wank pots.’
Come, come, Chief. Don’t hold back. Keeping her own counsel, she sidestepped swiftly. When Baker was in foul mouth mode, the smart move was giving him his head. Come? Mouth? Head? Perish the thought. Grimacing, she bit her lip.
‘Having a stroke, Quinn? Or have I missed the joke?’ Snarling, he stuffed the tie in a pocket.
‘No.’
‘Good. The Kent case. I know what we’ve got.’ Clearly he’d done more than twiddle his thumbs at the crown court. A BlackBerry would have been glued to one ear and he’d have been bashing several other ears back at HQ. Baker was known for keeping on top – if not a step ahead – of developments. It kept the troops on their toes, another trait for which he was well known. ‘So what are we doing?’
He listened, threw in the odd comment as she quickly ran through the tasks already assigned. Thrashing out theories could wait until the evening brief. After several hours’ interviewing and investigation, it would be clearer what they were dealing with. Hopefully.
‘Righto, good.’ Baker clapped meaty hands, flashed a smile. ‘Best get on with it, boys and girls. Chop chop.’
How the old goat got away with it she’d never know. It seemed to her the mood lifted, there was a little light-hearted joshing as chairs were scraped back, jackets shucked into, people started shuffling out. Sarah grabbed a file from the nearest desk.
‘Word before you go, Quinn. When’s the news conference?’
‘Not yet, Chief. I thought we’d—’
‘Don’t talk daft, woman. We need all the help we can get on this.’
‘Yes, but—’
‘I’ll get someone to liaise with the news bureau. Let you know when it’s set up.’
‘I could do that, gaffer.’ Madison. Crawling past, ears flapping.
‘Ta, Mickey. Soon’s you like. Oh, and keep the DI up to speed.’
‘My pleasure.’
Smarmy git. Sarah tightened her lips.
‘I’ll go and grab a word with the mad professor.’ Baker’s pet name for the psychological profiler they used from time to time. ‘Just an initial chat.’ Heavy weather wink. ‘See if I can pick his brain.’ Baker wasn’t stupid; if he squeezed a thought or two from his old drinking buddy, Colin Stone, it might mean not having to cut into a rapidly shrinking police budget. For a while at least. Baker threw a parting shot over his shoulder. ‘Hey, and Quinn, take that lemon out of your mouth.’
Difficult. She’d caught sight of Olivia’s image again. The thin wire looked to be cutting into her neck. As for the eyes, haunted was the word. Haunted – and haunting. And she knew they’d follow her until the end of the case. Maybe longer, depending on the outcome.
And even if an innocent explanation emerged for the blood at the house, whoever had strung her up like this was guilty as sin.
TWELVE
‘They don’t know it’s Olivia’s blood. They have to do tests.’ Caroline’s voice oozed warmth and concern. ‘But you’re her mum, I—’
‘You felt I should be told. Yes, of course.’ Elizabeth Kent’s fleeting smile held genuine affection but her eyes were troubled. The women were sitting in the Kent kitchen drinking tea and in Caroline’s case dispensing sympathy.
‘If there’s anything I can do, Mrs Kent.’ Gentle squeeze of the woman’s arm. ‘Anything.’
Elizabeth nodded, stared into the middle distance, fingers tracing circular score marks on the surface of the beech table. Thinking it through, she felt strangely calm: intelligent enough to realize she could be in denial about what the bloodstains might signify, but so supremely confident of the bond with Olivia, utterly convinced she’d know if her daughter had come to harm. Either way, at least now the police would have to take the disappearance seriously. And this was certainly no time to go to pieces. Maybe her silence was unnerving. In the corner of her eye she glimpsed Caroline fidgeting, playing with her hair. Signs, Elizabeth recognized, of old. There was a saying about the devil and idle hands. ‘I wouldn’t say no to another cup, dear.’
‘Of course.’ Caroline jumped up, effortlessly went through the motions.
Elizabeth was picturing the tall blonde detective who’d visited her. ‘I’m a little surprised the woman in charge – Quinn, I think her name is – hasn’t told me personally. She was adamant about keeping me informed.’
‘Sarah Quinn.’ The reporter sniffed. ‘Clouseau meets Officer Dibble.’
‘Really not funny, Caroline. Do you know her?’
‘We go way back. Talk about cold fish. Even colleagues call her the ice queen. I first came across her when she was a wooden top. Do you mind if I smoke?’
‘Yes. You know I do.’ Reaching in a pocket, she took out Sarah’s business card, laid it on the table. ‘So, you don’t like her? Or you think she’s incompetent?’ Critical difference.
Caroline shrugged a casual shoulder. ‘Not my call, is it?’
‘Mincing words, dear? That’s not like you.’ If the reporter’s grouse was personal, Elizabeth didn’t care. Given her high-profile media career, Caroline had probably made more enemies than friends over the years. All that mattered to Elizabeth was that the detective looking into Olivia’s disappearance knew what she was doing.
‘OK. Telling it like it is: I don’t think Sarah Quinn’s up to the job.’ No eye contact. Caroline was pouring tea, as well as scorn.
Elizabeth regarded her carefully. She’d known her as a little girl with scabby knees, knew her endless capacity for manipulating people, knew from countless anecdotes how she used the dubious talent in her profession – was she employing it now? And if so, why?
‘That’s quite an indictment, Caroline. How do you know her?’
‘Like I say, I’ve come across her before. It looks good to have a woman in a se
nior post but it’s lip service. I’ve seen her in action. She can’t handle the pressure of a big case.’ Cup clattered in saucer as Caroline passed the tea to Elizabeth.
The older woman paused, eyebrow arched. ‘And you can, dear?’ The rebuke was gentle but hit home. Clearly Caroline was jittery, on edge, and for some reason questioning Sarah Quinn’s professionalism. However much time Elizabeth had for Caroline as a family friend, she was acutely aware the reporter rarely acted without an unwritten agenda.
‘Nerves of steel, me.’ A brittle laugh. ‘Tell you what does concern me?’ She dragged her chair closer to Elizabeth, opened her mouth to speak, thought better of it.
‘Go on, spit it out.’
Apparently reluctant, she sighed, then: ‘Quinn’s a ditherer. Indecisive, overcautious. Sometimes you can’t just sit back and wait for developments. You have to make things happen.’
She had an idea where Caroline was coming from now, feigned ignorance and hid growing impatience. ‘And this is one of them?’
‘I think so. And if it is, surely we have to do anything and everything to find Olivia?’
‘And how do we do that?’ As if she didn’t know. She wanted to hear how Caroline would phrase it. The body language was expressive, too. Leaning forward she took Elizabeth’s hands, fixed her with a compelling gaze. ‘The case needs exposure. We have to go public, get lots of media coverage.’
‘The case?’ Glaring, Elizabeth broke Caroline’s grasp. ‘We’re talking about my daughter here.’
‘I’m so sorry.’ She raised both palms. ‘I didn’t mean it like that. This isn’t easy for me either. All I care about is getting Livvie back. I really didn’t mean to upset you. I got carried away.’ Was the contrition genuine? Elizabeth imagined she’d had lots of practise.
‘I don’t see the problem, or your point. The police will surely want to release details given—’
‘A boring statement. A talking head cop. I can hear it now.’ She adopted a police-speak voice: ‘We are anxious to trace the last known whereabouts of blah blah blah.’ She flapped a hand. ‘That’s not going to do it.’
She was beginning to understand why Caroline was so successful. Most people would be taken in by the passion, the persuasive powers. Most people.
‘So what is?’
‘An interview with you, footage of Livvie, an appeal for witnesses to come forward. If she’s being held against her will, coverage could flush the abductor into the open, force him into making a mistake.’
‘And if the error’s fatal? That’s far too high a price for giving you a free hand.’
‘But, Elizabeth.’
‘No. I’m sorry. I’ll be guided by the police on this. If they think it’s the way forward, so be it. But I’d have thought with the bogus call to the school and the letter from the abductor . . .’
‘Sorry, what did you say?’
‘Letter from the abductor.’ Frowning, Elizabeth reached out a hand. ‘Are you all right, dear?’
THIRTEEN
‘All right, boss?’ DC Harries was in the driving seat, index finger tapping a beat on the wheel. It had just gone noon, but the sun seemed to have clocked off for the day. The sky was slate grey. Traffic was mostly white van. ‘You seem a bit quiet.’
It was one way of putting it. Madison had been on the phone. The news conference was set for two p.m. DC Smug Bugger. Sarah gazed through the passenger window, not really taking it in, her focus elsewhere. ‘It’s called thinking. Try it some time.’ It was a cheap, unwarranted pop; she almost apologized.
Few bars of tuneless humming then: ‘I don’t mind, boss. No worries.’
Interest piqued, she turned her head. ‘Mind what?’
‘Taking it out on me.’ He gave a lopsided smile. ‘I quite like being your whipping boy.’
Despite the dark mood, her lip curved. ‘It’s better than being a lackey.’
He glanced in the mirror, indicated left. ‘Madison’s just this month’s flavour, boss.’
She wasn’t the only one who’d picked up on it then. ‘Yeah, and leaves a nasty taste.’
‘Talking of which, any chance of picking up a bite? I’m starving.’
In your dreams. ‘We’re cutting it fine as it is.’ The hour’s grace Caroline King had kindly bestowed before paying a state visit to Elizabeth Kent was almost up. And given the news they were bearing, the sooner they broke it to Olivia’s mother – exclusively – the better.
‘Have you decided yet, boss? Whether to show her the photo?’
Harries had made it clear he thought Mrs Kent had a right to see it. But for Sarah – no pun intended – it wasn’t a black and white issue. Baker had told her to play it by ear; it was her call. Either way, she’d slipped a copy in her briefcase: be prepared and all that.
‘I’m not sure she’s ready for it, David.’
Not sure she ever would be.
‘You’re late.’ A stony-faced Caroline King was shrugging into her coat when she let the detectives into the hall. Her dark chocolate eyes melted when she saw Sarah’s sidekick. ‘David.’ The voice deepened and softened, positively drooled. ‘Long time no . . .?’ What? See – or shag?
Harries looked to be reddening, but managed a cursory salute before Sarah cut in.
‘You’re early, Ms King. You said an hour. I seem to remember you giving me what you call your word.’
‘Ditto, DI Quinn.’ Fulsome smile: full of bullshit. ‘“Not holding back”, wasn’t it? Yeah.’ Her lip was doing a Presley. ‘As in: vegan at a hog roast.’
‘Nice line, Lois.’ She’d borrowed the gag from Baker. ‘How long did you work on it?’
‘Guess.’
‘I don’t do guesswork. Where’s Mrs Kent?’
Still glaring at Sarah, she waved vaguely towards the stairs. ‘Tell me: was I supposed to guess, DI Quinn? About the phone call and the letter?’
Beans spilled over bag-free cat. Sarah’s heart sank. But only for an instant: the biggest can was still under wraps. Mrs Kent was unaware of the latest communication so couldn’t have divulged the inquiry’s more crucial intelligence.
‘We’re not releasing details on the letter or the call.’ Not true. In less than two hours it’d be fed to the press at Lloyd House.
‘No?’ She cocked an eyebrow, hoisted an expensive-looking shoulder bag. ‘Look, I s’pose I can’t blame you for trying to do your job. But Olivia’s my closest friend. For me, this is personal.’ Like it was an alien concept to Sarah. ‘The potential risk’s too big to piss around.’
‘So in case it endangers her I take it you won’t use the material?’ As if.
‘Try stopping me.’ She waggled two fingers at Harries. ‘Catch you later, Davy.’
Sarah watched her leave, made no attempt to put her straight either. As far as she was concerned, King could pig out on what she fondly imagined was forbidden fruit. As long as it distracted her from the main course.
‘Try stopping her what?’ Mrs Kent was halfway down the stairs. It looked as if she’d restyled the chignon, freshened the lipstick.
Sarah wondered how much of the exchange she’d heard. Arguing the toss with King like that was hardly professional. Sent the wrong signals. And certainly not the reason she was here. ‘I’d like to talk. May we sit somewhere, Mrs Kent?’
Three- to four-seconds of eye contact, then: ‘Sounds ominous, Inspector.’ Sarah had kept her voice neutral and face unreadable; Mrs Kent was no fool. ‘You’d better come through.’
Empty mugs and biscuit crumbs on the kitchen table suggested there’d been time for a cosy chat during the reporter’s visit. Mrs Kent flicked a desultory dishcloth, but gave up, slung it in the sink almost immediately and took the carver opposite Sarah. ‘I take it you have some news?’
Sarah nodded, gaze steady. ‘There’s no doubt now that Olivia’s being held against her will, Mrs Kent. Whoever’s holding her has made contact again.’
‘Another letter?’
Slight pause. ‘Yes.’
&
nbsp; ‘The same as before?’ There was almost relief in the voice, Sarah thought. As if she’d been expecting the worst.
‘Not quite.’ It was identical to the first, she said, apart from the omission of the last line. Kitchen sounds were audible in the short ensuing silence: humming fridge, dripping tap. Sarah and Harries exchanged bland glances.
‘“But I won’t.”’ Mrs Kent had committed it to memory. ‘I could put her out of her misery. But I won’t.’ Frowning, she scratched the side of her face; the ring on her finger looked a little loose. Maybe she’d lost weight recently. ‘So what does it mean, Inspector? What’s he trying to say? And why the hell’s he doing this?’ Unmistakeable flash of anger.
You tell me. ‘We don’t know yet, Mrs Kent.’
‘And that’s it? Nothing else from the ba . . .?’ Closing her eyes, she tightened her lips, curtailing the expletive.
Harries cleared his throat. Sarah ignored the prompt. But did she have the right not to inform Mrs Kent of the menacing development?
‘We may be able to elicit more.’ Fudge fudge. It was no answer.
‘Go on.’ The woman sat back, folded her arms.
‘The fact he’s communicating with us, could mean he’s waiting for a response.’ And we sure don’t have a return address. ‘The only way we can get in touch . . .’
‘Is via the media.’ It was no question, and the withering look suggested she’d heard it all before.
‘Yes.’ Sarah leaned forward, laced her fingers. ‘But my advice is we go easy. Experience tells me the abductor wants to be in control, wants to call the shots. I’d say it’s vital not to push him over the edge.’ Not just her experience. Baker had passed on what he’d gleaned over the phone from Colin Stone. Control freak with sadistic leanings summed it up.
‘So we sit back and wait – is that also what you’re saying?’ There was an edge to the voice Sarah found difficult to read; the arms now more tightly clamped gave a clue.
‘No, Mrs Kent. I’m saying we start with a carefully-worded police statement and witness appeal. See how it goes from there.’
‘Caroline was right then. She said that’s how you’d want to handle it.’ The woman wasn’t crowing, it was more an observation.
Mother Love Page 6
