by Jo Allen
Max loved his wife. He repeated it to himself, but it didn’t stop him wanting to shake her. ‘You think it isn’t? You think there are that many twelve year olds roaming about, who can go missing for forty-eight hours without anyone reporting them missing? You really think that?’
‘Of course I do. It’ll be some poor child who was playing. Who’d gone off camping, or on an adventure. Maybe he was staying with friends, like we told Sophie, Greg is. And maybe the friend thought he’d gone home and the parents – the poor parents – think—’
‘Dawn.’ Never a tender man, he laid a hand on her arm, and she winced. Her first husband, he remembered, had struck her, but he kept the hand there, a firm reminder that he was always beside her. ‘Let’s not pretend. You know it. I know it. There’s every chance that it’s Greg.’
‘I can’t bear it. This is killing me, Max. I don’t want to know.’
‘I do. Because if it’s Greg, that means that someone’s cheated on me, and if that’s the case, I want to know who, and then that person is going to pay for that in blood. Because no one ever cheats on me.’
She turned her face towards him, fashioning her expression into the ghost of a watery smile. ‘You’re a hard bastard, Max Sumner, so you are. But I think that’s part of the reason I chose you, rather than Randolph. You never give up.’
He smiled back, though he’d never felt less like smiling. ‘Then it’s agreed. We’ll go to the police. I’ll call them now.’
‘But if those people find out we’ve been to the police—’ She drew her knees up to her chest and buried her face in her thighs. A low moan escaped her. She knew. She must know her child was dead, but something within her wouldn’t let go of the one thing that might, if they were wrong, keep him alive. ‘Please, Max. Let’s leave it until tomorrow. Give them another few hours to get in touch. It can’t hurt, now, and it might make the difference. If he’s still alive.’
He sat for a moment longer, thinking of the smell of burning in the hot dry air. She was right. Greg was dead, so a few more hours wouldn’t hurt. ‘Tomorrow, then. But first thing in the morning, we’ll go to the police.’
13
‘Has anyone seen Jude?’ Chris, holding up the incident room phone, pivoted on his heel and looked around, but Jude wasn’t there.
‘Nope. He said he’d be back in ten minutes.’ Ashleigh checked the list of manpower, of who was where, only to find that Jude’s whereabouts wasn’t on it. ‘Doddsy. Any ideas?’
‘He’s talking to the press people, I think. Is it important?’
‘Is it important?’ said Chris, into the phone. ‘Oh, okay. Fine. Yes, I’ll tell him.’ He hung up. ‘There’s someone in Reception wanting to speak to Jude and nobody but Jude. It sounds as if Reception would quite like to get him out of public view, so it would help if someone could go and calm him down. And that means you, Doddsy, doesn’t it, because you’re the deputy SIO?’
‘Right. Fine. As if I didn’t have anything else to occupy me. Ashleigh. Would you mind? I’ve picked up a bit of intelligence that you’re good at this sort of thing.’
Ashleigh stifled her smile. You had to hand it to Jude: he turned everything to his advantage. After their conversation in the car the night before she’d worried that she’d gone too far, pressed him too much on things that were none of her business, but he hadn’t wasted time mithering about it. No doubt there had been a quick call to Doddsy at some point in the evening, and here she was, suddenly promoted to the role of co-interviewer. ‘I’m more than happy to.’
‘Good. Let’s get down and see what this is about.’
‘I suppose it’s too much to hope that it’s one of the couples from the camper van?’ she asked as they marched smartly down the corridor towards Reception.
‘We’re about to find out.’
In Reception, a man who looked as if he was in his late forties was standing with his hands behind his back. He wore an expensive looking light grey suit even in the heat and his thinning hair was slicked back. A sheen of sweat on his face gleamed in the light as he turned to them. He was certainly not the man described to her by Andrea Innes.
‘Mr Sumner.’ The girl on the reception desk was smiling with sheer relief. ‘This is Detective Inspector Dodd. He’ll be able to help you.’
Sumner turned to face them with an expression of scorn. ‘I asked to speak to the officer in charge of the operation. That’s DCI Satterthwaite, I understand.’
Ashleigh sensed Doddsy’s sigh as he switched into deferential mode. ‘Yes, I’m very sorry. DCI Satterthwaite is busy just now, but he’ll come down the moment he’s available.’ He nodded to the receptionist. ‘Is there somewhere—?’
‘Interview room three is available.’ She waved them on. Whoever this man was, he’d been giving her grief, and she was too obviously delighted to see the back of him.
‘Then let’s get on.’ Impatiently, the man strode across the room. ‘Come on, Dawn.’
His presence was so powerful that they’d overlooked the woman who was with him. She’d been sitting on one of the chairs near the door, shrinking back into her seat in misery, arms wrapped around her body as if she were cold. Ignoring the summons issued by Sumner, Ashleigh dropped to her knees beside her. ‘Mrs Sumner?’
‘Yes.’ Her pale face suggested to Ashleigh that the woman was already grieving. An image caught in her memory, the inescapable drama of the Hanged Man emerging from the tarot deck to be followed immediately by Death. Someone’s world was broken, and the wreckage was revealed in Dawn Sumner’s tear swollen eyes. ‘I’m Detective Sergeant Ashleigh O’Halloran. Would you like to come along with DI Dodd and myself? I can fix you up with a cup of coffee while we wait for DCI Satterthwaite.’
‘You’re very kind.’ It came out as a whisper. Ignoring protocol, Ashleigh took the woman’s hand to help her up. It was cold.
‘I’m not going to be palmed off with a junior officer,’ the man said to Doddsy’s rigid back as the inspector led the way through to an interview room.
‘I can assure you, sir, this is merely until DCI Satterthwaite is free.’
‘DCI Satterthwaite is very busy,’ Ashleigh soothed. ‘Inspector Dodd, perhaps you could call him again and let him know that this is urgent? Mrs Sumner, do have a seat. Let me get you some coffee. Mr Sumner?’
‘I’d like tea,’ the woman whispered, sitting down in the chair Ashleigh indicated to her. Her husband, under Ashleigh’s questioning gaze, shook his head.
‘DI Dodd is more than competent with dealing with this matter.’ Ashleigh smiled at Doddsy, in case his pride was hurt. ‘And I’m sure your time is precious. Perhaps it would help if you were to tell us—’
‘Max,’ the woman said, ‘she’s quite right. The sooner we tell them, the sooner we get out of here.’
He stuck his hands in his pockets. ‘I’m not used to dealing with junior officials.’ The skin around his nostrils flared white. ‘This is about my child. It goes to the top.’
Doddsy had turned his back to make the call and the stiffness of his shoulders showed his offence. Irritated on his behalf, Ashleigh turned back from the table with a cup of tea. ‘Every officer on this case—’
‘I’ll share my business with your boss.’
‘Max!’ the woman said, then drew back slightly as if she’d surprised herself with her sharpness. But she didn’t give up, reaching out for the cup that Ashleigh offered her and meeting her gaze. ‘We’ve come to report our son missing. He’s twelve years old.’
‘Oh, my dear.’ Once more Ashleigh forgot herself, treating this woman like an injured child. ‘I’m so sorry. What happened? When did you last see him?’
Behind them, Max Sumner coughed. ‘Since my wife has taken it upon herself to begin, perhaps I should take up the story.’
Pompous, middle aged men. They were the worst. Ignoring him, Ashleigh took a seat at the table next to Dawn Sumner, and reached towards the recording device. ‘Mrs Sumner, I’m going to record this conversation, oka
y?’
‘Of course.’ Dawn stretched out her hand and laid it over Ashleigh’s, a pathetic appeal for help from a stranger. ‘Max. I want to tell them. It’ll help me. Let me speak.’
Temporarily in retreat, he stepped back. ‘If you must.’
‘DS O’Halloran.’ The woman’s voice was barely even a whisper. ‘This is all our fault. We should have told you as soon as we realised he was missing. Then we might have saved him.’
‘We couldn’t possibly have saved him, Dawn. You know we—’
‘Please carry on, Mrs Sumner.’ Ashleigh, focussing on the woman, knew that she’d make an enemy of the man, that a complaint about her behaviour would almost certainly be forthcoming. That didn’t matter. Her conversation with Jude the previous night flicked into her mind. This was just a small reflection of the same truth – that sometimes you had to do what felt right, and what felt right was letting this woman, bereaved all but for the official confirmation, have her say. ‘Tell me what happened. Tell me about your boy.’
Dawn’s fingers tightened on hers. ‘His name is Greg. He’s twelve years old. I last saw him on Sunday morning. He went out to play in the garden.’
‘Where was this?’
‘We have a holiday home just outside Windermere. We’ve been staying up there over the summer. I’ve been there with the children – we have a daughter, Sophie – and my husband travels back and forwards between here and the office. He works in Liverpool. We live in Formby.’
Doddsy, his call complete, was making notes. Out of the corner of her eye Ashleigh picked up the approving nod with which he encouraged her to continue.
‘Tell me about Greg. What’s he like?’
‘He’s very adventurous. So like his father. We’ve always encouraged him to explore and test boundaries. Max is keen that he should grow up to be bold, never let anything hold him back.’
‘Do you have a picture of him?’
Digging into her handbag, Dawn retrieved her phone and opened it up, fumbling with it, as if reluctant to let it go. Abstract became reality with the image of a boy, swinging on a tree in the sunshine. Dawn flicked through the pictures. Another one, a close-up – a crooked grin in a tanned face, unruly sandy hair, his mother’s blue eyes. ‘This is the last picture I have of him. I took it on Saturday morning.’
‘This is the garden of your holiday home?’
‘Our house has extensive grounds. Greg would disappear for hours. Dawn never checked up on him.’
If Max Sumner would only shut up, they might be able to get through this whole thing with much less distress to his wife. Ashleigh kept her attention resolutely on Dawn. ‘And Greg was playing in the grounds on Sunday? Was he in sight of the house?’
‘No. There’s a wooded area by the road. He often disappeared there, for hours on end. He’d build forts and so on. On Sunday, I went to call him in for lunch at about half past one and he didn’t come. I found a note in the porch.’
‘I was out for the day. Dawn was in charge.’
‘Max, it wasn’t my fault.’
‘I’m not saying it was. Just that if I’d been there, I might have been with him. Of course, I’ll fill you in with where I was.’
‘You didn’t call the police?’ Doddsy turned to Dawn.
‘No, I—’
‘Of course she didn’t. The note said not to tell anyone. Dawn tried to call me but either I was driving or I had no signal. I didn’t find out about it until I got home and she showed it to me.’
‘Did you bring it? What did it say?’
Dawn withdrew her hand from Ashleigh’s and turned her wedding ring on a trembling finger. ‘I destroyed it.’
Silence quivered between Ashleigh and Doddsy. A ransom note, the key piece of evidence, lost to them. ‘Why did you do that, Mrs Sumner?’
‘Call me Dawn. Please call me Dawn.’
‘Of course, Dawn. Can you remember what the note said?’
‘It said that Greg had been kidnapped and that he would be returned to us on payment of a ransom. It didn’t say how much. We were to await further instructions, but we weren’t to tell the police or Greg would be killed. And we were to destroy the note.’ She folded her arms across her body, leaving a sweaty finger mark on the sleeve of her silk top. ‘Max told me we shouldn’t, but I couldn’t take any risks. And we never heard anything else.’
‘Of course, I photographed the note. Please don’t think I’m quite such a fool as to overlook the fact that it might be important. It’s here.’ Max tapped his phone. ‘I’ll forward it to you. Naturally. But what I’m interested in right now, Detective Inspector, is what happened to my boy?’ His voice shook.
‘We don’t know for certain that it was Greg, Mr Sumner.’ Doddsy took scant refuge in the technicalities. ‘We haven’t identified the body at this stage.’
‘I can give DNA. Please let me give a sample. It’s easy, isn’t it?’ Huge, fat tears gathered on Dawn Sumner’s ravaged face and rolled down her cheeks. ‘It’s the last thing I’ll ever be able to do for him.’ She tugged at the gold chain round her neck, heavy with a pendant. Surprised, and yet not surprised, Ashleigh recognised the motif of the pendant – the Wheel of Fortune.
‘Of course, we can arrange for that, Mrs Sumner. Thank you.’ Jude must have slipped in while Dawn had been sobbing out her story. Nobody, it appeared, had noticed him come in and nobody would know how long he’d been there, because if Doddsy had seen him he’d have surely welcomed him with relief and Sumner would have pounced on him in irritation. ‘I’m sorry for the delay. I was in a meeting. I came down as soon as I got a message. DCI Jude Satterthwaite.’ He shook Sumner’s hand, then leaned down to touch Dawn’s frail fingers.
‘Max Sumner.’ A little mollified, it appeared, by the arrival of someone of sufficient status to match his own self-importance, Max shook Jude’s hand in a more conciliatory approach. ‘Did you hear the story my wife had to tell?’
‘I did.’
‘I’ll have that coffee now.’ Max Sumner flicked his fingers at Ashleigh.
There was a tiny pause. Jude crossed to the coffee machine and poured a cup. ‘Milk? Sugar? Okay. And I’ll have one, too. DI Dodd, thank you, but I don’t think we need you any more. Perhaps if you can arrange for someone to come along in a while and take a swab from Mrs Sumner. And give Mr Sumner the email address so he can forward the photograph of the note. And some pictures of Greg.’
Doddsy laid a piece of paper with an email address on it in front of Max Sumner and let himself out of the room without a backward glance.
‘It’s all right,’ Ashleigh whispered to Dawn. ‘If it’s Greg, we’ll find who did it.’ Why hadn’t they called the police straight away? Why were people often so reluctant to take the one simple step that might spare them? But even as the thought crossed her mind she understood that calling the police would almost certainly not have saved Greg Sumner. ‘Do you have any other children? You said you have a daughter?’
‘There’s Sophie. She’s ten.’
‘Where’s Sophie now? Is she safe?’
‘She’s in the house at Windermere.’
‘Alone?’ There was ice in Jude’s tone.
‘You think I’d leave my daughter unprotected?’ Max met the suggestion with scorn. ‘My dealings with the police in the past haven’t been auspicious. I’ve no reason to trust them. I’ve taken steps to protect my family and my property.’
‘You mean private security? Are you sure they’re trustworthy?’
‘They’re more trustworthy than the police, Satterthwaite. I should know. I pay them.’
‘I’m sure you’ll find we do our best. Do you have CCTV cameras at all?’
‘We do now. As of Monday morning.’
‘I see. And now,’ said Jude, his voice quivering with a frisson of dislike so subtle that Ashleigh was sure she was the only one to sense it, ‘perhaps we can go over the story from your perspective, Mr Sumner.’
*
Having the worst confirmed had b
een easier than she’d thought. Certainty was terrible, final and irrefutable, tearing your soul apart, chewing up hope and spitting it out, but Dawn knew in her heart that the hope had always been false and that the most recent sight she’d had of Greg, tearing down the garden towards the lake, was the last memory she’d ever have of her son.
They’d sat in the interview room for a lifetime, or so it seemed, and the young blonde sergeant had sat with her the whole time, whispering comfort to her, shushing her like a child whenever Max let out an oath or became aggressive with the inscrutable Chief Inspector. And eventually, when the inspector’s questions and Max’s rantings were over, and Dawn’s own tears had yet to begin, it was over.
‘Let’s go.’ Max bounced to his feet. ‘There’s no more to be gained from this interview.’
‘That’s a beautiful necklace,’ the blonde sergeant said, smiling down at her.
‘Thank you. It was a gift. From Max.’
‘Is that the Wheel of Fortune? From the tarot?’
‘You recognise it?’ Dawn clutched at it, as if it could give her some solace.
‘Only in passing.’
‘It’s so comforting.’ Dawn swallowed, realising she was going to need a lot of comfort. The Wheel of Fortune hadn’t, in the end, brought her any luck. ‘I’d love to read the cards for you. You have such a kind face, a happy face. I’m sure you’ll always have good luck.’
The sergeant shrugged ruefully. ‘I doubt it. Whenever anyone draws a card for me, it always seems to be the Fool. Carefree, foolish and optimistic.’
‘You’ll be hearing from me again very soon, Satterthwaite. Come on, Dawn,’ Max interrupted, placing an arm under her elbow, helping her up, leading her away and into a place where she’d have no choice but to deal with his fury.
‘You’ll certainly be hearing from me, Mr Sumner. I’ll be in touch as soon as we have the results of the DNA analysis, and my officers will keep you informed at every stage.’ DCI Satterthwaite was the last to stand up, as though for him the meeting wasn’t over. ‘Are you sure I can’t offer you any police protection? Given what you’ve told me, I think you should be very concerned about your and your family’s welfare.’
