Chasing Innocence (13 page)

Adam glared at him. ‘You’re some piece of work.’

‘It has been said.’

‘So we’ve come full circle. Where would we start?’

Brian rubbed his right shoulder and placed his left hand over the shaking right hand. ‘Where do you think the police will start?’

‘I told you, I have no idea?’

‘Think.’

‘I don’t know, I really don’t know!’ Then a thought occurred to him. ‘You said somebody set your daughter up?’

Brian smiled at him. ‘Of course. Who sits in an alley off a busy high street and snatches a child without anyone but your eagle-eyed wife noticing?’

‘Someone who knows what they’re doing?’

‘You got that right, probably not the first time either. So what’s the next big question that really stands out?’

Adam shrugged. ‘I don’t know?’

‘Think about it, a random child might be with friends or with parents. How would he know she was alone? It can only mean one thing.’

It took a few seconds for Adam to figure what Brian was getting at. ‘You mean this guy picked her, specifically? He knew her routine?’

He got a nodded response.

‘So when did all this occur to you?’

‘About half an hour after Andrea failed to show last night. When I had ruled out all the other possible reasons. So ask yourself what else is obvious, Mr Sawacki, now we know this guy knew Andrea’s routine?’

Adam’s mind was now slowly clicking into motion. ‘I guess the question is what made him choose your daughter?’

‘Bingo! So why?’

‘Well, I guess he could have scouted about and your daughter fitted the bill.’

‘Unlikely, someone desperate might but this was too planned and too calculated. Desperation and long-term planning don’t go together. Andrea was selected and not at random.’

‘So who knew you leave your daughter alone Saturday afternoons?’ He loaded meaning into the last, which Brian ignored.

‘Well that’s the thing. Four people that I know of. The first is my boss Ali, we’re not so good now but we go back a long way. The second is my ex. She works in Boots and handed Andrea my prescription just before four thirty. She was the last person I know who saw her. I’d ruled her out by five.’

‘How come?’

‘I asked her some meaningful questions. She didn’t have a clue and she wasn’t lying.’

‘How can you be sure?’

‘For a start she has two kids of her own she’s bringing up by herself. She juggles shifts in Boots with working escort to pay the bills. I drive her sometimes. She can’t afford to be telling me lies.’

Adam shifted in his chair. ‘An escort, you mean like a hooker?’

‘Well, she can be a little touchy on your choice of titles but sure. A few of the girls at the club do as well.’

‘Hookers in Hambury!’

‘Like I said, open your eyes.’

Adam let the palms of his hands drop onto the arms of the chair. Not an aggressive act, just one of resignation. ‘So who are the other two who knew Andrea was alone?’

The end of Brian’s moustache did the upwards thing as he smiled. ‘That would be me and Andrea.’

The words hung in the air, the seconds marked by the clock and the sound of birds outside greeting the morning.

‘Which leaves only you then,’ Adam stated. ‘Unless of course Andrea masterminded her own kidnapping.’

‘I’d be the obvious choice.’

Now Adam was confused. ‘So if not you, it had to be random, unless Andrea told someone, a friend or something?

‘That’s the thing. Only a few people know what she gets up to here because I have to work nights, I can’t afford to broadcast it.’

‘What do you mean, broadcast what?’

For a second Brian’s face changed to guilty and then back again. ‘I work odd hours. I leave Andrea home alone Saturday nights. I work the door at MadHatters, it’s the worst shift. Ali has a late licence, the extra cash is what I live on. Even if I could get a sitter for those hours, I couldn’t afford to pay them. If her mother knew I left her alone she’d crucify me and set the social services on me for good measure. I’d probably not see Andrea again until she was eighteen.’

This was all going from bad to worse. ‘So you leave your daughter alone Saturday nights and she keeps to herself for fear someone will find out? That’s rubbish.’

Brian did not answer and Adam let the silence play before continuing. ‘Maybe your boss isn’t the buddy you thought.’

‘No chance. Ali’s real pissed at me but this isn’t his style. He doesn’t know any details, just that she’s here every other weekend. Andrea’s a smart kid, she knows the score. She wouldn’t tell anyone.’

Adam could not imagine trusting any friend of Brian’s. Hookers! That had been missing from the Hambury website. There seemed only one reasonable course of action. ‘We should give the details to the police, let them do the rest.’

‘Sounds like the right thing to do, doesn’t it?’

It dawned on Adam that he might be missing the point. ‘But?’

‘The police are going to head straight towards suspect primo, the damp loser sat on the sofa. I’ll be no good to anyone sat in a holding cell. Finding out who set Andrea up is for the police, we track your wife and I guarantee we find…’

Brian’s eyes closed and his mouth pinched tight, his whole body rigid as if dealing with some vicious internal pain. Then he breathed out and continued as if nothing had happened, ‘…find more pieces of the puzzle.’ Both his fists unclenched.

‘You all right?’ Adam asked.

‘Sure, just suffering a bit is all. I’ll take a couple of tablets, it’ll be fine.’

Adam hesitated. ‘What will be fine, what kind of tablets?’

‘Prescription type tablets.’

‘For your hand?’

His question was rewarded with a thin smile. ‘For my back. It’s a long story.’

Adam felt like driftwood pulled along by a fast flowing river. ‘That image of Sarah in a morgue…’

Brian nodded. ‘We need to get moving. Simon probably used Delamere as a base, the location will be important.’

A thought occurred to Adam. ‘You have any transport?’

Brian shook his head.

‘So you were going to hitch a lift?’

‘If I had to. The world’s full of cars and careless owners. I’d have borrowed one, there’s a few nice ones downstairs.’

Adam sighed and fetched a cup of water from the kitchen, waiting for Brian to dig a bottle of tablets from his bag before handing it to him. ‘If we’re going to sit in a car together you need to shower and change. You can borrow some of my clothes. You’re a little shorter but broader, they should kind of fit.’

He walked through to his study and tapped a key on the keyboard. He used a local car hire when he needed to drive. The only time he’d used them this early was when Sarah’s mother died. Ten minutes later he received email confirmation the car would be ready for them in an hour.

TWENTY-SEVEN

Her memories of before were recalled as composites of a time. Short flickering images that gave a sensation of the moment without ever pointing to any particular one. There were images and sensations of playing hopscotch but not of any individual games. She could recall hours whiled away in the back garden but not one occasion. All the individual moments lost to a child’s routine of getting up, school and gym and home and bed.

Sarah could not recall the first moment she had met
him
. She had memories of a life before and then he had been there. Her first recollection was of Sunday lunches. She had an image in her mind of
him
sitting opposite, framed by the window and the colours of the garden. In this snapshot he ate with his mouth open, roast potatoes and beef thrown about like clothes on a slow spin. The stubbly beard moving in small motions, his pale skin and permanently pink cheeks. Those ghastly thin red lips. He stretched out his legs beneath the table so she had nowhere to put hers, other than to rest against his. She had thought
him
selfish. There was plenty of room beneath the table. Later she learned the Sunday lunches were part of her mother’s recruitment of
him
as a tutor for her talented but distracted child.

Then the lessons started. Even these were lost in time, her first impressions of the empty school at night overrun by the subsequent dread of later visits. It must have started well because the trophies soon appeared. There had not been any trophies before, just glowing school reports of potential.

Sarah did recall he was a very good instructor, his hands shaping her body through every movement, his drills giving her confidence and discipline. The routines before had felt hurried in her mind as if her body was constantly racing to catch up. With his direction everything happened in slow motion. She was in total control, practised and prepared with just her ability defining the quality. And she had no shortage of that.

Then she had won the regional finals. To this day the trophy held pride of place in her parents’ living room, although it was now layered in dust and only watched over by a bewildered father. Her mother’s voice echoed wistfully.
To think what you might have gone on to achieve!
Could she really have been that blind?

It started with a hug. Sarah could not recall much of that either. Just the long drive and being at the competition, the regional finals, the large gymnasium full of squealing children and throngs of gabbling parents. She was nervous before such a large audience but knew she had done well. Then someone announced third and second place and then first and her name was called. She exploded with utter joy, leaping up and down in her leotard, screaming with arms aloft. The excitement inside was more than any physical action could manifest, it had nowhere to go. She screamed louder and then leapt into his arms. He was simply the nearest person she knew, it was after all because of
him
. She had screamed so hard she forced all the air from her lungs as she clamped onto
him
and hugged so tight.

Everything that happened over and over during the following seventy-seven weeks, he justified in that moment. Saying it was the feel of her body as she held on. Her breath as she kissed his cheek. He told her she must be grateful to be learning the lessons of life as a child. To be learning from someone experienced. He was saving her from all that pain when she was older, all that uncertainty. Boys would like her better. One day she would be grateful. It was meant to be. He was preparing her for life as a woman, she must be grateful. Don’t cry, be grateful.

Sarah opened her eyes. She blinked through the memories to the here and now. It was dark. Her heart felt heavy and her brain was busy sounding an alarm. What was wrong, where was she? She blinked again and nothing changed. It was dark and there was no sound, nothing but the furious mechanisms of her mind. Why could she not move? She fought the rising panic. The images shifted in the kaleidoscope of recollection, realigning to an ordered sequence. Faces were matched to places and emotions to people, the reality of now and the memory of the journey, of getting to this moment, slammed home. The panic ran free, a dark stain spreading across the fabric of her mind as the fear clawed for escape.

But Sarah knew the consequences of surrendering herself to that fear; she had walked that road and knew where it led. She reined it in and worked on maintaining control, and gradually with control an awareness of her body. She was lying on her back, arms at odd angles. One above her head pushed against a hard surface, a smooth wall, the other lay beneath her body. Moving resulted in a searing pain, but they did move, they were not broken. Focusing on her right arm she moved it down slowly, a painful groan as cramped muscles protested. She eased her body to one side and freed the other, letting the blood flow with fingers kneading palms.

Her legs were folded, almost foetal but twisted to one side. She stretched them outwards and touched the opposite wall. She was in a very narrow space. The fear clawed frantic, the air thick and heavy. She waved a hand in front of her face. She did it again and again but there was nothing, no shadow over shadow, nothing but endless dark. Was she blind? She needed to breathe, to know where she was. How to get out? Her head spun. The dark was all consuming and heavy, pushing in at her from all sides. Her heart thumped uneven. Her mind conjured frenetic gnashing teeth and whispered voices.
His
voice full of need,
his
gnarled fingers reaching out for her, scratching at her face and tugging at her hair, pulling at her clothing, probing, his breath like sour milk. She could feel
him
move closer in the pitch dark, all around and looming over her, hands on her head, forcing his flesh inside her mouth, hard and pulsing, thrusting with a groaned ecstasy. The bitter taste of
him
pumping warm that she gagged and choked on, spat out. He was everywhere, hands reaching from all directions, an endless queue of thin red lips and jutting flesh waiting their turn at the feast. The fear ripped a jagged hole and clawed free. Sarah screamed and screamed.

The screaming was at first a submission to the fear, a noise that defined the horror. A noise she had to escape from. She dived into the ocean, the ocean that bordered the imaginary world of her childhood. It was aqua blue and shimmering full of sunbeams, swimming as far as she could and ever down to a peace within the great void, the sounds of the real world distant as she fought for a foothold on her mind. Fighting with the determination of a wilful child who did endure each week. The adolescent who did survive, who did step around the sanctuary of suicide, the woman who knocked on
his
door. Sarah had spent her whole life surviving and she had done a lot of it here, treading water in the vast sanctuary of the ocean as she slowly took back control. And then when she was ready she kicked towards the surface, back to reality and the screaming.

She clamped her mouth closed and pushed back the fear. There was nowhere to go, right now there were no fingers feasting on her body, nothing in her mouth save for her own tongue and this thick air. There was no danger now. She must think, breathe and take control. She lay still. Her hurried breaths became a shallow control, calibrating and working at keeping that control.