Chasing Innocence (32 page)

‘Twelve o’clock is the best option, then ten o’clock, although I’d be in trouble if I fumbled on the latch. Back door is the last resort.’

Brian nodded and they both sipped their cokes.
High Street
caught Adam’s attention on the screen and the image changed to an Asian newsreader framed to one side. Set beyond her and filling the width of the screen was a long desk covered in a dark blue material. It fronted an equally blue vertical panel with a large white logo that looked to Adam like a portcullis with a lion each side.

Text scrolled along the bottom of the screen as the reporter summarised the detail. Images of Hambury and a Rover and the burnt-out Toyota appeared and disappeared. There was nothing in the text he had not read a hundred times already. Then the reporter stopped speaking and looked over her shoulder, and the image switched to a close, angled view of the table. A line of people filtered behind the desk, taking seats and shuffling closer. Their faces offered shades from ruddy white to deep brown, dressed in pristine police uniform or smart civilian clothes. A man and woman sat centrally, both fidgeting and looking the least like they belonged there; the mother and stepfather. Detective Ferreira sat at the end in a pastel blue suit that blurred on the screen. Adam wondered where Boer was. The whole scene was continually washed with white light as cameras captured every face and changing emotion.

The screen shifted to a close-up of an attractive female officer, mid-forties he guessed, with short dark hair. Her mouth moved and she gestured to her right and left, the scrolling subtitles listing names and titles for those sitting at the table. A picture of Andrea appeared in the bottom corner of the screen, different from the one he had seen the night before. It showed her smiling and looking up with large eyes at whoever took the picture. Brian placed his drink on the table.

They both watched in silence as the press conference unfolded. The mother and stepfather mostly sat with their eyes down, looking at anything and everything on the desk, overcome by the spectacle and exhaustion. The mother regularly dabbed at her eyes, sore from tears. Adam had only ever seen one other woman look quite so frail. The stepfather looked guilty under the weight of so many judgemental stares.

Focus returned to the female officer, named on the screen as Detective Chief Inspector Anne Darling. He guessed she was in charge, as she was often framed on screen with the mother and stepfather. For those new to the story she sombrely detailed everything Adam had read twelve hours before on the internet.

Each officer at the table then took a turn describing an element of the investigation. Ferreira spoke briefly on the focus of the kidnapping, which seemed to be about sifting through the volume of known sex offenders and finding the missing eyewitness, Sarah Sawacki. There was no mention of Peterborough, Grimsby or Cleethorpes.

Then a head and shoulder picture of Brian filled the left half of the screen. A younger Brian with his moustache neatly trimmed. He was proudly dressed in military uniform and a red beret, a regimental badge over his left temple. On the right of the screen a list detailed Brian Dunstan as being Andrea’s biological father, summarising his military career, which included all the places Adam was familiar with from the news in the last ten years. It concluded with an award of the Military Cross. The scrolling subtitles contained phrases like:
Not a suspect, Afghanistan veteran
.

Adam looked sideways and was rewarded with a wink. And then the image changed to one of Sarah. Adam watched wide-eyed. He had not seen that picture for three years. It had been taken by a local newspaper after she had been released from Culpho.

Brian almost choked on his drink. ‘Christ! Could they have picked a worse photo?’ Adam silently shook his head. She looked gaunt, tired and solemn, almost sinister. The subtitles repeated that Sarah Sawacki was the missing eyewitness and the last person known to have seen Andrea. The police urgently needed to talk to her.

Then Sarah’s photo was replaced with CCTV footage from Delamere. They both watched as the image of Sarah jolted through the services, waiting for a cut to Simon, but the image froze as Sarah sat with two coffees. The coverage switched back to the press conference. The female officer reinforced the importance of finding Sarah Sawacki.

Centre frame now were the mother and stepfather. The mother, prompted by the female officer, started reading a short statement but faltered and broke down in tears that became sobs and then to everyone’s surprise she half stood and directed an angry outburst at the assembled press. Everyone at the table shuffled uneasily as the stepfather directed her back down amid a frenzy of white light. The mother visibly shrank back, looking forlorn at the rows of shadowed journalists. Her shoulders rose and fell as the stepfather finished reading the statement. And then Chief Inspector Anne Darling made a longer statement that paved the way for questions. The only words from the mother’s outburst that appeared on screen where, W
hy…father…daughter…alone
.

‘Bullshit!’ said Brian.

Adam nodded. ‘Not a single thing on Simon. Even you came out of that better than Sarah.’

‘I’m not on about that Adam. Liz, the bitch. Playing the audience.’

‘Was she?’ Adam was surprised. ‘It looked pretty real to me.’

‘Bullshit,’ Brian repeated. ‘Guarantee that will be on the front of just about every newspaper tomorrow. Right beneath a headline of her outburst.’

‘She does have a point.’

‘Sod off, Adam. That woman’s so wrapped in her own sense of righteousness she’d lay this at my feet in a second. Simon took Andrea because someone told him where she would be, they’re the ones responsible for this.’

He fell silent and Adam did not say what he thought. They watched the Chief Inspector field questions, directing each to a face behind the table as she deemed fit. Each answered with longer explanations of what they already knew. Eventually coverage switched back to the studio.

 Adam drummed his fingers against the side of his glass. ‘Why no Simon?’

Brian placed his glass on the table, looking thoughtful. ‘I guess if they showed images of suspects for a case like this, there’d be gangs of people laying the boot into anyone that looked vaguely like him. Giving someone a good kicking in the name of retribution, especially for the sake of a child, helps people appease their own guilt.’

‘Brian the philosopher, you’re full of surprises!’

‘It’s psychology actually, guilt and fear drives most of what we do.’

‘You study psychology?’

He looked at Adam over the top of his glass. ‘You think because I swear and used to be a grunt I wouldn’t?’

‘I didn’t mean it like that.’

Brian wiped a hand across his moustache. ‘What did you mean?’

‘I don’t know, you seem disconnected. Disinterested even. You don’t seem to care about anything but you must. Or you wouldn’t have talked me into being here.’

Brian considered him and answered. ‘Knowing how people think is kind of handy when you’ve got a bunch of them trying to blow your arse over the desert. It’s about figuring out what makes them tick. End of the day we’re all human, just made different by the cultures we grow up in. As for disinterested and disconnected, you’ve got a point. I’m working on that.’

A lot more of an answer than Adam was expecting.

‘So how did, you know, you get such bad burns?’

‘I told you that.’ He narrowed his eyes. ‘An RPG.’

‘I know, but how? I thought RPGs blew things up, not burned. What happened?’

Brian laughed but it contained only irony. ‘It’s not a bloody campfire story, Adam. RPGs do all kinds of things, especially duds. I got burnt to fuck and spent a day and night wandering the desert with bits of my best mate stuck to me. I got a pension, a medal and an honourable discharge, thank you very fucking much. My best mate’s widow got a pension. His kids have no clue who their dad was.’

Brian’s response felt like a slap, not because of its abruptness but for its sense of reality. ‘I’m sorry, I didn’t think. You…it’s hard to imagine.’

‘Don’t worry, Adam, you’re good, it’s different worlds. Your one is just as alien to me.’

Adam was still curious though. ‘You seem to move OK though, what’s it like?’

‘Medium rare skin? It hurts like a bitch and feels like old leather. I’m getting used to it. Andrea thinks it looks like angel wings.’ Brian smiled. ‘Trust a child to see good huh?’

Adam did not know how to add to that so they watched TV in silence, the immaculately groomed presenters profiling likely kidnappers with a specialist. White males over the age of twenty-five without a girlfriend were in the frame.

Brian was first to speak. ‘I’m surprised they showed that picture of Sarah along with the CCTV. Either someone hasn’t done their homework or they think they’re being clever. The press will be all over her.’

‘It’s insane,’ Adam agreed, trying not to imagine the consequences of Sarah’s past regurgitated on a national scale. He ran his hands through his hair and Brian stood, collecting their empty glasses. Both their heads turned to the arched doorway as cool air ran through the bar, listening to a procession of people file through the downstairs doorway.

SIXTY-ONE

Any thoughts Andrea had that Sarah was
one of them
had long since faded, which was not to say she had not given it a lot of thought. The simple truth was in how she saw herself reflected in Sarah. Everything Sarah did was woven around an undeniable intention. She was there only for her. That meant so much to Andrea on so many levels that doubt had quickly turned to trust. She even thought she might love Sarah a little. Of course not the love she held for her mum or dad or even her sisters. That love was just there. It was more the kind she held for Kevin, who was in many respects more of a dad to her than her dad.

She could also see from the pain evident in every fragile movement that Sarah was faltering. While Andrea still firmly believed her dad would come for her, and she could not really imagine the worst of what might happen if he did not, she did know that if Sarah was too ill to help, she was too little to get free by herself. So she did the only thing she could, she invested herself in Sarah.

Andrea had a lot of love held in reserve, mostly because her dad did not need it and her mum was always too busy. So now seemed a perfect opportunity to use some of it in the absolute certainty it would help. She crawled over and ducked beneath Sarah’s arm, laying her head against Sarah’s chest and her hand beneath the bloodstained shirt, warm on the skin of Sarah’s stomach. She knew Sarah’s stomach was hurting from the way she moved and touched it. Andrea also knew Jesus healed with his hands. So she decided that was how she would let her love flow, through her hand into Sarah. Which she did, closing her eyes at first as she concentrated, willing her love from her heart through her body and into Sarah through her hand. Somehow talking seemed to help as well. So she proceeded to talk about everything she could think to talk about, which was all her life that she could recall, which was about five years.

While Andrea talked, and despite her very best efforts, a nagging thought kept vying for her attention. It came from when she had been running screaming through the house trying to open windows. She had seen shelves with photos of many different faces, mostly smiling and outside, like on boats, and some with Simon. It had registered then but she had been too busy being frightened. So the thought had lodged in her mind unresolved. Later when she was by herself it occurred to her. How could a man from her ‘before’ life, her comfortable world of home and routine, be in a photo with Simon?

For some reason the question muddled her thoughts and made her heart a little heavy as well. She did know the world was full of puzzling questions, she also knew it was full of obvious answers. So she fully expected an explanation she could file under,
Of course that’s why!

She also thought telling Sarah about something sad might break the spell of her love, so she decided not to, despite almost mentioning it in her enthusiasm to keep speaking. She was very sure her love was helping. Talking about her before life was also therapy for herself. As she remembered these times and places she realised they were already losing clarity in her mind. Telling Sarah these stories helped make them distinct again, although sometimes she forgot some detail or why something happened, so she made it up. Which she actually quite enjoyed because it was a bit like the stories she made up at home. She even started adding bits to stories she remembered perfectly well, so she could make them more interesting. Talking and talking. All the time pressing the palm of her hand flat against Sarah’s skin and thinking how Jesus did it. Pushing the occasional heavy hearted thought aside and letting the love flow into Sarah, telling all the funny stories about her sisters and Kevin, especially Kevin because when he was home, he always did funny things. Very seldom did Andrea let silence reign, lest some of what flowed through her begin to ebb away.

Sarah listened intently, only asking questions when it was clear a question was required. The girl’s open affection was unexpected and very welcome. The weight of her small body was mesmerising, her hand warm and soothing against her stomach, the child’s voice like a songbird’s. It anchored her to reality while her mind ran through a dizzying, competing array of thoughts. With each stream of thought her mind carefully tripped along the edge of reality, trying hard to focus on what she had to do and not tumble into the unreal world of her childhood. The escape world had been how she survived as a child, waiting for the horseman to rescue her. The specialists at Culpho said the world was a composite of her favourite childhood books, the horseman a child’s fixation on a saviour, the galloping horse simply the sound of her own heart beating. The unreal world was a place she could not afford to revisit. She would be no use to anyone sitting in the corner dreaming of green fields and snow-capped mountains.

Similarly her thoughts of Adam were now infrequent. For all the hours she had spent with Andrea and for all the girl’s questions, talking or even thinking about him felt like it might invoke him to this place. The last place he should be. She believed Simon when he said Hakan would not waste time on Adam, but whenever she did allow herself the luxury of a memory it always wound to Adam in their ransacked flat, which only added to her mental burden. So she shut out the thoughts of her life with Adam. It was another life that existed as a video paused in her mind. Just as she did not think of guilt or for Adam’s hurt in how she was managing Simon’s need. She only focused on the reality of each passing second and her hope for an opportunity.