Frantic (20 page)

Chris shut his eyes against the black spots. After the bank case he hadn’t been able to shake off the memory of the guard’s still chest, his limp hands, the way his head lolled to the side whenever Angus released his grip. Worst was the terrible knowledge that it had not had to happen. He could have done something earlier if he’d wanted, if he’d had the
guts
, and that red-haired woman and her twins would not be alone. Instead, guilt-stricken, he’d done it after the fact, calling the TV stations to tell them what was going on, hoping to make it up to the dead man in some small way. Now his head held more images that wouldn’t go away: the last time he’d seen Lachlan, asleep on his back in his cot, as safe as any baby could be; then the man with the gun on his doorstep.

And now Sophie was running around out there like some kind of vigilante, so caught up in her search that she would never know if she was being followed, and Ella was starting to snoop about the Houtkamp case. It scared him half to death. He needed to make contact with the people who had Lachlan and let them know he was sorry, he’d made a mistake, he would never ever do such a stupid thing.

He picked up the phone again.

‘Recruitment.’

‘Is Dean available?’

‘I’m so sorry, he’s left for the day,’ the woman said. ‘I did pass on all your messages.’

Maybe he would drop in on his way home. Chris sat biting his lip, feeling his head throb. He would make it all clear to Dean. He would tell him that if they wanted his life in return for Lachlan’s and Sophie’s safety, then that was the price he would pay.

5.15 pm

‘There’s another department for our Christmas card list,’ Dennis said as he and Ella got back in the car with the pictures the Photographics Unit had processed from the CCTV tape. The unit had been near to closing for the day when the detectives hurried in, but like so many other sections they’d pulled out all stops to get the work done immediately. Another cop’s child missing was like their own child missing.

They pored over the pictures.

‘It’s definitely Sawyer,’ Ella said.

‘And his car.’

The photos weren’t as clear as shots taken in daylight, but the unit techs had been able to zoom in and enhance and God knew what, to the point where the BMW’s numberplate was clear and Sawyer’s face was recognisable. The woman was another story however. Ella said, ‘It’s as if she knew the camera was there and was being careful to hide her face.’

‘She’s shorter than him, and has a slim build,’ Dennis said. ‘Short dark hair. Wearing dark trousers and a dark shirt.’

All fine and true but it wasn’t going to help them find her.

‘Let’s go and visit Sawyer,’ Ella said.

‘He’s not going to talk without his solicitor.’

‘Let’s just knock at his door and see what happens,’ she said. ‘Like you said, looking at this might bring his memory back. He might recognise her. She might provide an alibi for the time of the shooting.’

‘I thought you thought he was guilty.’

‘I just want to know one way or the other,’ she said. ‘If we can cross him off, I don’t have to think about him any more.’

They drove through the lengthening shadows to Sawyer’s house. A for sale sign stood outside the block of flats across the street and Ella figured the surveillance team were probably comfortably ensconced in the empty unit.

Dennis knocked on Sawyer’s door. A dark-haired woman with red eyes answered. ‘Not interested,’ she said, and started to close the door.

Dennis showed his badge. ‘We’re police.’

Her eyes widened. ‘Have you found out who drugged Boyd?’

Dennis said, ‘You are?’

‘Helen Sawyer, Boyd’s sister.’ She glanced behind her. Ella could see shadows of people moving about, and hear the clink of cups and teaspoons. The conversation was low, sombre. The woman went on, ‘I think he’s upstairs. Just a minute and I’ll fetch him.’ She started off then turned back. ‘I’m sorry. My mind this afternoon… Would you like to come in?’

Dennis shook his head. ‘We don’t want to intrude.’

The woman gave a small smile and went up the stairs.

In the house somebody began to weep. Ella and Dennis exchanged a glance and Dennis made a face. ‘We had to come,’ Ella whispered.

Sawyer came slowly down the stairs. Ella was shocked to see he looked even thinner than before. She hadn’t thought that was possible.

Sawyer looked at Dennis. ‘Have you found the man who drugged me?’

Ella was fine with being ignored. Just fine.

‘Would you mind looking at some photos for us please?’ Dennis said.

‘Do I need my solicitor?’

His sister tucked her arm through his. ‘It’s okay, Boyd.’

‘We just want you to tell us whether you recognise someone,’ Dennis said.

Ella held the picture out. ‘That’s you, isn’t it? So who is this?’

Sawyer looked at the photo for a moment then back up at them. His face was blank. He said, ‘I’m saying nothing without my solicitor present,’ and shut the door in their faces.

5.20 pm

The last of the sun’s rays streamed in the tow truck’s window but Sophie couldn’t feel them. She wrapped her arms around herself and looked down into every car they passed. Some of them had pale blue ribbons tied to their aerials. She felt as if she’d worked three night shifts in a row with no sleep between them and drunk enough espressos for ten people. Her skin was sore, her eyes red and painful. Thoughts of Lachlan filled her head. She’d give her life to be able to hold him again and know he was safe.

At Royal North Shore, while Angus had waited with the car for the tow truck, she’d gone into the hospital to see Chris. He was silent. She’d hoped to lie next to him, comforted by his arms around her, his face close to hers, but he grumbled when she started to get on the bed. Instead she sat in a chair with her hand on his knee and tried to get him to talk. When she told him what she’d been doing all day he got angry. Didn’t she know the danger she was putting herself in? Apart from the fact she and Angus were breaking the law by lying to these people? Wondering for a second whether he was jealous because of who she was with, or simply angry over what she’d done, she’d said she had to do
something
, she couldn’t simply sit around. Then he’d gone all defensive, saying he was doing the best he could but he was injured. She’d felt like shouting about her own needs, her own loneliness and grief, but in the end she’d pecked him on the cheek and left. Now all she wanted was to sink into a hot bath and think of ways to look at more children.

The tow-truck driver let her out at the end of her driveway and she walked to the house with her head down, the kit slung over her shoulder, the ambulance shirt rolled up in the plastic bag in her hand. Sounds of children playing came from the houses nearby but she didn’t want to look up and see the parents, didn’t want to listen to their sympathy, didn’t want to go through what the police thought and where they were up to with the case. The answering machine in the house would be full of the same queries, no doubt many from Cynthia and her other friends from the antenatal group, but she wouldn’t call anyone back. She just couldn’t face anyone now. She needed to be alone and think.

The doorstep was empty and she paused. That morning it had been full of flowers and soft toys, and she’d left it that way. Now the step was clear and there was a pale blue ribbon tied to the door handle.

Next second the door opened and Gloria pulled her into a hug. The house was bright and smelled of cooking. ‘Where have you been?’

Sophie stepped inside. The living room was full of the flowers and soft toys from the step, and cards hung on a string across the wall. Fergus Patrick smiled uneasily from an armchair, a photo album open on his lap. A radio played softly somewhere. Rage swelled up inside Sophie’s chest and she turned on Gloria. ‘What have you done?’

‘Just tidied up a little,’ Gloria said. ‘Did you see the ribbon? It was Cynthia’s idea. They’re even talking about it on the news. And Mr Patrick is looking for another picture of Lachlan, to print on the posters.’

Patrick cleared his throat. ‘I might use this one, if that’s okay with you?’ He held up a recent picture of Lachlan sitting outside on a rug in the sun. Sophie remembered taking it, how she’d made silly faces to get him to smile, the sound of his laughter.

She pulled away from Gloria and ran upstairs. There were vacuum marks on the carpet. Her and Chris’s room was neat, all the clothes gone from the floor, the bed made with fresh sheets. Lachlan’s room smelled of Mr Sheen and his toys were lined up tidily on his dresser.

‘Don’t you think it looks better?’ Gloria said behind her.

Sophie bit down hard on a scream. How could she explain her need to keep everything exactly as it had been the night Lachlan was taken? That freezing time in this little world when time outside marched on made her feel more able to bring him home?

‘The milk was off, in the fridge,’ Gloria said. Sophie whirled to face her. ‘I mean, things needed doing,’ Gloria added lamely.

Sophie said, ‘I’m having a bath.’ She went into the bathroom and slammed the door.

‘Dinner will be about half an hour,’ Gloria said through the crack.

‘I’m not hungry.’

‘You need to eat.’

‘I am not hungry.’

Sophie ran the bath deep and hot. She poured in some of Lachlan’s baby wash then sank into the water, breathing in his smell, her tears mingling with the bathwater.

The ringing of her mobile made her sit up, and she grabbed it from her pile of clothes on the floor.

‘It’s me,’ Angus said. ‘I’ve found out some stuff about Sawyer but I don’t know if you’ll want to hear it.’

‘Tell me,’ she said, her voice cracking.

‘They’ve got surveillance on him and they only do that when they’re pretty sure about a suspect.’

Sophie closed her eyes.

‘But they’re not positive that he went to the river to, um… You know.’

Sophie knew. ‘So what do they think happened?’

‘They think he may have dropped him off somewhere. Given him to someone.’

‘Like to a friend?’

Angus hesitated. ‘Like the baby black market.’

‘I thought there was no such thing.’ Her head was spinning, from the hot water or the news or both.

‘That’s what people like to think,’ he said.

‘So why don’t they haul him in and hammer him to find out?’

‘He won’t speak to them any more and he’s got one hell of a bulldog for a lawyer,’ Angus said.

There seemed to be steam in her mind as well as in the room. ‘And they’re letting that stop them?’

‘There are rules about what they can do.’

‘He’s my baby,’ she said.

‘I know it, and they know it. They’re doing as much as they can but there are legal lines they can’t cross.’

‘Why hasn’t Ella told me these things?’

‘They worry about letting out information, firstly in case the wrong person hears about the progress of the case, and secondly in case people take it on themselves to act.’

Sophie rubbed her face with a wet hand.

‘I only found out because I’ve got friends in there and they know I can be trusted.’

‘But you can’t. You just told me everything,’ Sophie said.

‘But I know that you can,’ he said. ‘If you ask Ella about this she’ll deny it, you understand. But she’ll know someone leaked information, and that could mean trouble.’

When he’d hung up she dropped the phone back onto her pile of clothes and sank into the water. All her life she’d trusted and believed in the police, and this had only increased when she’d become a paramedic and worked so closely with them, then married one. If they thought Sawyer was the one, then he must be.

It’s my fault.

Nausea struck her and she leapt out of the bath to stand dripping over the toilet, retching up bile.

She should’ve done more, she should’ve worked harder at saving Sawyer’s wife and child. She should’ve shown more compassion. If he’d seen her holding back tears at the scene maybe he would’ve known how much she wished for them to be okay. She shouldn’t have hidden outside at the hospital but gone to see him, talk to him, show him the effect it had had on her.

There was a tap at the door. ‘Are you okay?’

‘Leave me alone.’ Sophie glared into the toilet. She was furious with herself. She was furious with Gloria for coming in and changing the house. She was also furious with Ella for not telling her everything – what did the detective think she would do, kidnap Sawyer and torture the truth out of him herself?

9 pm

Music thumped from the monstrosity that was the Red Pheasant. Dennis looked in at the crush of people. ‘This is not going to be easy.’

They had no choice. Van Pelt refused to meet with them unless Sawyer was under arrest. Not tonight, not tomorrow, the day of the funerals. Maybe the next day. Maybe.

Inside the pub the noise was deafening. A DJ bounced on a small stage at one end, and red and green lights flashed fast enough to give you seizures. Ella spotted Farouk, the barman they’d spoken to at home earlier in the evening. Neither he nor the other two staff had recognised the people in the photo.