Ready or Not (22 page)

             
‘Pass me the torch,’ Kate said to her impatiently.

             
She climbed the ladder and shone the light into the cramped attic space.

             
‘Christ,’ she said to the uniform who followed closely behind her, ‘it stinks up here.’

             
There was a tiny lamp in the corner of the room. It looked like a baby’s nightlight. The bulb was weak and gave out little illumination, but with that and the help of the torch Kate was able to make out boxes of junk in one corner and a pile of sleeping bags, old blankets and camping equipment in the other. She shone the torch into the space where a sleeping bag lay. A blonde haired doll lay abandoned on the floor, its dress filthy and torn. Next to it on a tin tray were a half full glass of water and a plate of untouched sandwiches that were growing a fur coat.

             
‘Stacey?’ she said.

             
There was a rustling in the corner; Kate flashed the light across the room to try to catch its source.

             
She thought she saw the pile of sleeping bags move. Kate pulled herself further into the attic, her hands leaving prints in the dust and dirt.

             
‘Stacey,’ she repeated, softly. ‘My name’s Kate. Will you come and talk to me? You can come out now. You don’t have to hide anymore.’

             
It was a moment before the top sleeping bag was pushed aside slightly and another moment before a little face looked out at Kate from behind it. Stacey bore little resemblance to the photograph pinned on Kate’s office wall. She was malnourished and skinny; her cheek bones prominent and her skin sallow. Her fringe had grown out, her hair straggling in her face. Gone was the little girl who looked like a happy, wonky-haired child on a sepia photograph. Instead, the child was now grey in the flesh, as though all the colour and fun that had once defined her had been leeched away.

             
‘You can trust me,’ Kate reassured her, edging further into the dark attic space. ‘No one’s going to hurt you anymore. Will you come with me?’

             
She waited. The officers behind her stayed quiet, not wanting to scare Stacey any further. The little girl looked terrified.

             
Kate felt her heart surge and the composure she had fought to maintain downstairs came crumbling around her. She took a deep breath and shook herself, willing herself to stay strong for the little girl who needed her.

             
‘We can get you cleaned up and get you something nice to eat, what do you think, Stacey? Anything you want, my treat.’

             
Stacey slowly pushed the sleeping bag off her. She was wearing a filthy pair of jeans and a stained t-shirt and her hair was matted and stuck against her scalp like a cap. She looked as though she hadn’t been allowed to wash in all the time she had been missing.

             
‘Ice cream?’ a little voice asked quietly.

             
Kate laughed and put the torch down. ‘As much as you can eat,’ she promised.

             
The tiny child smiled weakly then ran tiredly into Kate’s arms, shaking and sobbing. Kate held her close, breathed a sigh of relief and thanked a god she didn’t believe in for bringing Stacey back safely.

             
Eight weeks, thought Kate. Eight weeks spent in this frightening attic. She hoped Dean Williams had already been taken to the station. God only knew what she’d do to him if she got to him first.

Thirty
             

Matthew had already started heading back to the car when Chris turned a left around the main building of the school and began making his way to one of the pupil entrances at the side. Matthew hurried to catch up with him.             

             
‘Where are you going?’

             
‘English Department.’

             
They entered the building at the foot of a stairwell and headed through the double doors in front of them. The corridor smelled of disinfectant, though the place was a mess: empty crisp packets and plastic bottles thrown around the floor and a pool of lemonade still fizzing like acid in a corner under the stairs. On the far wall was a sign that told them they were in the Science block. Chris turned and made his way back outside.

             
‘Opposite side of the school,’ Chris explained to Matthew, who followed behind.

             
‘How do you know?’

             
Chris shrugged. ‘It’s the unwritten rule. English and Science are always opposite corners of the school.’ He tapped his forehead. ‘It comes under the heading of useless information. I’m very handy to have in pub quizzes.’

             
They made their way around the back of the main building. Between the sports hall and what smelt like the cookery classes - ‘Home Economics,’ Matthew corrected Chris, reminding him of his age - a group of boys hung around smoking; caught off guard by the sudden arrival of the unknown men.

             
‘Shouldn’t you be in class, boys?’ Chris said. He leaned a hand on the wall and did his best to look imposing. It wasn’t great, but he did a much better job of it than Matthew.

             
The tallest, skinniest of the three looked him up and down. ‘Says who?’ he replied cockily.

             
Matthew whipped out his ID and thrust it under the boy’s acne pitted nose. The boy grimaced slightly before looking him up and down cockily. ‘Yeah,’ he said, throwing his shoulders back. ‘And?’

             
‘How about we take them back to the station with us?’ Matthew asked Chris, keeping an eye on the ring leader and the acne that flared red with the boy’s frustration.             

             
Chris smiled knowingly. ‘Air freshener in the car’s run out,’ he said. ‘Don’t fancy having to spend the rest of the day in a car that smells of teenagers, do you?’

             
Matthew shook his head slowly, keeping a straight face. ‘Good point.’

             
‘Phone call home will probably do the trick,’ Chris finished.

             
The ring leader shrugged nonchalantly, but one of the other boys quickly dropped his cigarette and stubbed it out beneath his trainer. The three of them made their way past Matthew and Chris, the tallest muttering ‘wankers’ as he passed.

             
Matthew smiled with satisfaction, watching the boys as they made their way back to class. ‘Cruel, but fun.’

             
Chris shook his head. ‘How long do you give it before that lanky one ends up in some young offenders somewhere? Would you have spoken to a policeman like that when you were their age?’

             
‘Nah,’ Matthew said. ‘I’d have avoided ever speaking to the police.’

*

As Chris had predicted, the English department was at the opposite end of the school, parallel with the Art block. Four classrooms lined the corridor and at the far end there was a library. Chris walked past each classroom in turn, looking through the glass door of each. There were classes in three of the four rooms; the fourth was empty and locked. He stopped at the double doors of the library. Inside, a handful of sixth formers sat at a row of computers at the far end of the wall. Not one person was looking at an actual book and, from what Chris could make out, there didn’t appear to be many. Research had obviously changed beyond recognition since he’d left school.

             
‘What are you looking for?’ Matthew asked, as Chris came back down the corridor. He peered over Chris’ shoulder to take a look into one of the classrooms. A ginger-haired boy who was sitting at the back of the room and looking bored stared back at him questioningly.

             
‘The oldest teacher,’ Chris told him. ‘Chances are he or she will have been working here when Sarah was.’

             
He stopped outside the third classroom and knocked at the door. A moment later it was opened by a short woman in her early to mid fifties who had pale skin and heavy frown lines across her forehead.

             
‘Can I help you?’ she asked quickly, looking Chris up and down.

             
In the classroom behind her the noise level doubled instantaneously and she turned back to the group and told them to settle down. It had little effect.

             
‘I’m sorry,’ she said, her voice flustered, ‘this isn’t a good moment. 9B,’ she explained, nodding back at the class. ‘I can’t turn my back for a minute.’

             
Chris reached into his jacket for his ID. As he showed it to her, the attention of some of the front row was attracted and a few of the children got out of their seats, trying to eavesdrop.

             
‘DCI Chris Jones, Mrs…’

             
‘Barker.’

             
‘We’re sorry to interrupt you during the middle of a lesson, Mrs Barker, but we need some information on a woman you may once have worked with. Sarah Davies?’

             
At the mention of the name Mrs Barker’s face paled further. She cleared her throat uneasily.

             
‘Are you pigs?’ The ginger boy from the back of the class looked over Mrs Barker’s shoulder – already a good six inches taller than his teacher – and eyed Matthew suspiciously. ‘My dad reckons you can smell a pig a mile off.’

             
‘Josh!’ Mrs Barker snapped, turning to the boy, who laughed and threw a pencil at one of the girls sitting in the front row. In retaliation, the girl picked up her exercise book and leaned over the desk to slap him across the arm with it.

             
‘Sarah died,’ Mrs Barker said quietly, turning back to them. Half the class were now out of their seats or sitting on the desks, either trying to eavesdrop on the conversation taking place in the doorway or wreak as much havoc as possible in the classroom.

             
‘The lady at reception told us,’ Chris said, narrowing his eyes at Josh, who continued to make a nuisance of himself behind the teacher’s back. The boy caught the look and threw one back. Cocky little shit, Chris thought.

             
‘We need to contact her husband. You don’t remember his name, do you?’

             
Mrs Barker turned suddenly and shouted at the class. This time a couple of the children returned to their seats.

             
‘Neil,’ she said quickly. ‘Now I’m very sorry, but I must get back to my class.’

Thirty One

The station was buzzing with the news that Stacey Reed had been found alive
. She had been taken to the Royal Glamorgan hospital and Dean Williams had been arrested at the scene, where he had quickly implicated his cousin when he’d realised the game was up. Nathan planned it, he said, and had threatened him with violence if he refused to help.

             
The idea that Dean Williams, a broad, bull of a man who clearly spent a lot of time at the gym and over the steroids bottle working on his physique, would be intimidated by his cousin, a lanky, greasy haired weasel of a man, was, to say the least, implausible.  Kate suspected that the two of them had hatched the plan together and they’d made a mockery of the community that had pulled together so generously to find the little girl. But even that needed a stretch of the imagination. The fact that the two of them had been able to formulate any sort of plan between them was more than Kate thought them capable of. 

             
‘So,’ Kate said, sitting in the chair opposite Dean in the interview room. ‘Time to talk.’

             
Dean looked at the duty solicitor who sat beside him. The man nodded, prompting Dean to start talking.

             
‘I don’t have to say nothing,’ he said defiantly, crossing his broad arms across his chest.

             
‘Correct,’ Kate agreed. ‘But you’ve already said too much. You’re up to your neck in it, Mr Williams. Speak…don’t speak…makes no difference to me. You’re not leaving this station either way.’