The Deal (13 page)

The two girls went to bed. They realised something was very wrong but they were tired and, anyway, Mummy always sorted out the problems. Charles and Lucy settled in the lounge to await the arrival of DCI Rudd. The phone rang on several occasions, but in each case it was a parent returning their earlier call.

Charles and Lucy could not look at each other. On several occasions each began to say something, only to stop.

Superintendent Daniel Obuma had grown fond of Sarah Rudd. When she’d first arrived from Paddington Green station he’d wondered if she’d been over-promoted. But she’d slowly gained his confidence.

The tanker had now been removed from the Broadway and the roads and rail transport systems re-opened. The two senior police officers were discussing the missing child.

“Sarah. We have to rule out the Masters. Childless couple. Nobody else saw anything. She’s been abducted. It’s all too obvious.”

“But if it’s the Masters, then where is Tabitha?” asked Sarah. “She’s not on the shop premises. The dog would have found her.”

“Search again,” ordered the superintendent.

“On what grounds?”

“No idea. Send the team in.”

“We’re both tired.”

“I hate missing kids. More than anything else. When we get the bastards, the judge will tell them how naughty they are, read them their human rights and leave us to watch the lives that have been destroyed.”

“We usually find them within twenty-four hours, sir.”

“Well, will you find Tabitha, Sarah?”

“This feels wrong. It feels very wrong to me.”

She thought through the many hours of training which she had received for the event of a missing child. She had been taught to focus on the obvious. She remembered the words of the college officer. “You’re not fucking David Jason or Colombo. You’re a police officer. The fucking child is in the most obvious place. Stop worrying about detective work. The child is nearly always found and it will be where you should have looked for it in the beginning. Fucking got it?”

She had got it and she was going over and over the obvious. It was just that they could not find her.

“How many officers have we got out there?”

“We’ve had over thirty officers out with photographs, sir, on the high street. We’ve completed house to house, or rather shop to shop. We’re searching the whole area. We’ve brought in three dog teams from other divisions.”

“The school?”

“Well, that was quickly eliminated. Because of the risk of an explosion from the traffic accident we visited the premises almost immediately.” She paused. “The caretaker, Nigel Brewer, has been particularly helpful. He approached two of our officers and suggested that the school children occasionally try to hide behind the parade of shops. He offered to help look for Tabitha. He came in earlier this evening. Funny really. He wanted to talk and then admitted that he was a war veteran and gets dizzy spells. He says he saw Tabitha briefly on the pavement.”

“Search the school again,” ordered the senior policeman. “And I assume you’ve checked out this Nigel Brewer?”

“We’re checking, sir, but we’re thin on resources. The petrol tanker incident has literally drained us. I did put a dog team in. We have Tabitha’s DNA. She’s not on the school premises.”

“Have you checked Mr Brewer’s car?”

“We’ve asked him. It’s in the garage for repairs.”

“Check it asap. The family?”

“We have a child protection team at the house. The mother is a doctor. The father works in the City. There are two other daughters.”

“Have you seen them?”

“I met the mother in the high street. I’m going over to see them later.”

“The car. Dark green.”

“That’s all we have. Absolutely nothing else. We’ve checked stolen vehicles. We have some CCTV lower down the high street but we can’t begin checking that until the morning.”

“Why?”

“Lack of staff,” Sarah sighed. “I must have some fresh officers in the morning. We’ve asked the local authority if they have people available.”

“Are you sure you’re paying enough attention to the car?”

“What car? Nobody else has seen a dark green car. The roads were gridlocked and closed. It’s the most unlikely kidnapping I’ve ever known. If it had been abandoned we would have it by now. We’ve had officers on the Broadway for the last eight hours. Nobody else saw a dark green car. We’ll return tomorrow but I suspect it’ll be the same result.”

“So Gerald Masters is lying and he kidnapped Tabitha.”

“That’s too easy. We would have found her by now. They don’t have her.”

“But he’s lying about the car.”

“There was so much happening. He might have seen something. God knows.”

“So what happens now?”

“I’m seeing the chief superintendent in ten minutes, sir, and then I’m off to meet with the parents.”

“And what, Sarah, do you plan to say to them exactly?”

Oliver didn’t really need to read up about Pyotr Ilyich Tchaikovsky. He knew his music quite well. He did, however, listen to the Piano Concerto No 1 in B-flat minor, opus 23, and immediately recognised the piece. It was finished in 1875.

Oliver decided to text Amanda.

“Thanks. Not Tchaikovsky. Wrong piano style. O x”

He was surprised to receive a message back within minutes.

“Call in, if you wish. I have a large CD collection. A x”

He read, and re-read, the text message. He was becoming increasingly puzzled by the mixed signals he was receiving. What was she trying to say?

Amanda was slumped on her settee, wearing a silk kaftan. It was a hot evening. She was watching her mobile, hoping for a response from Oliver, while feeling annoyed at herself for doing so. She’d be leaving for Paris tomorrow morning and would be away for a week.

As the minutes ticked by she wondered whether Oliver would indeed be coming to her flat that evening. She tidied away the papers and plumped up the cushions on her sofa. She wiped the table on her balcony and stroked Jingles for a few minutes, before the cat ran away. She placed two wine glasses in the centre of the glass top table. She breathed deeply and enjoyed the warm evening air. She went back and checked her mobile phone.

Charles and Lucy sat on the sofa in their lounge and pleaded with their eyes.

DCI Rudd had asked the two family liaison officers to remain in the kitchen. She held her cup of tea in her left hand and used her other to emphasise her points.

She was taking Charles and Lucy through the procedures being followed by the police. It was now nearing midnight. The phone rang several times and Lucy, on each occasion, jumped up, only to be disappointed.

Sarah asked to see Tabitha’s bedroom. She picked up her toys and smelt them. She looked at the pictures the child had drawn. The lines were firm and the colours bright and happy. This was an intelligent girl.

She suggested to Charles and Lucy that they go to bed. One of the liaison officers would wake them up if there was any news.

“You must already have some idea where she is,” said Lucy, desperately.

“To assume would be dangerous, Mrs Harriman. We’re investigating every possibility. I’ve explained that we’ve not yet found the car our witness reported. We’ve got officers everywhere looking for it.”

“Surely the CCTV cameras will have picked it up?” asked Charles.

“We received the tapes less than two hours ago. One of the cameras is out of action. The officers will be viewing them in the morning.”

“Why not now?”

“Mr Harriman. I understand that you are upset, but please leave the process to me.”

As Sarah indicated that she was leaving the house, Lucy asked her if she had children of her own.

“I will find Tabitha,” was all the policewoman replied.

Lucy showed her out through the door without another word. When she returned to the lounge Charles was sitting there with an unopened bottle of scotch and a glass on the table in front of him.

“Do you think that will help to find our daughter?” she snapped.

“It would help if we hadn’t lost her,” replied Charles.

Lucy picked the bottle up, put it back in the cabinet and closed the door. She went upstairs and checked Scarlett and Lily. They were sleeping in the same bed with their arms around each other. She went back to the kitchen and wearily showed the two police officers where she kept the tea and coffee.

“If you hear anything, just knock on our bedroom door, please. It’s facing you at the top of the stairs.”

They promised that they would and settled down for the long night ahead. But they could not help hearing the vicious argument taking place in the bedroom above them.

“It’s because I’m fighting alcohol,” hissed Charles. “It’s making you feel and act in a superior way.”

“What!” exclaimed Lucy. “We’re working things out together. I completely understand that you want a drink tonight. Think just what you have achieved by resisting the temptation!”

“Why have you not apologised to me for losing my daughter?” shouted Charles.

She turned and looked at him in total amazement. She shut herself in the bathroom, slamming the door behind her. When she came out ten minutes later she found him sitting on the bed looking forlorn.

“Sorry,” he mouthed.

She wrapped herself around him and whispered in his ear.

“We’ll have her back soon, Charles. Let’s have her back together.”

He was going through a checklist in his mind. She was safe and warm and liked her toy. She wanted her mummy but understood that she must wait until tomorrow. She had drunk her warm milk. She did not like the dark but fell asleep quickly enough, clutching her baby panda bear. He locked the door knowing that she was safe for the night. He had fooled everybody. He laughed as he locked the back door.

Amanda looked at the clock on the wall. She checked her mobile yet again. She propped it up against the wall so that she would hear the bell that signalled a new text message.

She had decided that if he did come she would talk to him. Properly talk to him.

She lay back. She realised she was becoming aroused. This was unusual for Amanda. She had taught herself to masturbate in her teens and had tried a dildo without ever really enjoying it. A brief experiment with Ben Wa balls improved the tone of her pelvic muscles but achieved little else. She went long periods of time, especially during the years of studying, when she did not think too much about sex.

But now she felt herself becoming uncomfortably wet.

Zach had given her real pleasure, but she’d never felt this kind of raw longing. They’d just sort of found a way of making love together.

She grabbed her phone and rushed to the window to check the street outside her flat. She then hurried into the bathroom and stripped off her kaftan and panties, before dousing herself under a hard stream of cold water. After getting out of the shower and putting on a lightweight track suit, Amanda went over to the balcony, took the bottle of wine out of its iced container and poured herself a drink.

She could think of nothing else, only of Oliver. It was now ten o’clock. She glanced down at her mobile, and wondered whether she should send another text. A noise she thought she heard in the hallway sent her rushing to her feet. But when she opened the door, the corridor was empty and the lights on the lift were unlit.

She wondered, if he did come, whether she should go to bed with him. How important was the deal? She knew he wouldn’t force the issue.

Amanda imagined grabbing Oliver’s hand and silently leading him into the bedroom. There would be time for talking afterwards. She refilled her glass and continued sipping the wine.

The mobile phone was within inches of her right hand. She could not take her eyes off it. It was now approaching ten thirty.

Chapter Five

Amanda had checked herself in at Heathrow Airport and was awaiting her flight to Paris. Her first meeting was at lunchtime with the charming Monsieur Claude Chasseur. He would kiss her hand, pour her a glass of wine, tell her how wonderful she was and they would spend the afternoon visiting his five bookshops, which were all within two kilometres of the Arc de Triomphe. He would then take her to dinner and suggest they spend the night together. Amanda had said “oui” once, a year ago, but had declined on her next visit since she and Zach had become an item.

She was feeling rather subdued as she settled into the departure lounge. Oliver hadn’t come to her flat the previous evening and she blamed herself. It had been unlikely after she’d sent such a ludicrous text. “I have a large CD collection,” she repeated to herself, groaning inwardly. She also recalled their conversation on the pavement on Queen Street. She had thrust it down his throat. She’d told him that she was keeping to their deal.

Perhaps being in Paris for a few days would allow things to settle down. She intended to reflect, yet again, on her feelings, and she would meet with him on her return. The City Fiction contract was signed. Harriman Agnew would be raising two million pounds for Alistair and she had complete confidence in its successful outcome. She bought a second cup of coffee and decided against a freshly baked pain au chocolat.

She slumped back into her seat. She just couldn’t get him out of her mind. They were in the gym together… and then her thoughts meandered back to the riverbank. She felt again his fingers as they probed her body. She felt his lips on hers and tasted his mouth.

“No, Amanda, don’t,” she pleaded with herself.

But she did. She took out her mobile phone and texted him.

“You stupid girl,” she agonised, at the same time as she pressed the ‘send’ button.

“Oliver. At Heathrow. Will be in Paris for lunch. Selling books to Claude Chasseur. Missing you. Love. A x.”

“You silly, silly…” she said to herself. After five minutes had passed, while she was checking her ticket and departure time, she received a response.

“In gym. Have beaten treadmill mile record. Thanks for text. Damn the fucking deal and no apologies for language used. Would have preferred to listen to Tchaikovsky with you in my arms. O x.”