The Deal (14 page)

Amanda melted inside. She felt an almost adolescent excitement in the pit of her stomach. Here was she, a twenty-eight year old business woman, acting like a schoolgirl because she had just received a text message from a boyfriend. This was the stuff of Mills and Boon. This was crazy. What was she lacking in her life? She needed time to recover from her decision to part with Zach. They had been soulmates. Nearly. But it was the right move and now Oliver had been on the scene for, what, days, perhaps a few weeks. They were physically attracted but there were literally dozens of men in her gym to whom she was physically attracted. And she noticed the stares and the looks – she was only too aware of what her body offered. They were there for the picking.

And here she was refusing the advances of this handsome, lovely man. She was making him wait because she knew that the successful fund-raising for City Fiction would transform her brother’s life. But she also realised that the demand she was making of Oliver wasn’t going to make the slightest difference to the professional approach he would be taking to his work. He would succeed in his task regardless.

So why had she thought up this silly condition? She was now the one who was suffering. She wanted him more than she’d wanted anything ever. She shuddered as, once more, she remembered the feel of his fingers on her body and the smell and taste of their embrace. She remembered the final time that she and Zach had been together. It had been passionate and they had been close – but he was nothing like this new man. She realised that just holding hands with Oliver was different. She had been a jigsaw piece in Zach’s life; Oliver approached her as though he wanted full ownership. Even when he looked at her she felt her juices flow. He was not promiscuous. He was never crude. He didn’t waste time with schoolboy suggestions. He was just… something else. He was also stupidly sexy. The way his buttocks filled his trousers… she allowed her imagination to run riot.

She’d often mused over her sexual experience. She knew how to pleasure the man – and about one in three men knew how to pleasure her. One guy she’d been with from her gym had been entirely clueless at the outset but, three sessions later, he knew enough to show Amanda a pretty good evening. From the changing room gossip, she later heard that he’d put her tuition to good use.

Amanda never understood why men were often so selfish in bed. She understood the male libido and knew how to keep the pace; it was their lack of consideration that baffled her. Why not please her and allow her to approach satisfaction in an adult way. Did they not realise her response would be so much more dynamic? Several years earlier she had kept a log over a twelve month period. She’d had four boyfriends, all athletes. Their average time in completing matters was eleven and-a-half minutes. What a waste. The one who’d finished in less than eight minutes and then tuned straight in to ‘Match of the Day’ disappeared out through the front door, followed by his clothes.

She was broken from her reverie when her flight was called and she was instructed to proceed to her departure gate.

She picked up her mobile phone and surprised herself with the text she sent to Oliver.

“Willing to re-open negotiations on deal. Affectionately. A xx”

Her departure instructions were called for the final time. As she picked up her bag she saw the red flashing light on her mobile. She pressed the ‘receive’ button.

“Thank God. Travel safely. O x.”

As the plane took off and climbed rapidly into the skies before turning starboard towards the French coast, she settled back into her seat. She felt the hand of the stewardess on her sleeve, opened her eyes and ordered a glass of wine, which she drank quickly. She thought guiltily that it was a little early in the day for alcohol but she needed to calm down. She had been disappointed when Oliver hadn’t responded the evening before and the renewed contact had sent butterflies fluttering around her stomach. She pictured herself with him. They seemed to fit so well. She was three inches shorter than he was and when he put his arm around her it was a perfect match.

She had decided not to fight her desire any more. When she returned to London, she would allow Oliver whatever licence he wanted.

Lucy wasn’t to know that at five o’clock in the morning Charles had ordered the police officers back to their car and was now sitting at the kitchen table with a bottle of scotch and an empty glass. He could not bring himself to look at the photograph Lucy had given him. Tabitha was missing. She might be tied up somewhere. She could be in pain. Was she being abused?

He began to wonder whether he should have a drink. It would help him cope with the stress. It might enable him to be more assertive. He needed to lead the hunt for Tabitha. She was his daughter and he would find her. He picked up the bottle and unscrewed the top. It hovered over the glass as his hand shook. He put the bottle back on the table with a clang. He then stood up and sluiced cold water over his face at the kitchen sink, before retreating back to the table. He stared at the alcoholic drink in front of him. He leant over and pushed it away from him. He sat still for the next few minutes.

He made a decision. He stood up and put the scotch bottle back in the cupboard and filled the glass with water. He told himself that he was not fighting drink. He was making a choice how he wanted his life to proceed. Lucy appeared in her dressing gown.

“No news,” he said.

She made a pot of tea and took two mugs out to the policemen. They thanked her and resisted the temptation of saying something to make her feel better. They could see the despair on her face.

It was a wonderfully clear June morning and the birdsong was beautiful. Why did everything sound so normal when she was in so much pain? She shook her head and returned indoors.

“I’m going back to the school,” said Charles. “They’ve lost our daughter. She’s in Ealing. I’m certain of it.”

“We have to stay here, Charles. That’s what DCI Rudd said. We must work with the police. We’ll start phoning at eight o’clock. There are several families I want to try to catch before they leave for school.”

“Have you thought about our parents?” asked Charles. “Your father?”

“I’ll phone later,” said Lucy. “He’ll probably call out the SAS.”

“Oh my god. Where is she, Lucy?” asked Charles, his voice cracked and his forehead creased in agony.

“She’s alive, Charles. She may be lost. Perhaps she’s in a shed somewhere. She may be with someone else. The police have a good record with missing children. I liked Sarah Rudd. We have to put our faith in her.”

Scarlett and Lily came into the kitchen wearing their pyjamas. They sat down with their mother. Lucy gathered them around her and asked Charles to sit closer. She talked the girls through what had happened. She told them about the police officers sitting in their car outside the house. She explained why more policemen would be coming to the house during the day.

“But what will Tabitha have for breakfast?” asked Lily.

Sara had woken early. Her eyes were still red from crying all night. Sara did not often shed tears. The last occasion that she could remember was during an Easter visit to Bristol to see her mother. She had discovered two bed sores on her mother’s legs and could not interest the staff in her condition. She had allowed her emotions to spill over due to the utter hopelessness of the situation.

It was her and Alex’s first row and it had started so suddenly. They had been arguing more frequently and so the dispute over the selection of the television programme was, in itself, not too worrying. The problems arose when several of the comments became rather too personal.

Sara had been reluctant to raise the issue of certain habits now taking place in the bathroom. Each was minor in its impact but together they were triggering a growing volatility between the two of them. Last night the underlying tensions had re-surfaced.

It had started with the rota for the washing-up. This was meticulously maintained by Sara, but she was finding that Alex was increasingly ignoring it. Initially she accepted the situation but on one evening, when she was particularly tired, her anger took over and she vented her frustrations, loudly. Matters were made worse when Alex totally ignored her anger.

Underlying everything was their deep affection for each other. They had been together for over a year after meeting at a social evening held in Portcullis House. They found that they had a similar sense of humour and they laughed together at the antics of the MPs. And a few months ago, almost without discussion, they had decided their occasional liaisons were developing into something more and that they should move in together. The lease for the flat was in Sara’s name but they paid half the rent, rates and utility costs each.

Sara was not certain where these tensions had come from. She knew she had become more assertive since resigning from her job and becoming self-employed and she had felt empowered when she secured the job at Harriman Agnew. She had not changed in herself. Nor, she admitted to herself, had Alex.

She so wanted their relationship to continue.

Sarah Rudd and Daniel Obuma met with the chief superintendent at nine o’clock at Ealing police station.

“So, ma’am,” concluded DCI Rudd. “That’s all we have.”

“Superintendent Obuma?” asked the senior officer.

“It doesn’t feel like an abduction, but it must be. The obvious point is that we know that nearly every recorded child snatch has been carefully planned. Of course there is the occasional desperate woman who takes a child from a pram but that’s usually a cry for help. We have over sixty-seven registered sex offenders within a five mile radius. We visited some of them last night and the team is out there now.”

“It’s kidnapping whether it’s a childless woman or not,” said the chief superintendent.

“Absolutely. I’m into motivation. There’s no way that the driver of the green car could have predicted that Tabitha would have been on the street at that time. According to Mr Masters, the car pulled up quite sharply.”

“So?”

“There are three clear possibilities. Masters is telling the truth and Tabitha has been abducted. Somehow this green car, despite our CCTV checks and searches, has been driven away with Tabitha inside. If so, we have a huge problem. Secondly, Masters is lying and he has her. Thirdly, Masters is a fantasist and she’s lost somewhere else in Ealing. She might’ve been snatched off the street but we know that at four o’clock in the afternoon somebody would have seen her.”

“I think it’s far too early to arrive at any conclusion. DCI Rudd?”

“Children are capable of amazing things. Tabitha is bright. She might have wandered off… but it’s hard to think where. The water authorities are helping us with the sewers and the local authority is checking its depots.”

“The school?”

“We went in again at seven o’clock. The caretaker agreed to give us access and the head teacher met us there. They were both more than helpful. Brewer showed us Tabitha’s classroom and one of the dogs picked out her desk. She’s not there.”

“Have we received the report on this Nigel Brewer?”

“He’s clean. Good war record. He’s been with the school for five years. Passed every check.”

“Married?”

“His wife lives in Spain most of the time. They have a flat there.”

“So what happened with the Masters this morning?”

“We had some trouble with Mrs Masters. We went in at eight o’clock. Her husband was already at the Cash and Carry. She told us he hadn’t been able to get everything he wanted the previous evening. We then visited the Cash and Carry and they were able not only to identify him but also give us a copy of his till receipt.”

“You’ve searched the premises again?”

“Top to bottom. We used fresh dogs. Tabitha is not there.”

“What’s at the back of the house?”

“There’s a closed yard with just about enough space to park a van.”

“You’ve checked every building?”

“We’re working out there today along the parade.”

The chief superintendent picked up her coffee cup and realised that her drink had gone cold. She picked up the telephone and ordered a fresh pot.

“Superintendent Obuma,” she said, “please take me through your procedures.”

“Of course. We’ll have officers on the streets with a picture of Tabitha all day. We’ll re-visit the school and the Masters’ premises. We’re working with the authorities checking empty buildings, drains and so on. We’ll be visiting all local schools later this morning. We’re in discussion with the individual head teachers, since we need their permission in every case. CID are out checking with their informers to see if there’s news on the street.” He paused and drank some water.

“However, our main focus is on the sex offenders. Of the sixty-seven we have on the register we saw five last night. We started again at six o’clock this morning and reports are coming in all the time. Nothing so far.”

He then told the chief superintendent that DCI Rudd had visited the family.

“I went last night,” Sarah said. “We’ve had officers there the whole time. We’ve searched the house and grounds. The family liaison team are there too. Lucy Harriman is dealing with things as well as can be expected. We’re preparing them for TV and radio interviews and appeals so they’ll be busy today. Her husband seems much less sure of himself. We’re watching him.”

The chief superintendent looked sharply at her two officers.

“We must find her in the next twenty-four hours.”

As they were leaving her office, the chief superintendent called DCI Rudd back and told her to sit down.

“Tell me about the parents.”

“Mrs Harriman, Lucy, is a doctor. She was in a bad way when I first met her in Ealing but later, back at the house, she had obviously taken control. She was conscious of the effect on the other two girls.”

“And Mr Harriman?”

“Much more difficult to assess. He was edgy the whole time I was there. He seemed like he was searching for something.”

“Have you ruled him out of any involvement?”

“Yes I have. It’s not him.”