The Missing (36 page)

Something else was bothering me.

‘What is it?’ he said, without looking at me, as if I had spoken.

‘Did you have to say that in there?’

‘Say what?’

‘About Paul waking up for food. If he heard you, do you have any idea how hurt he would be?’

‘Christ, I didn’t mean – I wasn’t even talking about Paul.’ Blake sighed. ‘Every two hours the catering staff come around with the trolley. They practically batter the fucking door down with it. It sounds like the end of the world, and if he could sleep through that I’d be very surprised.’

‘Oh,’ I said, in a small voice, and couldn’t think of another thing to say until we had queued up for polystyrene cups filled with steaming liquid. Blake had something greyish that purported to be tea, while I had opted for coffee. It moved like tar and I hoped it was as strong as it looked. He led the way to a table that was far enough away from the other users of the canteen to allow us a little privacy. We were in the original hospital building and the room was cavernous, Victorian architecture at its most lugubrious. The walls were white-painted brick, reinforced with arches that contained heavy cast-iron radiators on full blast in spite of the mild weather. Half-moon windows ran around the top of the room just above ground level, and let in a paltry amount of natural light. All of the lighting at that time of the evening was artificial,
however
, and the canteen was bathed in the harsh glare of energy-efficient bulbs in great glass shades. Small round laminated tables and stackable plastic chairs filled the room, looking flimsy against the heavy-duty background of Victorian engineering competence. The canteen wasn’t busy – just a few tables were occupied, some with staff, some with dressing-gowned patients sitting with their families or on their own. The hot food had looked villainous when we walked past the counter, belching steam under heat lamps, and I could hardly believe that it was worth the effort to get out of bed and come to the canteen for dinner.

Across the table, Blake stirred his tea with intense concentration, ignoring me. Maybe Vickers hadn’t sent him to make sure I didn’t escape. Maybe he had really thought his subordinate needed a break. The unforgiving lights gave a bleak, greyish cast to Blake’s skin. He looked exhausted.

‘Are you OK?’ I asked, suddenly needing to know.

‘I’m all right. Tired.’

‘At least you’re getting somewhere.’

He winced. ‘When we aren’t arresting people who have nothing to do with the case.’

‘Seriously, forget about it. I’ll get over it.’

He took a sip of tea and his face contorted. ‘Jesus. How’s the coffee?’

‘Hot,’ I said, watching the steam curl up from the cup in front of me. I couldn’t stop thinking about something that Grange had said to me. ‘Andy – there was one thing I wanted to know. They said – they said that the team was suspicious of me from the start.’

He shifted in his chair. ‘That’s just routine, Sarah.’

‘Is it? Because I was thinking … when you came and took me out to lunch, that was part of it, wasn’t it? You were trying to find out more about me. Vickers probably sent you, didn’t he?’

Blake had the grace to look embarrassed. ‘It wasn’t the worst job I’ve been told to do, believe me.’

I had really tried, over the previous few days, not to assume anything about Andrew Blake. I had been careful to have no expectations. I certainly hadn’t imagined a future for us. But it wasn’t until that moment that I knew for certain that nothing was ever going to happen between us. I managed a brittle laugh. ‘I thought you liked me.’

‘I did – I do. Look, Sarah, everything that’s happened since then has nothing to do with the job. I met you – what, six days ago? And in the beginning, my only interest was in finding out more about you. But then, things changed.’ He leaned across the table. ‘You seem to think I don’t care about what happened between us, but I could lose my job if that came out. It was risky, Sarah, and stupid, and I don’t regret it for a second.’

And the risk was probably part of the thrill
, I thought miserably. ‘It must happen to you a lot – women throwing themselves at you.’

‘Because I’m such a catch,’ Blake said, his voice laden with sarcasm. ‘Look, it does happen now and then – of course it does.’

I thought of the policewoman at the station glaring at me, of Valerie Wade’s frantic determination to keep me and Blake apart, and I reckoned it happened more than occasionally.

‘It doesn’t mean I act on it,’ Blake went on. ‘I never do, if it’s connected with work. Until you came along.’

‘How flattering,’ I said thinly, defences still up. ‘But you still arrested me. You didn’t even question me yourself.’ The hurt rang through my voice in spite of my best efforts to suppress it.

‘Routine,’ Blake said quickly. ‘Don’t believe what you see on TV – it’s never the investigating officers that do it. Grange and Cooper are trained for it. They’re good at what they do.’

‘I believe you.’ I hadn’t exactly appreciated their techniques, all the same.

‘Sarah, I did know you weren’t involved, even if you don’t believe me.’

‘What if I had been? Like you said, you don’t know me. What if they’d proved that I was part of it? Would you have cared then?’

‘Well – probably not.’ He sat back and shrugged. ‘If you commit a crime like that, you’ve got to take what’s coming to you. Once you step over the line, that’s it.’

‘And there’s no way back?’

‘Not as far as I’m concerned. That’s why I do this job – because there are some people who don’t belong in society. The way they choose to live hurts other people, and my job is to stop them. Simple as that.’

‘What about Paul?’

‘What about him?’

‘He’s just a kid. He’s probably been coerced into taking part in all of this. I’m not really comfortable with asking him questions about it. I don’t want to be the one to trick
him
into implicating himself. I mean, what’s going to happen to him?’

‘It’s up to the courts to decide, not you.’ Blake looked at me and frowned. ‘You have to appreciate that he’s done something very bad indeed, Sarah. He’s committed a serious crime, and whatever the circumstances, he deserves to be punished. Criminals – no matter who they are – have to take responsibility for what they’ve done. It kills me when you get them to court, the things they come out with. It’s never their fault. They always have some excuse, even when they’re pleading guilty. But there’s no excuse for something like this. He’s old enough to know the difference between right and wrong, and if there are extenuating circumstances, the courts will take them into account.’

‘It’s all black and white, isn’t it?’

‘As far as I’m concerned, yes.’ All business again, he pulled a folded sheet of paper out of the back pocket of his jeans. ‘I’ve got this for you – it’s a list of questions we’d like you to ask him. There are a few things we really need to know before we talk to his brother.’

‘If you catch him.’

‘We’ll catch him.’ He sounded very sure of himself. But then, they had seemed very confident when they arrested me. I found myself wondering if Vickers and his team really knew what they were doing.

‘Have a read through that,’ Blake said, nodding at the paper. It was lying in front of me, still folded over. ‘It’s just to give you somewhere to start. You don’t have to stick to those exact questions in that order, but try to make sure you get the answers we need.’

‘I’ll do my best,’ I said, suddenly nervous on my own account. He noticed and smiled.

‘You’ll do OK. Just take your time and try not to get flustered. We’ll be there, but we won’t interrupt unless you’re really in difficulties.’

‘It’s just a conversation.’

‘You’d be surprised how easy it is to forget the most important questions when you’re in there,’ Blake warned. ‘It all seems pretty easy, sitting here, but when you’re listening to the answers and asking follow-up questions, you can get sidetracked and never get back on course.’

‘I understand.’

‘Here.’ He handed me a pen. ‘You can make some notes if you need to.’

I pulled the cap off the pen and unfolded the paper. The list was shorter than I’d expected. How Paul knew Jenny. How they got the idea to abuse her. Who came up with the plan. How Paul was involved. Why he didn’t do anything to stop it.

‘I don’t think it’s fair to ask him that,’ I said, pointing to the last question. ‘He’s just a kid, and he’s totally dependent on his brother. What would you expect him to do? Call the police?’

Blake sighed. ‘Look, if he tells you he was too scared to say anything, or that he was threatened, that could help him. You’re right, he probably didn’t have any choice but to help, but we need to know that before we talk to his brother.’

‘All right.’

‘If you get the chance, we also want to know how they
convinced
Jennifer to go along with it and keep it a secret. Did they threaten her? Bribe her with presents? We didn’t find anything out of the ordinary when we searched the Shepherds’ house – no electronics that the parents hadn’t bought themselves, no jewellery. She tested negative for drugs, too.’ I must have looked surprised, because Blake explained, ‘Get them hooked on drugs and they’ll do pretty much anything for a fix.’

In spite of the stuffy atmosphere in the canteen, I shivered. ‘Maybe they used something you didn’t test for.’

‘Unlikely,’ Blake said shortly. ‘Anyway, there had to have been something that kept her coming back and kept her quiet. We need to know what it was.’ He stirred his tea. ‘We also want you to ask about the other abusers – we need to ID them as soon as possible, and so far we haven’t found anyone who recognises them. The computer experts are trying to undo the pixellation on their faces. In the meantime, we’re circulating some of the non-sexual images that feature them, to see if any coppers in other stations spot a familiar tattoo or birthmark, but there isn’t much to go on.’

I nodded. That was something I didn’t feel any reluctance about. The men who’d abused Jenny deserved everything they got.

Blake must have read something in my face, because he reached across the table and touched the back of my hand. ‘Hey – don’t get too caught up in all this. I know it’s hard.’

‘I’m fine,’ I said, and tried to mean it.

‘Yeah, well, you might think that. But we’ve got you
doing
something that you’re not trained to do, and it’s a big responsibility. I told the boss I thought this was a bad idea.’

‘Why? Don’t you think I’m capable of asking a few questions?’

He shook his head. ‘It’s dealing with the answers that might cause you problems, Sarah. You’ve got to be prepared to hear some unpleasant things.’

‘I’ve seen and heard quite a bit today, thanks,’ I said levelly, thinking without wanting to of the glossy photographs that Grange had taken such pleasure in showing me.

‘Yeah, but you haven’t had to keep your composure. You haven’t had to pace the questions. You haven’t done an interview that didn’t go anywhere.’ He leaned back in the chair and stretched. ‘I know you think you’re going to go in there and he’s going to tell you everything that happened, up to and including how his brother killed Jennifer Shepherd, but I’ve got to tell you, more than likely you’ll get nothing from this. He has no real reason to trust you. He’s got a hell of a lot to lose if he’s honest with you. You aren’t exactly intimidating – and there’s no point in looking at me like that; I’m not quaking in my boots over here. Don’t take it personally. You just might not hear what you’re expecting to hear.’

I knew he was right, but it was still irritating to be told that I was going to fail. ‘Should we get back?’

Blake checked his watch. ‘Yeah. Finish your coffee.’

I eyed the half-cup I had left. Now that it had gone cold, it was even less appetising than it had been when
freshly
brewed, if that was the word for what they’d done to it. ‘No thanks.’

‘I don’t blame you.’

We didn’t talk on the way back. When the lift arrived on the fourth floor, Blake strode back to the paediatric wing while I wandered along behind him, reading through the questions, feeling the tingle of nerves down my spine and in my fingertips. The words seemed to dance on the page and I found myself slowing down, dragging my feet. Outside the door to Paul’s room, I ground to a halt, trying to pace my breathing. Blake looked around.

‘Come on. Sooner you go in, the sooner it’ll be over.’

‘I’m just … preparing.’

‘Get in there,’ he said gently, and pushed the door open. I took one more deep breath, as if I was diving into deep water, and went in.

My father is late. Very late. I lie in bed and cuddle my toy pig, frowning at the clock on my bedside table. It’s nearly eleven o’clock and he hasn’t called. It’s not like him to be so late. Every time a car drives past our house, which isn’t often, I get up and look to see if it’s him. I don’t know why I care. Every two weeks, he comes, and every two weeks it’s exactly the same. He drives from Bristol on Friday night and comes to the house to say hello to me. He waits outside in his car, because Mum won’t let him come in. He spends that night and the Saturday night in a Travelodge, and on the Saturday we go out together and do something that’s supposed to be fun, like a walk in the country, or a trip to a stately home or safari park – something boring, something I would never choose to do if it wasn’t for Dad.

He shows me pictures of the flat in Bristol, of the room that he says is for me, and the
cupboard
I can fill with clothes. I’ve never been there. Mum won’t let me go. So Dad comes every two weeks instead, with this look on his face like a pleading dog, like he knows it’s not enough but he hopes I don’t mind.

I mind. And I’m old enough now to show it.

Lately, I’ve been wondering if I should tell him not to bother coming every two weeks – once a month would be enough for me. But I know it means a lot to him.

Or does it? I lie on my back and look at the shapes the trees make on the bedroom ceiling. I’ll have to draw the curtains before I can go to sleep. He isn’t coming. Maybe he’s fed up with driving all that way for two nights in a shitty hotel, even though this is supposed to be my birthday weekend. Maybe he just doesn’t care about me any more.