The Vanishing Point (15 page)

22

T
he first thing Detective Sergeant Nick Nicolaides did when he got to his car was to make a list. He liked lists. They almost made him believe the world was tractable.

• Talk to Charlie
  
• Track down Pete Matthews
  
• Check whether Megan the Stalker is still under lock and key
  
• Double check Scarlett’s mum and sister are where they should be
  
• Is Leanne still in Spain? Ask Steph about her relationship with Jimmy
  
• Check out Joshu’s family
  

The first item on the list was the one he didn’t want to do from the office. Dr Charlie Flint was a psychiatrist and former offender profiler who had only recently been reinstated after a controversial suspension. The whole process had turned Charlie into a pariah as far as the police were concerned. Which was why he didn’t want to make the call where Broad bent could overhear it. But Nick and Charlie went back a long way. Back when he’d been studying psychology at university and running a lucrative drug-dealing business on the side, Charlie had stepped in and given him a harsh ultimatum. Stop it or she would shop him to the police. Her intervention had saved Nick from his adolescent arrogance and he knew he owed this life he loved to her. ‘It’s not that I liked you,’ she had later told him. ‘I just hated to see a good mind wasted.’

She’d been teasing him, of course. In spite of – or perhaps because of – his complicated past, they’d become friends. Not that he was short of friends. Few of them were cops, but there were plenty of musicians, both professional and amateur. But Charlie was the only person in his circle these days who knew how close he’d come to a very different life from the one he lived now. When things got tough, it made a difference to have someone completely trustworthy in his corner. And this was exactly the kind of case where Charlie might have useful insights.

As he summoned her number and waited for it to connect, he admitted to himself that he might not have bothered Charlie if this had been a routine case. He was fired up about this because the person sitting in the FBI office freaking out about little Jimmy Higgins was Stephanie.

It had been a couple of years since they’d first met, and he’d been attracted from the beginning. But there hadn’t been any opportunity to make something of it. Besides, he’d always felt awkward about the idea of mixing business and pleasure. His wasn’t a line of work where your first encounters generally provoked happy memories. Cops were there for the bad things in life, and that wasn’t likely to get a relationship off on the right foot. The power balance was all wrong, for starters. He wanted a relationship based on equality, not on him as hero, her as vulnerable damsel in distress.

Then she’d called him out of the blue. Admittedly for professional reasons. But she could have picked up the phone and spoken to her local CID. That she’d considered him a sympathetic figure definitely buffed his ego. And once the matter had been sorted out, he’d dropped by and made it delicately clear that he’d like to see her when she felt up to having a date. Because there was no getting away from the way she made him feel. In spite of his determination to stay away from women with complicated lives, he couldn’t resist Stephanie.

They’d taken it easy to begin with. They’d gone to lunch, seen a movie, had dinner three times and taken Jimmy to the Tower of London. They’d talked on the phone late at night, they’d used the message channels on Facebook and Twitter. And it had been a couple of months before they slept together, which these days felt unusual. It hadn’t been lack of desire, at least not on Nick’s part. It was hard for him to articulate precisely what it was, but he thought it had something to do with the fact that this felt serious. And something to do with the kid. You didn’t take chances when a kid was part of the picture.

Charlie answered her phone on the second ring. ‘Hi, Nick. What a nice surprise. How’s tricks?’

‘Been better, Charlie. What about you? Is this a good time?’

‘Sure. Maria’s doing something sensational in the kitchen so I’ve got nothing to occupy me but this glass of wine. What’s bothering you?’

‘I told you about Stephanie, right?’

‘When we had breakfast in that lovely little café in Paddington, yes. Has something gone wrong?’

Even across the distance from Manchester to London there was no mistaking the concern in Charlie’s voice. ‘Yes, but not between me and her,’ he said. ‘It’s much worse than that, Charlie. And I need your help.’

‘Anything I can do. You know that.’

‘The boy’s been kidnapped. Jimmy, Scarlett Higgins’ son. Stephanie took him on holiday to the US and he was snatched when they were changing planes.’

Charlie drew her breath in sharply. ‘Over there? He was kidnapped over there?’

‘Yes. The FBI are talking to Stephanie. Taking a history. They’ve drafted me in to help develop leads. But there’s bugger all to grab on to, Charlie.’

‘Which of course is why you’re talking to me,’ she said wryly. ‘And that’s as it should be, Nick. Why don’t you take me through everything you know about the abduction?’

So he did, wondering not for the first time what it was about Charlie that made the act of confiding in her a relief in itself. Nick concentrated on recalling everything Vivian McKuras had said and relaying it to Charlie without putting his own spin on it. When he’d finished, she grunted. ‘Interesting.’

‘Well, yeah. I knew that already, Charlie,’ Nick grumbled.

‘I’m just buying time, Nick. Just buying time.’

‘Do you want to call me back when you’ve had time to think it through?’

‘One or two thoughts for now. First and foremost, Jimmy knew the person he walked away with. The kidnapper didn’t have time to talk Jimmy into leaving with him. Even with figures of authority like cops, kids of that age will show reluctance or opposition. The overwhelming probability is that it would have been somebody he already knew.’

‘Shit,’ Nick said. ‘So we really should be looking on this side of the Atlantic. At people who know Jimmy and Stephanie.’

Charlie spoke slowly, considering her words. ‘It’s interesting that Stephanie didn’t recognise him. If it was someone she knew well, she might have recognised his build, his gait, his gestures, whether she saw his face or not. So maybe not someone she knows.’

‘They’d have to know something about Stephanie, though. They’d have to know about her leg always setting off the metal detectors. And their holiday plans.’

‘That’s true. But whoever took Jimmy, he’s had friendly contact with him and probably recently. The boy’s at school now, isn’t he? You might want to check out classroom assistants, teachers, caretakers. Anyone who could have built a relationship of trust with Jimmy.’

Nick scribbled a note to remind himself of the line of inquiry. ‘But if it’s someone like that, why wait till the kid’s in America? Why not do it over here, where it would presumably be easier? This was an audacious kidnap, Charlie. A lot could have gone wrong.’

‘I know. That was my other point. Whoever did this has got planning skills and a lot of nerve. But to go back to what you said – why America? It’s a good question.’ She gave a short, sharp sigh. ‘I don’t know the answer, but maybe it’s something quite simple. The kidnapper might only be acting as an agent for the person who really wants Jimmy. And maybe that person is in America.’

As usual, talking to Charlie opened all sorts of possibilities. ‘So I should start with anyone who could have got alongside Jimmy recently?’

‘Either that or someone who has a long-standing relationship with the kid. Family?’

‘I don’t think there are connections there. Not from what Stephanie’s said. Both parents are dead. His paternal grandparents want nothing to do with him, though I need to check out whether that’s still the case. Cultural sensitivities and shit, you know?’

‘That can be a bitch,’ Charlie said. ‘And not very susceptible to reason. What about his mother’s family?’

‘Scarlett made a fetish of not letting them have anything to do with Jimmy. Granny’s a drunk and auntie’s a junkie. According to Stephanie, they got lawyered up when Scarlett died because they thought there was money attached to Jimmy. As soon as they found out Scarlett had left her entire estate to charity and that Jimmy was, in financial terms, nothing but a burden, you couldn’t see them for dust. They haven’t got the financial or the intellectual resources to mount something like this, even if they wanted the kid. There’s another auntie, Leanne, but she lives in Spain and Stephanie’s not seen her or heard from her since Scarlett died. She’s made no attempt to stay in touch with the kid.’

‘So you’re ruling out the mother’s family. And the father’s family are long shots. What about staff?’

‘What do you mean, “staff”? Stephanie doesn’t have staff. She’s a writer, not a movie star.’ Nick couldn’t help a spurt of amusement rising in him in spite of the situation.

‘I know it sounds mad, but I don’t have another word for what I mean. Cleaner. Childminder. Little man who does stuff. People who come to the house or people whose house Jimmy goes to.’

Nick made another note. ‘He doesn’t have a childminder. Stephanie picks him up from school. She’s changed her working habits to accommodate him. She says he’s had so much upheaval in his life, he deserves some stability. Now when she’s doing the interviews for a book she only makes herself available from ten till two.’ He smiled in affectionate memory. ‘She says she wishes she’d thought of it years ago.’

‘OK. What about a cleaner?’

Nick pulled a face. ‘I know she’s got one, but I think she comes when Jimmy’s at school.’

‘Babysitter?’

‘Emily. She’s Stephanie’s agent’s daughter. I really don’t think she’s someone we should be worried about.’

‘Probably not. You said the boy’s five?’

‘That’s right.’

‘Was there anybody who consistently took care of him when Scarlett was still alive? Because he’d probably still have a strong enough memory of her to trust her.’

Nick thought back to when he’d been introduced to what had struck him at the time as a chaotic household. He’d gradually realised it was anything but. ‘The person who held everything together was Marina. She was housekeeper, child-minder, cook. Without her, everything would have fallen apart. But she’s well out of the picture.’

‘Why do you say that?’

‘Scarlett left all her money to a charitable foundation that supports an orphanage in Romania. According to Stephanie, when she knew she was dying, Scarlett sent Marina back to Romania, where she’s from, to be the foundation’s representative at the orphanage. Basically, to run the place properly. Scarlett wanted somebody who knew how things work over there, but who wasn’t dependent on keeping in with the locals for her wages.’

‘And you know she’s still there?’ Charlie asked.

Nick made yet another note. His list was starting to look horrible. ‘I can check. But why would she get involved with something like this?’

‘Maybe she misses Jimmy. If she took care of him for the first four years of his life, it would have been a wrench to leave him. Maybe she didn’t have a high opinion of Stephanie’s childcare skills. You need to look at her, Nick. She’s someone that Jimmy would trust unquestioningly. If she could have found a way to get alongside him, she could have introduced him to the man who took him. It would have been easy for her to groom him.’

‘It seems a bit far-fetched,’ he complained.

‘This whole scenario is far-fetched,’ Charlie said. ‘It’s so public. Too many things could have gone wrong. It’s very bold.’

‘That’s why I was leaning towards Pete Matthews before I spoke to you,’ Nick said. ‘He’s a bully, he’s a stalker, he’s a control freak. He’s organised and he’s plausible.’

‘How well did he know Jimmy?’

‘I’m not sure. I think the boy was pretty young when Stephanie dumped Pete. But the guy’s a stalker, he might have found a way to get to know him.’

‘That’s true. I wouldn’t rule him out. But don’t lose sight of the other possibilities.’

Nick sighed. ‘If this is what you come up with off the top of your head, I’m not sure I’ve got the strength for a more considered response.’

Charlie chuckled. ‘Don’t hold your breath. There may not be much more.’

‘Before you go – what do you think this kidnap’s all about? Is it someone who wants Jimmy for himself, or is it going to come down to ransom?’

The line went silent. He knew she was thinking and he endured what felt like a long pause. ‘I don’t think this is about money. Because there is no money. There’s an intelligence at work here, and if a big payday was what they were after, there are a lot more promising targets than Jimmy. And that’s a good thing.’

‘Why do you say that? If it’s Jimmy they’re after, he might be gone for good.’

‘I appreciate that. But the chances are he’ll be kept alive. And that’s better than the alternative, don’t you think?’

23

N
othing was pleasant or easy when it came to dealing with Joshu. Every encounter with him or his lawyers was bruising and tiresome. I don’t know how Scarlett would have got through it without Leanne and me. We were the punchbags, the sounding boards, the support system. Marina did the practical stuff, but for everything else, Scarlett turned to the pair of us. We were her safety valve. On the days when she was off recording the TV show, she used up every ounce of energy maintaining Public Scarlett. Often when she came home, all she wanted to do was cuddle up on the sofa with a slumbering Jimmy, watch crap TV and drink Prosecco. But there were other times when she wanted to rant, and that was OK with us too. Leanne occasionally went out on the town. ‘Brave Scarlett’, she was these days, which was a definite improvement on the Scarlett Harlot.

‘He did you a favour, you know,’ I said one evening. I felt I was taking my life in my hands. She still wasn’t over him, not by a long way. But sooner or later, I was going to have to start saying what I really believed.

‘Oh yeah. Breaking my heart. That’s been really good for me,’ she slurred. ‘Like I totally needed something to push me into the family tradition of drinking like a fish.’

I squared my shoulders and looked her in the eye. ‘That’s your choice. And it’s a pretty spineless reaction, if you ask me. I think you’re better than that. Stronger than that. You prove it every day when you walk on that set stone-cold sober. This drinking at home, it’s nothing but self-indulgence.’

‘I thought you were supposed to be my friend.’ Her sulky mouth pouted even further.

‘Who else is going to tell you the truth? Joshu did you a favour. There’s the superficial thing of making you the victim in the eyes of the media, which is a whole lot better than them treating you like a villain.’ I waited for her to acknowledge I had a point.

Realising I was waiting in vain, I ploughed on. ‘He treated you like shit, Scarlett. You deserve better than that. But better wasn’t going to come along while Joshu was around, strutting his stuff. You’ve said yourself a thousand times, he was a crap dad. Well, the truth is, he was an even worse husband. You keep telling me about the grand plan. About making something of yourself. Face it, Scarlett, that was never going to happen while Joshu was still around. He’s on a downward spiral. You want to keep moving up, you’re better off without him.’

‘That’s easy for you to say.’ Her tone was surly, but she put the bottle back in the fridge without refilling her glass.

‘I know. That doesn’t make it any less true. You’re better off without him.’

The uncomfortable aspect to the whole business was that the more I dished out advice to Scarlett, the less I seemed able to apply it to my own life.

To me, it didn’t make much practical difference whether I was out at the hacienda or in my own home. Apart from the interviewing aspect of my job, I could work anywhere with a door I could close on the outside world. Now Joshu’s sound equipment was gone, the glorified shed he’d used in the back garden was free. So on the mornings when I woke up in Scarlett’s spare room, I would take my laptop out there and plug my earphones in to transcribe my interviews. If Scarlett was filming, I’d head back to my own house after lunch and stay there for a day or two. It was all pretty random, and I soon realised that, however much it might suit me, it didn’t suit Pete.

It started with him picking holes in everything I did. The vegetables I’d bought were past their best, the meat wasn’t good enough quality, the wine was a lousy year. The house was too warm or too cold. Then it got more personal. Apparently I needed a haircut or a pedicure or a whole new wardrobe. In bed, I was too demanding, too passive or too critical of his performance. Never mind walking on eggshells. I felt as if I was encased in them from head to toe. I felt anxious and apprehensive all the time I was with him. And of course, when someone you love constantly finds fault, it’s hard not to feel at fault.

Looking back at it now, I can see it was all about power and control. Pete could only see my friendship with Scarlett in terms of himself. Every evening I spent with her was, in his eyes, undermining our relationship. Why would I rather be with someone he despised when I could be sitting alone at home waiting for him to possibly show up? But at the time, I was bending over backwards to see his point of view. He worked hard and when he had free time, he wanted to spend it with me. That was an advance on a lot of the men I’d tried to have relationships with over the years. And he was still capable of moments of tenderness and humour, moments that transcended the unpleasantness and convinced me that yes, it was all my fault.

But once I’d established a work routine out at Scarlett’s, Pete’s aggression began to escalate. If I wasn’t around when he was free and wanted to be with me, he would send snotty texts. I’d told him he was welcome at the hacienda, but he sneered at the idea. ‘Why would I want to spend my nights in a witches’ coven?’ was one of his responses. ‘You witches did your voodoo on Joshu. I’m not giving you the chance to do it on me.’

All of that I could put up with. I actually felt sorry for him. There must be a reason why someone who could be so loving it was almost smothering could also be that harsh. And the only reason I could think of was damage. Which meant I forgave him, time and time again. In my head I scolded myself for being so lacking in compassion.

It’s what abused women – and children – do all the time. They find a mechanism to blame themselves, partly because they’re innately kind and partly because that’s what the abuser inculcates in them as the appropriate response. I blamed myself for Pete’s anger.

But when he started shouting at me every time I didn’t match up to his impossible standards, I came to my senses. I’m a lucky woman, you see. I was brought up in a house where the adults respected each other. And they brought me up to respect myself. And I knew that Pete had crossed a line. Whatever history he was working out here had taken him too far. I tried to explain this to him, but he wouldn’t listen. He just kept on yelling. I belonged to him and I was going to have to learn how to behave. I was going to stop hanging around with those lesbian bitches. I was going to have to toe the line. Or else. It was scary. I really thought he was going to hit me. I’d never felt like that in my adult life.

I walked out. I walked out of my own house and got in my car and drove away. Of course I went to the hacienda. It was the easiest option. I’d already complained to Scarlett and Leanne about Pete’s unreasonable behaviour. If I’d gone to any of my other friends, I’d have had to explain the whole story, and I didn’t have the energy for that. One night, I thought. I’ll stay for one night and I’ll go back in the morning. I knew Pete was due in the studio the next day. Even if he stayed all night, he’d have to be gone by ten at the latest.

Scarlett was depressingly unsurprised to see me. ‘I could see this coming,’ she said. ‘He’s a bully, that one. Surly bastard, and all. I remember that time I dropped you off and he was waiting on the doorstep. Face like a slapped arse.’

‘Are you finishing with him?’ Leanne asked, putting the kettle on. We were trying to wean Scarlett – and ourselves – off the Prosecco and back on to the great Northern panacea of Yorkshire tea.

I could feel tears welling up. ‘I don’t want to. But I can’t put up with this.’

‘It’s like he wants you behind bars, waiting for him to come home and free you,’ Scarlett said.

‘Prisoner of love,’ Leanne intoned. ‘You could sell your story to a magazine.’

‘I don’t want to
have
a story.’ I like being a ghost. Insubstantial. Transparent. Anonymous.

‘Not like me, then,’ Scarlett said with a chuckle. ‘Fuck him, Steph. You’re worth a dozen of him. Just like you’re always telling me. You won’t find Mr Right with Mr Totally Fucking Wrong blocking the light.’

I wasn’t scared about going back the next morning. I thought Pete would have come to his senses and calmed down. But Scarlett was concerned. ‘You’ve led a sheltered life, you have,’ she said. ‘Where I grew up, toerags like Pete were ten a penny. Think they own you. Think you were put on the planet for their benefit. Tossers like him, they don’t let go easily. You’ve got to be prepared for it to get worse before it gets better.’

I wasn’t paying much attention. I thought I knew best. But when it came to men behaving badly, I had no idea.