Wilderness (Arbogast trilogy) (14 page)

John J Arbogast drove as Rosalind Ying contemplated her future and Arbogast knew better than to pry. Instead he switched on the local radio station to catch the hourly news. There was nothing about the case and he thought that perhaps they were losing interest. But he knew in his heart that it was only a matter of time before the headlines would return. Driving through the city you would never have known that half the country was still deep under the cover of snow. The daily temperature had risen slightly and it was now reaching -3c through the day but in the evenings it stayed cold, -12c every night.  The weather was the only thing anyone ever talked about and Arbogast wished it would end. The main roads were clear now, thick with grit and rock salt, the carriageways brown with the treatment it was hoped would keep the cars running. Arbogast drove west along the M8 and then veered off onto the M77 after crossing the River Clyde on the Kingston Bridge. His turn-off came about five miles after they reached the higher ground around Newton Mearns, but Arbogast cursed after missing it. He had been expecting a better signposted exit but it was a farm road that led directly from the hard shoulder and wasn’t easy to see due to the amount of snow piled up at the side of the roads. It took about 15 minutes to double back and find the place where they should have turned off. The diversion had done nothing to improve either his or Rosalind’s mood.

“Do you think you’ll be able to find the wind farm OK John?” she said to Arbogast’s obvious chagrin. Eventually as they crawled along the untreated back roads of Eaglesham Moor they came to a small bright orange sign which indicated that they had reached their destination. The Lexus that Arbogast had commandeered from Pitt Street HQ wasn’t designed for off-roading and the vehicle struggled along the make shift track which had been put in place to link the main road to the site headquarters.

“I thought these roads were meant to be good for dragging bloody wind turbines along,” Arbogast said to himself. This at least got a smile from Rosalind who was looking out of the passenger window trying her best not to laugh.

The reception area had taken them by surprise. Instead of the shabby works hut they had been expecting they entered into what was advertised as the ‘Showroom’. The interior was decked out in dark wood laminate flooring with the walls covered with artistic shots of machinery in motion. In one corner sat a scale model of one of the turbines with what looked like a potted history of the site above. The girl on reception was young – she looked about 21, with bobbed black hair and heavily made up. She reminded Arbogast of someone who might work at a perfume counter. Her manner, however, showed her to be more of a Rottweiler than a Poodle as Arbogast and Ying tried to get her attention.

“Yes Mister Herbison I understand that you have made an appointment but the team are all out in the field today – we’re at a very delicate stage in the operation and I’m afraid you will just have to wait on this occasion.” It looked as if the conversation had ended abruptly. She held the phone in her hand and looked at it in disgust, “He hung up,” she said before turning her attention to her next assignment, “Good afternoon. How can I help you?” Her smile was fixed but genuine.

“My name is DCI Rosalind Ying and this is DI John Arbogast,” she said showing her official ID, “We are here to see a Mister Onur Kocack. I believe he works here?”

“As you might have just heard we are very busy just now. Mr Kocack is out on the moor. We’re trying to prepare a site for excavation although the weather is causing us problems. I can page him if you would like to wait although I’m not sure he’ll be checking his messages.”

“I think it would be better if we went and saw him directly,” Arbogast said, “Can you tell us where he is?” The answer was not straight forward but eventually the receptionist, whose name was Gill, arranged for a four-by-four to pick them up and take them out. They had to wear hard hats and high-visibility jackets and both felt foolish as they headed out onto the blasted heath. Arbogast could feel a sharp pain in his ears as the winter winds whistled through him.

“I didn’t expect it to be so bloody cold,” he said to Rosalind, trying to make his voice heard above the Range Rover’s snarling engine.

Onur Kocack wasn’t having the best of days. He had made his way to the office expecting progress but nothing seemed to be going to plan. They had to clear the areas around the base of the planned turbines and then dig down. The frozen earth wasn’t making for easy going and they had bedrock to blast through, which hadn’t shown up in the original survey. Onur shook his head at the thought of the inefficiency of this company but he knew that it wasn’t operating on the scale he was used to. And now he had been phoned to say there were two policemen on the way. When they arrived he was surprised that the senior officer was in fact a woman. They tried to ask him questions but the wind was too strong for conversation so they retreated to meet in a small works portacabin.

The cabin had little in it, save for a gas fire powered from a canister, a foldaway table, and six battered plastic chairs. There was a kettle on the table and all the paraphernalia needed for a tea run. The gentle hum of an electric generator could be heard outside competing with the constant groaning of the wind.

“You’re a hard man to track down Mr Kocack,” Arbogast said, he was surprised at the way the man looked. He had met his wife twice and she had seemed very liberal. Granted both times had been in a lap dancing club but still. The man he was faced with was pushing 40, had a substantial beer belly. He had a calm, strong face with ears that seemed to be pinched in the middle and seemed slightly U-shaped as a result. He had short shaved hair and dark brown eyes. These were now staring intently at both Arbogast and Ying, their focus shifting constantly as he sized up the situation.

“We’re here about your wife and daughter Mister Kocack.”

“My wife is in Turkey, has something happened?” Onur seemed genuinely perplexed by the question but perhaps this was just a bluff. Arbogast handed Onur the picture Hanom had sent them through the police mobile phone. It was not of a very high quality and had obviously been taken in a dark room. Her face was partially masked by the flash but it had been the best she could do under the circumstances. 

“It looks like my wife although it is not a great likeness. What is this about?”

Arbogast explained about his missing daughter and all that had happened in the last few days, “I’m surprised you haven’t seen this in the news Mr Kocack. We’ve been trying to reach you for some time.” Arbogast explained the case and Onur Kocack listened.

“I work a lot Detective Arbogast and I cannot find the enthusiasm for local stories. If you say this has happened then I will take you at your word. I find it hard to believe that my wife would allow herself to work in such a place and you say my daughter is missing but you do not know where?”

“That’s right, that’s right,” Arbogast said. He changed tack, “Who owns this company?”

Onur frowned, “What has this to do with my family?”

“Who owns this company Mr Kocack? It may have everything to do with it.”

“Moorland Wind is a company in its own right. I have invested much of my own money in this venture but I believe it to be a sound investment. So do my colleagues.”

“I believe the Madoch Group has a substantial investment in this venture,” Arbogast said, “61 per cent is a controlling stake you might say?”

Onur nodded, “Yes this is true – but there is nothing wrong in that as far as I know.”

“Of course not, this is a free country and you can spend your money any way you want to. But the Madoch Group also owns Devil May Care, which as you might recall is where we came across your wife – coincidence?”

The realisation of what the detective was saying was now starting to dawn on Onur, “Look Detective Arbogast I came to this country to make a better life for myself. I do not know what other business the Madoch Group is involved in and I do not care. Mister Madoch sponsored me to come to the UK, and here I am, a partner in my own business. My wife was to visit me soon but I have not heard from her in several weeks. If I can help you in any way I will but please don’t accuse me of some crime against my wife. She is the love of my life.”

“Do you know a mister Eric Sanderson?” Rosalind said.

“I work with him here,” Onur said, prodding his desk, “He is not here today but he has been very kind to me.”

“We believe it was his daughter that was travelling with Kovan, your daughter – you do remember her don’t you?” Onur looked puzzled, “You haven’t once asked about your daughter Mr Kocack – why is that? What’s the connection we’re missing here?”

This time Onur was more vocal, “Now listen to me Detective I am worried with the news that you have brought me but I care for both my wife and daughter. What you say is a lot to take in. Five minutes ago I believed my family to be safe at home but now you say they have gone missing in this country. What am I to make of this? This might be normal behaviour for you but for me it is like a bolt from the blue. As for Eric Sanderson I have no fight with him. We were looking at pictures of my family just last week and he said that he would love to visit my home in Turkey. One day I hope he still can.”

“You understand how serious all this is Mister Kocack. We will need to speak to you again so please don’t leave the country. I will assign a police patrol car to your address and I will also need to take phone details to be able to contact you at anytime. We have much to do before we will find your family and we may well need your help. Do you understand?” Onur nodded and they made to leave, leaving Onur to watch them from the office door. Arbogast phoned Onur’s mobile from the car just to check the number was correct. When he watched Onur take the phone for his belt holder he wound down the windows and waved an apology, “Just checking – we’ll be in touch.”

As they edged along the carriageway Rosalind was the first to break the silence.

“What did you make of that?’ He’s involved somehow isn’t he?”

Arbogast agreed that he must be, “But I can’t figure out how. There are far too many coincidences in this case for my liking and I don’t believe in coincidences. He did seem surprised and he’d have to be a bloody good liar to completely bluff the two of us. I’m not sure he knew the details, that his family were here but he hardly flinched when we filled him in. And you were right about the daughter – he just didn’t ask – why not?” As they picked through the arguments on the way home the weather forecaster on the radio said that the thaw was expected at the start of next week.

Mary Clark was scared. The police had come back and said they knew about John, about his role in picking up Kovan.
‘But how could they know. How could they?’
Mary still felt weak from her ordeal but her strength was returning fast. Thinking back to the coach she knew that the switch over was supposed to have been straight forward, but something had happened. As she sat in her hospital bed she wished that she could speak to her husband John but they said he had disappeared which was not like him. Mary had been allowed out of bed and she had tried walking but it had been slow painful work. The doctors kept telling her that she needed to build her strength up and eat something, but she had no real appetite. Mary knew she would have to force herself to eat if she was to recover. In the meantime she was a prisoner. The officer outside said that she would be arrested if she tried to leave.
‘What do they know? Who else could have known about the arrangement that wasn’t already accounted for? Perhaps someone from the ferry?’
What Mary did know was that she was going to have to get out of this hospital and soon.

The investigation seemed to be going round in circles. He had watched as the two detectives arrived at the wind farm but what could they say that could hurt him? He knew they were coming but he did not know the details of what they might ask or what might happen. There had been a lot of talk of family reunions but the plans had changed. The girl was his now to do with what he pleased. She even seemed quite calm. They had drawn together today. She drew a rickety wooden house she said was home. ‘When will we go back there?’ she had asked. Soon, my darling, he had told her, soon it will all be over. And then there was the mother. He had become angry when he found her with a phone. How was that possible? No matter she will have to be moved soon – perhaps into a new line of work – something more interactive? How delicious.

Istanbul, Turkey, June 25
^th
2003

Nevizade Sokak was a busy alley full of bars and tavernas. Although tourists did venture there it was predominantly a place where locals gathered to enjoy good food, fine wine, and great company. It was almost always busy which made it the ideal place for Hanom to meet with Onur. He had called at the house every day for the past week. Her father had said he looked sheepish but that he could also see the sincerity in his eyes. She had spent the week thinking of little else. With no school and no studies to occupy her mind she had been thinking only of her adventures, but she wondered if there might be something here for her too. The more she thought of the idea the more appealing Onur became. She did not love Onur, it was true, and it would take time to get used to the idea that she wanted him as more than a friend. Hanom felt guilty about the way she had treated him at her party. She had been angry of course that he had taken attention away from her celebration but she should not have sent him away like that – like a fool. And today as she made her way to Galatasaray Square having crossed the Bosporus at the Galata Bridge she stopped to watch as the ferries and cruisers sailed past but for once it was not their destination that interested her but of those making the journey. She picked out the couples and wondered what twists of fate had conspired to bring them together. By the time she had reached the Boncuk restaurant she had to shoulder her way through crowds of people. Her nerves were getting the better of her now; her stomach was tense with nerves.
‘Maybe I should go home, this is ridiculous.’
But she carried on. No-one had ever approached her like that before, had been so heartfelt, and although she thought Onur a fool for having made such an idiot of himself she admired his spirit. He had reserved a table for them and even before she sat down she had already made up her mind to stay.