‘Such as?’
She shook her head, eyes closed. Fenwick was surprised to see tears on her lower lashes.
‘I need to know.’
‘I fell pregnant. I didn’t know it, and I can’t claim that’s why I kicked the habit but thank God I did. The baby’s father was already married; a real bastard but I loved him.’ She blinked a few times and took another sip of wine.
‘And the baby; it wasn’t Issie, was it?’
His question provoked a bitter bark of laughter followed by an unmistakeable sob that was quickly turned into a cough.
‘No, this would have been about eleven, twelve years before Issie was born. No,’ another sip, a deep sigh, ‘my baby girl died.’
‘I am so sorry.’
‘Do you have children, Superintendent?’
‘Yes; a girl and a boy.’
‘You do?’ She looked at him in surprise, as if she had expected him to be a lonely bachelor with no experience of parenthood.
Well, one out of two might have been true but that was none of her business.
‘So you can understand what it would be like to lose a child.’
‘It’s my worst nightmare,’ he said, meaning it, ‘which is why we have to find Issie and you must help me. You may not think much of her mother but she’s suffering more than we can possibly imagine.’
She looked ashamed and put down her glass.
‘I’ll do whatever I can.’
‘Did you take Issie’s belongings from her room?’
‘No!’ She sounded genuinely shocked at the idea.
‘What was the room like when you last saw it?’
‘The typical mess that Issie lived in – stuff everywhere, bed unmade.’
‘That’s not how we found it.’ He described the scene and she frowned.
‘Octavia and Puff,’ she muttered, ‘though heaven knows what got into their heads.’
‘Tidying up after their friend. It probably started with removing the bottles and maybe some drugs. Then they realise there’s more. Perhaps Issie had a diary and it mentions her habit. Away that goes,
her old PC, any clothes that might have traces of booze and drugs on them. Unfortunately they succeeded in removing anything that might have helped us.’
‘Little idiots.’
They’re not the only ones,
he thought but he needed her cooperation.
‘If you really want to help, Miss Bullock, you can persuade Octavia and Puff to talk to us. They know something and their silence might be killing Issie.’
‘Give me five minutes and I’ll be with you.’
He called Bazza’s mobile while he waited. He and Jake were back with nothing to show for their visit to the girls except strained patience. It was half past eight.
‘Anything from the national database yet?’
‘Nothing.’
‘Have you prioritised the request?’
‘Of course; NPIA are checking the PND against a list we gave them of every single man Issie knew; friends, family, teachers and the rest of the staff.’
‘Good. Anything from the search parties?’ It was a pointless question; if there had been he would have been told.
‘No, sir.’ Bazza sounded exasperated. ‘And POLSA are back on site as you suggested.’
‘Good; we need search expertise for a situation as complex as this. I had a thought. Were there any no-shows for work yesterday or today?’
‘Superintendent Bernstein had us check first thing. The only person missing today was the headmistress’s secretary who has a heavy cold. She was visited; nothing suspicious. Yesterday several staff had the day off – some work Saturday’s in exchange for a weekday.’
‘Have them interviewed anyway – you never know. I’ll be with you shortly.’
Lulu Bullock came back as he was putting his phone away, dressed in jeans and a thick gilet over a polo neck; coat, hat and
gloves ready in her hand. Her hair was back in its ponytail. As she led the way through freezing fog to the girls’ dormitory Fenwick could smell her exotic perfume. They spoke to the housemistress who had a lot to say about her charges being disturbed twice in one night. Eventually she let them in because, as she said, ‘I trust you, Miss Bullock, to put their interests first.’
‘And I trust you to put Issie’s first,’ Fenwick muttered as they climbed the stairs.
Loud music rolled down the carpeted corridor towards them; Led Zep Four. Lulu caught his eye and they both smiled involuntarily as their knock interrupted ‘Stairway to Heaven’.
‘Oh god,’ Octavia said dramatically when she opened the door and saw Fenwick, ‘not you again.’ Then her eyes fell on Miss Bullock and widened in surprise. She stepped back.
‘Where did you hide Issie’s stuff?’ Fenwick asked without preamble.
Octavia laughed and bent over to turn up the music.
‘Turn it off.’ It was a command. Octavia obeyed with a scowl. ‘I asked you a question and if you choose not to answer, I shall have no option but to arrest you on suspicion of theft.’
She looked at him with a twisted smile as if she were trying to see the joke.
‘This is no laughing matter, Miss Henry. If you choose not to help us with our enquiries you leave me no choice.’
‘Oh pur-lease; one phone call to my father and I’ll be out of custody in less time than it takes you to write a grovelling letter of apology – which,’ she smiled at him, suddenly the coquette, ‘I might accept because you’re quite cute.’
Fenwick heard Lulu Bullock gasp and it helped him keep his temper. He was struggling with the desire to pick up the spoilt brat and spank her but that would have been a career-finishing move and he suppressed the impulse.
‘For heaven’s sake, Octavia, this isn’t a game.’ Lulu Bullock came to his aid. ‘If Issie’s still alive then we need to find her before the cold kills her. There could be vital clues among her possessions.
Octavia, you might be condemning her to death by your silence.’
The smirk left Octavia’s face to be replaced by a look of confusion.
‘But she’s, like, run away, hasn’t she? We all know that, you included.’
Lulu sat down on Octavia’s bed and patted the duvet for the girl to join her.
‘I thought so at first, but now,’ she glanced at Fenwick, caught his eye briefly and coloured, ‘well, I think I was wrong. The police have evidence that Issie may have been abducted. We have to take that possibility seriously.’
‘No way. Not possible.’ Octavia stood up and leant over to select another album. Fenwick pulled the plug from the socket before she reached the iPod dock, earning another glare.
‘Very possible,’ he said, his voice full of the conviction he felt, ‘and maybe by someone she knows: a boyfriend, casual acquaintance.’
‘What? Issie hates men. Why would anybody take her; money?’
‘Possibly, although we haven’t received a ransom demand and normally that would have happened within the first twenty-four hours.’
‘So …’ Octavia screwed up her face in thought. ‘If it’s not money then … not sex?’ she said and exploded into an unconvincing laugh.
‘Why is that such a ludicrous idea?’ He asked, his face a blank.
‘But Issie …
Issie!
… You don’t know her, she’s just not into sex, I mean … no way …’ But her expression suggested something different.
‘She’s almost eighteen; very pretty, confident, intelligent. All reasons why men would find her attractive.’
‘Please, Octavia,’ Lulu Bullock interrupted, ‘we have to find her and we need your help. He knows about the drinking and the drugs. Don’t look at me like that, I didn’t tell him. He
is
a policeman you know.’
‘And apparently a good one; I’ll have to tell my dad he’s
despairing over the state of the nation prematurely.’ She laughed at her own irony.
‘Issie’s belongings. Now!’ he said, finally losing patience and recognising in his tone the voice he used on his ten-year-old son when he really misbehaved. Octavia turned towards the window. ‘It’s below freezing out there. What if the cold is killing her right now? Would you be able to live with the fact that you let your friend die?’
Octavia dropped her head. He heard a sniff, saw a tear fall and glanced at Lulu Bullock in frustration. She understood the silent message and put an arm around the girl.
‘Come on; it can’t be that hard. Superintendent Fenwick won’t prosecute, will you?’
‘If I receive immediate cooperation there will be no charges.’
‘Upstairs,’ Octavia murmured and pointed above her head. ‘There’s a loft space above the landing. Your lot searched it yesterday but didn’t find where we’d hidden everything.’
‘They were looking for Issie at the time, not her things. Show us.’
There was an extension ladder behind the ceiling hatch. He clambered up into the void, followed by Octavia.
‘Over there.’
Against the central timber were a suitcase and a box that had ‘Tesco Baked Beans’ on the side.
‘Go and get them,’ he said, not wanting to add his own fingerprints.
She dragged them over to the top of the hatch, struggling with the weight of the suitcase. When it became obvious that she wouldn’t manage them down the stepladder he gave in and borrowed Lulu’s gloves, squeezing his hands inside the woollen knit, cursing the fact that for once he wasn’t carrying latex ones. He hadn’t thought he would need them when he left home for a routine meeting with the ACC.
Back in Octavia’s room he rang Bazza and asked him to bring evidence bags and warn the lab and tech team that there would be material for immediate processing.
‘Was there a diary or something similar?’
Octavia nodded and opened the box. It was lying on top. He picked it up carefully by the edges and turned to Monday 4th December, the night Issie disappeared. There was no entry but on the previous day she’d written ‘
Badger tomorrow night. Right thing???
’
‘Who’s Badger?’
‘No idea; we didn’t recognise the name.’
‘So you read this?’
‘’Course.’
‘And you still hid it from us, knowing that there was mention of a meeting on Monday night? We’ve lost a whole day because of your stupidity.’
He expected a sharp retort but for once Octavia Henry was silent and actually looked guilty.
‘I won’t have you shouting at my girls.’
The reprimand came from the housemistress standing in the doorway, hands on hips. Behind her Fenwick could see the curious faces of other boarders.
‘Are you all right, my dear?’ she asked, pushing past Fenwick to reach her charge.
Her sympathy had the usual effect and Octavia burst into tears.
‘I’ll put in a complaint,’ the woman threatened, ‘you see if I don’t.’
‘By all means,’ Fenwick said as he heard Bazza make his way up the stairs, ‘if you wish to make tonight’s activities official, then I won’t stop you but you might wish to check with Octavia first. Whatever; tomorrow, eight o’clock sharp, miss, I expect to see you and Puff in the interview room to make your statements. Ladies, I bid you goodnight.’
Bazza came into the room followed by Jake, ready to take whatever evidence had been recovered to be processed straight away. Fenwick took an evidence bag off him and put the diary in it, then dated and signed the label.
‘If I were you, Miss Henry,’ Fenwick muttered under his breath as he passed, ‘I’d persuade your housemistress to calm down.’
‘Sergeant Holland, they’re all yours. If you need me, I’ll be with Superintendent Bernstein in the headmistress’s study.’
Issie huddled under the eiderdown, squeezed into a tight foetal ball. Her teeth chattered and the only part of her that felt warm was her wrist where the cut was on fire.
It was dark outside. She thought it was still Wednesday but she had been unconscious for an unknown length of time so maybe a further day had passed. She couldn’t tell. She hadn’t eaten or drunk anything since finishing the crisps and coke. Her thirst was worse than anything she could have imagined. She looked again at the bottle of urine and wondered whether she could force herself to drink, but as she raised the viscous yellow liquid to her mouth the smell made her stomach heave.
In some way the pain in her arms and legs was a welcome distraction. Her muscles were exhausted from repeated physical exercise and her attacks on the window and door. Despite their flimsy appearance, the fittings had resisted every attempt to break them. The door was made from double-thickness MDF with hinges on the other side, impossible to reach; the window comprised two layers of yellowing Perspex that wouldn’t break. Even so she had attempted to smash it, again and again, until her knuckles bled and she finally realised that she was wasting precious energy.
When she hadn’t been shouting or attempting to break free, she would count to one thousand and then exercise to keep her muscles active and her body warm. Only now that night had fallen did she give in to the exhaustion in her body.
Issie’s eyes closed and her head fell back. She slept but within minutes some inner determination forced her out of comfortable unconsciousness and into intense pain.
‘No!’ she said out loud and pushed herself up, wincing as her wrist brushed against the mattress. ‘Sleep is death.’
‘Sleep is death,’ she repeated and brushed tears from her cheeks. She knew all about hypothermia from reading Pappy’s survival books and told herself the pain she felt was a good sign.
Issie started scissor jumps, arms and legs out, closing on the descent. After a count of ten it was hurting too much so she switched to sit ups. Earlier she had managed hundreds at a time but now her stomach muscles spasmed at ten and she had to stop. Still she didn’t give up. She hugged her knees into her chest and moved into hip raises until she lost count.
Dehydration meant that exercise no longer raised a sweat but Issie forced herself to continue until she could no longer move. When she finally stopped her body was shaking as she lay on the mouldy carpet. The floor was cold and hard but she was satisfied just to lie there. Her eyes closed.
A noise from outside woke her; voices arguing, two men. She crawled forward and pressed her ear to the door. It was Badger and his brother, the one she thought of as Brock. Issie moaned in relief. She had begun to think they’d abandoned her but of course they wouldn’t do that. She squatted down, her ear tight against the door as the brothers continued to argue on the other side.
‘—’king can’t do that!’ she heard Badger shout.
‘Your fault if you hadn’t … deep shit.’ Brock’s voice slurred drunkenly.
‘She won’t talk, I …’
Issie realised they were arguing about what to do with her and strained to hear. Badger was pacing, his voice ebbing in and out as
he moved. There was a mumbled reply from Brock, unintelligible and then Badger again.
‘Forget it! How the fuck do you expect to get away with that?’
The hair on the back of Issie’s neck stood on end. What had Brock suggested? Her imagination provided a horror show of alternatives as her hands groped in the darkness for a weapon, anything with which to defend herself; but, of course, the room was bare apart from the plastic coke bottle half full of urine. She crawled over and picked it up anyway; there was nothing else. Even the mattress was supported on a cheap plastic frame without metal fittings. She wrapped herself inside the eiderdown and tried not to make a sound.
It went quiet in the room next door. There was the clink of a bottle on glass followed by an unintelligible rumble from Brock. At one point heavy footsteps lurched towards the door but there was a shout, sounds of more drink being poured and whoever it was retreated back into the room.
Were they going to ignore her, pretend she didn’t exist? Did they mean to leave her here to die? She felt an urge to cry out despite an inner caution that told her to keep quiet. Issie stuffed the filthy eiderdown in her mouth and started to count in a desperate attempt to stop herself from panicking.
Just after one thousand the door opened without warning. A hand pulled her up sharply by the hair. Another went over her mouth and she dropped the bottle, struggling as she was dragged out.
‘Be quiet or you’ll wake him!’ Badger’s voice hissed in her ear.
The light in the main room was dim but her eyes were already adjusted to the dark and she could see everything. Brock was sprawled on the couch in front of a television, an empty bottle of whisky on the floor by his outstretched hand.
Badger looked somehow the same but totally different. His expression was out of focus and he wouldn’t look her in the eye as he pulled her towards the door. His brother groaned and they both froze.
‘Ssh.’ Badger whispered but it was unnecessary. Issie hadn’t made a sound since he had grabbed her.
They waited as Brock scratched, half turned on the sofa and emitted a grunt before starting to snore. Issie leant towards the door and escape but Badger didn’t move.
‘Stay here; doors locked; he’s got the key,’ he hissed.
She watched, barely breathing, as he edged towards the sleeping figure, his right hand outstretched. When he was by the couch Badger crouched down, inching his fingers forward and into his brother’s trouser pocket. He paused, searching, then probed deeper. He started to withdraw his hand as Brock opened one bleary eye. Issie held her breath and shrank into the shadows.
‘Wha …?’
‘Just looking for a smoke, that’s all.’
‘Ngh; smoke?’
Brock eased his bulk up, trapping Badger’s hand in his pocket by the movement. He looked half asleep but then his arm snaked out and he grabbed his brother’s clenched palm.
‘Lessavalook.’ His voice was an animal growl, the look in his eyes instantly murderous.
Twisting Badger’s wrist so that he yelped, Brock yanked the hand into full view. A set of keys dangled from his brother’s clenched fingers.
‘Smoke! I’ll give you fucking smoke!’
Wide awake, Brock brought his free hand up in a swing that connected so hard with Badger’s head that it knocked him to the floor. Issie watched as Brock brought up his fist to strike again but Badger rolled aside and the blow missed. As he did so his side brushed the empty whisky bottle and he snatched it up by the neck. Before Brock could hit him again, Badger smashed the bottle against the side of his brother’s jaw. The glass shattered on impact and the air was filled suddenly with a bright jet of blood that reached the ceiling.
Issie screamed, so did Badger. He jumped back as his brother clutched at his neck, a look of total surprise on his face. Brock
opened his mouth to speak but red froth bubbled out instead, then a hissing sound. Almost in slow motion he collapsed back onto the settee, his mouth opening and closing like a landed fish. Issie shut her eyes and turned her head away. There were gurgling sounds that shut off abruptly and then silence. When she looked again Brock’s eyes were set, staring unseeing at his brother in a look of amazement.
Badger hadn’t moved. He seemed frozen; the broken neck of the bottle still in his hand, a cut beneath his left eye caused by flying glass oozed a thin trickle of blood, like a shaving nick. It was strange the way it showed up despite the crimson wash that had covered the room in a wide circle with Brock at its point of origin.
‘We need to get help,’ Issie said, amazed at how normal her voice sounded. ‘Badger; I said we need to get him help. Come on.’
She was reluctant to go near the man on the couch but the keys were still in Brock’s hand so she forced herself to step forward and open his fingers. The keys slid out, still warm. Badger’s eyes were fixed on his brother. Issie backed towards the door and managed to slide the master key into the lock despite the tremor in her arms. At the noise Badger stirred. He moved with startling speed and grabbed the keys from her.
‘Where are you going?’
‘To get help, like I said.’ Issie made her words sound normal but her brain was screaming at her that she was in the room with a killer who might not want a surviving witness.
‘He’s dead, can’t you see?’
‘There may be time to resuscitate him if we hurry.’
‘No way.’ Badger slipped the keys into his pocket and tested the door to make sure it was still locked. ‘Wait here.’
He was gone less than a minute.
‘Put these on.’ It was an instruction.
Issie wrinkled her nose at the musty smell emanating from the shirt, socks and trousers he thrust at her, all far too big for her tiny frame but she put them on, glad of their warmth. The trousers slipped down to her ankles. Badger laughed, a hysterical sound
that made her want to cry. She bit the inside of her lip, hard. He took off his belt and passed it to her.
It was far too large but she managed to pull it tight over the waistband of the trousers and held it closed with one hand. Badger watched her, nodded to himself and twisted the belt around so that the buckle and spare length of leather were against her spine. He yanked the loose end and she stumbled back against him, like a dog brought to heel. She was on a leash.
‘Time to go.’
‘Where?’ she asked, and then bit her lip again in case he didn’t like the question.
‘I’ll find somewhere. Come on.’
He unlocked the door and thrust her before him into air so cold that it froze the back of her throat. His car was parked under naked trees fifty feet away. She stumbled to the passenger seat but he dragged her to the back and opened the boot.
‘You can’t!’ she screamed, starting to lose her self-control. ‘No, I won’t, I’m not going in there.
No
!’
Her protests stopped as he slapped her face, making her bite her tongue. He lifted her off the ground and threw her into the boot on top of oily rags. The lid snapped shut on her muffled screams.