Missing Page 23

  ‘Not good. At the moment she won’t speak to me at all.’

  Her sigh was gentle, making him picture her in a way that stirred a need to hold her. Someone knocked on the door and he turned to see who it was.

  ‘Miles,’ she said softly.

  The expression on Sadler’s face was turning his insides to liquid.

  ‘I’m sorry,’ Vivienne was saying, ‘it was wrong of me not to tell you about Rufus—’

  ‘This isn’t the time,’ he interrupted, his eyes still on Sadler.

  ‘But I needed to say it. I want you to know—’

  ‘Not now,’ he cut in. ‘I’ll speak to you later,’ and before she could say any more he ended the call.

  ‘I’d like you to come with me, Mr Avery,’ Sadler said in a voice that was unnervingly grave.

  ‘Why?’ Miles demanded. ‘Where are we going?’

  Sadler stood aside for him to go ahead.

  ‘Don’t tell me you’ve found her,’ Miles said, a charge of adrenalin making him light-headed.

  ‘Not your wife, no,’ Sadler answered.

  At that Miles swung round, his face so white he seemed about to pass out. ‘Not my daughter,’ he gasped.

  Realising his mistake, Sadler immediately flushed. ‘No, it’s not your daughter,’ he assured him.

  Miles’s relief was so palpable that he almost staggered. ‘Then for God’s sake, man,’ he growled, ‘tell me what it is.’

  ‘Actually, that’s what we’re hoping you’re going to tell us,’ Sadler responded, and going out into the rain he opened the passenger door of his Focus for Miles to get in.

  ‘Let me through. Please. Mind out of the way.’

  Justine was jostling her colleagues, trying to force her way to the front of the mêlée, but in spite of the driving rain and wind, no one was giving an inch. Up ahead, through a sea of hoods and hoisted cameras, she could see two mounted officers holding back the crowd, and hear several dogs barking.

  ‘What is it?’ she growled in frustration. ‘Will someone tell me what’s going on?’

  ‘Thought you were the one with all the inside gen,’ someone close by jeered.

  Justine winced as a large man in heavy boots stepped back onto her foot. ‘For God’s sake,’ she seethed, giving him an angry shove.

  As he turned round she dived through the space he created and tried to push on to the cordon that had been strung across the narrow country road. It wasn’t easy. When a congregated press was after a story they became a pack of starving hyenas: nothing and no one was going to get there first.

  ‘What is it?’ she repeated to a BBC cameraman she’d known for years. ‘What’s all the fuss about?’

  As he started to answer she grunted in pain; a photographer had just clunked her head with his camera. It was like a scrum, elbows digging, feet kicking, shoulders shoving, and all the time the rain was coming down like nails. She looked around frantically for the cameraman, spotted him a few feet away and shouted, ‘Bill! What is it?’

  But Bill wasn’t listening. His only focus was the woods behind the phalanx of officers that was holding the media at bay.

  Wanting to scream she forced her way towards someone else she knew, ready to claw and scratch like an alley cat if she needed to. ‘Alby! Alby! What’s going on?’

  Albert Finnigan seemed not to hear. He was too busy calling out for a comment from Miles Avery as Miles and Sadler, escorted by two PCs with police issue umbrellas, crossed the corner of a field and disappeared into the shadowy woods the other side.

  ‘Is it another body?’ someone yelled.

  ‘Is it her?’

  ‘Why’s Avery here?’ a reporter next to Justine shouted.

  Justine eyed her closely. Miles, here? So that was what all the fuss was about. Her mind went into overdrive. Obviously something had been found, or at least a new development was breaking. Whatever it was, it had to be serious if Miles had been brought to the woods, but hanging around to share the scoop with this bunch of tossers was not what she was about. Exclusives, front pages, new angles, that was what she needed to get back in with the Critch, and like a little epiphany in a world of seething darkness it was occurring to her how she might manage it. No guarantees, but definitely worth a shot, so squirming back through the crowd she made a mad dash along the lane to where she’d left her car.

  Minutes later, wipers going like the clappers, she braked hard on the bend before Moorlands, skidded forward on the slippery road, righted the car, then finding the gates unattended, as she’d hoped, she swerved into the drive and sped up to the house. Time wouldn’t be on her side, so she had to move swiftly and pray no one else was at home.

  Jumping out of the car she ran towards the double front doors, hoping to God she wouldn’t have to waste time trying to break in. To her relief one of the doors was unlocked, so pushing it open she stood quietly for a moment, stilling her breath as she listened to the cavernous silence of the hall.

  Finally deciding the place was empty she moved quickly across to the study, closed the door behind her and began rifling through drawers and cupboards in search of something, anything, that might give her an edge over everyone else. A photograph of Rufus would be great – if nothing else it would suggest Miles had known about his son all along – or perhaps a letter from Jacqueline begging him not to leave her for Vivienne. Best of all, she was thinking as she moved over to his computer, would be some kind of communication from Vivienne implicating them both in the mysterious disappearance.

  Amazed that Miles’s password was programmed in for immediate access to his email, she quickly began scrolling through the dozens upon dozens of messages from her colleagues that had come in over the past few days, none of which had even been opened. She couldn’t help being impressed by the innovative headings some had used to grab his attention, but there seemed to be no exceptions, as far as the press was concerned nothing had been touched. A few other messages had been checked, it appeared, but none of any consequence, so perhaps she should start looking deeper into the system, even as far as the recycle bin.

  She was just scrolling down the left-hand margin to see what special files he’d set up, hoping it might be as easy as finding one marked ‘Vivienne’ or ‘Jacqueline’, when a three-word heading in the main inbox happened to catch her eye. Blinking with bemusement, she looked at the sender’s ID. A woman, but no one she’d ever heard of. A quick glance at the date and time showed the email had arrived less than ten minutes ago, which meant Miles couldn’t have seen it yet.

  With a spinning curiosity, and fingers made unsteady by excitement, she clicked on to open the email, half expecting it to be from some kind of nutter, or, more likely, a journo with a particularly sick way of grabbing attention.

  However, less than a minute later, having read the carefully phrased sentences and opened the photograph attached to the message, she could only sit staring at the screen, so stunned that she couldn’t, as yet, quite grasp the enormity of what she’d discovered.

  Taking a split-second decision, she forwarded the email to her own computer and erased it from Miles’s. Sweat was beading on her forehead and prickling under her arms. She felt slightly dizzied by what she’d done, as though it wasn’t quite real. Her heart was still thudding as she returned to the named files on the left, but whatever they contained couldn’t be more explosive than the message she’d just read. Nevertheless, her fingers moved rapidly over the keys as she entered a search for Vivienne.

  If she heard the sound of footsteps in the hall she didn’t register them, nor did she connect with the door opening as someone came in, all she knew was how violently she started when a voice said, ‘What are you doing?’

  She spun round to see Kelsey standing at the door.

  Kelsey’s eyes rounded. ‘Oh my God, it’s you. What are you doing here?’

  In spite of how flustered she was, Justine managed a reasonable nonchalance as she said, ‘I’m just … I was using your dad’s computer. He said I could …
’

  ‘You’re snooping,’ Kelsey declared, her lip curling in disgust.

  ‘Of course I’m not. I left my laptop at the hotel so your father said I could file from his.’

  Kelsey’s eyes remained hostile. ‘So where is he?’ she wanted to know.

  ‘I – I’m not sure. He was here a moment ago.’

  Still the girl’s suspicion showed no sign of letting up. ‘I’m going to call him,’ she said, taking out her mobile.

  ‘No! Don’t! I mean …’

  Kelsey stopped in alarm.

  ‘Actually, he’s with the police,’ Justine told her, surprised by how relieved one small truth could make her feel. ‘They’re, um … They went over to the woods.’

  Kelsey looked more scared than ever.

  ‘Oh, it’s OK, I don’t think it’s anything to worry about,’ Justine assured her, having no idea if it was, but it seemed the right thing to say.

  Kelsey’s red-rimmed eyes began darting around the room, as though afraid someone else might be there, then they came to a stop on something on the floor. Justine followed their direction and felt her heart sink with dismay. The front-page story about her new baby brother.

  If Justine thought, even for a minute, that Kelsey wouldn’t register the headline she was so quickly corrected that her head almost spun.

  ‘That’s your name on that story!’ Kelsey said savagely.

  The girl was definitely her father’s daughter.

  ‘You wrote that! You don’t care about how my mum—’

  ‘Hang on, hang on,’ Justine said, putting out her hands as though they could calm things down. ‘Your father knew it was … Well, he said himself, it had to come out sooner or later, so … so he asked me to do it, before … anyone turned it into something … Well …’ With a helpless gesture, she said, ‘I have no control over headlines.’

  Kelsey seemed more upset than ever. ‘He wanted everyone to know?’ she said.

  Justine was trying to make herself think. ‘I guess it’s best if it’s out there,’ she said uneasily. ‘Keeping things secret … Well, you can see what this has done. It’s started people thinking … you know, the worst.’

  Kelsey’s haunted eyes were looking fearfully into hers. ‘Have you ever seen him?’ she said hoarsely.

  It took Justine a moment to realise she meant Rufus. ‘No,’ she answered. ‘Have you?’

  Kelsey started, as though shocked by the question, then shook her head. ‘Has my dad?’ she asked through tightly pinched lips.

  Justine’s heart did a flip. ‘I’m not sure,’ she answered cautiously. ‘Do you think he has?’

  Kelsey shrugged. ‘How should I know? He’s only just told me about him. Anyway, I couldn’t be less interested.’

  Justine registered the defensive tone. ‘He’s your brother,’ she said, watching her closely.

  Kelsey’s eyes sparked. ‘No he’s not. He’s hers, not my mother’s, so how can he be?’

  Encouraged by the vehemence, but realising she was already on borrowed time, Justine said, ‘I think we should have a little chat, you and me.’

  Kelsey immediately backed off.

  ‘Not now,’ Justine persevered. ‘I have to go, but if you give me your mobile number …’

  ‘What for? It was because of you that my mother tried to kill herself, and me.’

  ‘I had no idea she’d do that,’ Justine said awkwardly. ‘And I didn’t write the whole piece myself.’

  Kelsey continued to glare at her.

  ‘Try to think of it this way,’ Justine said gently, ‘she came back after she read that article. And that was what you wanted. Wasn’t it? To have your mum back.’

  ‘I didn’t want her to do what she did.’

  ‘Of course not, but remember what else happened?’

  Kelsey looked wary.

  ‘To Vivienne?’

  It took only a second for comprehension to dawn.

  ‘That’s right. It got her out of your life,’ Justine said with a reassuring smile.

  Now Kelsey was looking puzzled.

  ‘I’ll tell you what,’ Justine said, reaching for a pad, ‘I’ll give you the number of my mobile, and if you’d like to talk some more you just give me a call. Any time, day or night, and if you don’t want anyone to know, I promise not to mention it to a soul.’

  Chapter Thirteen

  RAIN WAS STREAMING down on the umbrella being held over Miles, in a haunting, mesmeric tempo that seemed, oddly, to deaden the horror and even disperse the shock. The ground underfoot was sodden, the trees dripped and creaked in the wind, while the fields that stretched and faded into the moor seemed to sigh and shift in their impenetrable veil of mist.

  There was a lot of movement around the edge of the woods, forensic scientists in pale overalls, masks and gloves collecting and bagging evidence; other scene-of-crime officers in issue waterproofs treading carefully about the mire; an Alsatian and a spaniel sniffing eagerly at the base of a sycamore, where crimson-topped funghi were sprouting in profusion amongst the roots. Miles was barely registering it all, though he was aware he was at a possible crime scene where every scrap of substance mattered.

  Apparently the dead man, Timothy Grainger, had died from asphyxiation, brought about by choking on his own vomit. A senseless, tragic end, but not in itself suspicious. However, what had turned up since certainly was, though the implications barely registered with Miles, as he stared down at the crumpled, slime-covered coat a member of the forensic team was holding for him to look at. In spite of its condition he was in no doubt it was Jacqueline’s. As were the Bali shoes and Hermès scarf which had also been found in the Fendi carry-all buried in another ditch, some fifty metres or so from where Grainger’s body had been discovered.

  ‘Over here!’ someone suddenly shouted.

  Miles looked up. One of the SOCOs was kneeling at the base of the sycamore, drawing something out from under a blanket of saturated leaves. ‘A handbag,’ he declared, holding it aloft.

  Miles and Sadler walked over to join the small crowd that was gathering around the tree. With gloved hands one of the forensics took the bag and began fishing around for the contents. This time Miles wasn’t required to identify the find: the wallet spoke for itself. It was full of Jacqueline’s credit cards. Her driving licence was there too, along with a small bundle of store receipts and a slim gold pen inscribed with her initials. A gift from him two Christmases ago.

  He watched, as though in a dream, as gloved fingers dug into the bag again and pulled out a set of keys. He knew them instantly; they belonged to Moorlands.

  ‘Got an envelope here, sir,’ a young officer called from a few feet away.

  Everyone turned round. He was kneeling at the edge of the woods, rain cascading over him as his knees sank into the pulpy earth. ‘Nothing in it,’ he told them, ‘but it’s addressed to Mrs Avery.’

  Miles watched someone take it from him and insert it in a transparent plastic bag.

  Sadler said, ‘Do you have any idea how any of this might have got here, Mr Avery?’

  Miles swallowed, but when he tried to speak his voice wasn’t there.

  Sadler waited.

  Miles met his eyes, careful to let nothing show in his own. ‘I think my wisest course right now,’ he said, ‘would be to contact my lawyer.’

  Sadler continued to regard him, but when Miles said no more he turned away and began trudging back through the autumn debris to his car. As he waited for Miles to join him his eyes moved through the dense, ghostly mists billowing around the moor. ‘I’ll take you home,’ he said, and leaving Miles to open the passenger door for himself, he squeezed past a PSU van to get around to the driver’s side.

  Neither of them spoke again until they were back at the house, when Sadler, with the engine still idling, said, ‘We’ll find her, Mr Avery.’

  Ignoring the undertone, Miles kept his own voice neutral as he said, ‘I certainly hope so,’ and pushing open the door he got out of the car.

&n
bsp; Vivienne’s face was pinched with anger as she hoisted a heavy carrycot up the steps to her sister’s front door. Behind her a posse of press was squealing to a halt around her Beetle, having pursued her at dangerous speed from her mother’s.

  ‘Vivienne! Vivienne!’ they began shouting as they leapt out of their vehicles.

  ‘How old is Rufus?’

  ‘Is it true Miles didn’t know about him?’

  ‘Do you know where Jacqueline is?’

  As the front door opened Vivienne shoved her way inside and thrust the carrycot at Caroline before storming down the hall into the sitting room.

  ‘What the hell’s going on?’ Caroline demanded, coming in after her.

  ‘It was you, wasn’t it?’ Vivienne seethed. ‘You, or your damned drunk of a husband, sold your story to Justine James. Well, let me tell you this, Caroline, if anything happens to my son as a result of it, I will hold you fully responsible.’

  ‘Oh, ever the drama queen,’ Caroline sneered, throwing down the carrycot. ‘They were always going to find out, and only someone as arrogant as you would think—’

  ‘Listen to me,’ Vivienne growled, stepping in close. ‘There are at least half a dozen reporters out there, so if you don’t do as I say, right now, I’m going back out there to tell them who sold me down the river. What a nice headline that’s going to make for you, sister dearest.’

  Though Caroline flinched, her tone was still scathing as she said, ‘You don’t come round here giving orders …’

  ‘Oh yes, I do. You owe me for this, and now you’re going to pay. Everyone out there thinks Rufus is with me, and you’re going to play along by letting them think it too, at least for the next hour. By then I’ll be long gone, in your car, and I’ll leave you mine.’

  Caroline blinked in confusion.

  ‘Keys,’ Vivienne demanded, holding out her hand.

  ‘What the hell makes you think—’

  ‘Give me the damned keys. I take it your car’s in its usual place, out the back?’

  ‘Yes, it is, and that’s where it’s going to stay.’