Missing Page 26

  As though sensing Vivienne’s reaction Theo’s arm closed a little more tightly around her shoulders, while he held the bouncing Rufus on his other side.

  ‘OK, right,’ DI Sadler said, leaning towards the mikes. ‘This is just a short statement to keep you up to date. The search around the area where Timothy Grainger’s body was found is continuing, but I should stress that, contrary to some rumours we’ve been hearing, there has been nothing so far to suggest that Mrs Avery herself was ever at the location. Some of you have been asking for details about the person who came forward with information about Mr Grainger, but I’m afraid the person concerned has asked not to be identified. We are satisfied at this time that neither Mr Grainger, nor the person who was with him at the scene, is in any way connected to the Avery family.’ He looked off camera as someone spoke to him, then to the mikes he said, ‘Thank you. I think that’s about all we can tell you for now.’

  A front-row reporter cut in quickly. ‘Have you found any fingerprints or DNA that doesn’t match Mr Grainger’s or his friend’s?’ he asked.

  ‘At this time there is no evidence to suggest anyone else was at the scene,’ Sadler replied affably. His head went up as he pointed to someone close to the back.

  ‘Rob Logan, News of the World. Is it true you’re reopening the case of Mr Avery’s missing son?’

  Sadler’s expression immediately darkened. ‘No, it is not,’ he responded shortly and gestured for another reporter to go ahead.

  ‘Julia Green, ITV West. Presumably you’ve asked Mr Avery if he knows, or knew, Mr Grainger, so can you tell us what he said?’

  ‘Mr Avery denies knowing Mr Grainger,’ Sadler replied, looking straight at her.

  Vivienne’s heart tightened at the cynicism in Sadler’s tone, never mind the unspoken message he seemed to send to the reporter. ‘Turn it off,’ she said to Kayla, and taking Rufus from Theo she carried him back to her desk.

  ‘Hang on, someone’s just asked if the search for Jacqueline is happening anywhere else besides Devon,’ Alice said.

  Vivienne drew Rufus in warmly against her, while her lacklustre eyes returned to the screen.

  ‘The TAG team has spread out further onto the moor now,’ Sadler was saying, ‘and another house-to-house is being conducted in the area.’

  ‘So you’re convinced she never left Devon?’ someone pressed.

  ‘No evidence has come to light so far to confirm that she did.’

  ‘Detective Inspector,’ someone else piped up, ‘do you think she’s still alive?’

  Sadler fixed the questioner with a gaze that seemed to pass straight through her. ‘If she is,’ he answered, ‘we’d like to know why she hasn’t come forward?’ He shrugged expressively and let his meaning drift into the room.

  As Kayla lowered the sound Vivienne hid her face in Rufus’s neck, knowing they were all looking at her now.

  ‘It’s a good point,’ Pete said quietly. ‘If she is still with us, why hasn’t she contacted someone?’

  Alice wasted no time answering. ‘She’s not always a rational woman,’ she reminded him.

  Vivienne sat up, and as her eyes met Alice’s she said, ‘There’s something I’d like you to do for me.’

  ‘Of course,’ Alice said. Then added, ‘I have a funny feeling I already know what it is.’

  Vivienne nodded, as though to confirm her instinct. Then hugging Rufus to her again, she turned back to Theo, whose mere presence was already making everything seem so much easier to handle. There was no doubt in her mind that his participation was going to make a world of difference from here on in, particularly where the press was concerned. Not that the mystery surrounding Jacqueline was likely to disappear from the front pages, but since the nation at large adored this young man, who wasn’t only a world-class athlete, but a natural-born entertainer, there was finally a fighting chance of getting some proper coverage for Sharon, the firemen and the auction.

  The sound of the Critch’s voice made Justine wince as it barked down the phone. ‘Were you watching the news?’ he demanded.

  ‘Yes,’ she answered.

  ‘And you got the same impression I did?’

  ‘They still suspect him.’

  The Critch chuckled. ‘It’s only a matter of time,’ he declared confidently. ‘As for you, Justie, you can count yourself lucky you found that email, because without it you wouldn’t just be toast by now, you’d be the scrapings under my boot.’

  She made no comment.

  ‘So, have you followed up on it yet?’ he demanded.

  ‘No, I’m just—’

  ‘Well, what the hell are you waiting for? But go careful with it. If it’s real, it’s dynamite, and we sure as hell don’t want it blowing up in your pretty little face now, do we?’

  ‘I’d appreciate knowing I had your full backing before I go any further,’ she responded tightly.

  ‘Consider it yours, but you take this anywhere else, Justie, and Avery’s wrath is going to look like a pussy lick in comparison to what I’ll do to you.’

  After ringing off Justine continued to sit on the edge of her bed, letting his words recede like grimy water down a plughole while she reflected on the effect the email’s contents had started having on her. At first she’d seen it only as the lifeline she’d needed to rescue herself from a rapid descent into the sad, alcoholic world of Fleet Street has-beens. She’d been as excited and urgent about it then as the Critch was now, but the more she read and considered it, the more it seemed to be sobering her – in fact, it was starting to reach her in a way she wasn’t quite sure how to handle.

  With a growing sense of trepidation she went to sit down at her computer where the email she’d stolen from Miles was displayed full-screen. As she reread the words, which she could probably recite by heart, she was thinking of what a cruel and senseless tragedy it would be if Jacqueline’s body was found on the moor. She really couldn’t be sure if she suspected Miles now; she only knew that fate had not been kind to that family, and that Miles was as capable as any man of reaching the end of his tether. He wanted his freedom, had become almost desperate for an escape from the hell of never-ending grief into which Jacqueline had dragged them. He naturally wanted to be with the woman he’d loved – more than that, though, he would want to grasp the second chance life had given him to be a father to his son.

  It wasn’t a difficult story to tell. Justine had concocted many like it over the years: families torn apart by the wanton vagaries of fate; tragic and understandable crimes of passion; love overcoming all! What she’d never had, however, was such a direct route to the heart of a family in crisis. The father whose background and character was already well known to her, the daughter who’d suffered years of maternal neglect, and the son – the missing son – who, if this email was to be believed, had been killed a long time ago.

  She sat back in her chair, feeling the air go out of her. The curious thing was, this really could be the story of her career, yet instead of rushing ahead she was sitting here almost afraid to move on it. Perhaps, if something had come to light about it in her background checks on Sam’s disappearance, she’d be feeling less doubtful, but nowhere had she come across a single mention of anyone by the name of Elizabeth Barrett, the sender of the email. Clearly no one else had either, or the story would be out there by now, so what exactly was that telling her? That the email had been sent by a crank? Or from someone Miles had paid to keep silent?

  Had she not already shown the message to the Critch she might be approaching this a different way now, but the man had scented blood and blood he would have, whether she got it for him, or he set someone else on the trail – and handing it over simply wasn’t an option she was going to allow.

  Finally, sitting forward, she began entering a web address to create a new hotmail account. Once her bogus identity was set up, she opened a window and began to type, thinking of Miles and how, as an editor, he might handle this.

  Dear Mrs Barrett

  As Mr
Avery’s lawyer, I am in receipt of a copy of your email in which you are making certain claims about his missing son. I’m sure you can imagine how many people have contacted Mr Avery over the years in regard to this matter, often causing the family considerable and unnecessary distress. It is for this reason that Mr Avery has asked me to contact you on his behalf. I shall be happy to arrange a meeting with you if you will be kind enough to furnish some proof of your claim, together with your name, telephone number and address.

  With regards, Janette James

  Miles’s way wasn’t the same as the Critch’s, and for now, like it or not, she needed to stay close to the Critch.

  ‘You’re not still puzzling over that envelope, are you?’ DI Sadler demanded, walking into CID with his coat still on and a cup of steaming coffee warming his hands.

  ‘I am, sir,’ DC Joy confirmed, turning it over inside its evidence bag. ‘It’s been bothering me ever since we found it amongst Mrs Avery’s effects. Why is it empty? That’s what I want to know. What’s happened to the letter, or whatever was in it?’

  ‘It might yet turn up,’ Sadler reminded her. ‘The boys are still out there.’

  DC Joy continued to stare down at the badly soiled envelope with its smudged address, roughly torn opening and illegible postmark. Something about it wasn’t seeming quite right to her, though she couldn’t for the life of her say what, other than the fact that its contents were missing. It was as though, she was thinking, she was holding the key to an important door; the only problem was, she had no idea where to find the door. ‘The address is handwritten,’ she said, studying the blurred blue ink, ‘and most of it’s unreadable now, though it’s obviously Moorlands and her name is reasonably clear too. The sender’s address is missing. It must have come off when she opened the letter, because no little scraps have been found nearby, but there was definitely something, because the letters “mes” are still there on the back. Forensics are working their magic on the postmark, but no luck so far.’

  ‘That might be because it’s here on your desk, instead of in the labs with them,’ Sadler pointed out. ‘Do they know you’ve taken it?’

  DC Joy looked shocked. ‘You’re surely not suggesting I stole it, sir.’

  ‘Borrowed,’ he corrected, and took a mouthful of coffee just as the phone on her desk started to ring.

  ‘Elaine,’ a voice said from the other end. ‘You might want to get yourself down here.’

  ‘Ryan?’ she said.

  ‘That’s me. Is Sadler around?’

  ‘Yes, he’s right here.’

  ‘Then bring him too.’

  Elaine was already getting to her feet as she rang off. ‘We’re needed in the incident room, sir,’ she told him.

  ‘They’ve found her,’ Sadler declared, following her into the corridor.

  ‘I don’t think it can be that,’ she responded, ‘the TAG boys would have called you direct if it was. Your mobile’s switched on, is it?’

  Sadler checked, then repocketed it as they ran down the stairs.

  Minutes later they were entering the incident room, where several uniformed officers were seated at a haphazard arrangement of tables covered in empty coffee cups and an impressive amount of technology. Sergeant Ryan Austin was leaning against one of the white chalkboards, staring down at a recording device that one of the other officers was operating.

  ‘Ah, sir,’ he said, as Sadler came in. ‘We’ve received a call that I think you should hear. Play it from the top,’ he told the PC.

  After the squeal and hum of a rewind the tape began playing, and almost instantly Joy’s eyes widened with astonishment, while Sadler’s brow started to furrow.

  ‘Hello,’ a female voice said softly. ‘My name is Jacqueline Avery. I would like you to know that I am perfectly all right. There is no need to go on looking for me—’

  ‘Can you tell us where you are?’ an officer’s voice cut in.

  ‘I’d rather not,’ came the reply. ‘I believe I have that right.’

  ‘Of course, but—’

  ‘I urge you not to waste any more time searching for me. I have not been harmed in any way—’

  ‘Can you just tell me—’

  There was a click on the line.

  ‘Hello? Hello? Are you still there?’

  Silence.

  The tape stopped and all eyes went to Sadler.

  ‘We’re getting it triangulated,’ Austin told him. ‘We should have a location any time now.’

  Sadler nodded. ‘Let me know when you have it,’ he said, starting out of the room, ‘and get me some copies of the tape.’

  ‘Do you think it was really her?’ Joy asked, catching up with him outside the PC’s locker rooms.

  ‘Right now,’ he replied, still walking, ‘I’m reserving judgement.’

  Intrigued, Joy glanced at him, but said no more as she followed him back upstairs to CID, where he left her to go into his office.

  With the door firmly closed behind him he began running with several theories regarding the call, just in case any coincidence or anomaly managed to fuse itself with something a little more substantial than a mere doubt or suspicion. However, by the time Joy rang to let him know she was putting Sergeant Austin through, he was feeling like a fool who had all the pieces of a jigsaw stuck together the wrong way. The picture was there, he was certain of it, and it might even be complete, but it was as though he had a patch of sky in a field, water flowing upwards, and people with bodies only half their own. Which could only mean, he reflected irritably as he waited for Austin’s voice to come down the line, that his perspective on this was shot.

  Less than five minutes later he was feeling very differently, for the triangulation had turned up something extremely interesting. ‘So what do you make of that?’ he asked DC Joy, who’d come to stand in the doorway whilst he took the call.

  ‘I don’t know, sir, you weren’t on speaker,’ she reminded him.

  Sadler chuckled and rubbed his hands. ‘Well, Detective Constable, it would appear the call was made from the Kew area, using a pay-as-you-go mobile phone registered to someone by the name of Anne Cates.’

  ‘Who?’ Joy said, frowning.

  ‘Kew,’ Sadler continued, ‘as I’m sure you know, Elaine, is not a million miles from Chiswick. Or, to be more precise, a mere stroll across the bridge from Pier House, Strand on the Green.’

  Joy still wasn’t getting it. ‘Are you saying, sir, that you think Anne Cates is really Vivienne Kane? If you are, I’m afraid I can’t agree, because we’d have recognised the voice.’

  ‘Certainly we’d have recognised Vivienne Kane’s voice, but we’ve never spoken to her closest friend and business partner, Alice Jackson, who, I believe, happens to work in Chiswick and live in Kew.’

  Joy blinked in astonishment. ‘You think Vivienne Kane’s business partner made the call for her?’ she said, afraid he might be losing it.

  ‘It’s possible,’ Sadler replied. ‘As I said, the mobile is registered to Anne Cates, and the address the phone company has is KJA – Kane Jackson Agency? – Pier House, Strand on the Green.’

  Joy only stared at him.

  ‘I think we need to speak to Ms Kane, don’t you, Detective Constable?’

  Joy nodded. ‘Yes, sir,’ she said, ‘I think we do. Shall I get her on the line?’

  ‘No, I want to see her eyes when we turn up unexpectedly. She’s in London at the moment, I believe?’

  ‘Certainly according to the papers,’ Joy agreed.

  ‘Good. We’ll catch the first train in the morning.’

  Vivienne was in her upstairs sitting room, sorting through the press interest they’d had so far for the auction, while Rufus entertained himself with some wooden bricks and a hammer. His little face was flushed with pleasure, his dark eyes shining with glee as he banged about noisily, shouting at the top of his voice, or blowing bubbles that burst and ran down his chin. Each time she looked at him she had to fight the urge to scoop him up for a hug, bec
ause nothing ever felt so good in her arms as his gorgeously squidgy little limbs.

  Finding her eyes drawn to the window as it rattled in the wind, she watched the trees in the courtyard outside swaying wildly in the gusts. Rain sliced down from a dense black sky, drowning the flower beds and devastating the last hardy blooms. Were she to spare it a thought she might almost pity the journalists who were out there somewhere, lying in wait, and certainly she’d be sorry for the tourists huddled into pleasure cruisers making the journey from Kew to Charing Cross. But she was too engrossed in the warmth of having her son near, and the work at hand, even to register the hoot of a whistle as a cruiser passed by.

  Since she was expecting Sharon or Stella to call at any minute with news on Sharon’s donor, her mobile was right next to her, and when it rang she clicked on without checking who it was.

  ‘Hi, it’s me,’ a voice said at the other end.

  Immediately her heart contracted. ‘Miles,’ she murmured, sitting back in her chair. ‘Thank God. I’ve been so worried.’

  ‘I’m sorry,’ he said. He sounded so tired and hoarse that she could easily picture his unshaven face and the heaviness of his eyes – and rarely had she wanted to be with him more. ‘I don’t know if it’s wise to call,’ he said, ‘or just plain stupid not to.’

  ‘What’s important is that you stop shutting me out,’ she told him.

  There was a silence before he spoke again, and the note of defeat that had crept into his voice increased her concern. ‘If anything should happen,’ he said, ‘if this doesn’t end the way … I want you to know that you and Rufus will be taken care of.’

  ‘Miles, don’t say things like that,’ she said gently, but firmly. ‘We’re going to be together, all of us …’

  ‘But if things don’t work out that way …’

  ‘They will. Listen to me, please. You haven’t done anything wrong.’

  ‘I guess you realise you’re the only one who seems to think that.’

  ‘Al Kohler does too. And there will be plenty of others if you’d just let us in. Darling, you’re clearly exhausted. You can’t go on shouldering this alone.’

  ‘Well, I’m not going to let you do it for me.’