Missing Read online

  ‘Ah, sir, there you are,’ DC Joy said, looking up as Detective Inspector Sadler came into CID with one of the sergeants. ‘How did it go in court?’

  ‘Don’t ask,’ he responded grumpily. ‘Just tell me something to brighten my day.’

  ‘Well, I don’t think I can do that exactly, sir, but I do have something—’

  ‘The Avery case,’ he interrupted. ‘Any sightings after the news broadcast?’

  ‘Uniform are following up on a couple of possibles,’ she answered, ‘and we’ve been inundated with calls from the press …’

  He waved a hand irritably. ‘Has anyone seen her, that’s what we want to know? There’s nothing on those darned CCTV cameras, so we have to assume she never got on the train.’

  Joy picked up a file and followed him into his office. ‘I’ve spoken to the psychiatrist,’ she told him, ‘and this arrived from the Met a couple of hours ago. It’s a bit surprising … I’m not sure why he never told us … Well, I think you’d better read it.’

  Sadler eyed the file, took it, then sank down in his chair as he opened it. ‘I could murder a cuppa,’ he hinted. ‘And a bacon sandwich with two thingama-whatsits of ketchup.’

  ‘Would that be sachets, sir?’

  ‘Don’t get smart.’

  By the time she’d gone dutifully off to the canteen and returned with his lunch it was clear to Joy that he’d finished reading the file. To her surprise, when she saw the look on his face she felt tears come to her eyes. Quickly blinking them back she set down his plate and cup and tried to assert a professional detachment, but after finding out what she had and now catching her boss’s reaction, it was hard.

  ‘Sad, isn’t it, sir?’ she said.

  Still staring at the page in front of him, Sadler nodded slowly. ‘Yes, Elaine, it’s certainly that,’ he responded, with a rare use of her Christian name.

  Going to peer over his shoulder at the file, she said, ‘I wonder why Mr Avery never told us.’

  ‘He probably finds it hard to talk about,’ Sadler replied. ‘I know I would.’

  ‘Even after all this time?’

  He inhaled deeply. ‘When a child is abducted and never found, time isn’t much of a healer.’

  Realising that was probably true, she continued to gaze down at the slightly faded photograph of a beautiful baby boy. ‘So now we know why Mrs Avery’s a bit unstable,’ she said, swallowing another well of emotion.

  With a protracted sigh, Sadler nodded. ‘Do we know yet if Mr Avery’s turned up anything in London that might help us to find her?’ he asked.

  ‘No word from him, sir.’

  ‘OK, let’s give him a call.’

  As he reached for the phone, DC Joy said, ‘I have a theory, sir.’

  Sadler put the phone down again.

  Surprised to find herself being taken seriously, she coloured slightly. ‘I wondered … I mean … Mrs Avery’s psychiatrist said she’d never been able to get over the loss of her child. Apparently she’s had a couple of breakdowns and all the issues surrounding it are still a big problem for her, to the point that she finds it difficult to connect with other people, including her family. It sounds as though they’ve been through years of hell, actually … So I was wondering … I know this might sound mad, but do you reckon it’s possible her husband might have helped her put an end to the suffering? I mean, she tried to commit suicide before …’ She trailed off, knowing she wasn’t presenting it well. ‘I’m sorry,’ she said. ‘It’s just that …’

  ‘Don’t apologise, DC Joy. I’ve been in this game long enough to know that anything’s possible, and what you’re suggesting had not occurred to me.’ He stared hard at the file, not sure what to make of the idea. ‘If the child’s still alive he’s about to be sixteen,’ he pointed out. ‘Do you think that’s significant?’

  Her face fell. ‘I hadn’t noticed that, sir,’ she confessed. ‘But I suppose it could be. Do you?’

  ‘It coincides with Mrs Avery’s fortieth,’ he said, and flipping back through the file he began reading again. ‘OK, let’s get Miles Avery on the line,’ he said a few minutes later.

  After pressing in the number and hearing it ring, Joy passed the phone back.

  ‘I’m sorry, Detective Inspector,’ the housekeeper told him, ‘Mr Avery’s still in London.’

  ‘I thought he might be. Could you give us the number there, please?’ After jotting it down he was about to thank her and ring off when he decided to question her a little further. ‘Has there been any sign of Mrs Avery?’ he asked. ‘Or any news?’

  ‘If there had, I’m sure Mr Avery would have let you know,’ she responded a little tartly.

  ‘I’m sure you’re right,’ he said blandly. ‘Tell me, Mrs Davies, did you know that the Averys have, or once had a son, who’d be coming up for sixteen now?’

  ‘You mean Sam.’

  ‘Do you know what happened to him?’

  ‘He was snatched and never found.’

  ‘And you didn’t think it was important to mention that when we spoke to you?’

  ‘You were only asking about her, not her son.’

  ‘Indeed,’ he said, letting his tone tell her how dimly he viewed her pedantry. ‘Thank you,’ he added, and rang off. His expression was dark as he said to Joy, ‘OK, let’s call the Averys’ London number.’ Then, treating her to a cautionary look, ‘You might not like what’s about to happen now, Detective Constable, so brace yourself.’

  ‘What do you mean, sir?’

  ‘I mean the benefit of the doubt stops here.’

  ‘Gone, sir,’ she responded, clearly not entirely sure what he meant.

  Were the situation not so grave he might have smiled, but his expression was still sober when a few moments later Joy made the connection and passed him the receiver. ‘Hello, Mr Avery?’ he said, turning on the speaker so Joy could listen. ‘It’s Detective Inspector Sadler. I hope this is a convenient time.’

  ‘Of course, Inspector,’ Miles assured him. ‘Do you have any news?’

  ‘Not about your wife, no,’ Sadler replied. ‘But I am wondering why you didn’t tell us your whole family history when we came to see you.’

  Silence fell at the other end.

  Sadler was good at silences, so had no problem letting it stretch.

  ‘Would it have made a difference?’ Miles finally asked.

  ‘You’re an intelligent man, you must know the answer to that.’

  Miles sighed. ‘All I can say is it’s not something I find easy to put into words.’

  Though he understood, Sadler said, ‘Perhaps I can do it for you?’

  Joy flinched in anticipation as Miles said, ‘You don’t need to. I know the situation. He’s going to be sixteen in a few weeks. Or he would be …’

  Sadler waited, but this time Miles won. ‘Do you think it’s why your wife has gone?’ Sadler asked.

  ‘I have no idea what her reasons were.’

  ‘Is there a possibility she could have found him?’

  Joy’s eyes widened.

  ‘I doubt it,’ Miles answered.

  ‘Do you know where she is, Mr Avery?’

  ‘I beg your pardon?’

  ‘I’m asking if you’re wasting police time.’

  ‘I rather think it’s the other way round,’ Miles snapped and the line went dead.

  Sadler handed the receiver to Joy. ‘Get him back,’ he said.

  After pressing the redial she returned the phone, then poised a finger over the speaker, only pushing the button when Sadler nodded the go-ahead.

  ‘Mr Avery, I’m sorry if I offended you.’

  ‘I went through all this fifteen years ago,’ Miles growled angrily. ‘I was accused then of a crime I didn’t commit.’

  ‘Yes, we have the file here,’ Sadler told him, knowing only too well how tough the police sometimes had to be on parents whose children went missing. He wouldn’t have to point out the necessity of it to someone like Avery, since he’d be fully aware of
how often parents were involved, and it would be naive to think that Avery’s insight would have made his own experience any easier to bear. ‘Did you happen to find anything interesting amongst your wife’s papers?’ he asked. ‘Such as her passport?’

  ‘Yes, it’s here,’ Miles replied. ‘I should also tell you that she’s virtually emptied one of our joint bank accounts.’

  Sadler frowned. ‘I see,’ he said. ‘May I ask what kind of sum we’re talking about?’

  ‘Somewhere in the region of forty thousand pounds.’

  Sadler blew a silent whistle.

  ‘Most of it was hers,’ Miles continued, ‘the profit from an apartment she sold about a year ago. It was in a long-term account, so she must have forfeited the interest.’

  ‘When did the withdrawal take place?’

  ‘According to the statement, about a month before she left.’

  ‘Which suggests she was planning to go?’

  ‘It seems that way.’

  Sadler chewed his lip thoughtfully. ‘Could she have used it to pay a ransom?’ he asked bluntly.

  Again Joy looked shocked.

  Sounding less perturbed than he might, Miles said, ‘Obviously the thought’s crossed my mind, but I can’t see her getting involved in something like that without telling me.’

  ‘You’re a big man in the media, so perhaps the kidnappers – if they exist – felt they could only trust your wife not to inform the police.’

  ‘It’s possible, but I don’t think very likely.’

  ‘Mm,’ Sadler grunted, inclined to agree. ‘It also doesn’t seem a big enough sum,’ he went on, almost to himself, ‘particularly when you’re known to be a wealthy man.’

  ‘It’s a general misconception,’ Miles informed him. ‘In fact, after two lots of inheritance tax, and some bad investments on my father’s part, there was very little left when I took over the estate.’

  ‘Well, I admit I’m intrigued,’ Sadler said, sitting back in his chair, ‘but as things stand, I’m not sure we can help you any further. If your wife has chosen to absent herself from the family home, which is what it’s looking like … Well, there’s no crime in that.’

  Miles’s tone was brisk as he said, ‘So I take it you no longer consider her a danger to herself, or others.’

  ‘Do you?’ Sadler countered.

  Miles didn’t respond.

  ‘You were at pains to tell us the other day,’ Sadler reminded him, ‘that your wife—’

  ‘I’m aware of what I said,’ Miles cut in. ‘Now, I think I shouldn’t take up any more of your time.’

  ‘It’s your decision,’ Sadler told him.

  The line went dead.

  After putting the phone down Sadler steepled his fingers and began tapping them against his chin.

  ‘Is that it, sir?’ Joy protested. ‘Are you really going to just drop it?’

  His eyes went to hers. ‘What do you suggest we do, Detective Constable?’ he enquired.

  She took a breath, all eagerness to reply until she realised she wasn’t very sure. ‘I’m still learning, sir,’ she reminded him.

  Sadler smiled. ‘Then I’ll tell you. First of all we’re going to let Mr Avery think we’ve dropped it, then we’re going to find out a little more about this missing forty grand. We only have his word to say Mrs Avery was the one who made the withdrawal.’

  ‘You mean he might have taken the money himself to make it look as though she was paying a ransom?’

  ‘Or absconding with a lover, or going off to start a new life.’

  Joy could see the logic. Then her breath caught on another suspicion. ‘Oh my God, forty grand might not be enough for a ransom, but it would for a contract – wouldn’t it, sir?’

  Sadler merely looked at her.

  Joy shook her head. ‘No, not someone in his position …’

  ‘Position never precludes possibility.’

  ‘But why would he want her dead?’

  Sadler’s expression was ironic. ‘You’ve already floated assisted suicide,’ he reminded her, ‘and added to that, I can think of at least one more reason why he’d want her out of the way. Give me more information on Avery’s personal life, and I’ll probably come up with at least another two.’

  ‘Oh my God,’ Joy murmured, her eyes rounding like saucers. ‘I think I know what you’re thinking, sir.’

  Sadler waited.

  ‘I do believe that what you’re thinking,’ she went on clumsily, ‘is cherchez la femme.’

  ‘Well, that’s one way of putting it, Detective Constable,’ he replied, not entirely unamused. ‘Or we could just call her Vivienne Kane.’

  Chapter Five

  LINDA KANE’S SOFT round face was alight with pleasure as her fifteen-month-old grandson wobbled about on his plump little legs in front of her, before making a sudden dash down the garden path towards his mother, shrieking and waving his fists in unabashed joy.

  ‘Hello my darling,’ Vivienne laughed, her voice catching with pride as she stooped to gather him up. ‘Aren’t you just the clever one, walking all on your own now?’

  ‘Mum, mum, duh,’ he gurgled happily as she buried her face in the wonderful baby scent of him and his paint-covered overalls.

  ‘Have you been a good boy for Grandma this week?’ she wanted to know.

  ‘Muh, muh,’ he shouted, and gave a squeal of delight for no other reason than he loved to make a noise.

  Swinging him high to look up into his adorable little face, she laughed and shook him playfully. ‘You are the biggest rascal in the world and Mummy’s going to eat you all up,’ she told him, loving the way his wispy dark curls glowed with an almost milky sheen in the light of the street lamps.

  ‘Mm mum!’ he gurgled, trying to grab her face.

  ‘Come on, let’s go in. It’s cold out here,’ and snuggling him against her as she picked up her bag, she went on up the path to embrace her mother, whose gentle brown eyes and faintly lined features were shining with love. ‘Hi. Are you OK?’ she asked, stepping in through the front door.

  ‘Of course,’ her mother answered. ‘You look tired.’

  ‘I am a bit, but not too tired for my boy,’ she added, blowing a raspberry into his neck.

  Rufus gave another yelp of pleasure, and taking two fistfuls of hair he started to bounce up and down.

  ‘OK, young man,’ his grandmother said, coming to the rescue, ‘let’s go and show Mummy your drawings. Prepare to be impressed,’ she added quietly to Vivienne. ‘They just about blew my mind.’

  Vivienne let her take him, and after dumping her shawl and coat on the banister, she followed them into the cottage’s cosy kitchen to inspect her son’s latest achievements. ‘Wow,’ she exclaimed, when she saw the crayoned pages spread out on the table, ‘did you do these?’

  ‘He did,’ Linda confirmed. ‘I told you they were impressive.’

  In fact, they were random sweeps and squiggles that depicted absolutely nothing at all, but Vivienne was well used to her mother’s conviction that Rufus was going to be a great something when he grew up. This week it was clearly an abstract artist, while last week, after he’d staggered the entire length of the village hall to plunge into a pile of spongy balls, it was an Olympic athlete, and next week, after he’d hopefully mastered a few more words, he’d no doubt be a UN linguist.

  ‘Are you hungry?’ Linda asked. ‘There’s lamb casserole for dinner, but it’s not ready yet.’

  ‘I can wait,’ Vivienne assured her, taking Rufus back. ‘I just want to be with my boy for now,’ she said, squeezing him, and noticing, as she always did, how like his daddy he was growing – at least, that was what she liked to tell herself, and who was going to contradict her? ‘So what’s on the agenda this weekend?’ she asked, sitting him on the table in front of her to play pat-a-cake.

  ‘Well, Rufus has a birthday party tomorrow afternoon,’ Linda answered, checking the calendar magnetised to the fridge, ‘and I have yoga in the morning. Other than that, we’re
free. How about you? Much work to do?’

  ‘A little. I’m en route to Devon where I’ll be for at least part of next week, then I’ll come back here, hopefully for a long weekend, if not then for the night before I go on to London.’ With a surge of happiness she said, ‘Things are starting to look up, Mum. We’ve snagged two big paying clients this week, and another that’s paying nothing, but could give us loads of prestige if we play it right, not to mention a young mother’s peace of mind.’

  Linda’s tone was sober as she said, ‘You told me on the phone, Vivi, but the question is, do you have any hard cash yet? Or at least a way of meeting your mortgage?’

  Smiling past a pang of anxiety, Vivienne said, ‘Not yet, but it’s coming. Anyway, the important thing is that we keep up the payments on this place.’

  ‘I’ve still got some savings left—’

  ‘No!’ Vivienne exclaimed firmly. ‘I already owe you enough, and I’m not going to let you use up any more.’

  ‘You’re my family. What else am I going to do with it?’

  ‘Mum, you’re not even sixty yet, and look at you. You’re gorgeous, a figure women half your age would die for …’

  ‘Oh stop, I’m putting on weight like you wouldn’t believe.’

  ‘What I’m saying is, you’ve got plenty of years ahead of you, and already Rufus and I are taking up too many of them. You’re entitled to your own life now, and you’ll meet someone else – OK, maybe not as fantastic as Dad, but someone who’ll appreciate you and understand how lucky he is.’

  Colouring slightly, Linda said, ‘What are you soft-soaping me for? There’s no need, you know.’

  ‘I’m just stating the truth, and telling you that whatever savings you have belong to you. It’s bad enough that you won’t let me pay you for taking care of Rufus …’

  ‘What are you talking about? You settle all the bills in this house.’