Mother Love (16 page)

‘Damn it, Elizabeth. We forgot the kitchen sink.' The reporter smiled as she propped up frames and fanned out front covers, dubious how airbrushed shots of anorexic stick insects would benefit anyone let alone Olivia.

Mrs Kent's laughter was forced, brittle. ‘Did you hear that, darling? Caroline is a scream, isn't she?' Staff had suggested bright chat, favourite music, even reading aloud if they ran out of things to say. Coma patients can probably still hear; certainly hearing's the first sense to return. Either way Elizabeth was going for the jolly hockey sticks big time.

It was later than the reporter would have liked. Elizabeth had been loath to pull out of her morning stint at Oxfam. Still, it meant she'd had a chance to grab her laptop from the house in Selly Oak, and enough gear to see her through the next few days. Elizabeth couldn't be left on her own, could she? And what better place could there be for Caroline to keep an eye on . . . things.

She'd certainly clocked the security here: not one but two police guards hovering within striking distance. As for the bomb scare, she couldn't blame the hospital for keeping mum. Not good PR, was it? And on the surface, not much news value: no massive disruption, no suspect package. By the time she and Elizabeth arrived, no indication of police activity. Keeping Elizabeth ignorant was fine, but Caroline would have been in the dark too, were it not for her trainee mole. Despite the heads-up, the reporter still needed to do a little digging of her own. When Quinn finally returned her calls, the DI would have some explaining to do.

Mrs Kent had shut up and was looking at Caroline with an expectant expression.

‘Sorry Elizabeth. Did you say something?'

‘You were miles away, dear. I said –' shouted actually – ‘we'll soon have Olivia home again, won't we?'

‘So how did she get here?' Sarah tapped a finger against her lips. She was standing in the open doorway of Cameron Towers, scanning the road. It was only a flying visit; Harries was making calls in the car parked a few doors along. In the cold light of day, she could see just how down-at-heel the area was. Massive detached undeveloped properties few could afford to run or rent these days. Half looked empty, most appeared neglected. With shady landlords and shifting tenants, Westminster Street was not a nerve centre for Neighbourhood Watch.

‘They say it's the first sign, you know.' A familiar male voice from the hallway. ‘Talking to yourself.'

Glancing round, she smiled, shuffled along. ‘I usually get more sense that way.'

‘Present company excepted, I trust.' FSI boss Ben Cooper joined her on the step. He was leading the team working the basement and looked tasty even in the bunny suit.

‘Natch.' The banter was easy. No hidden snipe agenda. Ben was a sharp operator, probably the best they had. An inch taller than Sarah, his blond hair had that expensive tousled look. The body he kept trim by running. He'd given up boxing, though five or six years back had lifted the national police welterweight title. She'd gone out with him a few times, before Adam. Would hesitate to call it dating: it was mostly shop talk. And the sort of shops cops frequented left a lot to be desired on the seduction front. She pursed her lips; shame that, because seeing those honey-coloured eyes up close again . . .

‘So what are your thoughts, Sarah?' And the near-perfect teeth.

Footloose and fiancé-free, should she take the plunge? Swallowing, she started, ‘Well . . .' She who hesitates is also lost.

‘Car, or on foot?' His pout was pensive. ‘Wheels would be my choice.'

Focus
,
woman
. He wasn't talking lifts, not for her anyway. It was the question she'd asked herself he was picking up on. ‘Yeah, mine, too. Some sort of vehicle has to make most sense. He could reverse it here –' wide asphalt and weed forecourt – ‘drive right up to the door. Boot open and . . .' She turned her mouth down, imagined herself in the same tight corner.

‘Bob's your abductor uncle.' Cooper nodded. ‘Victim's inside in a flash. Most likely after nightfall, but even during the day it'd only take seconds. And looking round now, it's not exactly buzzing, is it?' Gobi desert job. Apart from two mangy cats sniffing round the pickings of a split bin liner.

But even without a soul in sight, Sarah knew that were she in Olivia's place she'd have yelled, kicked, lashed out: fought the bastard every inch of the way. No one would submit willingly. Yet there'd not been a peep from the door-to-doors. Not a single scream reported. Mind, from what the cops knew about the perp, he was no risk taker. ‘She'd have been knocked out, wouldn't she?'

‘Hopefully chemically.' Despite – maybe because of – the boxing, Cooper loathed violence, knew the damage it could do. There'd been rumours some years ago that one of his fights had gone badly wrong. She knew nothing about that. Either way, he was right on this: drugs, even alcohol, were usually preferable to a fist.

‘I'll drink to that.' She slipped her hands in her coat pockets. One way or another, they'd know soon enough. Blood samples had gone to the lab; tox results would be back in a few days. She'd be surprised if the kidnapper hadn't doped her and topped up levels over the period of captivity. She recalled Olivia's eyes in the photograph: haunted, glazed, spark gone. Emotional restraint was as effective as the physical kind, ropes round wrists a damn sight easier to undo.

‘We looked for treads, of course.' Cooper ran the back of a hand across his forehead. ‘But during the fire and rescue operation the area out front here had more traffic than Spaghetti Junction.'

Traceable tyre marks assuming there'd been any would've been obliterated. She shrugged. That was the way it went sometimes: police priority was to save lives even at the cost of failing to preserve evidence. ‘Actually, Ben, the victim's car, a blue Golf, still hasn't come to light.'

‘Worth a word with the neighbours?'

Like they hadn't. She smiled. ‘Sure, thanks.' He was only being helpful. Door-to-door teams had already asked about
any
suspicious vehicles. There were gaps in the inquiries, not every tenant had been at home, or answering the knock and some Asians and Eastern Europeans needed police interpreters. Detectives would have to go up a gear and revisit every household better armed. She made a mental note to get someone in the press office to ring round the news desks as well, issue details including the number plate. It had to be out there somewhere. She might even do an appeal herself. And she'd still to decide about asking radio and TV news stations to broadcast the voice. There were only eleven seconds on tape. But a message like that – a bomb scare – could give the bonkers' brigade bright ideas, as well as prompt the usual flood of responses that in the main were neither useful nor ornament. Most weren't malicious, but well meaning didn't cut it. Only into precious time.

Lifting her cuff she glanced at her watch: 11.35. They'd be running late if she didn't get off. ‘I take it . . .?' She jabbed a thumb over her shoulder.

‘I think I might have mentioned something new, don't you?' He raised an eyebrow.

'Course he would; she knew that. ‘Wishful thinking.' Warm smile. ‘See you later, Ben.'

He caught up with her halfway down the drive. ‘How about tomorrow night? A drink maybe? If you're not doing anything that is?'

The eyes had it. But she couldn't just say yes, an invitation like that needed serious thought. ‘You're on. What time?'

‘Boss.' A tap on the elbow from an unsmiling Harries. ‘Shona wants you to call, soon as. She reckons we might have a break.'

TWENTY-FIVE

‘
S
o this teacher reckons Olivia Kent might've been on the verge of slapping in a claim.' Sarah was talking to Shona on the BlackBerry. Harries tapped the wheel as he drove, clearly frustrated at hearing only one side of the conversation. She glanced across, mouthed, ‘Sexual harassment.'

‘Rust?' he mimed back. Whistled when she nodded.

‘I'm reading between the lines, ma'am. But that's my take.'

The DC was shrewd; Sarah would bet on her interpretation being sound. ‘Go on, Shona.'

‘Seems to me there's not a lot of love lost between the head and the staff, but professionals close ranks, don't they?' She and Jed had interviewed most of them by now. ‘Jill Paige's the only one to put even a toe across the line. And it struck me she was close to Olivia. Closer than the others, any rate. I definitely think she's worth having another crack at.'

Sarah nodded, thinking it through. They were only five minutes from town; she didn't want to cancel the appointment with Olivia's ex, divert to the school. And Shona was a gifted interviewer, enviable people skills – if she couldn't get the Paige woman to open up, it was probably down to the location anyway. ‘Can you persuade her to come to HQ after work, Shona? Maybe make a statement?'

‘I can have a go. Will you be there, ma'am? She might respond better to two women.' Shona hadn't voiced any criticism but Sarah had got the drift.

‘For sure. No problem.' Smiling, she ended the call. The DI wasn't over-flattered by the request – Shona had been saddled all morning with No Shit.

‘Come on then, boss. Give.' Harries was gagging for details. The gist went like this: English teacher Jill Paige had found Olivia in tears in the classroom last week. They'd gone for coffee after school and Olivia had brought up the topic of a recent court case in the papers where an employee successfully sued her boss for groping. She'd asked Paige if she'd consider legal action in the same situation. There'd been no direct accusation or specific incident on the table, but Rust had been beating a hasty retreat from the classroom the day Paige had found Olivia crying. According to Paige, the head could come across as overly tactile.

‘Overly tactile.' Harries sneered. ‘Is that teacher-speak for roving hands? They'd certainly go with his roaming eye, wouldn't they?'

‘You picked up on that, too?'

‘I'm not blind, boss.'

She pulled down the visor, checked her hair was OK, gave a wide grin. Spinach or anything else between the teeth wasn't a good look whatever you were doing, and would certainly do nothing for her cred during a witness interview.

‘So, boss, off somewhere nice?' The insouciant expression and arch tone belied an ostensibly casual query. Her DC had clearly cottoned on to more than Rust's roaming anatomy.

Pushing the visor back, she cast him what her mother used to call an old-fashioned look. It was lost on Harries, who kept his gaze steadfastly ahead. She gave in eventually, broke the silence with a pointedly polite: ‘I beg your pardon, DC Harries?'

‘You and Henry.' He sniffed. ‘Just wondered where you were going, like.'

Henry. Ha-ha. She turned face-on to the young detective. ‘
Ben
Cooper and I could be going scuba diving for a week in the Bahamas for all it's any of your business, Harries.'

He raised a palm. ‘I only asked.'

‘You only earwigged.'

‘Below the belt, boss!' He affected great offence. Whether the pun was deliberate or not, she caught his lips twitching.

‘And if it gets round the squad . . .' Seething, stony-faced.

‘No worries there.' He winked his left eye. ‘Most of us have got better things to talk about. I mean there's
Top Gear
, darts, football . . . boxing.'

‘Daft sod.' She gave his arm a playful punch. He always seemed able to get her to chill. Like having a personal ice-breaker. ‘Seriously, David, I'd really appreciate it not going any further.' Even a whisper would give the Lloyd House clowns a field day.

‘For sure, boss. You can trust me.' He checked the mirror, took the next left.

‘Wonders will never . . . there's a meter just up ahead.' Just off New Street, they were lucky to get a space. She reached for her briefcase.

He switched off the engine, turned to face her, serious now. ‘Wish I'd known sooner though.' His warm brown eyes held her gaze.

She sensed what he wanted to say.
If he'd realized she was available
,
he'd have asked her before Ben
. ‘Let's not go there, David.'
Not yet anyway
. The faint pink tinge colouring his cheeks told her she was on the money.

‘How'd you mean, boss?' He returned the playful punch. ‘I could've brought some change with me. For the meter.'

Smiling, she shook her head, watched him display a POLICE PARKING notice on the screen. He was saving face, and she spared him further blushes.

Catching up as she crossed the road, Harries said, ‘Back to Rust a second though, boss. What do you reckon? Is it a break?'

She shrugged. ‘Who knows?' So far it was circumstance and hearsay. But it sure beat sweet FA.

Breakfast paninis and blueberry muffins were on the table, untasted so far. A working lunch was fine by Sarah and Harries. Made a change from working through it. Café Nero had been Noel Barfoot's suggestion. The architect's offices were round the corner but a police presence on the premises isn't good for business. Sarah doubted Barfoot's wife would be too keen on a house call either.

‘Have you known Olivia long?' Sipping espresso, she studied Barfoot's regular features. He looked confident, she'd say that for him. The guy had arrived first, bagged a table in the far corner as far as possible from prying eyes, pricked ears. Holding her gaze, he eased further back into the dimpled leather armchair, crossed a casual leg. The tailored charcoal suit made the most of an average physique and certainly highlighted the size of his wallet.

‘I suppose it must be a year or so? Off and on?'

No point asking me
. ‘I'd appreciate you being more precise, sir.'

His lips tightened the merest fraction. ‘Had I realized you'd be asking, I would have made copious notes, Inspector.' He obviously didn't like being pulled up, but the head tilt and charm school smile didn't go with the snide remark.