Missing (40 page)

Half an hour later they were all three lying on the bed, Rufus in the middle sucking noisily at his bottle while his parents sipped champagne and admired their son.

‘You’ve made me the happiest man in the world,’ he told her softly.

Feeling her throat tightening, she said, ‘I knew you two would fall instantly in love.’

He looked down at Rufus, whose big eyes were starting to droop. ‘There are no words to describe this,’ he whispered, and from the tremble in his voice she knew how close his feelings were to the edge.

She put her glass down and cupped her hand round his face. It was some time before he was able to look at her, and when he did his eyes were wet and full of love. Yet she could sense the spectre of reality hovering.

‘What is it?’ she whispered.

He looked at her, then away again, clearly not wanting his problems to trespass on this precious time. In the end, seeming to accept that they wouldn’t simply go away, he said, ‘I drove Mrs Davies into Exeter. It’s why I was late. The police wanted her to listen to the phone call they’d received.’

Vivienne waited, watching him and already knowing.

‘They played it to me too,’ he said, and in the silence that followed she became aware of the same foreboding that had seemed to seep down from the moor earlier. It made her shiver and want to reach for his hand, not because she was afraid, but because she was concerned for the terrible toll this was taking on him. ‘And was it …?’ she said quietly.

His eyes continued to gaze at nothing, until
eventually
he nodded. ‘Yes,’ he said huskily, ‘it was Jacqueline. Alive and well and apparently not wanting to be found.’

Realising what issues this created, not only for him and Kelsey, but for her too, she said, ‘What are you going to do?’

‘I don’t know. If the police call off the search …’

‘Is that what they’re saying?’

He nodded. ‘I’m relieved she’s safe, of course, but I’m worried about when or how she’s going to turn up again.’

Not to mention where
, she added in her mind. ‘Have you told Kelsey?’

‘Yes. She’s as hurt as you’d expect her to be. Jacqueline doesn’t seem to have considered her at all.’

Vivienne looked down at Rufus’s sleeping face, unable to imagine him not featuring in her every decision. Yet how would she be behaving if someone snatched him away and she never saw him again? Would she understand her priorities then? Would she even know what they were any more? The hell of Jacqueline’s position could never be imagined, or explained, much less endured, yet she’d been forced to live with it for the past fifteen years. So was it any wonder she’d lost sight of everything else?

If only someone could give her an answer, no matter what it was, for surely even finding out her son was dead had to be better than this unending torment.

Overnight strong winds across the south coast had blown away the clouds, leaving a clear, sparkling blue sky and a sun that streamed down on a spectacular array of crimson and tawny leaves that either still clung to their branches, or lay like piles of felt in the
gutters
and banks at the edge of the road.

The air, Justine was thinking, as she turned out of West Worthing station towards the address Elizabeth Barrett had given her, was brisk and exhilarating, tinged with salt from the sea and the pungent earthiness of a damp, sun-baked ground. It was the kind of air that carried nostalgia in its breezes and expectancy in its warmth. It was making her feel excited about being here, and charged with the promise of where it could lead.

The sensible heels of her lawyer’s shoes clicked on the pavement as she skirted puddles and avoided uneven cracks, while her unbuttoned raincoat swished quietly over the formal navy suit she’d bought in Debenhams the day before. It was stereotypical attire for a solicitor, to which she’d added a borrowed briefcase, a plain black handbag, and dark-rimmed glasses with plain lenses for good measure.

A few minutes later, still following directions, she turned into a shady street where the terraced houses were as uniformly ordered, neglected, or meticulously polished as those on any other Victorian street in the country. Each house had a porch around the front door, a large bay window next to it, and two sash windows above. In front a small garden with a narrow path led from a gate to the house.

Then she rounded a corner, crossed diagonally and found herself walking through a much more eclectic arrangement of cottages and semis and a few grander-looking residences behind high stone walls. Elizabeth Barrett’s house turned out to be a bungalow tucked away at the end of a cul-de-sac, behind a large sycamore tree and a leaf-strewn lawn. The net curtains at the windows all matched and were scooped up each
side
to allow a view through, while the front door was painted dark green and cream, with an oval stained-glass pane above a gleaming brass knocker. There was no sign of a car, nor of anyone waiting to greet her, but she presumed a press on the bell would remedy that.

It was only after she’d rung that she spotted a neat white envelope Sellotaped to an inside wall of the porch. To her dismay she saw the name Ms J. James handwritten in careful script across the front, and taking it down she tore it open.

Dear Ms James, I am very sorry not to be here on your arrival. As I had no phone number for you I was unable to contact you, except by email, but I fear you might already have set out from London before it reached you.

I’m afraid a family emergency has called me away from home. My sister, who lives in Tunbridge Wells, has been taken to hospital with a suspected stroke. Naturally I had to go immediately, but as soon as I have established the seriousness of her condition and how long I shall be required to stay, I will be in touch again to make another arrangement.

Please accept my sincere apologies if you are reading this note, as it will mean you have had a wasted journey. Perhaps you will be kind enough to contact me with your telephone number in order to avoid anything like this happening again.

With regards, Elizabeth J. Barrett.

PS: Please give my best wishes to Mr Avery and assure him that everything is still very well taken care of.

Slightly shaken by the postscript, she read it again, then deciding to avoid any obvious deductions, she tucked the note away and called Elizabeth Barrett’s mobile. She wasn’t surprised to find herself diverted through to voicemail, so she was ready with the right amount of sympathy over the sister, before leaving her own mobile number and expressing a hope that they would be able to meet soon.

‘Are you sure someone’s not dicking you around?’ Critchley growled when she called to update him.

‘I can’t be sure of anything right now,’ she responded smoothly. ‘I’ll try ringing her again in a couple of hours, or she might ring me.’

‘I don’t like the sound of it,’ he said belligerently. ‘Too much of a coincidence, her sister taken ill the very morning you’re supposed to meet her.’

‘You’re pointing out the obvious,’ Justine informed him, ‘so what do you want me to do? Give up on it? Or take it to the next step?’

‘What do you think? You’ve got to stick with it now. Any idea where Avery is?’

Her eyebrows rose at the question. ‘Moorlands, at a guess.’ Then, realising what was on his mind, ‘You can’t seriously be thinking he’s set me up? He didn’t even know the email had arrived.’

‘What about the daughter? You said she came in while you were there.’

‘After I’d erased it.’

‘But she could have told her father you were in his study.’

‘Even if she did, it still doesn’t mean they know about the email.’

Critchley grunted at the other end, a kind of reluctant acquiescence. ‘OK, set up another meet with
the
woman as soon as you can, but I’ve got to tell you, I’m not liking the way this is looking.’

Sadler’s eyes were on Joy as he sipped his coffee and listened to her report back from Richmond CID. When she’d finished he left the kitchenette and crossed the corridor to his office. ‘Did we really expect to find Mrs Avery staying at her old house in Richmond?’ he asked, as she followed him in.

‘I’m not sure,’ she replied, ‘but it had to be checked. Apparently the current owners didn’t even know she’d ever lived there.’

Sadler nodded and drank more coffee. ‘You realise we’re in a very difficult position here, don’t you, Detective Constable?’ he said.

‘How so, sir?’

‘If we’re agreed that it was Mrs Avery who made the call, and I believe we are, then we have no grounds for continuing the search.’ He put his cup down and folded his arms. ‘I’d just like to know why Mr Avery wouldn’t come right out and say it was her.’

‘That’s easy, sir. He has a history with the police that he obviously hasn’t forgotten, and considering what it is no one can really blame him for not wanting to be helpful.’

Sadler cocked an eyebrow. ‘Plus he might not be that eager to find his wife,’ he added. ‘So the question now, Elaine, is on what grounds can we keep the search going?’

Joy waited for him to answer his own question, until realising he was expecting her to, she started and said, ‘Well, sir, um … Do we have any grounds, if Mrs Avery wants us to call it off?’

Sadler waited.

Moments later Joy’s eyes showed her comprehension. ‘Of course, sir, the mobile phone,’ she exclaimed. ‘It’s registered at Vivienne Kane’s work address, and there can’t be any doubt that she knows about Rufus Avery by now, so we’ve got to make sure she’s not stalking them.’

‘To date we’ve got nothing to say that’s happening,’ he reminded her. ‘There have been no sightings, no threatening calls that we know of, or attempted breakins.’

‘Or complaints from Vivienne Kane,’ Joy added. ‘But Mrs Avery’s obviously in the area for a reason, presuming she’s still in Kew or thereabouts—’ She stopped as Sadler’s phone started to ring.

‘Sadler,’ he said into the receiver.

‘Sir, it’s PC Yolland,’ the voice at the other end announced. ‘I’m working with the SOCOs out at Moorlands. Well, we’re on Dartmoor, actually, but you know, close to …’

‘I know where you are, son. What can I do for you?’

‘We’ve made another discovery, sir. Actually, one of the dogs did. He found it about a quarter of a mile from where the body was, buried in the long grass—’

‘Just tell me what it is,’ Sadler cut in.

As he listened to the answer his eyebrows rose with interest. To Joy he said, ‘Seems a mobile phone’s turned up, Detective Constable.’ Then to PC Yolland, ‘Any idea who it belongs to?’

‘Not yet, sir. Forensics have got it charging in one of the PSUs, but we can’t find the number.’

Joy was already using Sadler’s computer to bring up Jacqueline Avery’s details. A few minutes later, after dialling the number Miles Avery had given them for
her
mobile when he’d reported her missing, she put the call on speaker and they listened to the phone at the other end starting to ring.

‘Bingo,’ Sadler murmured. ‘I’ll expect a call log on my desk by mid afternoon,’ he told Yolland.

‘We’ve already checked,’ Yolland told him, ‘everything’s been erased up to the date she disappeared. Incoming and outgoing. There are text messages after, and voicemails, but we can’t access them without the code.’

‘Who’s the provider?’

‘O2.’

‘OK, we’ll get onto it,’ and ringing off he said to Joy, ‘What are you up to?’

‘I was about to go and watch more of the station’s CCTV tapes,’ she answered. ‘No one even remotely like Mrs Avery got on a train going in any direction that morning, but there’s still the afternoon to be got through, and even the next day, and the day after that …’

‘Right, stay with it,’ he said, ‘I’ll get someone else to prise the records out of O2.’

Vivienne was lying beside Miles on the bed, watching him clear a text from Kelsey.

‘At least she’s in regular contact,’ she said soothingly as he dropped the mobile on the bedside table. ‘OK, some of her messages can be a bit curt, but that one wasn’t bad.’

‘Curt?’ he laughed. ‘They’re downright rude.’

‘Except when she’s telling you you’re the best dad in the world and she’s really missing you.’

‘And wants some money.’ He shook his head in despair. ‘Were you like that as a teenager? She’s so
unpredictable,
actually
irrational
, she makes my head spin.’

‘I was probably worse,’ she assured him, and pushing aside the duvet she rolled onto him.

This was the third morning they’d woken up together in the cider press, though the previous two they’d been allowed no luxuriating in the pleasure of finding one another there, since Rufus had demanded to be rescued from his travel crib at six and hadn’t gone back again. Now, it was after eight and Rufus, miraculously, was still sleeping.

Gazing down into Miles’s unshaven face, she wondered how she’d stood being without him for so long, because now he was here, his eyes full of love as he looked back at her, she could hardly get enough of him.

‘What are you thinking?’ he asked softly.

‘How much you mean to me,’ she replied, loving the feel of his hands running over her body.

‘Oh no,’ he groaned as his mobile started to vibrate again.

Knowing he wouldn’t ignore it in case it was Kelsey, she reached over to pick it up. Seeing Kelsey’s name, for the second time that morning, she handed it to him.

‘Sorry,’ he said, looking up at her.

She merely kissed him, then rolled back to her side of the bed as he clicked on to take it.

‘You haven’t answered my text yet,’ Kelsey accused angrily. ‘Did you get it?’

‘Yes, of course,’ he said, ‘but I didn’t realise it needed a reply.’

’Well, like, I was saying good morning, so maybe you could say good morning back. Or is that too much to ask?’

‘No, of course not. I’m sorry, it was thoughtless. Good morning, darling. How are you?’

‘As if you care.’

‘Clearly not in a good mood,’ he responded smoothly.

‘Actually, I’m great. In fact, I’ve never been happier.’

‘Now why am I finding that difficult to believe?’

‘It makes no difference to me what you believe. I just did the polite thing in saying good morning, but you’re clearly too busy …’