No Escape (25 page)

‘Do you mind sticking around a while longer?’

‘Not at all,’ Novak said.

Allbeury put down the phone and leaned back in his chair, returning his mind to his other current preoccupation, Lizzie Piper Wade.

His then – and now – state-of-the-art home computer system had been set up five years earlier by Adam Lerman, his partner’s son, a student back then with a flair for computer
technology and a passion for the Internet. Alas, Lerman Jr had since gone to live in Los Angeles, and obliging as he was about being e-mailed by Allbeury at all times of day and night with queries
about add-ons and up-to-date software and above-average difficulties, it was not nearly as satisfactory as having Adam able to come and sit at the two terminals in the penthouse.

Nevertheless, Allbeury had not spent all that time with Adam and post-Adam without learning a good deal about PCs and the Internet and how to make full use of them for his own purposes. For the
most part, when it came to research, he tended to save himself time and effort by using Novak Investigations, but Mike was otherwise occupied and in any event, this was one piece of work he felt
more inclined to tackle personally.

At Patston Motors, Tony had his head – thumping despite the second dose of paracetamol he’d swallowed with a Becks for lunch ten minutes earlier – back under
the bonnet of the Sierra that Novak had seen him working on earlier, when a blue Mondeo pulled up in the forecourt and two men got out.

He knew, instantly, they were police.

‘Mr Patston?’ The older of the two men fished in his pocket.

‘Yes.’

The man produced his warrant card. ‘I’m Detective Inspector Keenan, and this is Detective Sergeant Reed. We’re from the Major Investigation Section based at Theydon
Bois.’

The word ‘major’ gave Tony a hollow, sick feeling in his stomach. ‘Is this about my wife?’ He wiped his hands nervously on his overalls, looked from one man to the other.
‘Only she went missing yesterday, and I was . . .’

‘Could we go inside, Mr Patston?’ Keenan interrupted him gently.

‘Can’t we talk here?’

‘Might be better if you had a seat, sir,’ Terry Reed, a stockily-built man with a sharp, almost bird-like face, suggested.

‘God,’ Tony said, and began to sweat. ‘What?’

‘I’m afraid I have some very bad news for you,’ Keenan said, gently.

‘Oh, God.’ Tony felt his legs begin to shake. ‘Oh, Christ, what’s happened?’

‘Sir, let’s go inside,’ DS Reed said.

‘Tell me here,’ Tony said. ‘For God’s sake, tell me what’s happened to Jo.’

‘This morning,’ Jim Keenan said, ‘just before nine o’clock, the body of a woman was found in Epping Forest. I’m afraid we believe her to be your wife.’

‘Epping Forest?’ Tony’s voice was pitched suddenly higher, ringing with disbelief. ‘Why would Jo be in Epping Forest?’ He shook his head, managed a smile at both
men. ‘You’ve made a mistake. It couldn’t be Joanne.’

‘Unfortunately, Mr Patston,’ Keenan said, ‘we don’t believe it is a mistake.’

‘We need you to come with us, sir.’ Reed started towards the one-storey building that housed Patston Motors’ office. ‘To identify her.’

Tony stayed put. ‘If you need me to do that, then you’re not sure it’s her.’ He stared at Keenan. ‘Her bag, is it? Oh, God.’

‘I’m sorry to say that a handbag has been found close by,’ the detective inspector confirmed.

‘Oh, Christ,’ Tony said. ‘Oh, Jesus Christ.’

‘You’ll want to lock up, I should think, sir, won’t you?’ Reed said. ‘Or is there someone else to look after the place while you’re gone?’

Tony leaned against the Sierra, visibly shaking. ‘My little girl,’ he said. ‘She’s with her grandmother.’ His eyes filled. ‘Oh, God, Jo’s
mum.’

‘I really am very sorry, Mr Patston.’ Keenan’s lined face creased even further with sympathy. ‘But in the circumstances, I’m afraid we really do need you to come
with us now.’

‘Oh, God,’ Tony said again. ‘Oh, Christ.’

Mike Novak, just cruising past Patston Motors for another look, saw Tony Patston getting into a dark blue Mondeo with two men he was almost certain were CID.

He pulled up at the corner, held up an
A-Z
to mask the fact he was watching them, saw the car pull away, waited for another two cars for cover, and then followed.

At half past one, Mike Novak called Allbeury again.

‘Bad news, Robin,’ Novak said. ‘The worst, it looks like.’

‘Tell me.’

‘The police have picked up Patston, and taken him to Waltham Forest.’

‘Hospital?’ Allbeury asked.

‘Mortuary,’ Novak said. ‘They went in a few minutes ago. I’m outside.’

Allbeury was silent.

‘I presume you don’t want me to go in?’ Novak asked.

‘Definitely not. But stick around if you can.’

‘I’ll get back to you when I know something.’

‘Right,’ Allbeury said. ‘Be careful, Mike. I’m really not keen for the police to know about my involvement.’

‘Goes without saying,’ Novak said.

Inside the mortuary, Jim Keenan waited patiently while Tony Patston, to all intents and purposes in a state of deep shock, sat with his head down between his legs. The
newly-bereaved man’s hands were shaking, and when Patston looked up, his eyes were wet and glassy, staring out of a chalky-white face.

‘I can’t believe it,’ Patston said. ‘I can’t take this in.’

‘I’m very sorry,’ Keenan told him.

‘Do you know . . .?’

Keenan waited again while the other man controlled himself.

‘Do you know who did that to her?’ Tony asked, finally.

‘Not yet,’ Keenan said. ‘But we will.’

DS Reed appeared with a cup of tea, but Tony shook his head.

‘Sir?’ Reed offered it to Keenan.

‘Mr Patston.’ Keenan ignored the tea. ‘Whenever you’re ready, I’m afraid I’m going to have to ask you a few questions.’

‘All right.’ Tony looked up at him. ‘But can we do that at home? I want to see my daughter.’

‘Of course you do,’ Keenan said. ‘We’ve already sent an officer to your mother-in-law’s house. Probably best you and Irina stay there for now anyway.’

‘I don’t want to stay there,’ Tony said.

‘We’ll be needing to search your house,’ Keenan told him, ‘as a matter of routine. So it really would be easier for everyone, especially your little girl, if you stay
away while that’s happening.’

‘Right,’ Tony said, then shook his head in bewilderment. ‘Why do you want to search our house?’

‘As I said,’ Keenan replied, ‘it’s routine.’

‘Right,’ Tony said again, and stood up.

He felt numb –
not numb enough
– about what he’d just been shown.

Joanne.
His wife, but
not
his wife at all.

What was shaking him though, almost as much, at this instant, really startling him, was that what he’d just said to the policeman was true. He wanted, quite desperately, more than
anything
, to see Irina, to feel her in his arms.

Jo would love that
, he thought.

Again his eyes filled with tears.

Novak watched them emerge from the mortuary, saw Patston’s ashen face, resisted the impulse to call Allbeury again and followed instead from a safe distance as they drove
to Edmonton. To the semi-detached house, outside which a marked police car already stood.

He parked well away, just close enough to see comings and goings. He saw the door being opened by a female constable for Patston and the two plainclothes officers – who might, he thought,
be AMIT or, if something had happened to Joanne further out than Waltham Forest, MIS from either Theydon Bois or Harlow.

He didn’t see either the grandmother or the little girl.

They were there though, inside the house. He could almost feel it.

Almost feel the pain.

‘Oh, God,’ Tony Patston said when he saw Sandra and his daughter both sitting on the couch in his mother-in-law’s living room. ‘Oh, God, Sandra,
it’s so—’

He stopped speaking when he saw her right index finger fly to her lips.

Silencing him.

Irina doesn’t know.

He managed it somehow, dragged himself together, put out his arms.

‘Hello, my love,’ he said to Irina.

The little girl didn’t move, neither closer to her grandmother, nor towards him.

Tony went to her, knelt on the carpet before the sofa, took her small hand in both of his and did his best not to cry.

‘All right, Irina,’ he said, gently. ‘All right, my darling. Daddy’s here.’

‘Where’s my Mummy?’ Irina asked Sandra.

‘It’s all right,’ Tony said again. ‘Daddy’s here.’

Behind him, in the doorway, DI Jim Keenan looked at Karen Dean, the slim, attractive dark-haired DC who’d been sitting with Sandra Finch since she’d been brought the news, and saw
that the child’s lack of response to her father had not escaped her. He was glad to have Dean on the case, knew that she was excellent with little kids.

He, for the most part, did better with grandmothers.

At three-thirty, in Marlow, Christopher received a phone call from Jane Meredith telling him of an urgent case coming in to the Beauchamp that evening.

‘I’m not sure,’ he told her, then noticed Lizzie gesturing. ‘Hold on, could you, Jane? My wife’s telling me something.’

‘Just telling you to go, if you’re needed,’ Lizzie said. ‘Jack’s so much better.’

‘I’d be happier if the fever were right down,’ Christopher said.

‘If Jack hears you turning down a patient,’ Lizzie said, ‘he’ll have a fit.’

Christopher smiled, lifted the phone back to his ear. ‘On my way, Jane.’

The next call, just after Christopher had driven away, was from Susan Blake.

‘Is it all right to talk shop?’ she asked after they’d chatted about family and Jack’s cold in particular. ‘Only we really need to discuss publicity for
Pure
Bliss
.’

‘Goodness,’ Lizzie said. ‘Is it that time already?’

‘We definitely want to tour you again,’ Susan said now. ‘The subs are looking excellent, and it’s the right moment to boost the Roadshow people’s
appetites.’

‘When will you need me?’ Lizzie asked.

‘Thursday week. Please say that’s okay.’

Lizzie panicked silently, then told her it would be. ‘Subject to all the usual things,’ she added quickly.

‘I know,’ Susan said. ‘Children first, books last.’

‘I wouldn’t put it quite like that,’ Lizzie said.

‘Yes, you would. So, all things being equal, I thought we’d start in Oxford.’

‘Lovely,’ Lizzie said.

Novak had just finished talking to Allbeury on his mobile, and was keying the #1 speed-dial to let Clare know what was going on, when he became abruptly aware that the front
door of the Patston house had opened and that a man – the younger of the two plainclothes officers who’d earlier gone in with Tony Patston – was now bearing down, rather rapidly,
on the Clio.

‘Mike?’ Clare’s voice.

‘Call you back,’ Novak said and slid the phone back onto its hands-free kit.

The policeman tapped on the window, motioned to Novak to wind it down, and then, as the man in the car hesitated, took out his warrant card and slapped it against the glass.

Novak wound it down.

The officer bent to look at him, his face and expression sharp. ‘Detective Sergeant Reed, sir,’ he said. ‘Would you mind telling me who you are, and what you’re
doing?’

‘Stopped to make a phone call,’ Novak said. ‘Name’s Michael Novak.’

‘Long call, Mr Novak,’ Reed said.

Novak said nothing, thinking primarily that Allbeury was going to be less than thrilled.
Loss of concentration.
Bloody idiot, he castigated himself.

‘Would you mind getting out of the car, sir?’

‘What for?’ Novak asked, not being bolshy, just
asking.

‘We’ve had a report of a man fitting your description, driving a car fitting this car’s description, loitering in this area.’

Novak hesitated, wondering if he wanted to ask permission to phone Clare, or if he’d rather she didn’t have to worry about him ‘helping’ the police out.

The latter, definitely.

He got out of the car.

‘Mind bringing your phone, sir?’ Reed asked.

‘If you like.’ Novak leaned back into the car, took the mobile off its cradle.

‘Keys, too,’ Reed said.

‘Why?’

‘Because we’d like a word with you at the station, if you’ve no objection, and I’m sure you’d rather lock your car.’

Novak looked at the sharp, beady eyes.

‘No objection,’ he said, ‘but I’d certainly appreciate a good reason.’

‘Murder good enough for you?’ DS Reed said.

Inside the house, Tony and Sandra had just got Irina – who’d refused any tea, far too upset now by her mother’s continuing absence, the strangers in her
grandmother’s home and, not least, the painful atmosphere – to bed for a nap.

‘Daddy?’ It was the first time the child had spoken to him since he’d got back. ‘Why isn’t Mummy here?’

Sandra glanced at Tony, saw that he was barely managing to hold back his tears, swallowed hard to contain her own, and came to his aid.

‘She can’t be here, my darling,’ she said, gently, ‘but she wants you to have a nice sleep and dream sweet things.’

‘What things?’ Irina asked.

‘How about Wibbly Pig?’ Sandra remembered one of the child’s favourite books.

Irina chuckled softly. ‘Reena likes Wibbly Pig.’

The awareness that this might be the last moment of pleasure the little girl might know for a long time almost wrecked both adults.

‘Love you, darling,’ Sandra managed, and kissed her.

‘Daddy loves you too,’ Tony said, throatily.

Down in the living room, they seemed, Tony thought, to have settled themselves down rather too firmly for his liking.

‘DC Dean’s in the kitchen making some tea,’ DI Keenan said, apologetically. ‘I hope that’s all right, Mrs Finch?’

‘Yes.’ Sandra sat down heavily in an armchair.

‘I know you said you don’t need a doctor, but—’