Think of the Children (22 page)

‘Have you had any contact at all since then, perhaps by phone?’

‘Not really. I’ve got a key for his house and go around sometimes when he’s away to open and close the curtains, that kind of thing. That’s not very often
though.’

‘Does he work away? We’re trying to get hold of him but neighbours say they haven’t seen him recently.’

‘He works at home. He became a writer a few years ago after giving up teaching. That’s why he used his other name. You mentioned it on the phone. He’s always been known as
“Ian” for the whole time I’ve known him. When he started writing, he went back to using his first name.’

‘I don’t suppose you know of some other way to contact him? We could do with speaking to him.’

‘Is it something serious?’

Jessica didn’t know the best answer to give, so offered the one the woman wanted to hear. ‘No.’

Deborah stood and started looking around. ‘Like I said, I’ve got a key for his house. He has one for here too. It’s here somewhere – it really isn’t like him to go
missing. I’ll try his mobile first.’

At first she fumbled with her own mobile but after muttering something about being out of credit, Deborah walked across to a desk phone on a table at the back of the living room. She read a
number from a list pinned to the wall and typed it in but looked up a few seconds later. ‘He’s not answering. I’ll have a look for the keys and we can go over. I hope he’s
okay.’

She had almost left the room, when Jessica’s phone buzzed to say a message had arrived. She glanced at it and then turned to the other woman.

‘Mrs Sturgess. Could you look at this for me?’ Jessica flipped her phone around to show her the photo of the digital artist’s impression of the dead driver. Jessica could see
Deborah nodding, a confused look on her face.

‘Yes, that’s Ian, is he okay?’

Rowlands went to speak but stopped himself, while Jessica didn’t know what to say. They had not only found out the identity of their driver – but because Benjamin
Sturgess was included in the Toby Whittaker file, they had discovered a direct link to Isaac Hutchings. As with everything else, it threw up yet more questions. Jessica and Dave hadn’t even
looked at each other, let alone spoken, but the look on their faces must have said it all. ‘Is something wrong?’ Deborah asked.

Jessica still wanted the woman to let them into her former husband’s house. Now he was dead and the prime suspect for Isaac’s abduction and murder, they would be able to get access
to his property anyway – but the formalities and legal hoops would take longer than she wanted to wait. Not only that but if Benjamin had abducted Toby Whittaker fourteen years ago, Deborah
would have been married to him at the time. She might well be the only witness to whatever had occurred in the past – or she could be involved. The time would come to let her in on what they
knew but, for now, Jessica needed the woman’s help.

Thinking quickly and hoping Rowlands followed her lead, Jessica pocketed her phone. ‘No problem. We just need to find him.’

Deborah looked from Jessica to Rowlands before turning around and starting to hunt for the keys again. While her back was turned, the two detectives locked eyes and had a silent conversation
where Jessica told her colleague she knew what they were doing wasn’t exactly by the book but he should trust her. Their non-verbal sparring was interrupted as Deborah turned around holding a
key ring with two keys attached. Deborah said she wanted to take her own vehicle, so the three of them walked out of the house, only to be met by a man in his twenties walking down the driveway
towards them. He appeared slightly confused as he saw the two officers but turned to Deborah, offering a cheery, ‘All right?’

Deborah finished locking the house before turning to face him properly. ‘I’m on my way out, dear. Come back later if you want.’

He nodded an acknowledgement before asking the question Jessica dreaded. ‘Is everything okay?’

Whether on purpose, she quickly allayed any problems. ‘No, it’s fine, nothing serious. I’ll be back later if you need me.’

The man said goodbye before turning and walking back to a car parked on the road. Before Jessica could walk away, Deborah added quietly, ‘That’s Stephen, he’s a friend of the
family. Best not get him involved.’

Jessica wondered if the woman knew things weren’t quite right.

Throughout the journey to Benjamin Sturgess’s house, Jessica wondered how it could possibly be that Benjamin, or Ian, or whatever he was calling himself, could have been involved in both
the Toby Whittaker disappearance and now Isaac’s fourteen years apart. From what Harry said, Toby had a close relationship with his teacher, which was the only tenuous link to that first
case. Fourteen years on, that now-former teacher had been driving a car with a kidnapped dead child in the back.

The return drive to Benjamin Sturgess’s house took longer than it had the other way, traffic beginning to back up during the late afternoon and a frost already starting to settle as the
sun went down. They parked on the road outside the house and Jessica could feel Sue watching them from the window next door. She didn’t dare look just in case the woman took it as a hint to
come and get involved. She knew a larger search team would return to the property at some point in the near future but, for now, she wanted to get a feel of the person she had spent the past few
weeks struggling to find.

Deborah unlocked the door and it was clear no one had been around for a while because of a pile of mail on the mat. Deborah stepped inside, collecting the letters before holding the door open
for the two officers. She didn’t speak and Jessica knew she must now know something wasn’t quite right. Deborah sat on the stairs just inside the door and started to flick through the
post as they walked past her into the living room.

Despite the length of time she had been in the job, every now and then Jessica caught herself thinking like a civilian. As she walked into Benjamin’s main room, an irrational feeling
overtook her as she expected to find something that would ensure everything made sense. Maybe there would be a confession note or some obvious trace of either Toby or Isaac, or both? As it was,
everything seemed normal. There was a flatscreen television on a cabinet, a sensible sandy-coloured carpet, regular cream walls, a leather sofa of the type which could be found in houses all around
the country. Everything, including the photos on the wall, was just normal, normal, normal.

Jessica closed the living-room door behind her, leaving Deborah on the stairs as she and Rowlands strolled around the room. Her colleague spoke quietly. ‘It’s so …’

Jessica didn’t let him finish the sentence. ‘I know.’ She didn’t know what she expected to find from someone who may well have kept a secret for fourteen years.

On a side table midway inside the room, Jessica saw a wallet. She thought about how much easier things would have been if the man had picked it up on his way out those weeks ago. Had he
forgotten it, or left it behind on purpose? She skimmed through its contents. Benjamin’s driving licence sat in a clear section at the front, with notes and receipts. Jessica checked each one
just in case but, aside from a liking for fast food – and a bizarre obsession with keeping the receipts – there was nothing untoward. She returned the wallet to the table and continued
to look around.

Rowlands was checking a bookshelf at the back of the room where another door opened into a kitchen. Jessica pushed it shut as her colleague started to speak quietly. ‘What’s going
on?’ he asked. ‘What are we even looking for?’

‘I don’t know. You know what the search teams are like, they’ll tear this place apart, but sometimes, they’re so focused on the bigger picture of bodies under the patio
and so on, they miss the little things. Look for anything that might connect him to the stolen car he was in, or the allotments. It’s got to link together somehow.’

‘If I find a spade in the shed does that count?’

‘No.’

Jessica had largely told the truth. She knew from experience things could get missed but if they stumbled across something then all the better.

Leaving Rowlands in the living room, Jessica walked into the kitchen. There were plenty of new-looking appliances but nothing she wouldn’t have expected. A second door from the kitchen
looped back into the hallway and Jessica went through, finding Deborah still sitting on the stairs. She had placed the letters in two piles on the floor and, as Jessica entered, answered the
question the detective hadn’t asked. ‘That one is junk, the other one is proper mail.’

‘I want to go upstairs for a bit if that’s okay?’ Jessica said, although she wasn’t really asking.

Deborah shuffled the mail out of the way. ‘Do you know how he is?’

‘I …’ Jessica stumbled but knew the time had come. Deborah was looking at her and she could see from the woman’s face she already knew the answer. ‘I’m afraid
he’s dead, Mrs Sturgess.’ It was pretty brutal but Jessica had reached the point where she couldn’t continue to stall.

Deborah nodded gently, waving her hand towards the mail. She looked more resigned than shocked. ‘I knew something would be wrong when I saw all that. Even when we lived together, he would
always pick up the post straight away and go through it. If we ever went on holiday, it would be the first thing he did when we got back, even above unpacking. Since we split, he’s never gone
away without letting me know. Sometimes it would only be a few nights when he was off signing books. I think I probably knew something was wrong the moment you told me he’d gone
missing.’

Jessica looked down at Deborah, wondering what her former husband was like. She had only seen him as a contorted body in the wake of a car crash but the woman in front of her actually knew him.
She didn’t seem overly upset but they had been divorced for six years. Jessica blurted out the question without thinking. ‘Why did you keep your husband’s name, Mrs
Sturgess?’

Deborah stared back. ‘Are you married?’

Jessica shook her head. ‘No.’

‘If you ever had been, you’d know how hard it is to get your name changed in the first place. You send forms off to banks, insurance companies, employers, the tax office, all sorts
of people. Everyone needs to see the original marriage licence too, not just a copy. Believe me, if you ever change your name and go through that hassle, changing it back and going through it all
again isn’t going to be high on your list of priorities.’

Deborah smiled slightly as she finished speaking before adding gently, ‘We didn’t break up on bad terms, everything just came to a natural end. Maybe if we’d had a bad break I
would have been more interested in going back to my maiden name.’

Not for the first time in the past few weeks, Jessica wondered how many other ‘normal’ things simply passed her by. She had never really thought about it but just assumed that, once
you were married, things such as changing your name were all done for you.

Deborah shuffled to one side of the stairs. ‘You go look around. I hope you find what you’re looking for.’

Jessica felt an obligation to make sure the woman was all right but wasn’t sure there was much else she could say. She stepped over the pile of letters and walked slowly up the stairs,
careful not to miss a thing. At the top was a varnished wooden landing, Jessica’s footsteps echoing loudly as she walked across it. The upper level felt a degree or two cooler than
downstairs. A few weeks had passed since she found Benjamin Sturgess in the front of that crashed car and the weather had certainly turned. Most people would now have their central-heating systems
turned on during the day but this property had been empty for that time. Somehow the downstairs had kept a degree of warmth but Jessica pulled her jacket tighter around her as she struggled not to
shiver.

She could feel a slight breeze and followed it to her left where a door stood ajar. It led into a bathroom where she saw a small window above the bath open a crack. Instinctively Jessica went to
close it but stopped herself, wondering if, as implausible as it seemed, it could somehow prove crucial when the full search team came in. She closed the door behind her, walking back onto the
wooden floor, conscious that each step she took could be heard downstairs. She was about to open another door when Rowlands called her. She went quickly down the stairs, into the living room.
Rowlands was on the sofa holding two mobile phones.

‘Where were they?’ Jessica asked.

Rowlands crouched and pointed towards a small gap between the sofa and the side table where Jessica had found the wallet. ‘There are plug sockets down here. They were on the floor
charging.’

‘Where’s Deborah?’

Rowlands shrugged. ‘I’ve not seen her.’ He handed one of the devices to Jessica. ‘What shall we do? Call the forensics team? They’ll want to look at
these.’

Jessica took the phone from him. It looked a few years old, with a sliding front panel and none of the fresh innovations many of the new gadgets had. ‘So do I,’ she said, pushing the
front upwards so she could access the keys.

Rowlands was holding a far newer model than the one Jessica had taken. She knew a few people who had two mobile phones; one was usually for work, the other was personal. She wondered why a
writer would need two. When she was younger and worked in uniform, one of the constables had two phones. The first was the one everyone he knew had the number for, be it his girlfriend, colleagues,
parents or friends. The second had a pre-pay SIM card in it and he only gave out the number to women he met while he was out.

Jessica weighed the object in her hand. She suspected any second number probably wasn’t used for giving out to women but wondered if the reason for Benjamin Sturgess having two phones was
because of a similar type of duplicity.

She tried to find a call history but using an unfamiliar phone proved harder than she thought. It had taken her weeks to get used to her own and its various functions. After accidentally muting
the device, then taking a photograph of the floor, Jessica found the contacts list but the italicised message made her even more convinced that she was on to something.