Fatal Legacy (38 page)

Her instincts screamed at her that the only way to attack the
man was through his child. She checked her watch: two forty. With luck and light traffic she could be at Harlden Primary in fifteen minutes. What she would do then, she had no idea, but coming between Fenwick and his daughter would undoubtedly be a way to slow him down. She snatched up her car keys and ran out of the Hall, forgetting to lock the front door. What did it matter? From tomorrow night it would mean nothing to her. She felt a strange pang at the idea of leaving its comfort behind after so short a time, but then the thought of freedom and a new beginning filled her and she jumped into the car without a backward glance.

Her driving was crazy, erratic. Three strong gins mixed with almost her whole day’s allowance of antidepressants was playing havoc with her coordination, but her thoughts raced forward. It was as if her consciousness was somehow too big for her body now, driven by her intense hatred for Fenwick and the need for action to keep thoughts of captivity away. A cock pheasant strutted out into the road and she swerved across to hit it full on, feeling an immense surge of pleasure as the thump jarred her hands on the wheel and blood splattered the front of her car. Auburn feathers flew up and lodged under the windscreen wipers. She stared at their richness, fascinated, until the blare of a horn from an oncoming car caused her to correct her steering and swerve back on to her side of the road.

She found the primary school easily, as if guided there by some external force. The playground in front was deserted, and for an awful moment she thought she had missed the daily exodus. Then she noticed a line of waiting cars and realised that she was just in time.

A bell rang within the school building and as if on cue the drivers left their cars. They were nearly all, but not exclusively, women and they queued up obediently at the school gates waiting for their offspring. There was a peculiar familiarity among the group assembled by the gates, and she realised that if she ventured from her car she would immediately be recognised as the intruder she was, so she waited.

The children came out of the school in several waves, class after class rushing to the narrow gateway en masse, then breaking and filing through. Each child or group was snapped
up at once by the waiting adults, and Sally stared with fascination at the picture of care and protection before her. She had never known that parents could be like this, and a weird, sickening pain encircled her heart. She opened her handbag and found her bottle of pills. She took one, dry-swallowing it with difficulty, and closed her eyes as it took effect. She felt better at once, optimistic and with renewed energy. As she replaced the bottle in her bag, she saw the warrant card she had stolen from that policewoman at the Hall. It had been a natural reaction to an opportunity that had presented itself unasked for. She took the card out and stared at it. She had forgotten that she had it, but noticing it now was almost like an omen.

Sally found a Polo mint in her bag and sucked on it thoughtfully. So far, she had no clear idea why she was here; it just seemed the right place to be. She could follow the child home, perhaps, and find out where it lived. Or they might go to a park or the shops. Her thinking was vague, but she was sure that the reason for her journey would present itself soon, and in the meantime she was enjoying the buzz of the pill and its distinctive euphoria.

Wendy was stuck in a queue at the car wash behind a Mini which, although clean now, wouldn’t start. Surely the driver had realised that old Minis and damp didn’t mix! There were two other cars behind her waiting for their turn, nose to tail. It was nearly three and she tried, but rarely succeeded, to be at the school before the children came out, even though Bess and Chris were always among the last to leave and always waited for her obediently. The school was only a few minutes away, so if only this idiot up ahead would do the decent thing and push his car out of the way, she would be fine.

Bess waited for Chris in the playground if the weather was fine, or by the big school doors if it was raining. Today it was very windy but dry, and she was tapping her sandalled foot impatiently as she waited for her younger brother. He was always one of the last.

Here he was now, ambling out, daydreaming. She called to him.

‘Chris, over here!’

He looked up, grinned and trotted over. Most of the other children had gone already; only a few stragglers remained.

‘Come on, Wendy’ll be here soon.’ She grabbed her brother’s hand and started to stride off purposefully towards the gates. She was almost there when she stopped suddenly.

‘Chris, your shoe bag; where is it? You know you’re not meant to leave anything behind. Go and get it. Go on, hurry up!’

Chris trotted dutifully towards the school building without looking back. There was no arguing with his sister, so he might as well do what she said. He found his shoe bag hanging on his peg and slung it over his shoulder. Then he noticed that someone had left a Mars bar on the bench and he wrestled with his conscience for a moment before turning his back on it and leaving the building once again.

The playground was deserted. All the grown-ups had gone and he was the only child left. He called out his sister’s name, softly at first, then louder. There was no reply. He ran over to the climbing frames and swings, but she wasn’t there. Then he ran back again towards the gates. There was the sound of a car turning the corner at the end of the road too fast, and he thought he recognised the engine. He waited hopefully. The car screeched to a stop, a door slammed shut and Wendy rushed into the playground.

‘Chris! Thank goodness. I’m so sorry I’m late, but I’m here now. Where’s your sister?’

Chris stared at Wendy’s worried face and started to cry.

Fenwick returned to the station with high hopes of finding Sally in custody, only to be told by Blite that he had thought it best to check with the ACC before arresting her. Surprise, surprise, Harper-Brown had insisted on a court warrant, and the application Fenwick had drafted the night before had assumed a successful identification parade.

‘As you’re the one who interviewed Black, sir, I thought I’d better leave it until you returned.’

Fenwick was furious and ordered Blite out of his office before he said something he would regret. He was just finishing the revised application when his secretary put Wendy’s call through. He knew at once from the tone of her voice that something was terribly wrong, and his heart constricted in his chest. Wendy was almost in tears.

‘It’s Bess, she wasn’t in the playground when I went to pick them up from school. I drove home slowly with Chris, exactly the way she would have walked, but there was no sign of her and she isn’t here either.’ There was a rising note of panic in her voice, and Fenwick struggled to remain calm.

‘You’re sure that she isn’t at home?’

‘No, I’ve searched everywhere.’

‘And she hasn’t gone to play with friends?’

‘I’ve called all her best friends; she’s not with any of them. Oh, Andrew, I’m so sorry. I was only two minutes late, honestly.’ She had been late before and two minutes was nothing, a mere fraction of time. It was obscene that it should suddenly count for so much.

‘How’s Chris?’

‘He’s very upset. I can’t get him to talk but he clearly doesn’t know where Bess is.’

Fenwick’s mind was racing. Bess had been missing for less than half an hour, and she was likely to be with friends somewhere, or in her own private daydream in the park, but he wasn’t about to take that risk. She was normally an obedient child, and going off on her own was completely out of character. There were few privileges these days in being a senior police officer, but it was an easy decision to take advantage of his position. He told Wendy to wait in the house with Chris and offered her words of comfort he was far from believing in, then ran down the corridor to Superintendent Quinlan’s office. He was in a meeting with the divisional head of traffic, but Fenwick went in anyway. The look on his face made it obvious that he had a major problem.

‘My daughter’s gone missing. She wasn’t at the school when the nanny went to pick her up, and none of her friends have seen her.’

‘How long?’

‘Only half an hour, but this is totally out of character. She’d
never
leave her brother or go off on her own.’

Superintendent Quinlan barely took time to think.

‘I’ll talk to Operations and have them set up a team; you go home, and don’t worry about the Wainwright case. I’ll have the others follow through with the warrant and arrest.’

The drive home was a nightmare of crawling hopefully through streets with pedestrians on the pavement and racing impatiently along empty stretches at well over the speed limit. He saw no sign of Bess.

At home, both Chris and Wendy welcomed him with tears. He picked his small son up in an enveloping hug and kissed Wendy on the top of her head.

‘It’s not your fault,’ he whispered.

He walked out to the garden with Chris, still hugging him.

‘Ssh, it’s OK, don’t cry. Everything will be all right soon,’ but Chris’s sobs grew louder until he was almost wailing. His father just squeezed him tight, hoping that the security of his arms would somehow infuse the child with some of his own strength. Wendy brought him a cup of tea and sat on a nearby
bench, staring forlornly at the ground between her feet. There was nothing she could say.

Fenwick took one of his arms from around his son long enough to drink some tea, then wrapped it back in a tight hug. After some time Chris’s sobs reduced to snuffles and then he was silent. Fenwick remembered how badly affected he had been by his mother’s long illness and eventual committal; within his simple toddler’s brain Chris had assumed all the guilt and responsibility, leaving lasting scars that made him a vulnerable child even now. Fenwick had to find the right words to stop him being damaged again.

‘It’s not your fault, Chris. You’re a good boy, a very special boy, and Daddy loves you.’

His words brought more tears, but they were softer this time and subsided sooner. The three of them sat in an empty silence for a long time, until the wind made it too cold to stay outside. Fenwick called all of Bess’s friends again without success while Wendy made some sandwiches and Fenwick watched in
amazement
as his son ate his whole plateful and drank a glass of orange juice without a word of protest. He could barely manage a mouthful of his own, but he kept forcing the food down, too aware that he could be up all night. Until Chris was asleep in bed, though, there was no way he could leave him to go and search for Bess. In the meantime, the little boy needed as much normal routine as possible.

After tea, Fenwick took Chris into the sitting room to watch television, stroking his hair as the meaningless cartoons paraded in front of them. He had received three updates, two from the operations centre and one from Superintendent Quinlan himself. They had interviewed all the teachers at the school, and most of Bess’s classmates. No one could recall anything unusual. The last time Bess had been seen was whilst she waited patiently in the playground for her brother at the end of the day. Now it was past seven o’clock and the light was starting to fade. Fenwick tried to keep from his mind the terrible thought that she had been abducted by concentrating on Chris and his needs.

He couldn’t shake off the compulsive desire to be out searching for Bess, and recalled the faces of other fathers he had seen trying to cope with the awful wait until they discovered
their child’s fate. He shivered, and the movement disturbed Chris.

‘Has Bess gone to be with Mummy, Daddy?’

Fenwick held his breath and let it out slowly, not wanting to scare the boy with his reaction to those awful words.

‘No, Chris, Bess is likely to be home soon.’

It was as if he hadn’t spoken.

‘Because if she has, I’d like to go too. I miss Mummy, Daddy. I miss her a lot.’

‘I know, Chris, I do too, but I need you to be here with me.’

Chris turned and stared at his father with huge grey eyes filled with a look of wonder.

‘Do you, Daddy?’

The idea seemed extraordinary to the child, and he shook his head in wonder as he turned contentedly back to the video he was watching.

‘Daddy needs
me
,’ he said to himself in a satisfied little whisper, and snuggled further back against his father’s chest with a little sigh.

Fenwick had to tilt his head back to look at the ceiling in order to prevent the tears in his eyes from dropping. He sniffed and managed to blink them back under control. His son’s fragility always surprised him; he had so little confidence and self-esteem that it frightened him. He would have to remember to make his love for Chris and his pride in his achievements more obvious. He dropped a kiss on the top of the little boy’s head. Fenwick was feeling increasingly torn apart. He wanted to be out searching for Bess, but he knew that Chris needed him. As soon as he’d put him to bed he would go out, leaving him in Wendy’s care.

A call came through from Operations just as Fenwick finished tucking Chris up for the night. They had both avoided looking at Bess’s bed on the other side of the room, and by the time he had said his last good night to Chris, Fenwick could barely stand straight. The weight of fear and pain that was on him now was unbearable. Memories of Bess ran continuously in his mind, to be cruelly interspersed with more grisly images from past cases: children killed accidentally in a playground fall, or drowned in a neighbour’s unfenced pond; of a car wreck
he had attended when still in uniform which wiped out a whole family; of a child’s murder, the body hidden in a roll of carpet on waste ground less than fifty yards from her home.

He could hear Wendy’s muffled tears. He didn’t blame her, but she obviously blamed herself. What was two minutes after all? Nobody could be criticised for the fact that it wasn’t safe to leave a child alone for a moment. He groped his way downstairs to the kitchen to take the call.

‘The Superintendent asked us to let you know as soon as anything develops, sir.’

Fenwick felt a familiar knot tighten in his chest.

‘Yes?’

‘We’ve found a witness in one of the houses next to the school who saw Bess getting into a car with a young woman.’

It was no longer supposition; he could not pretend that Bess had been playing somewhere on her own and had slipped and banged her head. He had to face reality now that she had been abducted. His fingers tightened on the receiver.

‘Any details?’

‘Very few. The car was a pale blue or silver, “racy” was the word the witness used, but she knows little about cars so she couldn’t even guess at the make. We’re taking pictures round for her to look at. She didn’t see the registration number.’

‘And the woman?’

Fenwick already hated this stranger with an intensity that frightened him.

‘She can’t remember a lot other than that she was smartly dressed. Above average height, wearing expensive black shoes. That’s it. She didn’t see her face.’

‘And Bess?’ His voice nearly cracked as he said his daughter’s name. ‘How did she seem?’

‘Fine. She was holding the woman’s hand and walking beside her normally. The witness was most insistent that nothing seemed out of the ordinary.’

They always were, thought Fenwick, otherwise how could they explain away the guilt of watching a child go off like that? The officer from Operations was still talking, and he tried to concentrate on his words and not on the image of Bess getting into that stranger’s car. Why had she done it?

‘Sir, are you still there? They’ll be round straight away to attach taps to the phone, in case there is a ransom demand.’

‘I’m going out now to join the search, but the nanny will be here.’ He broke the connection.

The telephone rang again immediately. It was his boss, calling to find out how he was.

‘I’m all right, sir. I just want to be doing more. Where are the search teams concentrated?’

‘There are six external teams.’ The Superintendent wouldn’t give him the locations at first, too aware that the very names themselves would conjure up previous searches for missing children, some with terrible ends. ‘We have to consider that you’ve been targeted deliberately by someone with a grudge. DS Cooper and a team are going through closed cases to identify possible suspects …’

‘There’ll be a lot of those.’

‘… Who are still at liberty to organise an abduction; there will be fewer of those. And you’re not to worry about the Wainwright case. Blite has the surveillance of James FitzGerald under control and he will arrest Sally Wainwright-Smith first thing in the morning.’

Fenwick hadn’t given the case any thought since he had heard that Bess had disappeared, and was dumbfounded by the Superintendent’s misjudgement of him. He wondered whether he should feel flattered or appalled.

Before the Superintendent said goodbye, Fenwick asked him to contact the Edinburgh police to check his mother’s progress in her journey to Sussex. They were driving her down at his request. As he rang off, Fenwick rubbed his forehead with his hands and found that he was bathed in sweat.

His stomach clenched suddenly and he rushed to the
downstairs
bathroom. Heaving over the sink, he watched through watery eyes as a thin dribble of greenish bile splashed the enamel. He threw water on to his face and sucked drips from his palm into his coated mouth. Once, twice, he retched and washed face, mouth and hands in the freezing water. Eventually he could think again and forced himself to be calm.

He felt hollow. Ever since his wife’s illness had slowly taken her from the heart of his family, despite all his physical and
mental effort to prevent it, he had been suspicious of the idea of hope. Now he could feel the start of that terrible desperation again, and he knew that he had to be active or face the prospect of madness in the hours ahead. He left to join the searchers.

Nightingale sat across from Sergeant Cooper and opened another case file. Superintendent Quinlan had taken them both off the Wainwright investigation, which he had left in DI Blite’s capable care, and had them searching through Fenwick’s old cases, looking for anyone who might hold a grudge and who wasn’t in prison. She was concentrating on the computerised files and Cooper on the ones that remained on paper; both were sick to the stomach and worked in utter silence.

The whole incident room was quiet, except for the sporadic tapping of keys or the faint rustle as another page was turned. Behind her, the door opened as someone delivered yet another report on the Wainwright case for the researchers to add to their growing databases.

‘It’s Dr Keating’s report. She rushed it through for the Chief Inspector.’

The words wrecked Nightingale’s concentration and she cursed their speaker under her breath for no good reason. Cooper heard her, looked up and saw the misery on her face.

‘Well, lass, it’s nearly midnight, and I’m in need of
sustenance
, which means that you should be too. Why don’t you go and get us some grub?’ He pressed some money hard into her hand. ‘And make sure you get something yourself; you’re as thin as a rake.’

Nightingale descended the silent stairs to the canteen on the lower ground floor in search of the food machine that had been installed as one of the ACC’s many economies. The canteen was empty and in semi-darkness, waiting for the early morning shift, which wasn’t due in for another six hours. As she pressed the sticky buttons and forced coins into the slot, she found herself thinking of Fenwick and his agony. He was facing this completely alone. She realised that she wanted to be with him, simply to give him the comfort of her presence. She could share some of his grief; help him when his fear turned to anger; comfort him in the dark hours of waiting that stretched ahead.
In her imagination she could feel the weight of his exhausted head on her shoulder, and sudden tears came to her eyes. She spoke suddenly into the silence.