Cold Justice (Willis/Carter #4)(32)

‘They haven’t accepted your offer, have they?’ Willis said as she finished writing in her notebook and looked up.

‘They haven’t. That’s correct. There’s still hope.’

‘Can you find more cash?’ Carter asked.

‘Perhaps. Anything else you want to ask me, as I’m finding this line of questioning a bit impolite? My financial affairs are my own.’

Carter smiled and opened his palms in a gesture of apology. ‘No offence meant.’ He replaced his cup and saucer on the tray and sat forward on the edge of the sofa. ‘We found his all-in-one suit in a bin in Greenwich but we found his mittens at a service station outside Bristol, on the M5. We’re checking CCTV now.’

‘You mean the Gordano services?’

‘Yes, that’s the one. A cleaner found Samuel’s mittens in the car park.’

‘They could have gone anywhere, south, east or west, from there then.’

‘Yes, but Cornwall seems to be the place where there is a connection.’

Raymonds was watching Willis writing notes. She looked up at him, pen poised. ‘What time did you get to the services on the way home from the funeral?’

‘Eight-ish. I stopped to use the bathroom and I went in for some kind of a sandwich and a coffee.’ Willis wrote it down. The sneer on Raymonds’ face returned. ‘You’re going to ask me what kind of filling was in it in a minute, I expect?’

‘No, it’s okay.’ She looked at him blankly. ‘Did you get any money from the cashpoint there?’

‘I believe I did. Twenty pounds to pay for my beverages. Maybe it was thirty, I forget.’

‘What time was that?’

‘It might have been seven thirty – I can’t be sure.’

Raymonds sat back in the armchair. He looked at Carter.

‘It’s a bit far-fetched to pin all this on a few country folk coming up for a funeral in London.’ He lost the smile a little; it was beginning to put a strain on the muscles around his mouth. His face was almost line-free: skin taut. His eyes turned cold and almost bored. ‘You can think what you like, but this abduction has nothing to do with us. It’s a ridiculous idea, made up just to keep you lot busy.’

‘Okay, well, we appreciate your help,’ Carter said. As he shifted his weight to the front of the sofa ready to stand Willis closed her notebook.

‘You won’t find any problem here,’ Raymonds added.

‘Maybe not, but he has to be somewhere. Tell me, if you were to hide a boy here,’ Carter asked, ‘where would you do it?’

‘Dead?’ Raymonds shrugged. ‘Down a mineshaft, inside a badger sett. That little one would fit snug wherever you put him. You could weight him down and throw him off a boat, the fish would make short work of it. It wouldn’t be too big to burn either.’

‘What about alive?’ asked Willis.

‘If he’s here you’ll never find him. Just about every farm has a million places to hide a little lad, keep him sedated even, and wrap him warm, be right as rain for a while.’

‘But not “right as rain” for ever.’

Raymonds looked at Carter with mockery in his eyes. ‘He’d die eventually, of course. Look for someone in the family. It’s nearly always the father, isn’t it?’

They got back into the car in silence.

‘What a piece of work.’ Carter looked at Raymonds, who was standing on the front step watching them leave. ‘We’ll drive by the farm shop and see if Stokes is in there; if not, we’ll head straight out to his farm to have a word. Thoughts, Willis?’

‘On the Neanderthal man?’ Willis strained to look up out of the corner of her window at the sound of a helicopter hovering above.

‘Yes.’

‘I’d say Raymonds is a complete control freak, even now,’ answered Willis. ‘No way has he retired from anything. What struck me is – even though he’s a complete Cornish homeland fanatic – he says he liked the man with the second home from London.’

‘Yeah – makes no sense to anyone,’ Carter replied. ‘I think he must have had some sort of relationship with JFW. Either business, or otherwise. Why didn’t he just rejoice in the fact that it was one more second-home owner dead?’

‘Because he feels – felt – a bond with either the house or the man,’ said Willis. ‘Could be the house – he is trying to buy it. If it’s the man, we need to find out more. Doesn’t make any sense either way. He doesn’t care about Samuel at all, does he, guv?’

‘He doesn’t give a shit if the boy’s alive or dead,’ said Carter. ‘What did he say? ‘‘The fish would make short work of it’’? Who speaks like that about a missing child?’

‘A man who thinks he can say whatever he likes.’

‘Exactly. An arrogant git who needs taking down a peg or two. I’m going to make it my business to achieve that before we leave here, Eb.’

‘Do you think Samuel is here?’

‘You know what, after talking to Raymonds and being subjected to his narrow-minded bigotry, his abject disregard and almost hatred of anything outside his narrow little world, I think I do. Is that Pascoe?’

‘Yes, guv.’