Seven Days(23)

He stood on the chair and opened the hatch, then pulled himself through it. A light went on, then Wynne heard his muffled voice.

‘It’s empty.’

They went back downstairs and into the kitchen. Edwards opened the back door. The garden was small, surrounded by a high fence. There was a patio and a fish pond and a messy, overgrown lawn. At the far end was a shed. Wynne walked slowly to it, looking for places – maybe a corner cut off behind the fence – where something – someone – could be hidden.

There was nothing. Nothing in the shed, either. Just some old tools and a push mower.

‘Let’s check the garage,’ she said.

It was a one-car garage, Best’s blue Ford Focus taking up most of the space. Wynne and Edwards entered through the kitchen; there was a door to the garden on the far side.

She tried the car door. It was unlocked and she pulled the lever that opened the boot.

It – and the garage – was empty.

When they had finished, she went back to the kitchen. Best was drinking a cup of tea. The plate was in front of him, empty. There was a smear of ketchup on the edge.

‘Find what you were looking for?’ he said.

Wynne didn’t reply. Next to her, Edwards tensed.

‘I didn’t think you would,’ Best said. ‘I tried to tell you, but some people won’t be told.’

‘Don’t take the piss, mate,’ Edwards said. ‘I get a bit twitchy when people take the piss.’

Best held up his hands. ‘Look,’ he said. ‘I’m sorry. But you come into my house and go through my belongings for no reason, so don’t be surprised when I’m a little miffed. I don’t know the girl and I don’t know where she is. Whatever’s happened to her, it’s nothing to do with me.’

Wynne ignored him. ‘Where were you on Friday around four p.m.?’ she said.

‘Shopping,’ he said. ‘I went to Morrisons to get my weekly shop and then came home. I do it the same time every Saturday. You can check my credit card bill. The transactions will all be there. A neighbour probably saw me come home. You can ask them.’

He wasn’t lying, Wynne could tell. But that didn’t mean he was telling her everything.

‘Have you heard anything?’ she said.

‘About what?’

‘About a missing girl. Or about new material that might be available. Photos. Videos.’

‘Of course not,’ he said. ‘If there was such a thing, what makes you think I would have heard about it?’

Wynne looked at him and smiled. It was not a warm smile. It was not meant to be.

‘Listen,’ she said, in a low voice. ‘If you have done anything then one day I’ll get you. And I’ll do whatever it takes to make sure you end up on the worst wing of the worst prison in the country, and I’ll make sure that the other inmates know all about you. They’ll be thrilled. It’s boring inside and they love something to do. But’ – she held her hands up in a gesture of friendship – ‘if you tell me about the videos and photos and I find Maggie Cooper, I’ll make sure that doesn’t happen. I’ll be your friend, and someday soon you’re going to need all the friends you can get.’

Best stood up. He walked to the kettle and flicked it on, then put a teabag in a mug. When the water was boiling he poured it on to the teabag, and turned to look at Wynne.

‘Thank you for your advice, Detective Inspector Wynne,’ he said. ‘But I’ve done nothing.’ He smiled, and his smile too was lacking any warmth. ‘If anything comes to mind, I’ll let you know. Now, please leave.’





Twelve Years Earlier, 9 July 2006: Evening


1


Maggie was hungry. She hadn’t eaten any of the food the man – she still didn’t know his name – had brought, in part as a protest but mainly because of a constant low-level nausea. She’d drunk some of the orange cordial, but that was it. Now, though, her hunger was becoming insistent. Her body needed what it needed, despite what was happening.

She was hoping the man would be back soon with something to eat.

She sat on the bed and stared at the door to the room. She’d examined it not long after moving in, wondering if it was like the doors in her house, in which case it might be possible to kick a hole in one of the panels.

But the man had clearly thought of that. It was made of metal, and, from the dull thud it made when she hit it, thick metal. There was no way of getting out through it.

There was no way of getting out at all.

The walls and floor – she had banged on the carpet – were concrete, or maybe stone. Even if she had a tool, a knife or a fork, there was no way she would be able to get through it. Besides, if she could make a hole, the man would see it as soon as it reached any size.

She was trapped. Well and truly trapped.

And no one knew where she was. If they did – if someone had seen the man pick her up – they would have come to rescue her by now. The fact they hadn’t meant that they weren’t coming at all.

She could be here for a long time.

She could be here forever.

And when she thought about it like that, she was overtaken by a panic that left her curled into a ball on the bed, trembling, her eyes wide open and her mind blank with fear.

When she wasn’t consumed by panic she was thinking about her parents and brother and friends and what they were going through. She could picture them all: James would be quiet and withdrawn, keeping his feelings to himself. He’d always been like that; often he would be worried about something at school or with his friends and he would deny there was a problem over and over, until eventually he would come to Maggie’s room and lie next to her and tell her what had happened.