Seven Days(31)

‘Sorry,’ he said. ‘Emergency.’

The man behind the counter tilted his head. ‘Yes?’ he said.

‘Have you seen two boys? About fourteen.’

‘It’s a cinema, mate. On a Saturday. It’s full of teenage kids.’

‘I know, but …’ His voice tailed off. ‘It’s important.’

The man sighed. ‘What do they look like?’

He realized he had not brought a photo. ‘One of them – James, my son – is tall. About five ten, skinny. Hair’s blond, short on the sides and kind of long on top. Lots of gel. He was wearing a Nirvana T-shirt. His friend is shorter, very blond hair. Bleached, almost.’

‘Blond eyebrows?’

‘Yes. I think so.’

‘Tall?’

Martin nodded. ‘Exactly.’

‘I think I did see them. A while back. Their film’s over now, though. Has been for a while.’

‘Do you have CCTV?’

The man frowned. ‘Yeah, but I can’t let you see it. You’d have to ask the manager. Is everything OK, mate?’

Martin pursed his lips.

‘I don’t know,’ he said.





4


He called Sandra. ‘Is he home?’

‘No.’ She didn’t ask whether he had found James. She didn’t need to.

‘OK,’ he said. ‘I’m on my way back. And then we’re going to find him, one way or another.’

It was eight-thirty when he walked into the house. There had to be something wrong. There was no way James would have been so stupid – not to say insensitive – as to stay out late after what had happened to Maggie.

Sandra was standing in the kitchen, staring out of the window.

‘You didn’t find him,’ she said. ‘He’s gone.’

Martin’s chest constricted. ‘No,’ he said. ‘No. I can’t believe this. This cannot be happening. Not again.’

‘Call DI Wynne,’ she said. ‘Let her know.’

Martin scrolled to her number. She picked up on the second ring. There was music playing in the background. Something classical Martin did not recognize.

‘This is Martin Cooper,’ he said. ‘Maggie’s dad.’

The music went off.

‘Yes,’ she replied. ‘Is something the matter, Mr Cooper?’

‘James is missing,’ he said. ‘He went out earlier and hasn’t come back.’

There was a long silence. ‘How long has he been gone?’

‘He was due back a couple of hours ago.’

‘That’s not long for a teenage boy.’

‘I know. But with Maggie …’ Martin’s voice tailed off.

‘Yes,’ DI Wynne said. ‘I understand. I’ll come to your house. I’ll be there as soon as I can.’

As he hung up the doorbell rang. He looked at Sandra. She walked out into the hall and he followed her. He watched as she opened the door.

Her shoulders straightened and her eyes widened, then she opened her arms and half-ran, half-jumped outside. Martin ran to the door.

She was standing on the step, hugging James.

Martin hugged him too. There was a sour smell coming off his son. ‘Where’ve you been?’ he said, his relief keeping his anger in check. ‘We were so worried.’

Before James could answer a man stepped into view. He was in his fifties, bald and wearing faded chinos and a white shirt.

‘Good evening,’ he said. ‘I take it this is your son?’

‘Yes,’ Martin said. ‘Did you bring him home?’

‘I found him and he gave this address.’ He gave a tight smile. ‘I think he may have been drinking.’

He had. That was the sour smell. Martin would deal with that later. For now, he wanted to get James inside, then call Wynne to tell her not to come after all. Before he could thank the man, Sandra spoke.

‘Are you …’ she said. ‘Are you Mr Best?’





5


The man – Best – peered at her through his glasses. ‘Sandra?’ he said. ‘Is that Sandra Ferguson?’

‘Cooper, now,’ Sandra said. ‘But yes.’

‘Well, I never. How nice to see you. It’s been what? Twenty years?’

‘I guess,’ Sandra said. ‘Although it’s hard to believe it’s that long. How are you?’

‘Good. I’m retired now. How are you?’ He hesitated, and took a small step backwards. ‘Didn’t I hear …?’

‘Yes,’ Sandra said. ‘Our daughter – she – she went missing.’

‘Oh dear,’ he said. ‘How very sad.’ He looked at Martin. ‘I’m very sorry for you both.’

‘Thank you,’ Martin said. There was something about the precise, polite formality of the man that he found almost intimidating. It was so practised, so impenetrable. ‘I take it you two know each other?’

‘We do,’ Best said. ‘I had the pleasure of teaching your wife. Although that was a long time ago. I was much younger then.’

‘We both were,’ Sandra said. ‘I was Maggie’s age. Mr Best taught Maths at St Joe’s.’