Seven Days(32)

James was standing between Martin and Sandra. Without warning, he sat heavily on the step. His eyes were bloodshot and unfocused.

‘OK,’ Martin said. ‘We need to get you inside.’ He knelt and held James’s face in his hands. It was hot and flushed. He kissed his son’s forehead. ‘Come on, Jimbo. Time for a cup of tea.’

James nodded. ‘I’m OK.’ His words were slurred and another wave of booze wafted off him.

‘I’m not sure about that,’ Martin said. He helped James to his feet. ‘Where did you find him?’

‘I was out for a walk,’ Best said. ‘And I saw him coming out of the park. He fell into a hedge and was sick. He was with a friend, but the other boy ran off when I came near. Your son was too incapacitated to follow him.’

‘And you brought him home?’ Martin asked.

‘I have some experience with boys of this age,’ Best said. ‘And they will do this kind of thing. I felt it was for the best that he was not left on the street.’

Sandra smiled at him. ‘Thank you,’ she said. ‘With what happened to Maggie – our daughter – we were going crazy with worry.’

‘I can imagine.’ Best took a deep breath. ‘Well, he’s home now. I didn’t know you still lived here. Perhaps I’ll see you around the village.’

‘Yes,’ Sandra said. ‘That would be lovely.’

‘And good luck. I hope your daughter is returned to you soon. I’m sure she will be.’

‘Thank you. Goodnight, Mr Best.’

Sandra closed the door. She turned to James and wrapped her arms around him.

‘James,’ she said. ‘I want to be angry at you, but I can’t. But don’t you ever do that again. I can’t go through it. Promise?’

James looked at her through bleary eyes. ‘Promise,’ he mumbled.

Martin slipped an arm around him.

‘I’ll put him to bed,’ he said. ‘We can deal with this in the morning.’





6


When James was upstairs – shoes off but still wearing the rest of his clothes – Martin went downstairs. Sandra was on her mobile. He sat next to her on the couch and called DI Wynne.

‘No need to come,’ Martin said. ‘He’s here.’

‘I’m glad to hear it,’ Wynne said.

‘Sorry. For wasting your time.’

‘That’s fine. Totally understandable in the circumstances. Call any time you need.’

Sandra hung up. ‘That was Marcia. Andy’s mum. Apparently he got home and tried to sneak upstairs without anyone noticing. He was drunk too. She got the story out of him – some older boys bought them some cider or something and they went to drink it in the park.’

‘The cinema guy said they were at the film.’

‘Sounds like they had the bright idea to get drunk on the way home.’

‘I’ll talk to him in the morning,’ Martin said. ‘But honestly, for now I’m just glad he’s home.’

‘Me too,’ Sandra said. She moved closer to him and he put his arm around her. ‘What are we going to do?’ she said. ‘How are we going to get through this?’

Martin didn’t answer for a while.

‘I don’t know,’ he said eventually. ‘I really don’t know.’





Twelve Years Earlier, 30 July 2006


1


DI Wynne scrolled through her contacts. She hated making this kind of call, hated knowing that the recipient might think she had good news, and would be disappointed when she told them that no, there were no new leads.

But she had to call Maggie’s parents. She couldn’t leave them in the dark; even though she had nothing specific to share, people wanted to be kept in the loop – as far as she could – about the investigation.

And she had nothing. Maggie was either dead, or she had been abducted and was a prisoner somewhere – and it could be anywhere – or she had been trafficked, in which case she could be anywhere in the world, working most likely in the sex trade, watched day and night, with no documents and no money. She’d be given ready access to drugs and alcohol and, when she was no longer of value, she’d be killed and disposed of, dumped in a lake or river, buried in a forest or desert, or thrown into an incinerator. No one would miss her. No one would report her absence to the police, and even if they did, the police wouldn’t be able to do anything. They would have no idea who she was.

Martin Cooper answered on the second ring.

‘Yes,’ he said. ‘DI Wynne?’

She was stung by the hope in his voice.

‘Just a routine call, I’m afraid,’ Wynne said. ‘To let you know we are still pursuing all avenues as thoroughly as we can. And to answer any questions you might have.’

‘I don’t have any.’ His voice was flat. ‘But thank you for checking in.’

‘Not a problem,’ Wynne said. ‘By the way, is your son OK?’

‘More or less,’ Martin Cooper said. ‘Although I’m not sure OK is the best description. He was very drunk.’

‘Perhaps he needed to let off some steam,’ Wynne said. ‘He’s safe, at least.’