Their Lost Daughters (DI Jackman & DS Evans #2)(23)

Asher closed his eyes and groaned. It was killing him. He had needs, and right now they were threatening to overpower him. He adored Lynda, worshipped her. He wanted her. But he knew that the only way he could keep her was to respect her puritanical, Victorian-era wishes, no matter how painful they were to him. She might appear to be a chic, modern young woman, but her deeply religious parents had instilled in her an inflexible, old-fashioned morality.

With another, deeper groan, he drew his wallet from his desk drawer and checked its contents. Plenty for what he needed. With a satisfied little grunt, he pushed the wallet into his pocket and made for the door.

He’d take Lynda to supper, buy her champagne and escort her home, just like the perfect gentleman. But before he even laid eyes on her flawless porcelain skin and shimmering soft hair, he would have to keep another very different appointment.





CHAPTER NINE

Before they left the station to visit Toni’s ex, Ethan Barley, Jackman and Marie took some time to make a list of derelict or abandoned places for uniform to check out for them.

‘There’s the old pumping station at Quintin Eaudyke, and what about that big old place on the Roman Bank?’ Jackman stared at the growing list.

‘Windrush? The old sanatorium?’ Marie grinned. ‘I know that old dump quite well. I spent a week there when I was a probationer. The owners rented it out to us for a training course, search and rescue and fire safety stuff. It had been an army billet in the Second World War, and then it was a TB sanatorium. Really creepy, but interesting. The course was dead boring so I spent quite a bit of time tracing its chequered history.’

‘Sounds like you could have done guided tours in the summer months.’

‘Probably should have.’ Marie looked at the clock. ‘Time to go. We have a vicar and his offspring to meet.’

*

The name Fendyke Vicarage conjured up an image of chocolate box prettiness. In fact, it was a 1940s four-bedroom house, built in the grounds of the church to accommodate the vicar and his family. Its successive occupants had made no effort to make it more homely. And if the house was unexpected, then the vicar himself was even more of a surprise.

The man that answered the door was around six foot tall, and as broad as he was high. His full beard conjured up salty seadog rather than vicar. Jackman wondered about his sermons.

‘Come in, come in.’ He stood back and they squeezed in between his bulk and the doorframe.

He led the way down a long hallway and into a large, airy lounge. Busy floral-patterned curtains did battle with a colourful carpet.

On a modern leather sofa, which looked incongruous amid the flower prints, lounged a black Labrador, a white cat and a spotty youth.

All three looked up as they entered. Jackman had difficulty deciding whose expression was the most disdainful.

‘Nicholas, call your brother down, please.’ The vicar turned to the detectives. ‘I thought I’d better have both my sons available for you to talk to.’ He raised a bushy eyebrow. ‘Whatever the reason for your visit, it’s bound to concern at least one or possibly both of them.’

The teenager slouched off, and shouted ‘Ethan!’ from the bottom of the stairs.

Jackman smiled at the vicar. ‘They aren’t in trouble, sir. We just need some help with our enquiries regarding a missing teenager.’

Reverend Barley indicated two armchairs, and heaved the reluctant dog from the couch. As he lowered himself down, the sofa springs gave out a squeal of protest.

‘Ah, this is Ethan, my eldest boy, and Nicholas, the baby of the family.’

The ‘baby’ flopped back down at the far end of the couch and glowered at them from beneath a lank fringe.

Ethan dutifully stuck out a hand, then dragged a giant leather beanbag towards the fireplace and casually draped himself over it. He was thin and narrow-faced, with dark hair. He wore black-rimmed designer glasses and jeans slung so low that they appeared to be defying gravity.

Marie gave them an abridged version of Toni’s ordeal, and asked if either of them knew a girl called Shauna Kelly, or a girl called Emily with long, dark hair.

Jackman watched them keenly. Nicholas’s face remained blank, but at the mention of Toni’s name, Ethan took in a sharp breath.

‘Is Toni going to be okay?’ asked the boy.

‘We hope so. She was very lucky to have escaped with only relatively minor injuries,’ said Jackman.

The vicar spoke in a low growl. ‘Best day’s work you ever did, boy, breaking up with that girl. She’s trouble. I always said so, didn’t I?’

‘It’s hardly her fault if some bastard spiked her drink.’

‘Language, Ethan!’

‘Do you have a better word for someone who does that kind of thing?’

Jackman couldn’t think of any, but decided not to join in the family argument.

‘And Shauna, or Emily?’ asked Marie.

‘Nah,’ mumbled the younger boy.

They looked at Ethan.

‘Not Shauna, but a week or so ago a student friend of mine tried chatting up a girl called Emily in a pub in Harlan Marsh.’ He shrugged. ‘Might not be the same Emily of course.’

‘Do you know what she looked like?’

Ethan shook his head. ‘I never saw her, but my friend said she was a stunner. He was gutted when she told him to get lost.’