Their Lost Daughters (DI Jackman & DS Evans #2)(26)

‘What do you think, Ethan? According to Toni she was drugged and dragged away, God knows where. She hasn’t been seen since. It doesn’t get much more dangerous than that.’

The boy bit his lip and stared at the ground. ‘I’ll do all I can with Nicholas.’

Marie walked over to them. ‘I’ll call this in, sir, and get uniform down here. Then we’ll get Ethan home.’

Back at the vicarage, Jackman gave the boy his card. ‘Any time, day or night, okay?’

Ethan nodded and pocketed it. ‘I hope you find her.’

Jackman glanced at Marie as they pulled away. ‘He’s not a bad kid, but his brother gives me the creeps. No mention of a mother.’

‘I’m guessing she’s dead,’ Marie said flatly. ‘I saw some photographs in the lounge, all rather old. No new ones.’

‘Mmm, I rather thought the same.’

‘Maybe that’s why Nicholas is so . . .’ Marie shrugged. ‘Hard to find a word to describe him, isn’t it?’

‘I can think of a few, but none are repeatable.’ Jackman grinned at her, and then the smile faded. ‘This whole thing is getting complicated, Marie, and I keep thinking about the fact that we are supposed to be finding time to reopen the Kenya Black case.’ He sighed. ‘We need to get to the bottom of these clubs fast. If we can close them down and collar the men behind them, we stand a good chance of halting the abductions.’

‘And finding our missing girl.’ Marie nodded, almost to herself. ‘Well, at least we now have a starting point. The chapel was definitely a venue. We will certainly find forensic evidence there, so . . .’ She smiled at him. ‘It’s a positive thing, sir. We are moving forward at last.’

Jackman was glad of Marie’s confident approach, but hoped that they would not encounter yet another obstacle.

Or worse still, another missing girl.





CHAPTER TEN

Max stretched and pushed back his chair. ‘Hot chocolate?’ he called across to where Rosie sat at her computer.

She looked up and smiled. ‘I’d kill for one, as they say.’

Max walked out to the vending machine, and glanced back at her. Rosie was still staring at the monitor, idly twisting her hair into a tight corkscrew. He smiled. He’d often noticed her doing that when she concentrated.

As he sorted out some change, he wondered why he’d always taken Rosie for granted. They were on different teams but had worked in the same office for years, so why hadn’t he found out more about her. He knew she was one of three girls, all in the police force, and all in different divisions, and that she had a flat over a flower shop in the High Street. End of. She was supposed to be his colleague, maybe even his friend. Should he ask her to go for a drink with him?

Max pushed the coins hard into the machine. They had a missing girl to find, and he needed to keep his mind firmly on that. This was no time for idle daydreams.

*

PCs Andy English and Kevin Stoner sat in their squad car and appraised the scene before them.

Windrush was a massive old Gothic Victorian property, sitting in overgrown parkland that rose up on a hill that bordered the marsh. It must have been quite something in its heyday, but those times were definitely over.

‘Oh my,’ murmured Andy. ‘We’ll need a fortnight to check this dump thoroughly.’

Kevin didn’t answer. He was still trying to take in the scale of the old mansion. The main house was more or less intact, but someone was apparently demolishing some of the outbuildings. Piles of rubble and stacks of old timber were heaped along the edge of the lawn, and Kevin could see a plume of grey smoke rising from around the back.

‘Well, someone is here.’ He pointed to the smoke. ‘Let’s go have a word.’

Andy nodded. The two policemen stepped out onto the weed-covered gravel drive and slammed the car doors. They made their way towards a flight of stone steps that led up to the main entrance.

A JCB stood at the foot of the steps. They both heard a soft ticking sound as they passed it.

Andy nodded at it. ‘Engine’s cooling down. You’re right about someone being around.’

‘What are they doing with this place?’ murmured Kevin.

‘No idea. I haven’t been out this way for years.’

Kevin pushed open one of two big front doors and they stepped into a huge foyer. ‘Fenland Constabulary!’ he called out. ‘Anyone home?’ His voice echoed across the cracked marble floor, up the empty staircase.

‘Must be outside.’ Together they walked around to the side of the house.

On what was left of an expanse of concrete patio was a battered metal skip with a thick plank of wood resting against the lower edge. As they approached it, they saw a mountain of a man, his fat hands gripping the rubber handles of a loaded builder’s wheelbarrow, stride effortlessly up the plank. With a roar, he heaved upward and sent the weighty contents crashing down into the dented old container. With a deft twist, he turned the cement-caked barrow and marched down.

Sweat dripped from a brow that creased into a scowl of disapproval when his eyes fell on the two policemen.

Kevin fought to retain his normal calm expression as he gazed at the ugliest man he had ever seen. ‘Er, good afternoon, sir. Are you the owner here?’

Every inch of the man’s huge frame flashed a warning signal.