Somer bites her lip. `I'm really sorry, Fiona,' she says, holding the phone a little closer. `It wasn't actually us who spoke to your mother-in-law, it was West Yorkshire Police.'
But that's no excuse; they should have realized that might happen. And right now, Fiona Blake needs to trust the police, not think they're causing trouble for her behind her back. Baxter catches Somer's eye and she makes a face: Looks like we dropped the ball.
`I believe West Yorkshire had to speak to his mother to get his address `“ he doesn't currently own a property in his own name `“'
`Presumably because he's sponging off that bloody woman, whoever she is. I bet she's younger than him `“ I'm right, aren't I `“'
`I'm afraid I'm not able to `“'
`I'll kill him `“ if he's taken Sasha after all these years not even acknowledging she exists, I swear, I'll bloody kill him `“'
Somer takes a deep breath. She's trying not to let on that Sasha's already seen her father, because that's the last thing Fiona Blake needs to hear right now. Or perhaps the second last.
`She's not there, Mrs Blake.'
`What `“?'
`She's not there. West Yorkshire searched the house. Mr Blake wasn't there either.'
`So where the bloody hell is he? He's got her, hasn't he `“ he's abducted her `“'
`There is absolutely nothing to suggest that. Mr Blake was at a business meeting in Reading this morning. We've confirmed with the company concerned that he did, in fact, attend that meeting, and we have two officers on their way there right now to speak to him.'
She can hear the woman's ragged breathing, can imagine the pain in her chest, the rawness in her throat.
`Mrs Blake `“ Fiona `“ I know this is easy for me to say, but please do try to stay calm. When Sasha gets back she's going to need you. She'll need you to be strong.'
Fiona takes a deep breath. `OK. But you'll call me? As soon as you've spoken to Jonathan?'
`Of course. Of course I will.'
* * *
Even though the Dexter Masterson reception is crowded, Gislingham and Everett don't need to ask the woman on the desk to point out Jonathan Blake. The man is on his feet and in their faces before the revolving door has even closed behind them.
`I've been sat here over three hours. What the hell's all this about?'
Gis glances round, and steers Blake to an empty sofa in the far corner. He's wearing a slim-cut grey suit, a white shirt and a pale silk tie, along with just a hint of stubble. Trying a bit too hard, aren't you, mate, thinks Gislingham, who, like Karen Bonnett, has seen this type before.
`Let's just sit down, shall we, Mr Blake? Shall I get you a glass of water?'
`I don't need a bloody glass of water. I want to know what's going on. Do you have any idea how embarrassing it is to be told by a client that you need to stay in their building because the police want to talk to you?'
`Sorry about that, Mr Blake,' says Gislingham, who doesn't look sorry at all. `I can have a word with them if you like.'
`No thanks. You've done quite enough damage already.'
Gis takes a deep breath. `It's about your daughter, Mr Blake. I'm afraid she's gone missing.'
Blake gapes at him. `What? Sasha's gone missing? When was this?'
`Last night, around ten. She was last seen getting off a bus at the bottom of Windermere Avenue.'
`Why the fuck wasn't I told about this before?'
`She wasn't reported missing till this morning,' says Everett. `And it's taken since then to track you down.'
Blake has gone white. He's staring at the floor now. The two officers exchange a glance and Everett raises an eyebrow.
`Apparently Sasha was due to stay over at her friend's last night,' continues Gislingham. `But then she changed her mind. Her friends don't know why. Do you know why, Mr Blake?'
He glances up at them briefly and then drops his gaze back to the floor.
`Yes.' He swallows. `She was meeting me.'
* * *
At the Marston Ferry Road, the search team is taking a breather in the allotment car park. Someone's passing round a thermos of tea, and a couple of people are chewing chocolate bars, though without any particular sign of enjoyment. It's been an arduous day, up to their ankles in mud half the time. Even the terrain seems against them, the wet clay sucking down their feet and sapping their energy. The Cherwell has burst its banks at several points and half of them are now wearing waders. There's talk of getting divers in. Sergeant Barnetson looks up at the sky; the drizzle is getting heavier now. But they may just manage another hour or so as long as they get a move on.
`OK,' he announces, raising his voice above the wind, `let's have one more push before we lose the light completely. It's going to be even colder tonight, so if Sasha is out there injured somewhere, we need to find her.'
* * *
`So you're saying you texted Sasha at around 8.30 to say you'd finished your business dinner early.'
`Right,' says Blake. `She knew I was in Reading and I promised I'd try to get over and see her, so I sent her the text on the off-chance she was around.'
`I see,' says Gislingham. `When we spoke to her friends they told us that it was after getting that text that she changed her mind about staying over with Patsie.'
He looks flustered now. `Yeah, well `“'
`Yeah, well what, Mr Blake?'
`I told her that if her mother thought she was with Patsie, she could come over and spend the night at my hotel. I said I'd pick her up along by the bus stop at 10.00.'
He looks from Gislingham to Everett and back again. `Look, it was nothing `“ you know `“ dodgy. She's my daughter.'
`Who you've barely seen since she was a toddler.'
`What's that got to do with it? I'm still her father `“ and I resent your bloody tone. I am not a paedophile.'
`Where was she going to stay, at the hotel?' asks Gislingham evenly. `Were you going to get her a separate room?'
Blake flushes. `No. It would have cost a fortune.'
`So there was a spare bed in your room?'
`No,' he says sarcastically. `But amazingly enough there was an armchair. I was going to sleep in that.'
Everett sits back and folds her arms. `So what happened, then? She never did go to that hotel, did she?'
Blake takes a deep breath. `No. As I'm sure the staff will confirm.'
They sit there, staring at him, waiting. Come on, thinks Gislingham, spit it out.
`Look,' he says eventually. `Something came up, OK? One of the people I was at dinner with called me and suggested we have a nightcap. It was an important client `“ I couldn't really say no.'
And I bet you didn't try very hard, either, thinks Gislingham, who's just had a large bet with himself about which sex this super-important client turns out to be.
`So you texted Sasha again and blew her off?' says Everett. `Because you had a better offer?'
Blake doesn't dignify that with a response.
`We can check with your phone company,' continues Ev. `They'll be able to confirm it, if you did.'
`Then I suggest you do just that,' Blake snaps, glaring at her. `And get off my back.'
`What's this client of yours called?' asks Gis, pulling out his notebook. `Just for the record.'
Blake hesitates. `Amanda Forman. But I'd rather you didn't bother her with any of this if that can be avoided.'
Yeah, right, thinks Gis, several thousand imaginary pounds richer.