‘That’s a long time ago,’ Annie said.
‘I haven’t forgotten her, love, you know that. I never could. Zelda’s not a replacement, she’s... I don’t know... a new start for me. Something I thought was way behind me. And beyond. You can’t always be prepared for when things like that happen.’
‘I wouldn’t know,’ Annie said.
‘I’m telling you. It’s true.’ Tears welled up in his red eyes again. ‘I don’t know what I’ll do if anything happens to her.’
‘Oh, Dad.’ Annie reached out and touched his arm. ‘There is some news,’ she said. ‘And another reason I’m here. I just talked to Alan on the phone, and he told me Mick Slater from the Black Bull said there was a bloke in the pub asking after Zelda the other day, or at least someone who resembled her very closely. Said he didn’t tell him anything. Didn’t like the look of him.’
Ray picked up the cigarette, rolled it around between his fingers for a while, then put it in his mouth and lit it. ‘They think that’s the man who took her?’
‘We don’t know,’ Annie said. ‘But we’ll definitely be checking into it.’
‘Any idea who he is?’
‘No.’ Annie paused. ‘But Alan said it might be a good idea, if you’re up to it, if maybe you could go up there and help with a sketch. Mr. Slater can give a pretty good description for you to work with. Only if you feel up to it. I’ll drive you.’
Ray stood up so fast he knocked his tumbler over on the table and whisky flowed over the sides. ‘Do I feel up to it? You bet I do. Come on, what are we waiting for?’
‘No, the nose isn’t quite right. A bit broader. And there’s a sort of bump.’ Mick Slater touched his own nose. ‘Right here, about halfway up. As if it was broken or something. And the lips were a bit thicker.’
Ray got to work with the rubber then put pencil to paper again.
‘That’s it,’ said Mick. ‘Now the eyebrows. A bit thicker, too. Not bushy or anything, but not quite so thin. Dark and heavy, and nearly meeting in the middle. A heavier brow. Hairline back a bit. That’s it. That’s him.’
They were in a small office behind the bar, and there was just enough room for Ray and Mick inside, while Banks leaned against the door jamb gazing on from the sidelines. It was always fascinating to watch a master at work. Ray was a serious artist, not a police sketch artist, but he had helped Banks out in that capacity before, and he was good at it. It had seemed only natural to ask Annie to try and get him to help sketch a description of the stranger, with Slater’s help. So far, things seemed to be going well.
Banks turned and glanced around the pub. He had accepted Slater’s offer of a pint of shandy when Ray arrived and was glad that he had. It was getting hot in there, and the sweetness of the lemonade and the bitterness of the beer made a perfect antidote to the heat of the day. The Black Bull was an odd sort of place: dark and dingy on the inside, with an uneven flagstone floor, scratched tables and rickety chairs, but a great summer draw outside with its tables looking out on the village green and a beer garden out back. Unlike the Relton Arms, it had a small playground area and a bouncy castle for the kiddies. Banks could imagine the interior on a dark winter’s night, the locals sitting silently around a blazing fire, dogs dreaming at their feet, while the wind howled and the rain battered at the windows outside. Lock-ins would be common there, and the local bobby would probably be on the inside of them.
Finally, Ray put down the finishing touches and passed the sketch to Banks.
‘It’s as good as I can get,’ said Slater. ‘I’m not that great at detail.’
‘It’s fine,’ said Banks, then glanced at Ray. ‘Thanks. Look, I have a pretty good idea of who this might be. I’ll show it to a couple of colleagues who will know for certain and get back to you.’
‘Is it bad?’
‘I’ll check it out, Ray. If I’m right, it’ll help us with the search.’
‘Why won’t you tell me now? What don’t you want me to know?’
Banks turned to Slater. ‘Thanks for your time and trouble, Mr. Slater,’ he said. ‘And thanks for not giving this stranger any information. I’d appreciate it if you’d keep quiet about this until I’ve had the chance to check a few things out.’
Slater nodded, and they returned to the bar with their drinks.
‘Why won’t you tell me what you think?’ Ray persisted. ‘Who is it? Why would he want to take Zelda?’
‘Because I’m not sure yet,’ Banks said.
‘But if you’re right, is it bad news?’
Banks took a long pull on his shandy and said, ‘Yes, Ray. You want me to tell you. All right. If it’s who I think it is, it’s bad news.’
‘It’s Petar Tadić, all right,’ said Burgess, just seconds after Banks had emailed him Ray’s sketch. ‘Where did you get it?’
Banks told him about Mick Slater and Ray collaborating.
‘Brazen bastard, isn’t he?’ said Burgess. ‘If you need any help on this, we’ve got trained experts here we can send up. Negotiators and the like.’
‘Thanks, I might take you up on that if we don’t find her soon,’ Banks said. ‘But right now there’s nothing to negotiate. I’d appreciate it if you could find out whether Tadić is back in London, though. And if you find him, bring him in for questioning.’
‘We can try. We have a pretty good idea of some of his haunts, but they keep changing. I’ll see what I can do.’
‘By the way, talking about haunts, have you ever heard of the Hotel Belgrade?’
There was a brief pause before Burgess answered. ‘It used to be one of their hangouts, the Tadićs and their crew. Why?’
‘No reason. It’s just something that came up.’ Banks could hardly tell Burgess that the hotel was mentioned in Zelda’s notebook. ‘Used to be?’
‘Yes. It seems they’ve moved out en masse. We’re not sure where yet.’
‘When was this?’
‘Less than a month ago.’
‘One witness from the village says there was another man waiting in the car for Petar. What about the brother, Goran? Anything on him?’
‘Goran hasn’t been seen lately,’ said Burgess. ‘He must be lying low. Probably on holiday in Split or somewhere. These people are always on the move. That’s how they keep a few steps ahead of us.’
‘Thanks. Have you got an up-to-date photo of Petar? That might work better than a quick sketch.’
‘I’ll check.’
‘Great. If you find one, can you send it directly to Adrian Moss?’ Banks gave him Moss’s fax, phone, and email. ‘In the meantime, I’ll have Adrian get the sketch out to the news media, as well as on Facebook, Twitter, and so on. Adrian’s already blasted them with Zelda’s disappearance, so they’ll all have their tongues hanging out for more. And we’ll get copies to patrol cars, beat officers, PCSOs, the lot.’ They said their goodbyes and Banks hung up.
Adrian Moss was their media liaison officer, and though he was a bit of a trendy prat, with his wet-look hair and shirt hanging out, Banks had to admit he was very good at his job. If anyone could saturate the media with Zelda’s disappearance and give the press a good story, Moss could. The photo of Zelda that Ray had given them wouldn’t do any harm, either. Most men who saw it would certainly be motivated to find her, and quite a few women, too.
Moss’s only problem was that he didn’t appreciate his own talent for blowing smoke and always seemed to want to give away far more than Banks was comfortable with. He would have his work cut out when the national media horde arrived the following day. Which reminded Banks that Ray would need to be protected from them. The CSIs had finished for the day at Ray’s house, and he had gone straight home from the Black Bull, so Banks had Newhope to himself. He was willing to take Ray in again tomorrow, if necessary, when the CSIs would no doubt turn up again.