It did sound corny, but Harry merely said, “Have you checked?”
“She hasn’t many friends,” said Stirrup reluctantly. “At least not what I’d call real friends. But yes, I rang a couple of people. Karen Lawler’s folks. Pam Macdougall’s. They’d not seen her. All they said was — phone the police.”
“What about this meeting with Peter Kuiper? If…”
The roar of a motorbike interrupted Harry, seizing the attention of both of them. It grew louder before suddenly cutting out. The two men exchanged a glance.
“That’s him!” Stirrup jumped to his feet. “By God, if he’s done anything to her…”
“Jack.” Harry rose and laid a restraining hand on his client’s arm. “One step at a time. There’s nothing to suggest the lad had any connection with Claire’s disappearance. Before you inflict any grievous bodily, shouldn’t we establish a few facts?”
“Let go of me.” Stirrup shrugged himself free. But he had become sulky rather than violent.
Harry followed him outside. Kuiper had stopped his bike next to the old stable block. The young man looked over his shoulder at them.
“You!” shouted Stirrup. “Come here!”
Kuiper approached, wary as if confronting a rottweiler. He had forgotten to affect a swagger and his expression betrayed puzzlement at the older man’s naked hostility.
“Yes?”
“I want to talk to you.”
“All right. Here I am.” Cocky again. “Talk away.”
“Where is she?”
“What are you on about?”
“Don’t give me that, smart-arse. Claire. My daughter. The girl whose boots you’re not fit to lick.”
“I never thought of licking her boots.” With a scarcely suppressed snigger, Kuiper laid heavy emphasis on the final word.
“You dirty little shit!” Stirrup lunged forward with unexpected speed and yanked Kuiper’s arm behind his back, forcing a yelp of startled protest mixed with pain.
“Jack! Leave him.”
Harry grasped his client by the shoulder and Stirrup let Kuiper go, though not without one last wrench of his captive’s arm to send him spinning to the ground.
“Whose side are you on?”
“Be quiet, Jack.” Breathing hard, Harry stood astride the fallen youth. “Now listen to me, Peter. Claire has been missing for hours. Jack is worried sick. Do you know where she is?”
Kuiper blinked. “Missing?”
The lad sounded mystified. Harry’s heart sank. Until that moment he had hoped that a childish elopement of some kind would explain Claire’s sudden departure. If the boyfriend was equally in the dark, the puzzle became more sinister.
In his frustration, he yanked Kuiper back to his feet. Not gently.
“Why did you come here this afternoon?”
“To see Claire, of course. We’d fixed to meet. Look, what’s going on?”
“You heard. She’s nowhere to be found. Said she was going out to the library, but never came back.”
“Shit.” Dismay spread across Kuiper’s face. If he was faking it, Harry thought, he deserved to tread the boards at the Playhouse.
Harry turned to Stirrup. “He’s telling the truth.”
Stirrup glowered. “Is he? I don’t know. Claire was never a moment’s bother till he turned up.”
“She’s not a child,” said Kuiper. “Even if you’d like her to stay that way. She’s a person in her own right. Intelligent. Ambitious. And far more…”
“Shut it, both of you,” said Harry. “This is getting us nowhere. Time’s ticking by and none of us has any idea where Claire may be. Jack, I don’t mind what you say. I’m going to phone the police myself.”
Stirrup started towards him. “I told you…”
“What matters most, Jack? Of course there’ll be tough questioning. But you can take it, when Claire’s safety may be at stake. Can’t you?”
“She’s all I care about. You know that.”
“Yes,” said Harry. “Shall we go inside and make that call?”
The two of them walked towards the house. As they reached the kitchen door they heard the motorbike engine flare into life again. Stirrup spun round and ran to where Kuiper had been. Long before he reached the stable block, however, the bike had gone and with it the young man. Stirrup shook his fist at the emptiness. An absurd gesture of defiance and yet, Harry thought, strangely moving. He felt a surge of pity for his client and went to join him.
“He was lying,” said Stirrup. “He must have Claire tucked away somewhere.”
“Do you really believe that?”
Stirrup turned a ravaged face towards Harry. “What else can I believe?”
Harry didn’t answer. Kuiper had expected to find Claire here, of that he was certain. If not, why turn up? Screaming in on a motor-cycle was hardly furtive. His shock when told she had vanished had surely not been feigned. But why ride off again if he was as anxious as Stirrup for the girl to be found?
For a second time they crunched along the pathway to the house. Stirrup was silent, plainly turning ideas over in his mind. Eventually he spoke in a raw, cracked voice.
“Doesn’t look good, does it? First Alison goes, now Claire. What will Inspector Bolus make of it, do you think? After all, I can’t prove either of them left of their own free will.” He gestured towards the untended grounds. “Where do you think they will start digging? Here or under the beech trees?”
As they reached the kitchen, Harry said, “A fifteen-year-old girl is a different proposition from a woman twice that age.”
“Spit it out.” Stirrup took a deep breath and said, “You must be thinking what I’m thinking. What if that bastard has got hold of her?”
“Peter didn’t…”
“No. You know who I mean. If you’re right and Kuiper really had nothing to do with it, there’s only one explanation, isn’t there?”
Harry stared at Stirrup.
“The Beast.”
“Christ, Jack. Let’s not start thinking on those lines. Make your call.”
As Stirrup began to dial, however, Harry reflected that their secret fear was indeed the same. It was easy to take refuge in the knowledge that Claire’s hair was dark and that the monster supposedly craved blondes. But can a monster always be relied upon for logic and consistency?
Suddenly Stirrup slammed down the receiver. He swore as if stung by a wasp.
“What is it, Jack?”
Stirrup pointed to the internal door. From a metal hook hung a gaudily coloured PVC cook’s apron and a shopping bag in a Liberty print.
“I remember now. When Claire set off this morning, I thought there was something strange. She wasn’t carrying her bag with the library books. And look, it’s still there.”
He strode over to the bag and ripped it from the hook. Three hardbacks in protective covers spilled out onto the floor. Stirrup picked up one of the books, called To Be the Best, flipped it open and shoved it under Harry’s nose.
“See the return date? Today. She lied to me. The little witch — she never meant to go to the library at all.”
Chapter Eleven
“Still no news about Claire?” asked Valerie.
Harry shook his head. “Close on thirty-six hours now and none of us has any idea where she is.”
They were studying the dinner menu at the Ensenada. It was their first time together since Stirrup’s anguished summons had interrupted their Saturday afternoon. Harry hoped a meal in his favourite Liverpool restaurant might make amends; he refused to think of its effect on his bank balance. At the door, Pino Carrea, the amiable and loquacious proprietor, had greeted them as if favoured by a visit from royalty. Pino had kissed Valerie’s hand and extolled the virtues of the Chateaubriand. But then an actress currently starring at the Everyman had arrived in the company of a gentleman other than her husband and, with a flurry of apologies, Pino had turned to welcome the newcomers and glean as much gossip as possible.
“What do the police think?”
“Bolus obviously reckons Jack’s eliminating his family one by one.”