“DCI Moran — Thames Valley. Can I have a word?”
Dracup opened the door and stood to one side. “Be my guest.”
“Thanks.”
Dracup followed Moran into the flat. It felt cold, unlived in. He found the boiler and turned the heating on. Moran was standing in the centre of the room checking it out, ceiling to floor. He reminded Dracup of a ferret.
“Can I offer you a drink?”
“Tea, thanks. If you’re making.”
Dracup grabbed two mugs from the cupboard and watched the policeman from the corner of his eye.
“Nice place. Church, was it?”
“Yes. Methodist, I believe.”
“They’re all closing down these days, aren’t they? World’s moving on,” Moran said. “Still, nice conversion. Kept the old stained glass, I see.”
“Yes. It brings an unusual light into the room.”
“Been away?”
“I’ve been in Scotland. My aunt died recently and I’ve had a number of issues to attend to regarding her will.”
“You haven’t contacted us about your daughter.”
“I was hoping to hear something from you.”
“You don’t seem that concerned.”
Dracup turned, kettle in hand. “Of course I’m damned well concerned. My wife has given you all the details.”
“Your ex-wife.”
“Yes. My ex-wife. I spoke to her earlier today and she’d heard nothing from you people at all.”
“We’re making enquiries, Mr Dracup.”
“Well you can forget this enquiry. It’s a dead end.”
Moran strolled to the window and looked up at it admiringly. “Do you get on with your ex, Mr Dracup? Any problems regarding access arrangements for your daughter?”
“We get on all right. And no, no problems to speak of.”
“To speak of?”
Dracup handed Moran the tea. “Look, there are obviously frictions. She has a new man. He finds the whole thing difficult. We’ve had our run-ins about access, but nothing to get excited about.”
“Thanks.” Moran sipped his tea. “What about the new man? Stable sort, is he?”
Dracup snorted. “IT nerd. He hasn’t the imagination to be unstable.”
Moran laughed. “I see.”
Dracup shrugged. “I can’t be expected to get on with someone who’s taken my place, can I? Who reckons he knows what’s best for Natasha?”
“I understand. I just wondered if you’d formed an impression, that’s all.”
Dracup sighed. “He’s a hard-working guy. Jewish background, I’d guess. He’s all right. I just haven’t taken to him, I suppose. I can’t really say why.”
Moran nodded and scribbled in his notebook.
“So. Have you made any progress?” Dracup folded his arms and assessed the policeman. He imagined the incident room in the town centre. A noticeboard, heavy with pins. Photographs of Natasha, Yvonne, Malcolm, himself. A semicircle of earnest faces listening to the briefing. It’s a marital. Ex-husband’s a boffin up at the Uni; wife’s got an occasional live-in. Check ’em all out. I’ll take Dracup.
Moran sighed. “We have reason to believe that a couple — a young couple — abducted Natasha. No clear witnesses. Just a part-time cleaner who reckons they were foreign — if it was them.”
“That’s it?”
“Could be illegals. We’ve no confirmed sightings at any airports or ports.”
“You think they’ll try to leave the country?” Dracup splashed tea on his wrist and swore.
“It’s a possibility. I’d get some water on that sharpish.”
Dracup ran his wrist under the tap. “No confirmed sightings, you said. How about unconfirmed?”
Moran gave an appreciative nod. “I was told you were on the ball.” He looked for a suitable place to park his teacup, settling on the windowsill. “French coastguard chased a suspicious fishing boat near Calais. They couldn’t get to it in time, but they did see two adults and a child disembark. The child had long curly hair. Dark. Female.”
Dracup’s heart did the cardiac equivalent of a back flip. It must be her. She was alive. “When was this?”
“Three days ago. Gendarmes drew a blank on further sightings.”
Dracup grabbed the policeman’s lapels. “You have to find her. You’ve got to get after them. I want — I—” He was suddenly aware that he was shaking Moran from side to side. He stepped back, hands over his face. “I’m sorry. I—”
Moran straightened his tie. “That’s all right, Professor. I
understand.”
Dracup moistened his lips. His hands were trembling. With an effort he said, “Do you think it was her?”
Moran shrugged. “Could be something; could be nothing. I have an Interpol contact. She’s getting back to me. When I hear, you’ll hear.” He approached Dracup directly and looked at him inquisitively. “I understand that you were attacked in the University grounds recently. What was all that about?”
Dracup shrugged. “Just an opportunist — I caught him trying to break into a friend’s house.”
“But you ran away. Why was that? If he was just a burglar—”
“He seemed violent. I thought it best to get my friend to safety.”
“Uni security reckons he was armed. There were shots fired.”
“I don’t remember — I had an accident shortly after — it was careless. I wasn’t thinking.”
“According to the security guard at the Pepper Lane entrance, the car drove straight at you.”
Dracup ran his hands through his hair then opened his arms in a gesture of appeal. “I really can’t remember much about it. A break-in — he thought we had money, probably — maybe he had an accomplice—”
“Sounds very organised for a common or garden burglary.”
Dracup shrugged. His explanation sounded weak. For a brief moment he contemplated telling Moran the truth. But the police and the CIA? The truth would provoke a parade of red tape, misunderstanding, conflict of interest—
“Anyone try to contact you? Make any demands?”
“No.” Dracup shook his head. If only they had — it would be a link, it would be something—
“What about your friend?”
Dracup felt his hackles rise. “What about her?”
“How long have you known her?”
“About nine months or so. We met at the University. She’s a mature student.”
“I know. Smart girl too, by all accounts.”
“Yes. She is.” Dracup felt tiredness ambush him in its usual underhand way. He suddenly felt bone weary. Does everybody know everything about me? He walked behind the kitchen bar and put the mugs in the sink with a clatter.
“We wanted a word with her as well — just to be on the safe side.”
“With Sara? Why on earth? She’s nothing—”
“That’s what we thought, but we haven’t been able to get hold of her either. Thought she must be with you.”
Dracup couldn’t think straight anymore. “Well, she was. I mean, she had to come back for some emergency. Something to do with her landlady — wretched woman’s a pain. Hang on — I’ll give her a call.” He wiped his hands on the tea towel.
“I wouldn’t bother — there’s no one there.”
Dracup stopped in mid-wipe. “What do you mean?”
“What I said. We’ve been round there this morning. The house is empty. No one home.”
“Well, she’s probably at a friend’s — she has a friend up by the University — she cat-sits for her occasionally. That’s where we—”
“Mr Dracup, when I mean there’s no one there, I mean the house is empty bar the furniture. No personal possessions. Nothing. It’s bare.”
Dracup grabbed his mobile and punched in the familiar sequence. Three pips. This number has not been recognised. He looked at Moran in bewilderment, hoping the DCI could impart some further explanation. “I don’t understand.”