“Excuse me, ma’am,” he hit the car park at a brisk trot, drawing alarmed looks from the queue. The old lady stared at him suspiciously. “Yes? Can I help?”
“Ah, yes ma’am. Maybe you can.” Potzner cleared his throat. “Did you perhaps hear anything unusual during the night?”
She looked at him indignantly. “Not at all. I slept like a baby. Always do. Now if you’ll excuse me.” She presented her back.
“Pardon me?” Potzner felt a tap on his shoulder. He turned to see a smartly dressed pensioner wearing a floral dress and matching hat. Her eyes twinkled like pearls in a sea-worn oyster. “I couldn’t help overhearing your conversation with that lady.” She frowned, knitting her brow with deeper wrinkles. “Very abrupt, don’t you think? I sat next to her on the coach all the way from Cardiff. Hardly got a word out of her. This time—” she stretched up to whisper in Potzner’s ear but, realizing the impossible logistics of scaling such heights, contented herself with a covert hand over one side of her mouth. “This time I’ll be down the other end — you watch me!”
Potzner didn’t doubt it. “And did you hear anything unusual at all last night, ma’am? Any noise?”
“Well, as a matter of fact I did. I don’t sleep as well as I used to, not at all. There was a lot of thumping and banging. Then I’m sure I heard glass breaking. And then — the strangest thing in the middle of the night — somebody came out of the fire escape and down the back stairs. My room overlooks the stairway, you see. I saw him go into the car park and then he was off. Just like that.”
“You say him, ma’am — can you be sure it was a man?”
“Oh yes. It was the gentleman I met in the car park yesterday — we’d just arrived, you see. A good looking fellow.”
“Dark curly hair, beard.”
“That’s right!” She glanced around to make sure nobody was eavesdropping. “Has he done something wrong?”
Potzner shook his head. “I don’t think so, ma’am. Can you say what time this would have been?”
“It was 2.45 a.m. precisely.” The eyes twinkled again. “I had just finished the Times crossword.”
Potzner raised an eyebrow. He couldn’t do crosswords for Hershey bars. The coach driver had started the engine and only one or two couples remained to board. “You’d better make sure you get a good seat.” He inclined his head towards the coach.
She smiled. “I hope I’ve helped.”
Potzner watched her go and felt a wry smile creep across his face. Boy, I hope my marbles are in the same place as hers when I get to that age. He rummaged in his pocket for his car keys. Dracup was probably miles away by now so he didn’t have any time to lose.
Dracup glanced in his mirror. Every car was a potential tail. He dialled Yvonne’s number at ten minute intervals. He phoned the neighbour’s house; Mr and Mrs Foster. They were old. And deaf. No one picked up. He slammed his mobile against the steering wheel. Who else? Come on, Dracup. Think. Charles. He rang his friend’s landline. No response. He called the mobile. Voicemail. Dracup screamed in frustration and drove wildly on.
Heavy rain welcomed him to the Midlands, and by the time he had eased the car onto the M40 it was a driving torrent. He leaned forward and tried to focus through the relentless sheets of spray. Brake lights blinked sporadically in the blackness. He felt himself slide occasionally into a half slumber, shocking himself awake as the car drifted onto the hard shoulder, once even into the other lane. His mind flitted from one thing to the next in rapid, uncontrolled succession. Natasha. Sara, dark hair and deep brown eyes. Potzner: I’ll let you sleep on it, okay? A dead man. The solicitor’s office. The diary.
Dracup brought himself back to the M40 with a jerk. What was the time? Nearly eight thirty. Come on Yvonne. Please. He thumbed the speed dial again then nearly veered off the road as Yvonne’s voice responded after two rings. “Hello?”
“Yvonne. It’s Simon.”
“Simon. It’s a bit early — I’ve only just—”
“Just listen. Is Natasha all right?”
“What do you mean, is she all right? Why shouldn’t she be?”
“Is she all right?”
“She’s fine. Well, she was when I last saw her.”
Dracup’s heart missed a beat. “What do you mean? Where is she?”
“She’s at a sleepover. With Maisie. She told you about it last week.”
“Right. Call Maisie’s mother. Now.”
“Simon. You’re scaring me. What’s going on?”
“Just do it.” Dracup saw a police car in his rear view mirror. He checked his speed: ninety-five. Not good. He squeezed the footbrake and held his breath. The police car cruised past in the middle lane.
“Jane’s dropping both girls at school this morning. They’ve probably left by now.”
Dracup kept his voice even with an effort. “Call me as soon as you’ve spoken to her. Without fail. Then get over to the school and bring Natasha home.”
“Simon — what —?”
“Just do it, Yvonne. Please.” He put the phone on the passenger seat and concentrated on the motorway. He had just entered the Oxford ring road system when his mobile rang. He swallowed hard. Yvonne’s voice came over the speaker, the words he had dreaded to hear. Her voice was quiet, almost matter of fact. Dracup could hear the effects of shock in the evenly spaced syllables. “She’s not there Simon. She’s not at school.”
“Are you sure?” A silly thing to say, he thought. Of course she’s sure…
Yvonne spoke again, the words now a series of blurted sobs. “Jane saw them into the playground. Maisie was there for assembly. Natasha wasn’t. She’s missing.”
The young woman pushed a lock of damp hair from her forehead. The sea spray made it thick and unmanageable, coating every fibre with a sticky layer of salt. She looked ahead and saw the bleak shape of the coast through a fine mist of rain. The wind blew the moisture into her face with a sensation like tiny, stinging tendrils. She gave a cluck of exasperation and backtracked across the deck to the cabin. The little one, Natasha, was sitting, half asleep, on the most comfortable seat. The child looked drawn and pale, but she was safe. And that’s how Ruth intended to keep her. She would look after her as her own and not even Kadesh would be able to interfere. Not if she had any say in the matter. Although she considered the abduction a harsh judgement, she understood Kadesh’s motives and trusted his decisions; they all did. So far he had not let them down. He was sitting next to the pilot, talking in a low voice and glancing occasionally in her direction to check that nothing had altered, that she was in her proper place. How strong he looked. How self-assured, even though he must be hurting inside. She smiled at him, lifted her chin a fraction to acknowledge his attention. How could he think she would leave him? Where would she go, if not with him?
The girl moaned and Ruth bent to stroke her hair. A pretty little thing. Her child would be like that, dark and pretty. The boat bobbed and heaved in the tide swell of approaching land but the girl did not stir again. Now she was fast asleep. They slipped past the harbour and dropped anchor. Ruth waded to the shore, relishing the sensation of sand beneath the bare soles of her feet. The cove was quiet and unspoiled. It reminded her of home and made her long for the heat and the dust and the coolness of the deep, empty spaces. Not long now, not long.
Chapter 3