Brock raised an eyebrow at her and she said, ‘They haven’t heard from Tracey. They insist on coming over here.’
Rudd winced.‘Oh no. I couldn’t face them, not now.’
They lived in the outer western suburbs, apparently. Brock checked his watch and said,‘All right, we’ll look after them when they arrive. Let’s go over last night again, Gabe, step by step.’
Rudd ran a hand through his white hair, trying to collect his thoughts. ‘There’s not a lot to tell. Trace was tired when she got home. They always get her overexcited and give her too much to eat when she goes over there, and when she gets home she flakes out. She watched some TV and I gave her a bowl of cereal later, and afterwards she went to bed. I turned her light off about eight.’
‘Apart from being tired, how did she seem?’
‘Fine… normal. They’d taken her to the park near where they live, and she’d got her dress a bit muddy. She wanted me to put it in the wash.’
‘Think back over your conversation. Did she mention anything that might help us? A stranger in the park?’
They worked slowly through everything Rudd could recall about his last hours with his daughter.
‘So when did you last see her, exactly?’
‘I put her light out at eight.’
‘But after that, did you look in?’
‘Oh… yes, of course. About ten, when I went to bed.’
‘And are you certain she was there then?’
‘Yes, yes.’
‘Your bedroom’s on the ground floor too, isn’t it, but at the front, facing the square. You heard nothing during the night?’
‘Nothing, not a thing. I woke up just before seven, got up to wake Trace for school, and found she wasn’t in her room. I looked everywhere and couldn’t find her. Her bedroom window was open. So then I phoned nine- ninenine. I mean, with those two other cases…’
‘Had you discussed those cases with Tracey?’
Rudd screwed his nose in thought.‘Don’t think so.’
‘Do you think she knew about them?’
‘No idea.’
‘Do you normally sleep soundly, Gabe?’
‘No, not always.’
‘Did you have much to drink last night?’
He looked vague. ‘Yes, a bit. That might be why… Look, couldn’t I be doing something? I mean, talking to the press, or something? Making an appeal for information?’
‘Not yet. Where does Tracey go to school?’
‘Right here in the square, Pitzhanger Primary.’
‘Is she happy there?’
‘Seems okay.’
‘So there was nothing she was worried about happening today, a test or something?’
He shook his head.‘I don’t think they have tests.’
The questions went on, without much result, Kathy felt, except a growing sense that the man didn’t seem very knowledgeable about or interested in the details of his daughter’s life. Rudd himself was becoming monosyllabic, and finally Brock snapped his notebook shut and straightened his back with a grunt. Kathy recognised the moment. Rudd looked up, thinking the interview over, but she knew better.
‘I know your name of course, Gabe. You’re famous,’ Brock said.
Rudd shrugged carelessly.
‘One of my colleagues downstairs was telling me that there are more artists to the square mile in this neighbourhood than anywhere else in Europe, and you’re one of the stars. I think I’ve seen you on TV,“Parkinson”, wasn’t it?’
‘Sure.’
‘And you’ve exhibited at Tate Modern, yes?’
Rudd nodded.‘Couple of times.’
‘And the Saatchi?’
‘Yeah, yeah.’ He sounded bored and mildly irritated by Brock’s interest.
‘I thought so. I recognised the horses’ heads downstairs. That’s one of your favourite themes, isn’t it?’
‘It used to be. I’ve moved on.’
‘Dead Puppies, that was you, wasn’t it?’
‘Sure.’
‘Of course, that was the thing on TV. Have you got an exhibition coming up?’
‘I’m planning a show at The Pie Factory, the gallery across the square.’
Brock gazed idly round the room at the blank walls. ‘Now that’s famous too, isn’t it, The Pie Factory? What’s the name of the man who runs it?’
‘Fergus Tait. He’s my dealer.’
‘Tait, yes of course. And he has a restaurant, too doesn’t he?’
Rudd said,‘The Tait Gallery.’
Brock chuckled. ‘The restaurant is called The Tait Gallery, and the art gallery is called The Pie Factory. He’s a bit of a comedian, Mr Tait, eh?’
‘He likes a laugh.’
‘But sharp as a tack, no doubt. That was him on the TV downstairs just now, wasn’t it? Talking to the media about Tracey. He was quick off the mark, wasn’t he? How did that come about?’
Rudd’s pale face coloured a little, his expression becoming stubborn. ‘Fergus is more than just my dealer. He’s a close personal friend, and I phoned him as soon as I’d called the police. I needed to talk to someone.’
‘I suppose he handles your publicity and promotion, does he?’
‘Yeah.’
‘Well, from now on, Gabe, you let us handle it as far as Tracey’s concerned. All right?’
Rudd shrugged.‘Sure.’
‘And please make sure that Mr Tait understands that too, will you? Tracey’s life may depend upon it. Understood?’
‘Fair enough.’
‘Good. Now is it possible that Tracey’s disappearance could have something to do with your career or reputation? Have you had any unusual correspondence recently? Any odd phone calls or visitors?’
‘No more than usual. Weird messages are often sent to the gallery or my website.’
‘We’ll need to check all those. There’s also the possibility that Tracey’s been taken for money, a ransom.’
‘Is that what happened with the other girls?’
‘No, but it’s always possible that this is different. Just to be sure, we’ll set up some special equipment on your phone, and I’ll ask you to stay close to it for the next twenty-four hours. There’ll be a police officer on the premises for all that time. Well, I think we can go back downstairs now.’
The horde on the floor below had vanished. Rudd went to the kitchen area to put on some coffee. ‘I don’t understand why they had to search the house,’ he grumbled as he spooned out the powder.
‘We always do, in cases like this,’ Kathy said. ‘You wouldn’t believe the number of times a missing child has turned up asleep in a closet or beneath the stairs where they’d gone to play a game with their dolls.’ Or bundled up in the freezer, or beneath the floorboards, Kathy thought. There’s no place like home.
‘I just feel so helpless,’ Rudd said. ‘I should be doing something.’
‘Waiting is the worst of it,’ Brock replied.‘But the best thing you can do is stay here with DS Kolla.’
At that moment there was a commotion from the floor below, a man calling out in protest, a woman’s scream drowning him out, then footsteps crashing up the wooden stairs. A woman’s head and shoulders burst into view, thick black hair streaked with grey, a black cloak flapping from her shoulders.
