“Jesus Christ.”
Lawrence also knew the relevance of the discarded backpack.
“What about the school friend?”
“She didn’t know anything.”
“Shit, Rob. We have to find this girl, and soon. Nobody wants to see Katie Wells’ dead body in the papers tomorrow.”
“I know, sir.” Tension clawed at his insides.
The Chief Superintendent sat down, his seat groaning in protest. “What about the parents?”
“We’re searching each of their premises, as well as the boyfriend’s,” he told him. “I’ll follow up now.”
In other words, let me get back to work.
DCS Lawrence glanced at the framed photograph on his desk. A younger, fuller-haired version of himself with his wife and their three daughters. They were older now, in their twenties. That photo had been on his desk ever since Rob joined the department.
“We’ll find her, sir,” he said quietly.
The Super nodded but didn’t meet his gaze. False promises were never a good thing.
“Keep me posted, Rob.”
8
“Where are we on the CCTV?”
Rob directed his question to Jeff, who glanced up from his laptop.
“Not good news, I’m afraid, Guv. The camera at the Swedish School is broken, and they’re waiting until the term starts to fix it. Seems no one’s around to approve it.”
Rob rolled his eyes.
Damn.
He’d been counting on getting something from that. A murky figure or a shadowy shot of the little girl. Anything that would give them a lead.
“What about the council estate up the road?”
“We’re going through the feeds now, but nothing so far.”
“Okay, keep on it.”
He turned to Mike Manner, a black, south London copper who’d transferred to the department last year. He was a big bloke with a well-built gym body and a rough scar along his jawline. Rob still hadn’t asked him how he’d got it. “Any luck with the ANPR?”
Mike raised his head, his scar caught the light. “There are five Automatic Number Plate Recognition cameras in and around Barnes. I’m going through the data now, but I can’t find anything that jumps out. Sorry, guv. I’m looking at the speed cameras too, just in case.”
Rob sighed. “Thanks Mike.”
So, nothing visual. “Where’s Celeste?”
The DC he’d put in charge of the door-to-door enquiries came in holding a cup of coffee. He was about to shoot her a disapproving look, then remembered this wasn’t a detention centre and she was entitled to a hot beverage. In fact, he could bloody use one too.
“Any good?” He eyed out the murky brown liquid in the takeaway cup. The canteen had recently changed suppliers, which made everyone nervous because the coffee hadn’t been all that bad before.
“It’s okay.”
That meant it was crap. Perhaps he’d wait and grab one from across the road. “Any news on the door stepping?”
She sat down at her desk and tapped the space bar. Her laptop lit up. “Not as such. We have a lot of very concerned citizens. Most of the neighbours knew Katie, or had seen her and her mother in the street or at the local summer fete last weekend on Barnes Common. It seems to be quite a close-knit community.”
Fantastic. Rob didn’t give a monkey’s how close-knit they were, unless one of them had seen something and could give him a lead.
“Nothing of interest?”
She shook her head. “Not yet, sorry.”
Everyone was sorry. He was sorry. Shit. He rubbed his eyes.
“What about the mother, father or the Polish boyfriend? Do we have anything on them?”
Please, give me something.
Evan, the soft-spoken American lifted his hand. Rob felt like a schoolteacher. “Yeah, what you got, Evan?”
“The mother is completely clean. She hasn’t even had a parking ticket in the last five years, however, her husband, Brian Wells, worked in the city as a Finance Manager until last year when he got fired for gross incompetence. He now runs his own business from home. Some sort of consultancy, by the looks of things.”
“That might be worth looking into. Find out why he was sacked.”
“Yes, boss.”
He’d never been called boss before, but it sounded right in Evan’s soft, American drawl.
“What about the Polish construction worker?”
“Nothing on him, but I haven’t looked outside of the UK yet.”
“Okay, keep me posted.”
Evan nodded.
Gross misconduct. Now that was interesting. Rob glanced at Mallory who was typing rapidly on his computer.
“Let’s go and have a word with Brian Wells,” he said. “We’ll check how the property searches are going while we’re there.”
Mallory slide his chair back and got to his feet.
“And let’s get a decent cup of coffee on the way. I’m gasping.”
Belgrave Road, the street Katie Wells lived in, was still closed to traffic, an unrepentant police vehicle parked horizontally at each end.
“That didn’t take long,” Rob muttered, eyeing the press vans parked outside the cordons. They weren’t allowed in but had set up their cameras for sweeping shots of the street the little girl was abducted from.
“The school just rang. They’ve got reporters outside filming too.”
Rob spread his hands. You had to pick your battles.
He flashed his warrant card to the officer on duty who raised the cordon and they drove through, parking outside Lisa Wells’ house. The windows were all shut with the blinds drawn, despite the balmy summer’s day. Rob didn’t blame her. It was only going to get worse. Once they took down the cordons, the media would be free to camp outside the property and lie in wait.
As they climbed out of the car, the front door opened and two police officers emerged. They wore gloves and booties, but unlike forensic officers, they didn’t have full protective suits. They were conducting a house search, not examining a crime scene.
“Find anything?” Rob asked.
The woman shook her head. “No, sir. We even had the cadaver dogs in. Nothing.”
Thank fuck for that.
“Okay, and you checked the basement and the attic?”
The man nodded. “The house is clean, sir. Katie isn’t there.”
It was Katie now. You knew the press were winning when everyone began calling the missing girl by her first name.
It wasn’t necessarily a bad thing. Humanising her might make the kidnapper think
