There is a passion for hunting something deeply implanted in the human breast.
CHARLES DICKENS
Oliver Twist
“IT’S A BEAUTIFUL place, Prague, the city of the spires,” Tony went on dreamily, as if repeating a story he’d told himself many times. “My family’s Czech. I thought they could help us. There’s always a need for qualified doctors in Eastern Europe – I was sure I could find a job, start over.”
“Wait a minute,” Kincaid said, his voice rising in disbelief. “I don’t care what you meant to do. Why the hell did you come bursting into the shelter accusing Kath Warren of helping your wife abduct your child, when all the time you knew you’d left Harriet with someone else?”
Tony Novak raised his head and blinked at him. His hungover state was still evident in his glazed and red-rimmed eyes, but he spoke clearly enough. “At first, I thought Harriet might have asked Beth to take her home, or to the hospital, and that Harriet might have told her mother I’d taken her out of school. Laura would’ve gone spare, I can tell you – packed everything up and walked out, just to spite me.
“But then, the longer I tried to find Beth, the odder it seemed that she’d just vanished without a trace. If Beth had taken Harriet to Laura, why wouldn’t she have rung me, or met me where we’d arranged, to tell me what happened?”
“Did Beth know what you meant to do?” asked Gemma.
Tony nodded, draining the last of the tea Gemma had made him. “I’d rung her the night before. I told her I thought Laura was planning to abduct Harriet – that Laura had been threatening me with it for months, and then on Sunday when I brought Harriet back late, she was furious. She said it would be the last time I’d have that chance, and I could tell she meant to do something drastic. I was afraid if I didn’t take Harriet, I’d never see my daughter again.”
“But why did you need to go to the house, after you’d picked Harriet up? Surely you could have bought Harriet anything she needed?”
“I had to get her passport. Laura kept all the legal documents, and I couldn’t get Harriet into the EU without her passport.”
“Then why not pick Harriet up after you’d got the passport,” Kincaid said, “rather than involving Beth at all?”
“I needed Harriet’s key. When I dropped off Harriet and Beth, I kept Harriet’s backpack. And I had to pick Harriet up before school started, because once she’d gone inside, the school wouldn’t release her to me. Laura’s instructions, thanks to the shelter’s advice,” Tony added, his face tightening with anger and resentment.
Kincaid stood and paced a few steps. The smell of sweat and stale alcohol in the small, stuffy room was making him edgy. “Where did you let them out of the car?” he asked, trying to keep Tony on track.
“We talked for a bit. I told Harriet I had a surprise for her, a treat, but that first Beth was going to take her shopping. Then I dropped them at London Bridge Station and said I’d pick Harriet up there in three hours. I wanted to be across the Channel before Laura realized Harriet hadn’t come home from school.”
“You didn’t think Harriet would object to leaving her home and her mother?” Gemma asked sharply, her disapproval obvious for the first time.
Tony rubbed at his face again, avoiding her gaze. “Harriet loves me,” he said. “She never wants to leave me after our weekends together, and I know she was worried that Laura meant to separate us. I thought – I thought I’d explain things to her once we’d left England, ask her to give it a try. If she didn’t like it after a few weeks, she could go home. And I meant to let Laura know Harriet was safe, as soon as we were well away.”
“It’s still inexcusable, taking a child away from her mother-”
“What gives mothers special dispensation?” Tony retorted, anger flaring again. “What would you do if someone was going to take your child away from you? How would you feel?”
Kincaid saw Gemma glance at him, eyes wide, and he knew they were both thinking of Kit.
“Tony,” she said, “why would Laura be so determined to separate you and Harriet? Is there something you’re not telling us?”
“What?” He glared at her. “You think I mistreat my child? Is that what you’re suggesting?”
“No. I-”
“Then you can just bloody well fuck yourself.” He half rose from the sofa, his fists clenching. “I told you, I love my daughter. I’ve never done anything worse than have her back a few minutes late from one of our weekends.” He sank down again, his face contorting, and pressed his knuckles hard against his mouth to stop it trembling. “Oh, Jesus. I couldn’t bear it if something’s happened to Harriet.”
“Then why-”
“Laura’s jealous. That’s the truth of it. She’s always been jealous of the fact that Harriet preferred me to her. When she found out about the women I’d been seeing, that was just an excuse to end the marriage, because she could never admit the truth, even to herself.”
Kincaid’s first response was to put Tony’s statement down to self-justification, the bitter fallout of a failed relationship. Then he thought of Kath Warren’s tactfully expressed dislike of Laura Novak and of the equally unflattering portrait painted by Laura’s next-door neighbor. But if Tony’s assessment was accurate, did that tell them anything about what had happened to Harriet?
He said, “Tony, if Laura had been planning to disappear with Harriet, don’t you think Harriet would have told you?”
“Laura can be… harsh, if she feels Harriet’s disobeyed her. Harriet might have been afraid to speak.”
“She didn’t say anything when you picked her up on Friday morning?”
“No. But I didn’t give her a chance. Beth was there and I – I put Harriet off when she tried to talk to me. I thought she was just worried that her mum would be angry I was taking her out of school. I didn’t think it would matter, once we were gone.”
Leaning forward, Gemma said intently, “I don’t see how Laura could have gone away with Harriet without alerting the neighbors. She’d have to have taken a few things-”
“You don’t know Laura. She could have had an emergency getaway kit stashed at the hospital-”
Gemma was shaking her head. “Tony, none of this makes sense. Laura wasn’t at the hospital. She didn’t show up for work on Friday. And she left Harriet with the child minder on Thursday night, saying she had to work night duty, but she didn’t. We’ve checked.”
He stared at her. “What?”
“You’re sure she wasn’t at home when you went in to get Harriet’s passport?”
“Of course I’m bloody sure! Do you think she’d have let me walk merrily out of the house with Harriet’s passport in my pocket?”
“If she wasn’t at work and she wasn’t at home, how could Beth have left Harriet with her?”
“But if Laura didn’t take Harriet, it must have been Beth, and that makes even less sense,” protested Tony. “Why would she do such a thing?”
“You tell us,” Kincaid said, still prowling the room. He could tell his movements made Novak nervous, and he wanted the man unsettled. “You’re the one who knew this woman well enough to take her into your confidence.”
“But I-” Tony picked up his empty mug, tilted it, set it down again. “I told you, she never said much. Odd, really, as most women tell you their life stories in the first five minutes.”
Gemma raised an eyebrow at this, but didn’t comment. Taking Tony’s mug, she stepped into the adjoining kitchen and snapped the kettle on. She plopped a tea bag and a few spoonfuls of sugar into the cup in the few seconds it took the water to boil, then carried the tea back to Tony. “How did you meet her?” she asked, perching again on the edge of her chair.
“In the George. One night a couple of months ago. I’d never seen her in there before. She was… different. Most women who come into a bar alone, they’re either obviously looking for company, or they’re obviously just there for a drink. But Beth… she had this aloofness, yet at the same time she never stopped watching everyone. It was as if she was working out what made them tick, and she didn’t much like what she saw. But when I saw her studying me, I offered to buy her a drink, and she accepted.” He looked as if it still puzzled him. “Then later… she went home with me. After that, she’d come over a couple of times a week, but we never talked much.” Tony stopped to sip at his still-steaming tea.
“Can you describe her?” Kincaid asked.
“Um, midthirties, medium height, brown hair… not beautiful, really, but attractive in an unusual sort of way.”
Another missing brunette? Kincaid’s eyes met Gemma’s and she gave her head a barely perceptible shake, as if warning him not to pursue it further. He let her continue.
“Tony,” she said quietly, leaning forward until she could almost touch him, “we’re going to need you to come down to the station to make a formal statement.”
Panic flared in his eyes again. “I – I can’t – I’ve got to find Harriet-”
“We’re going to help you find Harriet. I promise you.” She touched his knee lightly. “But you have to cooperate with us. There’s nothing you can do on your own that you haven’t already tried.”
“I-”
“You get yourself cleaned up. We’ll wait for you.”
“But I-” Tony picked at his shirt again, holding it away from his body as if suddenly aware of his revolting state. “All right.” He stood, still a little unsteadily, but when he looked at the open suitcase his eyes filled with tears.
“Here. Let me help you.” Gemma quickly knelt beside the case, fishing out shirt and trousers, clean socks and briefs with the practiced efficiency of a mother of boys. She bundled the articles into Tony’s arms and nudged him in the direction of the bathroom.
When he’d disappeared behind the closed door, Gemma turned back to Kincaid. Her face was strained.
“You realize we now have four missing women that potentially fit the description of one body?” he said.
Gemma knelt and dug through the suitcase again. “And a missing child who very well may not be with her mother.” With a grunt of satisfaction, she pulled out a framed photograph and sat back on her heels, studying it for a moment before handing it to Kincaid.
The girl stared into the camera with the defiant seriousness of a child refusing to smile for the photographer. She had wiry dark hair pulled back tightly from her thin face, and her gray eyes held an adult intelligence. She might, Kincaid thought, be heartbreakingly beautiful in ten years’ time.
Dusting off her knees, Gemma came to stand beside him. “I’m not so sure there are four missing women,” she said, touching Harriet Novak’s face with a fingertip. “Do you still have Elaine Holland’s photograph?”
Kincaid frowned at her. “No. I gave it to Bell. What are you-”
“Think about it. Elaine Holland left work every day on the dot, but several evenings a week she told Fanny she had to work late. She’d been hinting recently to a coworker that she had a boyfriend. She had clothes tucked away that Fanny never saw. She lied to Fanny about having a mobile phone, yet Tony had no number for Beth other than a mobile phone. And the physical description… Elaine has a striking face. Not beautiful, but you can see how a man could be fascinated-”
Kincaid’s phone rang. He snapped it open with a grimace of irritation, but his impatience vanished when he heard Konnie Mueller’s voice. He listened, nodding, then said, “And nothing yet on the other one? Okay. As soon as you have a result. Right.”
As he rang off, Gemma said, “Konnie?”
He nodded. “He’s narrowed our options by one. Whoever – and wherever – Elaine Holland may be, she didn’t die in Thursday night’s fire.”
It was another ordinary Sunday lunch in the Warren semidetached house in Peckham – Kath’s sixteen-year-old son shoveling his food, eager to finish and get out of the house; her thirteen-year-old daughter picking at hers, eager to resume an interrupted phone call in her room; Kath’s husband, a commercial traveler home for the weekend, eager to make the most of his well-deserved Sunday-afternoon nap.
Kath, who had long tried to practice a daily litany of counting her blessings, felt a tide of irritation threaten to swamp her. She slammed plates coated with congealing gravy into the sink and, for once, walked off and left them.
“I’ve got to go in to work for a bit,” she called out as she grabbed her handbag and keys.
“I’ll drive you,” her son volunteered. “What about that crazy guy?”
“I’ll be fine.” Tony Novak had not made another appearance, and Kath had more pressing things to worry about.
As she climbed into the car she realized she’d added another lie to the tally that had grown past counting. It wasn’t that she had to go in to work, but that she couldn’t bring herself to stay away.
When she reached Southwark Street, she found that the crime scene tape still fluttered round Yarwood’s warehouse like the ribbon on a giant Christmas package, and that the smell of burning lingered in the air like a fog. She ducked her head as she walked by, wondering if she would ever be able to pass the building without seeing the ambulance men maneuvering their burden carefully out the door.
The shelter’s residents were unsettled as well. She’d spent yesterday – without Jason’s help – comforting and consoling, and trying to quiet the rumors flying round the shelter like contagious ghosts.
She found Jason where she’d expected, in the office, head bent over a filing cabinet. She stood in the doorway for a moment, watching him, knowing he was aware of her presence, but that he wouldn’t look up until she spoke.
He wore jeans, as he usually did when he took Sunday duty, rather than the designer shirts and ties he favored during the week, and the contrast between the rough clothes and the elegant planes of his face made the breath catch in her throat. God, one would think that knowing oneself for a fool would be enough to effect a cure, but the self-knowledge only made her despise her desire.
“How was your visit with your aunt?” she asked, when the silence had gone on as long as she could bear.
Jason looked up. “Great-aunt. She fell. She needed Mum to stay with her, and you know my mother doesn’t drive. It couldn’t be helped, Kath.” His voice was cool, dispassionate, the message clear. She was nagging, and he wasn’t going to apologize for leaving her in the lurch on a chaotic Saturday – or for anything else.
She came into the room and perched on the edge of her desk, making a pretext of straightening papers. “You missed all the excitement. Tony Novak showed up, accusing us of helping his wife run off with their child.”
Frowning, Jason paused with a paper half into a folder. “Dr. Novak? Why would he do that?”
“He says Laura threatened him, and now she and the little girl have both disappeared.”
The paper slid neatly into its ordained spot and Jason closed the file drawer. “Not very smart to give advance warning, if she meant to do a runner. It’s odd that she didn’t come to us for help, though.”
Kath rubbed her thumb across the rough edge of a fingernail. “I thought maybe there was something you weren’t telling me.”
“Me?” His wide, mobile mouth twitched in irritation. “Don’t be daft, Kath. You know Laura’s not that fond of me. If she’d come to anyone, it would have been you.” He studied her. “Look, if this is about the other night, something came up.”
“I waited,” she said, the words spilling out like acid. “And you played me for a fool.”
“It’s not always about you, Kath. Did that ever occur to you? You’ve no idea what it’s like for me, living with – My mum’s difficult. It was a bad night.”
“Your mum?” she spat back. “I lied to my kids-”
“And it’s not my sodding fault if you feel guilty. Give it a rest, Kath.”
They stared at each other, poised on the edge of a full-fledged row. Then, to her surprise, Jason looked away. “I did come, you know,” he said. “But you were gone. And it’s just as well we weren’t both here when all hell broke loose.” He flashed her one of his smiles, and she felt her anger start to melt.
Standing, he came over to her and ran his fingertip very lightly from her cheek to the corner of her mouth. She turned her face into his hand with as little volition as a moth flying into a flame.
“Am I forgiven?” he said softly.
“I-” She glimpsed a shadow at the office door, a whisper of movement that was somehow familiar. “Mouse?” she called out. “Beverly?”
But there was no answer, and when she went out into the corridor, no one was there.
“It’s not protocol,” hissed Maura Bell. She’d drawn Kincaid down to the far end of the corridor outside the interview room at the station. A shocked Tony Novak, having identified the photo of Elaine Holland as the woman he knew as Beth, waited inside the room, while at the other end of the corridor, Gemma spoke animatedly to Doug Cullen.
“I don’t care if it’s bloody protocol.” He glanced over at Gemma, then jabbed a finger at Bell. “She’s the one who got Tony Novak to cooperate. She’s the one who made the connection between Elaine Holland and Beth. She’s the one who insisted we had a child at risk. She’s going to sit in on the interview if she bloody well wants.”
“We don’t know that the child isn’t somewhere with her mother,” protested Inspector Bell.
“We don’t know that Tony Novak didn’t bash his wife over the head in the ten minutes he was inside her house. We won’t know until we get the search warrant. If you want to be useful instead of obstructive, why don’t you see if you can hurry the damned thing up?”
“Excuse me, ma’am.” Bell’s sergeant had appeared at her elbow. “A Mrs. Teasdale is here to see you. She says she’s Chloe Yarwood’s mother.”
When Bell hesitated, Kincaid said, “You’ve got another interview room?” At her nod, he went on. “I’ll take her up personally. We’ll have to put Novak on hold until we see what the former Mrs. Yarwood has to say – in fact, cut Novak loose when he’s signed his statement, but have a constable keep an eye on him. I’d just as soon wait to talk to him again until we’ve searched his wife’s house, but I don’t want him disappearing on us.”
“Is there – is there any news on Chloe Yarwood, sir?” asked the sergeant, with a quick glance at her boss.
“Not yet. The lab hasn’t finished running the match, and I hate to think what Konnie Mueller is going to say when I ask him to run a sample from Laura Novak’s flat.”
Gemma and Cullen had joined them and were listening intently.
“Sir – ma’am-” said the sergeant, obviously having difficulties with the issue of temporary authority, “that warrant’s just come through. I was coming to tell you when the duty sergeant rang up about Mrs. Teasdale.”
Kincaid considered, trying to work out the most expedient division of labor with the least amount of territorial pissing on Bell’s part. “Doug, why don’t you and Gemma go along to Laura Novak’s house with the uniforms? Maura, you and I will talk to Mrs. Teasdale. Then when we’ve finished we’ll meet the others at Park Street.” Bell might think she’d drawn the plum job, but the truth was that he trusted Gemma’s assessment of whatever they might find at the Novak house as well as his own.
Maura Bell drew breath as if to protest, then seemed to think better of it. Turning to the sergeant, she said, “Right. You’ll need a locksmith-”
“No, we won’t.” Gemma’s lips curved in a very small smile. “We’ve got Tony Novak’s keys.”
Sundays were supposed to be civilized, Rose thought grumpily as she hung her turnout coat on the drying rack for the second time that day. A day of rest, a day of roast beef and Yorkshire pud, of dozing in front of the telly or taking the kiddies to the park.
God knows she’d hoped for a quiet day after a night of dream-haunted, interrupted sleep, but instead they’d had half a dozen road traffic accidents, as many medical calls, and two fires. Both had been nuisance fires, one in a rubbish skip, the other brush set alight on waste ground at the edge of a park, but both times when she’d seen the smoke her mouth had gone dry and her hands had been unsteady as she pulled on her gear.
Surely she was just tired, and not losing her nerve, she thought as she pushed a stray hair from her face with a grubby hand. What she felt seemed more a bone-deep foreboding than fear.
There was certainly no one she could talk to about it. Even if she had been tempted to confess to Simms, he’d been distant and abrupt with her all day. Last night’s phone call hung unmentioned between them.
Nor had she heard from Station Officer Farrell, and she’d begun to think she’d made a complete ass of herself. She’d meant to talk to her own guv’nor about her theory, but as the day went by the prospect seemed less and less appealing. If she had any sense, she’d take Wilcox’s advice and forget the whole thing.
When she’d washed up, she wandered into the kitchen. Their lunch had been interrupted by the bells an hour ago, and bowls of congealing chili con carne still stood on the table. Steven Winston came in, whistling tunelessly, and popped his into the microwave, but after a moment’s hesitation Rose scraped hers into the bin. The smell made her feel nauseous, and the last thing she needed was to sick up her lunch on the next shout.
She made up her mind to speak to Bryan Simms, see if she could clear the air between them. At least she could tell him she appreciated his concern. She left the control room and went down to the turnout bay, where she found Bryan washing the mud off the appliance from the last shout.
“Hey,” she said, grabbing a towel and following along behind him.
“Hey, yourself.” His voice was casual, but he didn’t meet her eyes.
“Busy day, yeah?” she offered, but this brilliant sally met with no more than a nod.
She stopped in midswipe. “Look, Bryan. About last night. It’s not that I – It just wasn’t a good-”
“You two are gluttons for punishment,” said a voice behind her, and she spun round, startled. It was Simon Forney, the other half of Castor and Pollux, and the look he gave her was speculative. He was assigned to the pump ladder, and had not been needed on the last shout. “Someone rang you while you were out. Station Officer Farrell, the arson bloke. Said you didn’t answer your mobile. He left a number where you could reach him.” Simon handed her a Post-it with an unidentified number scribbled on it.
Rose felt a flush of excitement, quickly dampened by the wary looks on both men’s faces. She’d left her bloody mobile in her locker. She’d have to retrieve it, then hope she could snatch some privacy to ring Farrell back. “Bloody nuisance,” she said, thinking quickly. She made a face. “I’ve already told him everything I-”
The bells went with a deafening clamor, and the men turned away, running for their gear. After an instant’s hesitation, Rose followed, feeling more alone than she had since her first day at Southwark station.