The Trespass(7)
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.