The meeting was scheduled for nine o’clock. At eight twenty, the telephone rang as Serrailler was walking into his office.
‘I’ve got Mrs Angus for you.’
He hesitated. He had neither seen nor spoken to Marilyn since the television interview but he had calmed down enough to feel able to talk to her. Nevertheless, he took a deep breath. He needed to hold fast to the understanding that what she had done had been without malice, simply in the extremes of grief and distress.
‘I’ll speak to her.’
Marilyn dispersed with any small talk and said without preamble, ‘I just wanted you to know what I plan. I have got some people together … I’ve asked them to begin a search for David.’
‘But …’
‘I know what you are going to say but I don’t feel enough has been done.’
‘I can assure you that is absolutely not the case and we’re not speaking in the past tense – everything is being done and will continue to be done.’
‘Yet you are no nearer to finding him. I don’t think the searches can have been thorough enough. I’m not satisfied and I won’t be satisfied until I know they’re being done again … that’s what I wanted to tell you. I will organise teams and –’
‘You do understand that members of the public have no rights of access, no authority to go into or on to private property?’
‘Is there anything to prevent them asking for permission to search and then going ahead once we have it? I don’t think there is.’
‘I have to caution you –’
‘I’m sure you do. But I’m going to carry on nevertheless. I simply can’t stand this … this nothingness … I feel impotent and I feel angry.’
‘And I do sincerely understand those feelings, believe me.’
‘Then let me get on with this. I’ve informed you out of courtesy. That’s all.’
‘Can we at least talk about this before –’
‘No. We’ll go on until we drop … or until we find David. I have to find him. There’s nothing else in my life of any importance at all, nothing else I have to do.’
Nathan put his head round the door. ‘Guv, you seen the papers?’
Simon groaned. ‘Bring them in.’
MISSING BOY’S MOTHER FORCED TO ORGANISE OWN SEARCH. ‘POLICE WERE CURSORY,’ SAYS MRS ANGUS. ‘I’LL FIND MY BOY MYSELF,’ VOWS ANGRY MOTHER.
Serrailler was in the middle of reading through the vitriol when the desk called up to tell him DCS Chapman had arrived. He dropped the papers on to the chair and went down. Jim Chapman was one of his force’s most senior officers, five years off retirement and with a reputation for thoroughness and dogged determination. He had been the SIO in two high-profile and highly successful murder hunts in Yorkshire and had the Queen’s Police Medal for Bravery. When Serrailler told him he was privileged to be working with him, he meant it. Chapman was a big man with close-cropped grey hair and heavy-lidded eyes, a man with a broad Yorkshire accent and a surprisingly gentle manner.
The moment the door closed on the two of them in Serrailler’s office, he said, ‘I want you to know I’m for you not against you. I’m here to help not to undermine. I’m an addition not a replacement.’
‘Thanks, that’s appreciated.’
‘And’ – Chapman pointed to the papers – ‘I’ve read them.’
‘I’ve called a press conference for ten o’clock.’
‘You’d no alternative. It’s always a problem. The mother’s distraught, they always believe we’re not doing enough and of course we’re not, no human being on earth is doing enough for her unless they find the boy. The father took his own life?’
‘Yes. I think it tipped her over the edge – and do you wonder? How do you want to begin, sir?’
‘I’m Jim. I’m always Jim. As I said, I’m on side. I’d like to talk to the team briefly, then get this press conference out of the way. I’ll sit in but I’ll not speak. This is your call. After those buggers have gone we’ll get down to it. I’ve read most of t’paperwork on the way down and last night. Fill me in on the rest.’
Simon did, going through the team one by one, giving their background, personality, particular strengths. The DCS listened, said nothing, made no notes.
‘No weak links?’
‘No. We’ve as good a team as you could find … They’re demoralised just now but they’re still bloody-minded about it.’
‘No one gone sick?’
‘No.’
‘Signs of strain?’
‘No more than you’d expect.’
‘Aye, it takes its toll, this sort of inquiry. They’d rather face bullets. We all would.’
‘Do you want to talk to Mrs Angus?’
‘Mebbe. Not for now. Where’s your canteen?’
‘I’ll get something brought in for you, we’ve –’
But the DCS was on his feet. ‘I don’t want special treatment,’ he said, walking out. ‘Downstairs or up?’
‘Down.’ Serrailler followed him quickly along the corridor.
The press conference was an unpleasant business. Marilyn Angus’s television interview had swung them all. Even the local reporters, who were always helpful, asked aggressive questions, vying with the big boys from television and the national press to be confrontational. They demanded action, they demanded answers, they pressed on detail. Serrailler was a match for them every time. He had always enjoyed a bit of combat, and he maintained a cool, sympathetic but not self-defensive stand. There was a lot of grumbling and muttering from the assembly, but they left meekly enough.
‘Good morning. I’m Jim Chapman. Right, you’ve taken a battering this morning and over the TV interview last night. I want you to know we’re together on this. I am not here to trip you up, pull you to pieces or give you a hard time. I’m here to look at the David Angus case from scratch. I’m not doubting you’ve worked extremely hard – no one’s been negligent, everyone’s given this 110 per cent.
‘I’ll be looking at everything, going everywhere, studying the paperwork, the forensics, the background, the data – and I want to talk to each of you. But there’s nothing private or secret here, I’m not going behind your SIO’s back.
‘Right. I want to start from square one, inch by inch and minute by minute. I want you to take me through what you know. I want to hear your thoughts and your suspicions – the lot. Don’t think that anything you say is going to be sneered at or dismissed. Nothing gets dismissed.
‘This morning I want to get an idea of how each one of you in this investigating team sees the case. Tell me your ideas, your view of the scenario. Nathan, isn’t it? Right, lad, you.’
The room went silent. Nathan rubbed his hand through his hair and looked down at the table for a minute. Then he said, ‘Well, first off, we’re looking for a body. The kid’s dead. Gotta be.’
He waited but Chapman said nothing.
‘I still wonder about the family, to be honest with you. What did the father kill himself for? Was it only that he couldn’t face going on without the boy any longer? I know his alibi for the time the boy vanished is cast iron like, but parents are often the killers and I just wonder if there isn’t something in the family situation we’ve missed. Dunno what though.’
‘That it?’
‘Yeah, well, for now … you wanted a view.’
‘Fine. Good. Anyone else share Nathan’s take on this?’
DC Clare Liscom said quickly, ‘Yes, I do. I don’t know about the father but the mother … she’s behaved very oddly, even allowing for what she’s been through. She’s been hostile to us, she’s been obstructive … She has another child, the daughter Lucy, but it’s as though that kid hardly exists. I wonder if we should pull the whole family apart again. Look closer to home not further away.’
Kate Marshall shook her head. ‘Sorry, Clare but no, I –’
‘You’re the FLO?’
‘Was. Sorry, sir, yes. DC Marshall. No one in that family hurt David. Marilyn has been off her head with grief and dread and suspense and guilt, and then her husband tries to commit suicide, fails, tries again and succeeds. I think she is literally out of her right mind at the moment and I’m worried about her, but I don’t think we’ll find anything in the house.’
One by one, the others agreed or did not, and then brought up their own suggestions. Simon sat in silence, feeling huge pride in his team, in their dedication and skill, their commit ment and determination. They were as focused a group as he thought could have been assembled in any force in the country.
It was a surprise when Geoff Prince spoke. He was generally silent.
‘What about these villains, sir? Getting kids to nick cars for them, then trying to kill the DCI, and that sap who did some of their dirty work. Maybe they ran over the kid. Maybe he saw something …’
Serrailler shook his head. ‘Sorry, it’s not their style.’
Chapman turned to him. ‘Simon?’
‘I don’t think it is anything to do with anyone in the family, alive or dead. I have a hunch he won’t be found within a hundred miles of Lafferton. I think he was away from here within minutes of being abducted. It is the very absence of anything at all which makes me think this …’
‘Right. Let’s tick them off,’ Chapman said. He went to the white board on the far wall.
1. Alive or dead. In all probability – DEAD.
2. Still in his own home. ‘So, the story of his waiting at the gate is a fabrication.’
‘Sorry sir, but no, we’ve a witness – man cycling to work down Sorrel Drive reported seeing David at what must have been a couple of minutes after his mother left him.’
‘Good. Thanks.’ He wiped out the second point briskly. It had been a test, Serrailler thought, neatly done.
3. Taken on foot by someone he knew.
4. Taken in a car by someone he knew.
5. Taken on foot by a stranger.
6. Taken in a car by a stranger.
7. Taken somewhere close at hand and killed.
8. Taken out of Lafferton to somewhere else and then killed.
‘And that’s about it. Not many alternatives, are there? Nice and straightforward. What’s the worst-case scenario?’
Half a dozen people spoke at once then fell silent.
‘Worst-case scenario is the random paedophile killer, passing through the place, spotting the boy standing at his gate, completely by chance, and seizing his opportunity, and driving him to God knows where. You said it. Nightmare scenario. I think we’re in the middle of it.’