Daniels got home late, had something to eat and went straight to bed, a guaranteed recipe for a sleepless night. When her alarm went off at six, she turned on the radio and stumbled into the shower, trying to energize herself for the day ahead. Similarly sleep-deprived, Gormley rang at six thirty. When he offered to pick her up and act as chauffeur for the day, she jumped at the chance.
They made good time. Conrad Couriers was situated close to the A63 Selby bypass. Neither of them could wait to get there and Gormley had committed a number of moving traffic offences along the way. As he began to slow down, Daniels reached into his glove compartment and pulled out a map book.
‘Hey, put that away!’ Gormley said. ‘You’ll upset my new friend.’
Daniels smiled as a woman’s voice instructed him to turn left. Gormley’s new toy was the latest satellite navigation device.
‘You know, we’re not that far away from the Mansion House.’ Daniels found the page she was looking for, her eyes homing in on the exact location. ‘We’re also close to several major routes: A1, M62 and A19.’
‘You still think the guy Archer described could be Townsend?’
‘I don’t know, Hank. Gardening pays peanuts. He could be moonlighting in his spare time. He’s strong enough to have carried out an abduction, that’s for sure. And he doesn’t like Finch a whole lot either—’
‘I’m sensing a “but” coming.’
‘He just doesn’t strike me as the type. If there is a type.’
They sat in silence for a few minutes. Journey time was often thinking time. Daniels had spent the majority of the last six days on the road, driving back and forth across three counties: Northumberland, Durham and Yorkshire. That’s the way it was sometimes. Every lead had to be followed up, every detail checked, no matter how long it took or what cost to the incident budget – which in this case was a joke. She’d have to tell Bright they needed more cash.
‘You think Rachel’s heading for the same fate as Amy?’
Daniels didn’t answer. She bloody hoped not. The woman’s voice was back, instructing Gormley to turn left. He completed the manoeuvre. Seconds later they arrived at their destination, the secure car park of a modern industrial unit on a new-build business park, the company name emblazoned on the gable end in italic writing. There was a large service yard out front and a loading bay surrounded by a chain-link fence at the side. A sign directed heavy goods vehicles to an entry point further down the road.
Gormley drove up to the main gate, pushed a button on the entry console. He ID’d himself. A barrier lifted and he moved forward, parking as close to the front door as he could. They got out of the car and made their way inside.
The integrated office space was contemporary. Advertisements for the company adorned the walls, along with an impressive number of plaques: business awards for excellence in the service sector. The Rottweiler turned out to be the firm’s managing director, Cynthia Beecham, a smartly dressed, petite, thirty-year-old. She ushered them into the boardroom and closed the door, offering them privacy from the corridor beyond. She waited until they’d taken their seats before following suit, a consignment schedule already open at the appropriate page on the table in front of her.
‘His name is Mark Harris,’ Cynthia Beecham said.
Daniels was impressed. Alistair had kept his word.
Cynthia Beecham slid a driver’s log across the table towards the detectives. ‘He’s been with us since we formed the company and he’s never put a foot wrong.’
‘Is he a full-time employee?’ Gormley asked.
‘No, he’s sessional only. He turfs up if and when we’re particularly busy. He has other work, I believe.’
‘Doing what exactly?’ Daniels asked.
‘Is that relevant?’
Daniels ignored the question. ‘He was your only driver in that area on Friday?’
‘No. Several of our fleet cover the north east. It’s a large area and many of our big clients are sited there.’
‘I see . . .’ Daniels thought for a moment. ‘Is there any chance that Mark Harris was not driving the vehicle with the registration number I gave you on the phone? People swap shifts occasionally, don’t they?’
‘Not a chance. Our transport manager, Allen Amos, installed a fingerprint-recognition entrance controller that links directly to his office, so he no longer has to stand at the gate and personally check drivers in and out of the depot. It’s foolproof. We also have CCTV. You can check it, if you like.’
This was getting better and better. Daniels could see a point in the future where such technology was commonplace and thought how much easier it would make her job. Looking at her watch, she couldn’t help but feel excited that they were closing in on a prime suspect.
Cynthia Beecham was far less happy. ‘Can I ask why you want to know?’
Gormley answered. ‘We believe he may be able to help us with our enquiries.’
‘Into what exactly? I need to know . . .’ Cynthia Beecham wasn’t about to be fobbed off by the vague answer she’d received. ‘Given you’re both detectives, I take it this is not a speeding offence. If it’s a serious matter, our company has a repu—’
‘It is a serious matter, Ms Beecham,’ Daniels cut in. ‘One that requires us to get a move on, so please answer our questions. There’s no need for you to concern yourself with the detail, not at this stage anyway. Is Harris here now?’
Cynthia Beecham looked at her watch. ‘He should be in the loading dock.’
‘You need to delay his departure without telling him why,’ Daniels said. ‘I have to speak to him now.’
Cynthia Beecham made the call. Then they made their way from the boardroom to the loading shed, a huge hangar-like structure sectioned off into areas marked alphabetically. In one corner, an elderly man was allocating work to three drivers, one of whom – according to Cynthia Beecham – was the man they had come to see.
None of them was Townsend.
Cynthia Beecham stopped short of the group. ‘Do you mind if I get him? He’s an excellent employee and I’d like to give him the benefit of the doubt until you tell me otherwise.’
‘We’ll wait here,’ Daniels said.
‘Mark?’ The MD walked on, high heels clicking on the concrete floor. ‘Can I have a word?’
Harris turned round, his expression changing when he saw she was not alone. As she led him away from the others, Daniels couldn’t help notice his obvious discomfort. Cynthia Beecham took them across the yard to a side office: a small, window-less box. Mark Harris couldn’t look Daniels in the eye as his boss left the room, closing the door behind her, having given him the bad news.
Daniels came right to the point. ‘Do you know why we’re here?’
Harris shrugged. ‘I’ve got a bloody good idea.’
‘Tell us then.’ Gormley’s tone was harsh.
‘I didn’t mean to hurt her—’
His words hung in the air. Daniels felt sick and elated at the same time. The man had guilt written all over his face and she couldn’t wait to hear more.
‘Who?’ she asked. ‘Who didn’t you mean to hurt?’
Harris looked at the floor.
Gormley was getting impatient. ‘Mr Harris?’
Harris lifted his head. ‘Rachel, Rachel Somers.’
‘Where is she?’ Daniels fought hard to keep her temper in check. ‘What have you done with her?’
‘Nothing!’ Harris looked really worried. ‘Nothing, I promise you!’
‘We have a witness who saw her in your cab.’ Daniels eyeballed the man, letting him know he was in big trouble. ‘Nobody has seen or heard from her since. We think we know why.’
‘Then you’re a mile wrong,’ Harris snapped back. ‘I don’t know what she’s told you, but all I did was talk to her. That’s all, I swear. Then I dropped her in Durham on my way to Northallerton.’
‘Course you did.’ Gormley glared at him. ‘And we’re supposed to believe that?’
‘Believe what you like, it’s the truth!’ Harris suddenly became defensive, puffing out his chest like he was ready for a fight. ‘Hey, I don’t know what it is you think I’ve done, but I’m telling you nowt ’til I see a solicitor.’
‘Fine.’ Daniels cuffed him. ‘Hank, lock him up and get him in the car.’