“I’m telling you, she never got here! I never saw her!” Adesh rarely lost his temper. He’d long ago learned to shrug off his anger and walk away from it. Getting angry only led to trouble. But tonight, it was late, and he was afraid for Jools, and he found himself shouting at the detective.
“No? The bus driver says otherwise.” DS Matthews eyed him without expression. “I’ll ask you again, Adesh, what time did Jools Beauchamp call you?”
“I don’t know. I didn’t look at the bloody time when she called me!” he snapped. He ran a hand through his hair, and the ends – already gelled – stood up in dark, blond-tipped spikes. “It was probably after eight-thirty, it was just getting dark.”
The DS made a note on his pad. “And what did she say?”
Desh scowled. They’d been through this line of questioning with him twice already. However, he reined his impatience in and said, “She was upset, said her dad was sending her back to her mum’s house. They’d had a row.”
“About what?”
“I don’t know. She didn’t say.”
“Must’ve been pretty bad if her dad threw her out,” Devon observed.
“I guess.” Adesh shrugged. “Then she said she’d see me in forty-five minutes.”
“But she never showed up at your parents’ house,” the detective stated.
“No. I told you, I never saw her.” Desh’s voice cracked slightly.
DS Matthews slid his notepad into his back pocket. “All right, that’s all for now. I may have further questions for you later. I’d advise you to stick around.” With that, he turned away and joined Jack Hawkins by one of the squad cars.
“So what do you think, Dev?” Jack asked, his face awash in the lurid blue and red lights. “Given that Jools vanished somewhere between the bus stop and the Patels’ house, it’s obvious someone in the vicinity grabbed her.”
“Probably one of the men that took her and the boy the first time,” Devon agreed. “My guess is they spotted her, couldn’t believe their luck, and chucked her straight into the back of the nearest getaway vehicle. I’ll talk to the neighbours, see if anyone saw anything.” His tone, however, said plainly that he expected little help from that quarter.
“What I don’t understand is why,” Jack said, frustrated. “Why take Jools? It’s Mr Patel and his son the Bombers are after, not my niece. She’s nothing to do with it.”
“She’s Adesh’s girlfriend,” Devon pointed out. “You know as well as I do, that makes her a prime target.” He paused. “I reckon we’ll find out what they want soon enough.”
“What did that bloke in lock-up say? The one Adesh identified – Karras?”
“Nothing. If he knows anything, he’s not talking.”
“Fuck!” Jack exploded. “I’ve got to find her, Dev. Her parents are half out of their minds with worry. I’ll turn the bloody Tower Hamlets upside down until I get some answers.” He turned to go.
“Wait.” Devon caught his arm. “Let us handle this, Jack. I can’t have you losing your temper and bashing some local’s head in.
Like you did once before. The words, although unspoken, echoed in both men’s heads.
Jack’s eyes met his, and the DS released his arm. “No worries, Dev,” he said evenly. “I’ll let you lot question the neighbours; I’ll just have a word with the bus driver and the owner of that Balti place on the corner.”
“Mind you play nice, Jack.” There was no mistaking the warning in Devon’s words.
“I wouldn’t dream of violating anyone’s civil liberties,” Jack said. “I’m just a nice, peaceable bloke who’s asking a few questions.”
He gave Devon a curt nod, then turned and strode away into the darkness.
Dominic hadn’t called. Gemma checked her mobile for the third time in thirty minutes. It was half-past midnight, and she’d heard nothing from her husband all day – not a call, not a text, not a word from his hotel room in Manchester – only a brief voicemail that morning, saying he’d be staying one day longer. She’d left him a couple of messages but they’d gone unreturned. Where was he?
Dom hated press junkets. ‘It’s like speed dating,’ he complained, ‘one journalist after another in your hotel room, each getting ten minutes and all of them asking the same bloody questions over and over. You’re a prostitute for the record company. And you don’t even get a happy ending when it’s over.’
Gemma reached out now and picked up one of the tabloids strewn over the bed. Despite the fact that Christa’s new single with Dom, “Hide My Heart”, had debuted at number three on the pop charts, she was noticeably absent from the headlines.
No surprise there, Gemma supposed; after all, hadn’t Dom said she was staying home to care for her mum? She knitted her brows together as a thought popped unexpectedly into her head. What if Christa wasn’t staying here in London with her mum?
What if…
…what if Dominic was holed up with Christa in that Manchester hotel room, right this very minute?
Gemma flung herself out of bed. Something was going on; there was no question about that. It wasn’t like Dom to go so long without returning her call, or texting, or getting in touch somehow.
As she yanked her sleep T-shirt off and threw on some clothes, her face was set in determination. If Dominic wouldn’t give her any answers, she’d bloody well get them herself.
And the first stop, she thought grimly as she grabbed up her handbag and strode out the door, was Christa Shaw’s townhouse in St Mark’s Square.
The only thing worse than finding Jools gone, Oliver thought as he picked up the phone with grim resignation, was this – having to tell Valery that their daughter had disappeared.
“What do you mean, she’s gone?” she demanded now, incredulous. “Gone where? It’s after midnight!”
“That’s just it, Valery, I don’t know. I went to her room to check she was all right, and she was gone.”
“This can’t be happening,” Valery breathed. “Not again.”
He could almost see her pacing around the sitting room, pouring herself a whiskey with unsteady hands and sinking down onto the sofa. “Have you called the police?” she asked abruptly.
“Yes, I called them straight away,” Oliver said, and passed a hand over his face. “And I called Jack.”
“Jack.” The word was drenched in contempt. “How reassuring. And what did your arms-dealing, gun-toting half-brother have to say?”
“He said she’s most likely run away, but I know Jack, and I know he thinks…” he stumbled over the words “Thinks she’s been taken again.” He rubbed his eyes as if to rub away the fear those words invoked. “And I’m afraid he may be right.”
“This is your fault, Oliver,” she shouted. “Your bloody fault! If you hadn’t insisted I let her come and stay there in Lambeth with you and that tart of yours-”
“Don’t go there, Valery,” he warned, his voice trembling with fury. “And don’t you dare make this my fault.”
“What happened? Why did she run away? The two of you had an argument, didn’t you?”
“Yes.” His voice was a thread. “She had a boy over after school when no one was home – which she knew wasn’t allowed. The two of them were practically having sex on the sitting room sofa when Felicity walked in and caught them.”
“So I’m guessing you forbade Jools to see this boy.”
“Yes, of course I did! And I told her I was sending her straight back to you.”
“Ah, yes. Punishment upon punishment,” Valery said, but there was no longer anger in her voice, only sadness. “No wonder she ran away. She despises me.”
“No, she doesn’t.” He sighed. “It’s me she hates most at the moment.”
“What should we do, Oliver? Jools is out there alone. She’s only seventeen. Anything could be happening to her. She might be hurt, or scared, or…” she let out an anguished half-sob “…or dead!”
“None of that, now,” he told her firmly. “There’s nothing we can do to bring her back, but one thing I do know – we can’t fall apart. Jools is smart, and resourceful. We don’t even know that she’s been kidnapped. She’s probably gone to a friend’s house to stay. I’m sure we’ll get a call soon to tell us she’s fine and to say sorry, and beg me to come and pick her up and bring her home.”
She hitched in a deep, shuddery breath. “Yes, of course. You’re right. There’s nothing to be gained from panicking…at least, not yet. I’m sorry. I know this isn’t your fault. I’m just…” she paused, and added unsteadily, “I’m scared to death, Oliver.”