Mo Hayder: Gone

‘It’s her birthday tomorrow,’ she whispered. ‘Are you going to get her back for her birthday?’

‘Mrs Bradley,’ he said, ‘I want to explain why I’m here and I want to do it without alarming you. My firm belief is that from the moment the man who took your car realized his mistake – that Martha was in the back – he’s been making plans to release her. Remember, he’s scared too. He wanted the car, not a kidnap on top of a jacking charge. It happens in every case like this. I’ve got literature on it back at the office. I was reading it before I came over and I can get copies of it, if you’d like. On the other hand—’

‘Yes? On the other hand?’

‘My unit has to treat it as a kidnap because that’s the responsible thing to do. It’s completely normal, and it doesn’t mean we’re alarmed.’ He could feel the FLO watching him as he spoke. He knew the FLOs attached red flags to some words when dealing with families affected by violent crime so he trod lightly on the word ‘kidnap’, said it in the light, barely there voice his parents’ generation would have reserved for the word ‘cancer’. ‘We’ve got every ANPR team on alert. Those are the automatic numberplate recognition units – cameras watching all the major roads for your car. If he hits any of the major routes in the area we’re going to pick him up. We’ve drafted in extra teams to do questioning. There’s been a press release to the media so we’re virtually guaranteed local and probably national coverage. In fact if you switch on the TV now you’ll probably see it on the news bulletins. I’ve got someone from our technical department coming over. He’s going to need access to your phones.’

‘In case someone calls?’ Rose looked at him desperately. ‘Is that what you mean – that someone might call us? You’re making it sound like you really think she’s been kidnapped.’

‘Please, Mrs Bradley, I meant what I said. This is all completely routine. Completely. Don’t think there’s anything sinister or that we have any theories yet because we really haven’t. I don’t believe for a minute the investigation is going to stay on the Major Crime Unit’s books, because I think Martha will be back safe and sound for her birthday tomorrow. Still, I need to ask you some questions.’ He fished a little MP3 recorder out from his inside pocket and placed it on the table next to the phones. The red light blinked. ‘You’re being recorded now. Just like you were earlier. Is that OK?’

‘Yes. It’s . . .’ She trailed off. There was a pause, then she gave Caffery a flittering, apologetic smile, as if she’d already forgotten not only who he was but also why they were there, sitting around the table. ‘I mean – yes. It’s fine.’

Jonathan Bradley put a mug of tea in front of Caffery and sat down next to Rose. ‘We’ve been talking, thinking, about why we haven’t heard anything.’

‘It’s very early days.’

‘But we’ve got a theory,’ said Rose. ‘Martha was kneeling up on the back seat when it happened.’

Jonathan nodded. ‘We’ve lost count of the number of times we’ve told her not to but she always does it. The moment she gets into the car she leans over into the front seat and fiddles with the radio. Tries to tune it to something she likes. We’re wondering if maybe when he took off in the car he was going so fast that she was thrown back – down into the footwell, maybe banged her head. Maybe he doesn’t even know she’s there – she could be unconscious, could be lying there, and he could still be driving. He could have abandoned the car already and she could be in there, still unconscious.’

‘There’s a full tank. I filled it up on my way into Bath. So, you see, he could be a long way away. An awfully long way.’

‘I can’t listen to this.’ Philippa pushed her chair back, went to the sofa and began rummaging in the pockets of a denim jacket. ‘Mum, Dad.’ She pulled out a packet of Benson & Hedges, shook it at her parents. ‘I know this isn’t the time or the place, but I smoke. Have done for months. I’m sorry.’

Rose and Jonathan watched her go to the back door. Neither spoke as she threw it open and fumbled with a cigarette lighter. Her breath was white in the cold night air, and beyond her, clouds shattered and fragmented across the stars. Distant lights twinkled in the far valley. It was too cold for November, Caffery thought. Much too cold. He felt the frozen enormity of that countryside. The weight of a thousand lanes where Martha could have been abandoned. A Yaris was a smallish car with a relatively big petrol tank and a long range – maybe as much as five hundred miles – but Caffery didn’t think the jacker would just have driven in one direction. He was local – he’d known exactly where the street CCTV cameras had been. He’d be too nervous to leave his patch. He’d still be somewhere quite close by, somewhere he knew. He was probably trying to find a place secluded enough to let her go. Caffery was sure that was what had happened, but the elapsed time was still knocking silently inside him. Three and a half hours. Nearly four now. He stirred his tea. Looked at the spoon rather than let the family see his eyes straying to the clock on the wall.

‘So, Mr Bradley,’ he said, ‘I’m told you’re the parish priest?’

‘Yes. I used to be a headmaster but I was ordained three years ago.’

‘You seem like a happy family.’

‘We are.’

‘You live within your means? If it’s not a rude question.’

Jonathan gave a small, bleak smile. ‘We do. Very well within our means, thank you. We have no debts. I’m not a secret gambler or a drug addict. And we haven’t upset anyone. Is that your next question?’

‘Dad,’ Philippa muttered. ‘Don’t be such a rude shit.’

He didn’t acknowledge his daughter. ‘If that’s what you’re edging towards, Mr Caffery, I can promise you it’s the wrong path. There’s no reason for anyone to want to take her away from us. No reason at all. We’re just not that sort of family.’

‘I understand your frustration. I’m only wanting to get a clearer picture.’

‘There is no picture. There is no picture. My daughter has been taken and we’re waiting for you to do something about it—’ He broke off as if he’d suddenly realized he was shouting. He sat back, breathing hard, his face a livid red. ‘I’m sorry.’ He pushed a hand through his hair. He looked tired. Beaten. ‘I’m sorry – really sorry. I didn’t mean to take it out on you. It’s just you can’t possibly imagine what this feels like.’

A few years ago, when he was young and hot-headed, a comment like that would have infuriated Caffery – this assumption that he couldn’t know what it felt like – but with the benefit of age he could keep himself calm. Jonathan Bradley didn’t know what he was saying, had no idea – how could he? – so Caffery put his hands on the table. Flat. To show how unruffled he was. How in control. ‘Look, Mr Bradley, Mrs Bradley. No one can be a hundred per cent sure, and I can’t predict the future, but I am prepared to go out on a limb and say I’ve got a feeling – a very strong feeling – there’s going to be a happy ending to this.’

‘Good God.’ A tear ran down Rose’s face. ‘Do you mean that? Do you really mean that?’

‘I really mean that. In fact . . .’ He smiled reassuringly – and then said one of the stupidest things he’d uttered in his life. ‘In fact I’m looking forward to the photo of Martha blowing out her candles. I’m hoping you’ll be sending me a copy for my wall.’

The cement works in the Mendip Hills hadn’t been used for sixteen years and the owners had installed a security gate to stop people coming in and joyriding round the flooded quarry. Flea Marley left her car about a hundred yards from the gates on the edge of the track among some gorse. She broke off a couple of branches from a nearby tree and placed them so that the car would be hidden from the main road. No one ever came down here but it didn’t hurt to be cautious.