Val McDermid - The Vanishing Point

Vivian ended the call and tamped down the desire to jump out of her seat and do a little dance. It wasn’t generally considered an appropriate response to positive news in the FBI, where high-fiving was barely acceptable. Stephanie had perked up during the conversation, even though Vivian had done her best to keep her end non-committal. Now she smiled. ‘Detective Nicolaides is quite the operator,’ she said. Seeing Stephanie’s blush, she added, ‘I’m talking professionally, of course. Stephanie, he’s come up with a very exciting piece of information for us. Pete Matthews is not in London. He’s not even in the UK. He’s here, in America. Not only is he in America, he’s in Detroit.’ She sat back, a picture of determined delight.

Stephanie looked as if she hardly dare hope. ‘I’m not very good on American geography. How far is that from here?’

‘About five hours’ drive up the interstate,’ Vivian said, pushing back her chair and getting to her feet. She glanced at her watch. ‘If it was Matthews who snatched Jimmy, he’s had plenty of time to make it back to Detroit and send out for pizza by now.’

‘I can’t credit it,’ Stephanie said. ‘A few minutes ago, I felt like I was in the middle of a nightmare. A completely baffling mystery. And now . . . It could really come down to that evil bastard? All this, because I said no to a bully?’

Vivian assumed a gentle expression and softened her voice. ‘It’s not your fault, Stephanie. You did the right thing in all of this. He’s the one who carries the blame.’

‘What now?’

‘Detective Nicolaides really delivered the goods. He got us a cell phone number, and the address where Matthews is living. Now, what I propose is that we get on the road. I want you to come with me, because if we recover Jimmy tonight, as I hope we will, it’s important that you are there to make him feel safe and secure again.’ She made a scooping motion with her hands, indicating that Stephanie should get up and prepare to leave. ‘Lia, I know Stephanie and Jimmy’s bags have been scanned and searched. Can you have someone bring them to my office? We need to get going as quickly as possible.’

Lopez scowled. Clearly she didn’t appreciate being treated like a bag handler. But there was no time to lose. A child’s life could be at stake. She grunted and picked up Stephanie’s carry-on then tramped out of the office, her feelings clear from the set of her shoulders.

‘Follow me,’ Vivian said, heading out the door and down the hallway. Her phone was already at her ear. ‘Abbott, we’re rolling. I’ve got an address for our prime suspect . . . Detroit. Meet me at my office. I need you to drive us, I’m going to be making calls . . . Sure. Thanks.’

Until this point, Vivian had only been able to demonstrate her people skills. And she had plenty of those. But what she loved was when events started to unfold and she could follow her instinct for action. Now, there were people to be organised, directives to be issued, a quest to be followed to its natural outcome. And kudos to be won along the way. That wasn’t why she did her job. But it didn’t hurt.

They’d barely made it to the office when Abbott appeared, rumpled and cheerful like a kid on the brink of a promised outing. Vivian walked Stephanie to her car then they drove back to the terminal kerbside, where Abbott was waiting with the luggage. He threw the bags into the back of the SUV, evicted Vivian from the driving seat and roared off towards the highway. ‘We should have missed most of the traffic,’ he said, gunning the engine and flashing the car in front to pull over.

‘Just so long as you keep missing it,’ Vivian said, phone in her hand again. Her first call was to her boss. Succinctly she outlined what they had and where they were going. ‘I’m going to need local law enforcement to check out the scenario ahead of our arrival,’ she said. ‘And local tech support. We need to know if Matthews is there and, if so, whether he’s alone. We might need listening devices . . . Yes, sir. Five hours, maximum. I have the mother with me.’ She ended the call and let out a huge breath. Turning to look at Stephanie through the gap between the seats, she said, ‘My boss is talking to the local FBI office and the local cops. They’re going to check out whether the house is occupied. If there’s anybody home, they’ll use listening devices and thermal imaging to see how many there are and where they are in the house. And if we think Matthews is there with Jimmy, we’ll have a SWAT team mount a rescue.’ Vivian spoke quickly, brimming with confidence. She could see her assurance leak into Stephanie, buoying her up and bringing her hope.

‘Did you say we were headed for Corktown?’ Abbott said, not taking his eyes off the road.

‘Yeah. Why?’

‘If we need a rendezvous, there’s a great barbecue restaurant there.’

Vivian rolled her eyes. ‘It’s not always about your stomach, Abbott.’

‘I’m just saying.’

Stephanie cleared her throat. ‘I’m sure the barbecue in Detroit is lovely and I don’t want to be difficult, but if we’re going to be driving for five hours, I could use something to eat. It’s been a long time since I ate anything other than a cold cheeseburger.’

‘It’s not an unreasonable request,’ Abbott said. ‘Soon as we hit an exit with some fast-food joints, we’ll swing through and get supplies.’

‘I’m sorry, Stephanie,’ Vivian said. ‘I should have been more considerate.’

‘She gets carried away,’ Abbott said. ‘In a good way, I mean. We’ll get you fed and watered, and with luck, we’ll have your boy back in your arms tonight.’

50

The kid had finally gone to sleep. After Pete had slapped him for his whiny crying, he’d screamed a couple of times till it had eventually sunk in that the more he wailed, the more he got hit. He’d stopped crying then and crawled into the furthest corner of his bed, whimpering softly. Pete had stood above him, menacing and dark, not needing to say a word to inculcate wordless terror in the boy.

Then he’d remembered that the little shit would probably piss himself, so he grabbed his arm and dragged him to the half-bath under the eaves. He pulled down the kid’s pants and sat him on the toilet. At first, the boy couldn’t even manage a dribble of piss. But when Pete turned away in disgust, the urine streamed out, smelling strong and hot. The kid wiped himself clumsily and ran back to the bed before Pete could grab him. There, he cowered in the corner, big brown eyes wide and terrified.

Pete locked him in again and went downstairs, where he set his iPad to play a random selection of Peter Gabriel tracks. He lay on the sofa and let the music run over him like a river. When it came to ‘My Body Is a Cage’, he roused himself and sat up, concentrating on how the music was knitted together, figuring out the choices that had gone into the mix and wondering what he might have done differently. At the end of the track, he walked over to the player and searched till he found the Arcade Fire version of the same song. He listened with equal attention, working out why he found the original so much less powerful than the cover.

It would have been good if Stephanie had been there with him. He could have explained to her why small choices made big differences to a recording. But she wasn’t here. It wasn’t acceptable.

He took another beer from the fridge and went to check on the boy again. This time, he was asleep, sprawled across the bed, his thumb in his mouth and his hair matted with sweat. Pete didn’t like the invasion of his space, but it wouldn’t be for long. Then he could concentrate on working things out with Stephanie, restoring his world to its proper state.