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get from her?’

      ‘You were right. She doesn’t like her brother-in-law. He’s way too familiar for her taste – with her and with Rosie – but she’s not aware of any signs of actual abuse, from him or from anyone else. And, as a teacher, she should know what to look for.’

      ‘Yes, but is she being honest? With us or with herself?’

      Jane shrugged. ‘I suppose she could be in denial because it’s easier that way.’

      ‘Regardless of what she says, we’ve got to check everyone out for ourselves. Friends, family, colleagues, the lot. I’d better phone Lou. Tell her I’m going to be late.’

      ‘You already are, boss. You should have been home forty minutes ago.’

      ‘Shit.’ He pulled his mobile from his pocket, called up his home phone and hit ‘dial’.

      ‘Hello?’

      ‘Lou? It’s me. Sorry, love, I’m running a bit late. We had a case come in about twenty minutes before I was due to knock off. The kind of thing I can’t just leave to the morning.’

      ‘Why’s it got to be yours?’

      ‘Everybody else has got a full caseload. I’m just back, so mine’s empty. Simple as that.’ He shot Jane a glance that told her to keep her raised eyebrow to herself.

      He heard Louise sigh on the other end of the phone. ‘All right.’

      ‘I’ll bring fish and chips, how’s that?’

      ‘We’ll see you when we do then.’

      ‘I shan’t be too late.’ He ended the call and looked across at Jane.

      ‘None of my business, boss.’ She shrugged.

      ‘That’s right. But, no, I’m not deliberately trying to stay away from home. This does need sorting. And she wouldn’t understand that, in the circumstances, so I just tried to make both our lives easier, all right?’

      ‘So, where do we start?’

      ‘We need to speak to this Becky Sanderson and do background checks on the people Alistair Whitlock’s given us. Also, we need to check Jessica’s route from home to the school for CCTV cameras, get the call log on Rosie’s phone and see if we can get into her laptop. Then we see who we can get hold of and go from there.’

      *

      ‘We’re in a barn in the middle of bloody nowhere. And what’s going on is some sicko bastard and his sidekick have snatched us and put us here, to play with as they feel like.’

      ‘But . . .’ The girl paused. ‘You mean . . .’

      ‘Yeah. Bloody paedos.’ Lauren shuddered. ‘Perverts.’

      ‘What’s your name?’ The girl was well spoken, almost posh sounding.

      ‘Lauren Carter. What’s yours?’

      ‘Rosie. Rosie Whitlock. How old are you?’

      ‘Ten last month. You?’

      ‘Thirteen.’

      ‘Well, thanks again for getting that bloody gag out of my mouth. I bloody near choked on it.’ She felt the damp material hanging around her neck like a cowboy’s bandana.

      ‘That’s all right. Thanks for helping with mine.’

      ‘So, what now?’

      ‘What do you mean?’

      ‘Well, we’ve got to get out of here, haven’t we? I mean, for one thing, they’re not going to like it that we’ve got our gags off. Plus, if we stay put, they’re going to . . . Well, you know what they’re going to do.’

      ‘Oh God!’

      ‘Yeah, where’s he when you need him?’

      *

      Pete handed Rosie Whitlock’s laptop to Dave Miles.

      ‘Here, see if you can get into that, will you?’ He sat down at his desk. ‘Jane, you get hold of Becky Sanderson. Find out what she’s got to say about Rosie. Is Colin still in?’ He directed the question to Dave.

      ‘No, he’s gone off home.’

      ‘What about Fast-track Phil?’

      ‘In his office.’

      ‘He would be, wouldn’t he? OK, I’ll go and have a word.’ He got up and headed for Adam Silverstone’s office, going via the corridor, rather than through the DI’s office. He knocked sharply on the door.

      ‘Come.’

      He stepped in. Silverstone was behind his desk, a file open in front of him. ‘Ah, Peter. What have we got?’

      He closed the file as Pete shut the door and stood opposite him.

      ‘A thirteen-year-old girl, the mother a junior school teacher, father a corporate lawyer, disappeared from outside her school. Bearing in mind their address in St Leonard’s and the school she goes to, which is Risingbrook, we have to at least consider the possibility of a kidnap, although there’s been no contact as yet, according to the parents.’

      ‘And you believe them?’

      ‘Yes, sir.’

      ‘So we need to get a team in there for the night and perhaps tomorrow. Phone taps on landline and mobiles so that we can trace any callers.’

      ‘Yes, sir.’

      ‘I take it you’ve got their permission for all that?’

      ‘Sir.’ Pete nodded.

      ‘I’ll get on to HQ and set it up then. Perhaps Jane can go with the team, to introduce them. I’ll also get on to the press office, get them to hold off until we’ve established a few of the facts. And you’re following up other leads, I take it?’

      ‘Friends and family. Local paedophiles. Possible contacts on her mobile and computer. Considering the time of day, there’s only so much we can do immediately, of course. But, come morning, we can look for possible witnesses and so on. Go down to the school and interview parents, teachers and pupils.’

      ‘Quite. Carry on, then, Peter. And let me know if you need more manpower. As I said, we have to give this top priority.’

      ‘Sir.’

      Silverstone was lifting his phone as Pete turned to leave.

      Back at his desk, he saw that Dave was working on Rosie’s laptop. ‘Any joy yet, Dave?’

      ‘Not yet. I got on to her mobile phone provider, though, got her call log. Nothing out of the ordinary on it. No calls from unusual numbers. And I had it pinged to get its location, but it’s not just off, it’s completely dead.’

      So, the battery and/or SIM card had been removed. Someone wasn’t stupid, Pete thought. If this was an abduction, that was not a good sign. And how many thirteen-year-olds knew that you had to take the battery out of a phone to prevent it giving away its location, even if it was turned off? ‘I don’t like that. Not at all. I’ll get onto the PND and see what I can find out about the people on Alistair’s list.’ He fired up his computer and logged into the Police National Database. With Alistair Whitlock’s list at his elbow, he began to search.

      First Jason Whitlock then Michael Gibbons came up clean. No criminal record or known associations on either. He looked up. ‘Jane, have you got the names of Becky Sanderson’s parents there?’

      She put a hand over her phone. ‘Neil and Geraldine.’ She returned her attention to the person on the other end of the line. ‘Sorry about that. You were saying . . . ?’

      Pete typed Neil Sanderson into the computer. The screen flashed up.

      ‘Hello.’

      ‘Thank

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