Читать книгу Nowhere to Run - Jack Slater - Страница 16

‘Bloody weather.’ Sophie knocked the rain off her hat and replaced it neatly on her head as the lift carried them up to Neil Sanderson’s workplace.

‘Yes. Which is another reason why we need to find Rosie as quick as we can.’ Pete looked up at the row of numbers above the lift doors. Number two lit briefly as they passed that floor. ‘We don’t know where she is or, if someone’s taken her, what conditions she’s being held in. If she’s still being held.’

‘Yeah, but . . . statistically, they reckon we should have another twenty-four hours before . . .’ Her voice trailed off.

‘That’s what the stats say.’ But we all know what they say about stats, he thought, but kept to himself.

The lift stopped with a ping. The doors slid open and they stepped out. Pete showed his badge to the receptionist. Molyneux and Richards was picked out in large, silver lettering on the wall behind her. ‘We’d like to speak to one of the owners, if possible.’

‘Mr Richards is in. I’ll tell him you’re here.’

‘Thank you.’

She picked up the phone and dialled. ‘Mr Richards, there are two police officers here. Can you speak to them?’ She nodded. ‘OK.’ Putting the phone down, she looked up at Pete. ‘He’ll be out in a second.’

Moments later a tall, well-built man in his fifties came through the door to her left, his brown eyes direct as he shook Pete’s hand. ‘Brian Richards. How can I help?’

‘DS Gayle. This is PC Clewes.’ Pete glanced at the girl on the front desk. ‘If we could perhaps go through to your office?’

‘Yes, sure.’ He led the way through a large, open-plan workroom where Pete counted nine staff at a mixture of desks and drawing tables. His office was one of two half-glassed enclosures at the far side. He stepped in and offered them chairs. ‘Now . . .’

‘We’re looking into the disappearance of a young girl,’ Pete said. ‘Her best friend is the daughter of one of your employees, Neil Sanderson. As a known associate, we need to eliminate him from the inquiry, so I was hoping to ask you about him.’

‘OK.’

‘How well do you know him?’

‘Not well, in the sense of spending time together outside the office, but I’ve known him as a colleague for . . . seven years now, I think.’

‘Is there anyone here he does spend time with outside the workplace?’

‘He’s big mates with Tony.’

‘We’ll need a word with Tony then, if that’s OK. But, before that, is there anything you might want to tell us about either of them? Anything you might be aware of that’s in any way irregular?’

‘What, you mean . . . ? No. They’re just two regular guys, as far as I’m aware. They’ve both always been the height of professionalism at work. Both very good at their jobs. There’s never been any hint of anything inappropriate with either of them.’

‘OK. We haven’t spoken to Mr Sanderson yet. We’re just compiling backgrounds and alibis for now. But if you could point him out?’ Pete turned in his chair.

‘There, second from the right.’

‘Dark-haired guy with the blue and yellow check shirt?’

‘That’s right.’

‘And his mate – Tony?’

‘Sitting across from him.’

‘Right. Well, we don’t want to disrupt your day any more than we have to. Is there somewhere we could have a word with Tony?’

‘We have a conference room. Grand title for an office not much bigger than mine, really, but it has a table and a projector with a screen for talking to clients and so on. It’s next door.’

‘That would be perfect.’

‘Right.’ He stood up and went to the door. ‘Tony. Have you got a minute?’

The man looked up, then stood and came towards them. As he stepped into the small office, Richards said, ‘Tony Stillwell, DS Gayle and PC Clewes. They’d like a word if that’s OK. I said you could use the conference room.’

Pete stood up and held out his hand. ‘Nothing to worry about, sir. We just need to ask you a few questions about a friend of yours, that’s all.’

Stillwell’s handshake was tentative. ‘OK.’

Sophie moved to replace her chair in the corner.

‘Don’t worry about that, I’ll get them,’ Richards told her. ‘If you want to take them through, Tony . . .’

‘Uh . . . Yes, sure.’ He led the way back through the studio to the reception and past the receptionist’s desk to the door at the other side of it. ‘Here we are.’

There was a table big enough to seat ten people. A projector on it was aimed towards a screen on the far wall. Stillwell went around to the far side and took a seat, the windows behind him. ‘So, what’s this about?’

‘A young girl went missing yesterday,’ Pete told him. ‘Her best friend is the daughter of a friend of yours, Neil Sanderson, so we need to ask you about him.’

Stillwell relaxed visibly. ‘OK. No problem.’

Pete saw Sophie readying her notebook from the corner of his eye. ‘First, as a matter of protocol, where were you yesterday morning, between eight and nine o’clock?’

‘Me? I was on the way here, I suppose. At least part of that time. I leave home around eight-fifteen, get here about ten to nine, as a rule.’

‘And that was the case yesterday?’

‘Yes.’

‘Can anyone verify that?’

‘Yes, I suppose. I thought you wanted to ask about Neil?’

‘We do, but we have to establish reliability. Who can verify where you were? Do you drive in with someone?’

‘No. My wife saw me off from home. Bridget out there saw me arrive. What do you mean, “reliability”?’

‘And was Mr Sanderson here when you arrived?’

‘Uh . . . No, in fact, he was late yesterday. He didn’t get here until just after nine-thirty. Said he’d had a flat tyre.’

Pete glanced at Sophie, who was writing swiftly.

‘I see. And how well do you know Mr Sanderson?’

‘Pretty well, I guess. We hang out together sometimes. Go to the pub on a Friday night, or bowling. Play five-a-side. The odd barbie.’

‘You know his family, then?’

‘Yes. We were over there on Sunday.’

‘We?’

‘My wife and I.’

‘I see. Who was there, apart from you and your wife?’

‘Neil, Geraldine, Becky, her friend Rosie and her parents, Alistair and Jess. Then there was another couple, Derek and Polly Howe, and their daughter Karen. I think she’s at school with Becky and Rosie. They were off on their own most of the time, of course – the three girls, I mean. And Jerry and Linda Bateman.’

Alistair had included the Howe family on his list, but Pete didn’t recall the Batemans. He wrote the name down, followed by the note: ‘Party Sunday’. ‘How do the Whitlocks know the Batemans?’

‘I think Jerry and Alistair were at school together or something. It goes back a lot of years, anyway.’

‘And Neil and Alistair?’

‘Uni, I think.’

‘OK. And you just know Neil through work, yes?’

‘Yes. We met when I started here five years ago.’

‘And you share a number of interests.’

‘Yes. Look, what’s this all about?’

Pete drew a breath. ‘How’s Neil around Becky and Rosie?’

‘What? Fine. What is this?’

‘The girl who went missing is Rosie Whitlock, Mr Stillwell. You’ve confirmed that Mr Sanderson wasn’t at work at the time. We need to make sure he’s not involved in her disappearance. We’re looking at all known associates of hers and her parents. It’s standard procedure. So I’ll ask again. Have you ever noticed Neil take anything other than a normal interest in Becky or Rosie, or the girls to have any reluctance or excessive keenness to be around him?’

‘No. He has a perfectly normal father–daughter relationship with Becky, as far as I’m aware. Why would you ask these things?’

‘As I said, Mr Stillwell, elimination. OK. I think we’ve taken up enough of your time for now. Sophie, do you want to go with Mr Stillwell and send Mr Sanderson in here?’

He had planned to leave talking to Sanderson until later, when he’d had a chance to corroborate his alibi, but Stillwell’s comments had blown that out of the window. With Sanderson having no alibi, it was essential to talk to him now.

‘OK, Sarge.’ She snapped her notebook closed as Stillwell stood up and headed for the door.

‘And Sophie?’

‘Sarge?’

‘When you’ve sent him here, have a word with Richards. Get any password that might be needed and have a quick shufty through Sanderson’s computer, all right?’

‘Is that legal?’ asked Stillwell.

‘It is, if we’ve got your boss’s permission,’ Pete told him.

As they left the room Pete moved around to the far side of the table then made a few notes while he waited for Sanderson to come through.

He had just finished writing when the door opened and he looked up to see the tall, slim architect enter and close the door behind him.

‘You wanted to see me?’

‘That’s right. Take a seat.’ Pete waited for Sanderson to sit opposite him.

The sun had come out and Sanderson squinted slightly against the brightness although the window was facing west and it was still not yet noon. ‘We’re looking into the disappearance of Rosie Whitlock. We understand you know her.’

‘Yes, of course.’

‘Where were you between eight-fifteen and eight-forty yesterday morning?’

‘Uh . . . On my way here. I was late getting in because I had a flat tyre. Why?’

‘Where exactly did you get this flat?’

‘Between Marsh Green and the airport. We live at West Hill.’

‘So, a minor road with very little traffic.’

‘That’s the idea. Better for getting here in the rush hour.’

‘Did anyone see you while you were dealing with your flat tyre?’

‘As you said, it’s a minor road with not a lot of traffic. So, no, I don’t think so.’

Pete pursed his lips. ‘Anybody see you leave your house?’

‘Why? Am I a suspect here?’

‘Everybody who knows Rosie is a suspect until we eliminate them. Did anyone see you leave home?’

‘No. My wife leaves before I do.’

‘So you have no one to corroborate your whereabouts from – what time did your wife leave the house?’

‘Eight.’

‘From eight o’clock to nine-thirty-ish, when you arrived here, then?’

‘I suppose. But that doesn’t mean I had anything to do with whatever happened to Rosie. What did happen, anyway? Alistair couldn’t tell me much last night when he rang.’

‘What’s your relationship like with her? I understand she’s your daughter’s best friend.’

‘What’s my . . . ? Wait a minute. What is this? It sounds like you’re accusing me of being some sort of paedophile.’

His answers were all perfectly reasonable but, with the victim being his daughter’s best friend, he had been just a bit too offhand until the last question. Pete decided to push him a bit, now the opportunity had arisen. ‘Not at all. But she is a pretty girl. And they grow up fast, don’t they? Look sixteen when they’re thirteen, given half a chance. And the fashions these days . . .’

Something flickered in Sanderson’s eyes then he frowned sharply. ‘You must have me confused with someone else, Sergeant. I’m certainly not attracted to my daughter’s friends.’ He rubbed at his cheek. ‘I’m a married man. A happily married one, in fact. Ask my wife.’

Pete nodded. We will, he thought. And your daughter, if needs be. ‘OK,’ he said.

The door opened and Sophie entered. She gave him a slight shake of the head. Nothing untoward on Sanderson’s computer. Not that Pete had expected anything on a work machine, but you never knew. Sanderson watched her move around the table and sit down next to Pete. Pete could see the question in his eyes. ‘Right then,’ he said. ‘I understand my colleague spoke to you yesterday evening, asking for your permission to check your daughter’s computer, her emails and so forth, to see if there’s anything in there that might point towards any problems Rosie might have been having.’

‘Yes, and I gave it.’

‘Your wife just works mornings, yes?’

‘Yes, but . . .’ He shrugged and straightened his collar. ‘If it’s all the same to you, I’d like to be there when you check. I’m not really comfortable with strangers being in my house when I’m not.’

Pete grimaced. ‘Have you got a number for your wife?’

‘Of course.’ Sanderson reeled off the number and Pete wrote it down then clicked his pen shut and stood up.

‘OK. Thank you for your time, Mr Sanderson. We must crack on now. Time is of the essence in cases like this. Come on, Sophie.’ He ushered her quickly out of the room and towards the lifts.

Once the doors had closed behind them, she turned to him with a frown. ‘What was that all about? You were out of there like a cat with a banger up its arse.’

‘He’s got no alibi for the time in question, he had plenty of time to get to Risingbrook and snatch the girl. And there was something not right about his reaction when I mentioned girls her age and the way they dress. So, I want to talk to his wife before he can and get her to let us in and check out both the daughter’s computer and his. What time is it?’

‘Ten to eleven.’

‘So, if she finishes at twelve-thirty – give her an hour to get home – we’ve got a couple of hours to get there and be ready for her.’