The Vanishing Point

1

Heathrow Airport, London, three days later

Stephanie hauled her two suitcases off the luggage carousel and dragged herself towards the ‘Nothing to Declare’ channel. She was about to enter when a man in a suit stepped in front of her. ‘Miss Harker? Miss Stephanie Harker?’

Not again. Not now. ‘Yes, that’s me,’ she said, almost too worn down to speak.

‘If you’d like to come this way?’ He gestured back towards the baggage hall.

‘Who are you?’

‘I’m with the immigration service. If you’d follow me?’

‘Do I have a choice?’ It wasn’t a challenge, merely a token and he knew it. Stephanie turned and followed him through a door into another airport back corridor. It was an environment that made her feel like throwing up. All those hours with Vivian McKuras, and for what? Embarrassment all round and a triumphant Pete Matthews crowing about the figure he was going to sue the FBI for.

The man opened a door and stepped back, indicating that she should enter. And for the first time in days, Stephanie’s spirits lifted a fraction. For it wasn’t a stranger sitting at the table in the interview room. It was Nick Nicolaides, and when she walked in, he sprang to his feet and pulled her into a tight embrace, his hand stroking her back in a timeless gesture of comfort. He leaned his head on top of hers and said, ‘I’m sorry, love. Sorry for your pain, sorry for Jimmy, sorry you had to go through it all by yourself.’

Stephanie closed her eyes and drank in the very particular smell of him. Even fresh from the shower, Nick smelled like himself. It was comfort beyond measure. For three days, she’d had nothing to anchor her to her life, only a deepening sense of misery faultlined with crisis and disaster. ‘Thank you,’ she mumbled.

They stood wrapped around each other, not speaking, for as long as it took. Then Stephanie gently tapped on his shoulder and they moved a little apart, holding hands as if they couldn’t quite let go of each other. ‘Thanks for coming to meet me,’ she said.

‘I told my boss you needed a police escort, and he agreed with me.’

She gave a dry laugh that had no mirth in it. ‘Good line.’

Nick stretched his face in a grimace. ‘It’s not just a line, Steph. There’s a media mob out there with your name on it. No reason why you would know, but Jimmy’s abduction has been the only show in town for the last three news cycles. And everybody wants your story on how it happened. So I’m here to take you out the back way.’

She groaned and leaned her head against his chest again. ‘I suppose that means I can’t go home either?’

‘Not unless you want to be doorstepped from dawn till dusk.’ He half-turned his head as if he didn’t want to meet her eyes. ‘You could stay at my flat. You’d be very welcome. And if you wanted to be alone, I could bunk down with a mate.’

This time there was warmth in her smile. Nick’s bachelor flat was far from ideal for two, but that was the least of her worries. ‘There’s nowhere I’d rather be. And I don’t want to be alone, thanks all the same. I’ve had enough of feeling isolated these last three days to last me a lifetime.’

‘Sorted, then. Come on, time to get moving. We can talk in the car.’

Ten minutes later, they were heading for London without any discernible tail. ‘I bet it’s been like a rat’s nest over there, everybody looking for somebody else to bite,’ Nick said.

‘I think part of the problem is that there isn’t anybody to bite. It was nobody’s fault, not really. Just a bizarre coincidence.’ So bizarre it had taken hours to sort out. Hours of Pete screaming that he wasn’t a paedophile, that the kid was not his son, that he was just a fucking babysitter. Even though he was at the other end of the hallway in the FBI Detroit office, she could hear him bellowing like a baited bull.

The story, when it emerged finally, was stupidly straightforward. While he’d been in Detroit, Pete had taken up with Maribel, the day receptionist at South Detroit Sounds. When they spent the night together it was usually at her place because it was easier for her than finding overnight care for her six-year-old son Luis. But her mother up in Traverse City had been rushed into hospital with a suspected stroke and Maribel had turned to Pete for help. She hadn’t given him the chance to say no, simply handed him the kid and the keys. Pete had decided to go back to his own place, which had a better TV and music system and where he could bed Luis down in the spare room. Hence the report of a crying child and the two bodies on the thermal image screen.

The following day had consisted of an endless rehash of what had gone wrong. And of course the media got hold of the abortive raid and ran it as the day’s bleakly comic item. In the midst of it all, Stephanie kept telling anyone who would listen that they needed to redouble their efforts to find Jimmy. When Vivian managed to escape the inquest, she assured Stephanie that efforts were continuing but that they had no leads.

‘We now know the kidnapper flew to O’Hare from Atlanta. But that’s another major hub airport. He could have come from anywhere. And if he doesn’t try to take the kid out of the US, they can just disappear.’ Vivian looked harried and haunted. Probably by the ghost of her career, Stephanie thought.

They’d sat down to look at the CCTV footage that had been isolated of the bearded man who had become the fake TSA officer. Stephanie had no idea who he might be. ‘He could be anybody behind that beard,’ she complained.

‘What about the way he walks? It looks like he has a limp to me.’

Stephanie shook her head. She’d spent months in physiotherapy after her accident, trying to walk properly again. She knew the difference between real and fake when it came to leg injury. ‘He’s putting that on to hide his own gait. It’s not consistent. See, there? Look, he dodges out of the way of that little girl running down the concourse and he forgets himself. He recovers almost immediately, but I think he’s only pretending to have a limp.’

And that was how they’d left it. No further forward, waiting to see if any of the calls to the Amber Alert hotline panned out. They hadn’t wanted her to leave the US, but Vivian told her how Nick had fought Steph’s corner with her boss. The bottom line he kept returning to was that Stephanie was a victim first and foremost. That she was a respectable citizen who would happily return to a US court to testify in any future trial. When the chips were down, they had no reason to hold her, and unless they were going to send her to Guantanamo Bay, they’d better put her on a plane home. There had been impish pleasure in Vivian’s eyes when she mentioned Nick playing the Guantanamo card. Stephanie formed the distinct impression Vivian wasn’t in love with the concept of legally questionable detention.

So here she was, feeling curiously bereft in spite of the fact that she’d only had Jimmy in her care for nine months. Not even long enough to complete the adoption process. Her next interview with the social worker would be interesting. ‘Sorry, I seem to have mislaid the kid . . . ’

‘There is one silver lining,’ Stephanie said.

‘Really? I’m impressed that even an optimist like you can find anything good in this mess,’ Nick said.

‘I think Pete’s finally decided chasing me is more trouble than it’s worth.’

Even in profile he looked sceptical. ‘I hope you can still say that in six months’ time.’

Nick had filled his fridge with fruit, salads, cheese and cold meat. The bread bin was stacked with ciabatta rolls, bagels and croissants. And Stephanie knew there would be as much good coffee as she could possibly want. Food and drink were, apart from guitars and gigs, his only extravagances. But what she wanted more than brunch was a long hot shower. The FBI had installed her in a safe house that Stephanie reckoned was as much about keeping her under surveillance as protection. It wasn’t conducive to anything other than quick showers hunched over like a self-conscious teenager after school swimming class.

When she emerged, she felt almost normal. Nick had set out a selection of food and she made herself a ciabatta sandwich with hummus, corn salad and sun-dried tomatoes. Armed with food and coffee, they sat on opposite sides of the breakfast bar. There wasn’t anywhere else to eat in the flat; the living room, with its stunning view over Paddington Basin and west London, was only comfortable if you were a guitar. Or a guitarist.

‘What’s happening now? Are you still working with the FBI?’

Nick blew out a stream of coffee-scented air. ‘In theory, yes. But they’re not very impressed with the standard of our intel.’ His smile was wry.

‘It wasn’t your fault.’

‘No, but we’re far enough away to be a useful scapegoat. They’re not sharing much with us except outcomes. So, all the tips to the hotline that don’t pan out – they tell us about those. Active leads, nada.’

‘Maybe they don’t have any active leads. Without communication from the kidnappers, they wouldn’t have much to go on.’ Her own words struck cold in her heart. She pushed her sandwich away, no longer hungry.

‘I did get a message from Vivian, asking if we could check our databases for the name he flew under. He used the alias William Jacobs, but they don’t have any record of the ID he used to travel. The name doesn’t ring any bells with them or with us. Which means it’s another dead end.’ Nick took a bite of a bagel with peanut butter and cream cheese and chewed so hard she could see the muscles in his jaw working.

‘Is there anything I can do to help?’

‘Technically, there’s nothing any of us over here can do, unless we’re asked directly for international cooperation.’

‘Even though Jimmy’s a British citizen?’ With Nick, Stephanie didn’t have to hold back on letting her indignation show.

‘It’s a difficult one. We can offer support, which we have done, but unless they ask us, we can’t interfere in somebody else’s jurisdiction.’

‘If it was your case, what would you do?’

Nick pushed his hair back from his forehead and thought for a moment. ‘I’d go back to the crime itself and strip away all the externals and ask myself what actually happened.’

‘What do you mean?’

‘Leave aside all the emotional stuff that a child abduction generates. Disregard everything except the offence itself.’

‘I’m still not sure I understand.’

Nick looked over her head while he figured out how to explain himself. She remembered that one of the things she really liked about him was that he didn’t use his intelligence to browbeat her or make her feel stupid. He wanted to share. Not to dominate. ‘Maybe it’s best if I talk you through the process. What happened here? A child was kidnapped. Was this a spur-of- the-moment crime, an opportunist act?’

‘No, obviously not.’ Stephanie resigned herself to the role of doltish sidekick.

‘Was it planned, but random? In other words, did the kidnapper know what he planned to do, but not specifically who he was going to target?’

Stephanie frowned. ‘That’s a more difficult one to answer.’

‘But I think we can get to an answer. The middle of the day is far from the busiest time at a major airport. There are fewer travellers, so there’s more chance of our fake TSA guy being spotted by the real thing. Of those fewer travellers, I don’t imagine too many of them are adults travelling with young children. Which means relatively few targets. When you factor in the percentage of those adults likely to set off the metal detector, the number shrinks further. If you were going for a random kid, there are far better choices he could have made. Plus, he flew in from Atlanta. Which, as I understand it, is almost as busy an airport as O’Hare. Why travel to achieve something you could do just as well at the place you started from?’ He chinked his cup against hers, pleased with his demonstration of logic.

‘It wasn’t random.’

‘And if it wasn’t random, it was specifically targeted at capturing Jimmy or causing you pain. Which we will come back to in a moment. Before that, I need to figure out who knew your travel plans.’

Stephanie looked startled. ‘Nobody knew the details. I mean, there were people who knew I was going on holiday, and the dates. But not things like times and flight numbers.’

‘OK. So who knew you were going away?’

‘Maggie, of course. My lawyer, because I had to have the right paperwork for the court to allow me to take Jimmy out of the country. My pub quiz team, my book club.’

‘And me,’ Nick reminded her.

‘Oh yeah. Obviously, you are in the pay of this gang of international kidnappers.’ Stephanie giggled. ‘It’s all been part of your evil plot, getting me into your bed.’

‘Took you long enough to figure that out. But joking apart. Any of those people could have told someone else.’

‘But why would you? It’s not likely my pub quiz team are dying to find some dodgy character they can sidle up to and go, “Stephanie Harker’s taking her kid to America a week on Monday,” is it?’

‘If you were trying to find an opportunity to kidnap Jimmy, you might well choose to befriend someone in that position. Or you might join the pub quiz with a team of your own.’

Stephanie sighed. ‘It’s all very far-fetched. And if you wanted Jimmy that badly, why not snatch him here in the UK? I’m sure there must be opportunities in the school playground, or when I’m at the park with him. Why make it so complicated?’

Nick scratched his chin. ‘That’s an interesting question too. And I don’t have an answer.’

‘I might,’ Stephanie said slowly. ‘You don’t really move in the same world I do, so it wouldn’t necessarily occur to you. But most of my clients inhabit a world where they get recognised all the time. In the supermarket. Walking down the street. At the leisure club. If the kidnapper has any kind of public profile, it would make sense to go for Jimmy when he’s out of the UK.’

Nick grinned. ‘Brilliant! That makes total sense. You’re right, it would have taken me a long time to get that. So let’s keep that in the back of our minds. But just backtracking a moment – how did you organise your travel plans?’

‘I booked the flights direct with the airline, I organised the accommodation through an owners’ rental website recommended by Maggie, and the car hire I did on the 24/7 website.’

‘Where you gave them details of your incoming flight?’

‘Only the one from Chicago.’

Nick nodded impatiently. ‘But for someone who knows you’re coming from the UK, it’s not hard to work out roughly when you’d be going through security for that onward flight. Have you got an account at 24/7?’

‘Yeah, I’ve had it for ever. I use it all the time. It’s brilliant for weekend trips. We should do that one of these days.’ She could feel herself blushing. This relationship still felt new enough for it to be novel for her to suggest the kind of activities that went hand in hand with commitment.

‘I’d like that. But am I right in thinking pretty much anyone in your circle would know you use them?’

‘I suppose. I never gave it much thought.’

‘And what’s your password?’

‘Dignan97. That was the first ghosting job I did, and the year I did it.’

‘And pretty much anyone in your circle could figure that out.’ He bit into his sandwich fiercely.

A sense of unease made Stephanie uncomfortable. ‘Nobody I know would be involved in this,’ she said.

‘You thought Pete might be,’ Nick said through a mouthful of bagel.

There was a long silence. ‘I don’t make a habit of creating enemies,’ Stephanie said. ‘Apart from Pete, I can’t think of anybody I’ve pissed off in the sort of way that would provoke this kind of response. I mean, when I annoy someone, it’s usually because I’ve said no to a project. And that’s just business,’ she added, upset that Nick could imagine her life as a landscape studded with angry, vengeful people.

‘I don’t mean to suggest that you go around hurting people,’ he said. ‘But there are a lot of fucked-up minds out there. Weirdos who look at the world differently to the rest of us. Who see slights and insults everywhere. It’s not impossible that somebody like that has found their way into the fringes of your life.’

Stephanie sighed. ‘That’s a horrible thought. I don’t want to start looking at my friends like they’re suspects in a major crime.’

‘Nobody does. But somebody did this, Steph. Somebody has taken Jimmy. And I think there’s still every chance we can get him back alive. Here’s another silver lining for you. Because this was targeted and not random, I think it’s very unlikely that Jimmy’s been taken by a paedophile killer. For those people, any kid will do. For whoever took Jimmy, his identity was important.’

‘That’s why I wondered about Megan the Stalker. I know you said she’s out of the picture, but there must have been other nutters obsessed with Scarlett that we don’t know about.’

‘Which is why I’m interested in people who are relatively new to your circle,’ Nick said. ‘If they saw Jimmy as the continuation of Scarlett, if they saw you as the way to Jimmy, they could have hacked your 24/7 account and found out the details of your trip weeks in advance. Plenty of time to get their ducks in a row.’

Stephanie got up and refilled her coffee. ‘I hate the very idea of this. That you think someone has wormed their way into our lives just to steal Jimmy away . . . it’s vile, Nick.’

He couldn’t meet her eyes when she sat down again. She imagined he knew too much about what human beings were capable of, that this plugged into all his worst nightmares. ‘It is vile. Who else besides you would know of anyone who had an unhealthy interest in Scarlett or Jimmy?’

‘Marina would be the obvious one. She looked after Jimmy from the start. Scarlett relied on her for everything practical. She was effectively the housekeeper.’ Stephanie absently picked up her sandwich and took a bite. ‘And Leanne, I suppose.’

Nick frowned. ‘Remind me about Leanne. I don’t think I ever heard the full story.’

So Stephanie told him. The body double, the loose lips, the exile to Spain, the final argument over Jimmy and the refusal to embrace hypocrisy to come to the funeral. Nick listened attentively. Then he spoke in careful, measured tones. ‘You’re telling me she thought she should have custody of Jimmy?’

‘I don’t think she meant it,’ Stephanie said. ‘In that respect, she was like Chrissie and Jade. She saw it as a way to get her hands on Scarlett’s money. She already had the house and the business, but she wanted more. She loved her life in Spain, and having a kid would have seriously cramped her style. Both work and play.’

‘All the same, we should check her out. Have you got contact details?’

Stephanie nodded. ‘I haven’t spoken to her since she stormed back to Spain, but I don’t expect she’s moved. She had the perfect set-up there.’

Nick looked slightly worried. ‘You didn’t call her when Scarlett died? You didn’t ask her to come to the funeral?’

‘It was Simon who spoke to her. I meant to give her a ring, but everything was too chaotic, I never got round to it. I had a Christmas card from her, though. She said she was having a good time and that we should come and visit.’

Nick nodded slowly. ‘You know what, Steph? I think you and me could really use a weekend break in Spain.’

She could see the way his mind was working and, though it made her uncomfortable, she couldn’t blame him. Once he met Leanne for himself, he’d see that organising a subtle and complex abduction simply wasn’t her style.

Of course he would.