All the Rage

Adam Fawley
4 April 2018
16.25

As soon as I get into the incident room I can tell they have something. The way Somer and Baxter turn to look at me. The expressions on their faces.

`˜Have we heard from Leeds?'

`˜Not yet, sir,' says Somer. `˜But I did find something at the Blake house.'

It's on the table in front of her. In an evidence bag.

A packet of condoms.

A packet that's already half used.

`˜It was taped to the underside of Sasha's bed,' says Somer. `˜Her friends were right `“ she was seeing someone. And no wonder she didn't want her mother to know.'

`˜OK, so now we know what she was doing `“ are we any closer to knowing who she was doing it with?'

Somer shakes her head. `˜If she kept any sort of diary I didn't find it in the room. But there were lots of pens and pencils in a jam jar, so I suspect she probably did have something like that, only she's got it with her.'

`˜What about notebooks? Exercise books, something like that? I remember the girls at my school doodling love hearts with boys' names in all the time. Don't girls still do that?'

Somer smiles, almost despite herself. `˜Well, I did. But I couldn't find anything like that, I'm afraid.'

`˜There isn't anything on social media,' interjects Baxter. `˜I can tell you that for nothing.'

`˜Did Mrs Blake give us permission to look at the laptop?'

Somer nods. `˜But she doesn't have any idea what the password might be.'

Baxter sighs heavily and reaches for the machine. `˜OK, punk. Make my day.'

* * *

Sergeant Karen Bonnett straightens her uniform and reaches for the doorbell. This wasn't exactly what she had planned for today, but it beats shoplifting. Or school liaison. Or Traffic. Everyone hates Traffic. She can hear PC Mansour behind her, scraping his shoes on the concrete as he shifts from one foot to the other. He's only just out of training and she's prepared to bet he hasn't done anything like this before.

`˜Don't fidget,' she hisses. `˜Makes us look like amateurs.'

The noises stop at once. But there's much more noise, now, from the other side of the door. A baby crying. Full throttle.

The door opens slowly and a woman in track pants and a black T-shirt peers out at them. She has a red-faced baby wedged against her shoulder and she's rubbing its back with that desperate automatic gesture all new mothers develop. Bonnett should know; she's had four of her own. This girl is pretty in a wrung-out and sleepless sort of way, but she can't be more than twenty-five. At least twenty years younger than Jonathan Blake, who is presumably the father of the baby. Yet another second-time-arounder, thinks Bonnett. Yet another middle-aged bloke who's walked out on his past-her-sell-by-date wife for a twenty-something upgrade and a shiny new family to match.

`˜What do you want?'

`˜Ms Barrow? Rachel Barrow? Sergeant Karen Bonnett. Can we come in for a moment?'

The woman's eyes widen. `˜What is it? Is it Jon `“ has he been in an accident?'

`˜Nothing like that. No need for you to worry. We just need a quick word.'

The woman steps forward and glances up and down the road. A couple of passers-by have stopped on the other side of the street and are watching with undisguised interest.

`˜OK,' she says quickly. `˜But just for a minute. I need to do the four o'clock feed.'

The sitting room has that trying-to-maintain-some-sort-of-order-despite-the-baby devastation Bonnett's seen so many times before. The biscuit-coloured sofas aren't going to last the course, that's for sure. And the cream satin cushions are already jostling with a bag of nappies, a packet of baby wipes and a discarded yellow and white Babygro. But give the girl credit; at least she's trying.

Mansour takes a seat without being asked and Bonnett flashes him a look which he doesn't see, largely because he's too busy eyeing up the plasma TV. Bonnett sighs. But when she tries to get Rachel to join her in a complicit smile she doesn't get a response.

`˜Can you tell me what this is about?'

`˜It's about Sasha,' says Bonnett. `˜Your partner's daughter.'

Rachel frowns. `˜What about her?'

They call Bonnett `˜Cawood' at the nick, after the Sarah Lancashire character in Happy Valley. And there's no question there's a resemblance. It's not just the hair `“ though the blonde definitely helps `“ it's all of it: the resilience, the shrewdness, the stand-your-ground-and-speak-your-mind.

`˜Is she here, Ms Barrow?'

`˜What do you mean `њis she here`ќ?' says Rachel. `˜Of course she's not here. I haven't even met her.'

Bonnett looks round the room. `˜But Mr Blake has, hasn't he? Recently, I mean.'

`˜I don't see how you `“'

`˜The pictures, Ms Barrow. That one over there, for a start `“ in the silver frame. That's Sasha, isn't it? Even from this distance I can tell that's not a toddler.'

The woman hoists the baby a little higher. `˜Why shouldn't he have a picture of her? It's not some sort of secret. We talked about it. Jon wanted to see her. He said they'd been kept apart for too long.'

`˜Why now, suddenly? After all these years?'

`˜It was the baby. Jon thought we should try to be a proper family. That it wasn't fair that Sasha didn't even know she has a brother. Especially now she's old enough to make her own choices.'

`˜Where's Mr Blake now, Ms Barrow?'

She flushes a little. `˜Down south. Berkshire. He's the sales manager for a pharmaceutical company. And you still haven't told me what this is about.'

`˜Sasha Blake is missing. And given she's been in recent contact with her father, Thames Valley Police asked us to check the premises to see if she's here.'

The woman's eyes widen and her grip on her baby tightens. The child starts to wail again.

`˜So could we do that, Ms Barrow? Check the house? For tidiness' sake?'

The woman hesitates a moment, then nods.

Bonnett gives Mansour a meaningful look and he gets hurriedly to his feet and goes back out into the hall. A moment later they hear his footsteps on the stairs.

`˜He won't find anything,' says Rachel firmly. `˜I told you `“ she's not here. She's never even visited. Jon met her in Oxford.'

`˜You just said Mr Blake is in Berkshire. That's not so far from Oxford. Was he intending to contact Sasha? Perhaps try and see her?'

Rachel flushes again. `˜Actually, he did say something about that, but I don't know if it came to anything. You'd have to ask him.'

`˜We've been trying,' says Bonnett drily. `˜But the number his office gave us appears to be off.'

Rachel reaches over and picks up a mobile from the coffee table. `˜I've had mine on mute,' she says, staring at the screen. `˜I was trying to get the baby down.' She looks up. `˜There's nothing from Jon but there are four missed calls from his mum. You spoke to her as well?'

`˜I'm afraid we had to `“ we needed Mr Blake's address.'

Rachel sighs. `˜And now she'll be on my case all afternoon.'

`˜Have you had any sort of contact with Mr Blake today?'

Rachel shakes her head. `˜He said he had a meeting all morning and to leave him an email if I needed anything. I can call him again now, if you like.'

`˜No, no,' says Bonnett quickly. `˜I'd rather you didn't do that. We'll make contact ourselves. You don't happen to know which company the meeting is with, do you?'

`˜It's Dexter Masterson. They're a private hospital group based in Reading. I can find their number `“ it's how Jon and I met `“ we worked together `“'

I bet you did, thinks Bonnett. `˜That's fine, Ms Barrow,' she says with a thin smile. `˜Don't you worry. We'll take it from here.'

* * *

`˜How are you doing?'

Gis is at the door of the Summertown High secretary's office, where Everett has taken up temporary residence. A line of girls has been trooping in and out to see her all day, and it's starting to feel rather like a confessional box. Not that anyone has anything to confess. The information Ev's collected isn't likely to help them much either. As far as her peers are concerned Sasha Blake is `˜really nice' and `˜smart but cool, you know?' She's `˜really pretty' and `˜everyone wants to look like her' and she's `˜really popular, specially with the boys', but no one could name an actual boyfriend, or at least not one at school. Which, given the fact that Isabel and Patsie don't know his name either, is hardly a surprise. In short, everyone seems to like Sasha, but no one has any idea where she might be.

Everett looks up at Gis and sighs. `˜I've ticked a lot of boxes, but I haven't got anything else to put in them. What about you?'

Gis shrugs. `˜Not much better. None of the teachers thought she had a boyfriend either, and I've spoken to all of them except one, who's gone home with a migraine, but we can catch them tomorrow.'

`˜Tomorrow?'

`˜Yeah, just got a call from Baxter. We're going to Reading. To see Jonathan Blake.'

* * *

`˜I've just had Jonathan's bloody mother on the phone asking me what's happened to Sasha `“ like it's all my fault. Why the hell didn't someone tell me you were going to call her?'

Somer bites her lip. `˜I'm really sorry, Fiona,' she says, holding the phone a little closer. `˜It wasn't actually us who spoke to your mother-in-law, it was West Yorkshire Police.'

But that's no excuse; they should have realized that might happen. And right now, Fiona Blake needs to trust the police, not think they're causing trouble for her behind her back. Baxter catches Somer's eye and she makes a face: Looks like we dropped the ball.

`˜I believe West Yorkshire had to speak to his mother to get his address `“ he doesn't currently own a property in his own name `“'

`˜Presumably because he's sponging off that bloody woman, whoever she is. I bet she's younger than him `“ I'm right, aren't I `“'

`˜I'm afraid I'm not able to `“'

`˜I'll kill him `“ if he's taken Sasha after all these years not even acknowledging she exists, I swear, I'll bloody kill him `“'

Somer takes a deep breath. She's trying not to let on that Sasha's already seen her father, because that's the last thing Fiona Blake needs to hear right now. Or perhaps the second last.

`˜She's not there, Mrs Blake.'

`˜What `“?'

`˜She's not there. West Yorkshire searched the house. Mr Blake wasn't there either.'

`˜So where the bloody hell is he? He's got her, hasn't he `“ he's abducted her `“'

`˜There is absolutely nothing to suggest that. Mr Blake was at a business meeting in Reading this morning. We've confirmed with the company concerned that he did, in fact, attend that meeting, and we have two officers on their way there right now to speak to him.'

She can hear the woman's ragged breathing, can imagine the pain in her chest, the rawness in her throat.

`˜Mrs Blake `“ Fiona `“ I know this is easy for me to say, but please do try to stay calm. When Sasha gets back she's going to need you. She'll need you to be strong.'

Fiona takes a deep breath. `˜OK. But you'll call me? As soon as you've spoken to Jonathan?'

`˜Of course. Of course I will.'

* * *

Even though the Dexter Masterson reception is crowded, Gislingham and Everett don't need to ask the woman on the desk to point out Jonathan Blake. The man is on his feet and in their faces before the revolving door has even closed behind them.

`˜I've been sat here over three hours. What the hell's all this about?'

Gis glances round, and steers Blake to an empty sofa in the far corner. He's wearing a slim-cut grey suit, a white shirt and a pale silk tie, along with just a hint of stubble. Trying a bit too hard, aren't you, mate, thinks Gislingham, who, like Karen Bonnett, has seen this type before.

`˜Let's just sit down, shall we, Mr Blake? Shall I get you a glass of water?'

`˜I don't need a bloody glass of water. I want to know what's going on. Do you have any idea how embarrassing it is to be told by a client that you need to stay in their building because the police want to talk to you?'

`˜Sorry about that, Mr Blake,' says Gislingham, who doesn't look sorry at all. `˜I can have a word with them if you like.'

`˜No thanks. You've done quite enough damage already.'

Gis takes a deep breath. `˜It's about your daughter, Mr Blake. I'm afraid she's gone missing.'

Blake gapes at him. `˜What? Sasha's gone missing? When was this?'

`˜Last night, around ten. She was last seen getting off a bus at the bottom of Windermere Avenue.'

`˜Why the fuck wasn't I told about this before?'

`˜She wasn't reported missing till this morning,' says Everett. `˜And it's taken since then to track you down.'

Blake has gone white. He's staring at the floor now. The two officers exchange a glance and Everett raises an eyebrow.

`˜Apparently Sasha was due to stay over at her friend's last night,' continues Gislingham. `˜But then she changed her mind. Her friends don't know why. Do you know why, Mr Blake?'

He glances up at them briefly and then drops his gaze back to the floor.

`˜Yes.' He swallows. `˜She was meeting me.'

* * *

At the Marston Ferry Road, the search team is taking a breather in the allotment car park. Someone's passing round a thermos of tea, and a couple of people are chewing chocolate bars, though without any particular sign of enjoyment. It's been an arduous day, up to their ankles in mud half the time. Even the terrain seems against them, the wet clay sucking down their feet and sapping their energy. The Cherwell has burst its banks at several points and half of them are now wearing waders. There's talk of getting divers in. Sergeant Barnetson looks up at the sky; the drizzle is getting heavier now. But they may just manage another hour or so as long as they get a move on.

`˜OK,' he announces, raising his voice above the wind, `˜let's have one more push before we lose the light completely. It's going to be even colder tonight, so if Sasha is out there injured somewhere, we need to find her.'

* * *

`˜So you're saying you texted Sasha at around 8.30 to say you'd finished your business dinner early.'

`˜Right,' says Blake. `˜She knew I was in Reading and I promised I'd try to get over and see her, so I sent her the text on the off-chance she was around.'

`˜I see,' says Gislingham. `˜When we spoke to her friends they told us that it was after getting that text that she changed her mind about staying over with Patsie.'

He looks flustered now. `˜Yeah, well `“'

`˜Yeah, well what, Mr Blake?'

`˜I told her that if her mother thought she was with Patsie, she could come over and spend the night at my hotel. I said I'd pick her up along by the bus stop at 10.00.'

He looks from Gislingham to Everett and back again. `˜Look, it was nothing `“ you know `“ dodgy. She's my daughter.'

`˜Who you've barely seen since she was a toddler.'

`˜What's that got to do with it? I'm still her father `“ and I resent your bloody tone. I am not a paedophile.'

`˜Where was she going to stay, at the hotel?' asks Gislingham evenly. `˜Were you going to get her a separate room?'

Blake flushes. `˜No. It would have cost a fortune.'

`˜So there was a spare bed in your room?'

`˜No,' he says sarcastically. `˜But amazingly enough there was an armchair. I was going to sleep in that.'

Everett sits back and folds her arms. `˜So what happened, then? She never did go to that hotel, did she?'

Blake takes a deep breath. `˜No. As I'm sure the staff will confirm.'

They sit there, staring at him, waiting. Come on, thinks Gislingham, spit it out.

`˜Look,' he says eventually. `˜Something came up, OK? One of the people I was at dinner with called me and suggested we have a nightcap. It was an important client `“ I couldn't really say no.'

And I bet you didn't try very hard, either, thinks Gislingham, who's just had a large bet with himself about which sex this super-important client turns out to be.

`˜So you texted Sasha again and blew her off?' says Everett. `˜Because you had a better offer?'

Blake doesn't dignify that with a response.

`˜We can check with your phone company,' continues Ev. `˜They'll be able to confirm it, if you did.'

`˜Then I suggest you do just that,' Blake snaps, glaring at her. `˜And get off my back.'

`˜What's this client of yours called?' asks Gis, pulling out his notebook. `˜Just for the record.'

Blake hesitates. `˜Amanda Forman. But I'd rather you didn't bother her with any of this if that can be avoided.'

Yeah, right, thinks Gis, several thousand imaginary pounds richer.

`˜And what time was your text to Sasha?'

Blake shrugs. `˜Amanda called around 9.45, so I must have texted Sasha just after that.'

But as Gis well knows, Sasha's phone was already off by then `“ she'd never have received it. Did she get off that bus at Cherwell Drive, in the dark, on her own, to wait for a father who was never going to show?

There's a silence. Blake looks agitated and uneasy but Gislingham doesn't doubt he's telling the truth. He's just terrified about his other half finding out what he was really up to. That's what's got him so jumpy. Not his nineteen-hours-missing daughter.

`˜I'm afraid we will have to speak to Amanda,' Gis continues, injecting as much disdain into the name as he can get away with. `˜We'll need her to corroborate what you've said. Perhaps you could give DC Everett her details.'

You're really bricking it now, aren't you, he thinks, looking at Blake's face as he writes down the number. His hand is shaking. Then Gislingham gets to his feet and Everett does the same.

`˜But don't worry, sir, we won't tell the missus. Unless, of course, we have no choice.'

* * *