Perfect People

110

The room in the Sussex Police Headquarters annex building smelled newly decorated and had the damp chill of all rooms that are only occasionally occupied.

Naomi sat on one of the twin beds, hugging herself for warmth, while John fiddled with the electric radiator. The walls were painted a pastel yellow, there were chintz floral curtains, two landscape prints – a view of Lewes Castle, and of the river Ouse – a small sofa, a writing table and a television, which John had switched on. A door opened onto a tiny en-suite bathroom.

In the hall outside the room, two armed police officers guarded them. Their presence should have made her feel safer, Naomi thought, but it didn’t. It just made her feel worse, even further divorced from reality.

Her phone beeped, telling her she had messages, and she played through them. Rosie. Her mother. Her sister. She rang home and checked the messages on the phone there. There were twenty. Some were from friends and neighbours in Caibourne, several from the press, and a couple of work ones for John, which she jotted down on the back of a receipt she dug out of her handbag.

‘That’s better, getting some heat now,’ John said.

She read out the work messages to him.

‘They’re not urgent, I’ll deal with them tomorrow.’

Tomorrow. She thought. Tomorrow was a million years away. Luke and Phoebe could be alive tonight and dead tomorrow. Tomorrow wasn’t a luxury they had. Now, this minute, that’s how it had to be. ‘Will you call Reggie Chetwynde-Cunningham, see if he’s made any progress?’

‘He promised to call the moment he has any news.’

‘He might not have been able to get through.’

‘Hon, he has both our cellphone numbers, OK?’

One of their guards, a cheery Firearms officer in his late thirties, brought them their supper, a tray of lasagne and salad and rhubarb crumble and custard. He had three small kids himself, he told them, and knew what they must be going through.

Naomi, out of politeness, resisted telling him that no, he didn’t know what they were going through, he had no idea, no one could have any idea. Just hold in your mind the worst thing in the world you could imagine and then multiply it by ten billion. And not even that would take you close.

A while later they had a phone call from a doctor, at DI Pelham’s request, he said, asking if they would like sedatives or sleeping pills. Naomi politely declined, telling him she wanted to be fully alert if there were any developments during the night.

They watched each news bulletin in the forlorn hope that they might learn of some progress the police had not yet told them about. They were the lead item and the main story. The killing of the man in hospital. The death of the mystery woman with the false American passport. Speculations about paedophile rings, Disciples of the Third Millennium cult, the world adoption trade in small children. Excerpts from the broadcast John and Naomi had made yesterday. Pictures of Luke and Phoebe. A statement from DI Pelham saying little.

In between, Naomi made calls to her mother and sister, John dealt with some emails, and they watched Who Wants to Be a Millionaire.

John managed to concentrate on the show for just one question, but within moments had lapsed back to his inner world. To the terrible guilt he felt for what he had done. If he hadn’t spoken to that journalist, Sally Kimberly, then there would never have been all the publicity. Perhaps no one would have taken any notice of them. Whoever had taken Luke and Phoebe, and for whatever reason, he felt certain he was in some way to blame.

He didn’t know what to say to Naomi, what to do about it, how to deal with it.

For the first time ever in his life he felt that if he were to die, it would be a blessed relief. And what he deserved. All that kept him going was the knowledge that somehow he had to be strong for Naomi, to keep every ounce of pressure on the police.

After the ten o’clock news Naomi said, ‘Do you think they will ever find them, John?’

‘Absolutely.’

‘Alive?’

‘Yes.’

She stood up, walked over to the window and stared out. There was no view, just a windowless brick wall the other side of an enclosed courtyard. ‘They’re too smart, too intelligent. People who think they’ve seized a couple of pretty children to abuse are going to find themselves with more than they bargained for. When Luke and Phoebe suss that these people they trotted off with so damned happily are actually monsters, then they’re going to start resisting – and when that happens, what the hell are these creeps going to do? What would you do?’

John walked over to her and put his arms around her. ‘Maybe they’re smart enough to escape. Perhaps this is the time that the advantages we’ve given them in life will pay off.’

She looked at him. ‘Really? Well, if you can explain all these wonderful advantages they have – how come they were foolish enough to go off with these people in the first place?’