Buried-6 (4 page)

Hol and sucked his teeth. ‘I went to Aberdeen to interview a rapist once . . .’

Porter took a good look at a Jag that drove past, waited a minute or two after it had disappeared around a corner, before moving the Saab slowly forward and turning it on to the driveway.

‘This kind of case isn’t common, though, is it?’ Thorne asked. ‘Snatching civilians?’

She shook her head. ‘You can get the family of a bank employee being held until the safe’s opened, but even that’s pretty rare. You might get one like this in Spain and Italy every so often, but it’s like rocking-horse shit here. Thank God.’

‘So why no ransom with Luke Mul en?’

‘I’ve no idea.’

‘I stil don’t see why it has to be a kidnap.’

‘It doesn’t. There are other possibilities.’

‘Like Luke going off voluntarily with the woman in the blue car?’

‘Or just running away,’ Porter said. ‘But parents never like to admit that their precious kid might do that.’

Hol and released his seatbelt. ‘Like no parent ever thinks their kids are stupid, or ugly.’

‘You’ve got kids?’

‘I’ve got a little girl.’ Hol and grinned. ‘She’s gorgeous and
very
bright.’

‘Maybe this isn’t about money at al ,’ Thorne said.

Porter appeared to think about it as she kil ed the engine. ‘It’s certainly . . . unusual.’

‘Who knows . . .’ – Thorne opened the door and swung his legs out, let out a groan of pain as he lifted himself upright – ‘if there
had
been a ransom demand, maybe the parents might have got on the phone a bit quicker.’

Hol and got out and walked towards him, looking up at the detached, mock-Tudor house where Tony Mul en and his wife lived. ‘It’s a big place,’ he said.

Porter locked the car and the three of them began moving together towards the front door. ‘It’s probably feeling that little bit bigger just at the moment,’ she said.

A few minutes earlier, Thorne had seen the relief flood into Tony Mul en’s face, but it had been purely temporary. Already, sitting across from Thorne in an uncomfortable-looking armchair, a damp pal or of desperation was smearing itself back across his features; the look of a man bracing himself.

He’d been at the front door before they were, staring out at the three of them as if he were urgently trying to read something in how they walked; to work out what they had come to tel him by the way they approached the house. Porter had shaken her head. A smal movement, but it had been enough.

Mul en had let out a long breath and closed his eyes for a second or two. There was something approaching a smile when he opened them again, when he moved the hand that had been flat and white against the door frame and held it out, palm skyward, towards them.

‘Your guts just go into your boots,’ he said. ‘Whenever the phone goes or the bloody doorbel rings, especial y if it’s you lot. It’s like feeling the punch coming. You know?’

The introductions were made there on the doorstep.

‘Trevor Jesmond said he’d sort out a few extra pairs of hands,’ Mul en said. He touched Thorne’s arm. ‘Make sure you say “thanks” to him, wil you?’

Thorne wondered if Jesmond had told Mul en what he real y thought about the man those extra hands belonged to. If he had, Thorne guessed it was probably a less than honest assessment. If the request for help had come directly from Mul en himself, Jesmond would hardly want his old friend thinking he was palming him off with damaged goods. Thorne decided it was a subject best left alone; that he should keep things light for as long as it was appropriate.

He looked at Mul en. The man had less grey in his hair than Thorne himself did, and, though the circumstances had clearly taken their tol , the rest of him looked in pretty good shape, too. ‘Wel , either you’re a lot older than you look or you retired early,’ he said.

Mul en seemed taken aback for a second, but his tone was friendly enough as he led the three of them into a gloomy hal way. ‘Can’t you be both?’

‘It’s certainly what I’m aiming for,’ Porter said, hanging up her coat.

‘You’re right, though. I did bow out early,’ Mul en said. He looked Thorne up and down. ‘What are you? Forty-seven, forty-eight?’

Thorne tried not to react. ‘I’m forty-five in a few months.’

‘Right, wel , I’l be fifty this year, and I know I’d look a damn sight older than that if I’d stayed in the job. You know what it’s like. I was starting to forget what Maggie and the kids looked like.’

Thorne nodded. There hadn’t been anyone to forget for a fair few years, but he understood what Mul en meant wel enough.

‘I’d managed to squirrel a bit away, and it seemed as good a time as any. I fancied a move and Maggie was pretty keen for me to get out. She even got used to having me under her feet after a while.’

On cue, Maggie Mul en came down the stairs, with every one of the fifty-odd years Thorne guessed were behind her, showing on her face. The lines had become cracks. The freshly applied make-up had done precious little for eyes that were puffy and red-rimmed. ‘I was catching up on some sleep,’ she said.

It was Hol and who prevented the pause becoming a silence. He nodded towards Mul en, picking up the thread of the previous exchange. ‘It’s what politicians always say, isn’t it?’

Mul en looked at him. ‘Sorry?’

‘Whenever they leave the job, for whatever reason, they say they want to spend more time with their family.’

They stood around a little awkwardly, almost as though they were not the parents of a kidnapped child and those entrusted with finding him; as though they were waiting politely for someone to announce that dinner was served.

Now, in the living room, something of that odd formality lingered, not helped by the seating arrangements. It was a large room and the sofas and chairs had been positioned around a rectangular, Chinese-style rug. Thorne and Porter sat on a cream leather sofa with Mul en and his wife fifteen or more feet away on uncomfortable-looking armchairs, which were themselves a fair distance from each other. There was music playing somewhere upstairs, and noise too from the kitchen, where Hol and and DC Kenny Parsons – the on-duty family liaison officer – had gone to make coffee.

Thorne looked out of the French windows at the garden. It was enormous compared with the postage-stamp-sized plots that graced most London properties. He turned back to Mrs Mul en. ‘I can see why you moved here. I wouldn’t fancy mowing it, mind you.’

It was Tony Mul en that responded. ‘This place was a compromise, real y. I was al for upping sticks completely and getting out into the country, but Maggie didn’t real y want to leave London. It
feels
like you’re in the country here, but you’ve got High Barnet tube a few minutes away, or you’re twenty minutes from King’s Cross on the overground.’

Thorne made the right noises, thinking: This is a world away from King’s Cross.

‘And the schools,’ Maggie Mul en said. ‘We moved because of the schools.’

Then, with that one meaningful word, the terrible reason for them al being there was final y in the room with them, and the smal talk was wel and truly done with.

Tony Mul en slapped his palms against his legs, the noise causing his wife to start slightly. ‘We know it’s not bad news, thank God, but I presume that there isn’t any good news, either.’

Porter edged forward on the sofa. ‘We’re doing everything we can, but—’

‘Don’t.’ Mul en raised a hand. ‘I’m real y not interested in the pat speeches. I know the game, remember. So let’s not waste anyone’s time, al right, Louise?’

Thorne could see that Porter was more than a little irked at the familiarity, but he thought she was probably not the type to react. Not the first time, anyway. Instead, she let her eyes drift across to Mul en’s wife and spoke softly to her. ‘It wasn’t a speech.’

‘I’m the new boy,’ Thorne said, ‘so you’l have to forgive me if we go over some old ground, but I was wondering about the delay.’

Mul en stared right back at him. It was a grudging invitation for Thorne to elaborate.

‘Luke went missing on Friday after school, but the first cal to the police was made at a little after nine yesterday morning. Why the wait?’

‘We’ve already explained al this,’ Mul en said. The edge to his voice revealed traces of a Midlands accent. Thorne remembered Porter tel ing him that Mul en was original y from Wolverhampton. ‘We just thought Luke was out and about somewhere.’

‘Only on Friday evening, surely?’

‘He could have gone to a club, then stayed over at a mate’s or something. There was usual y a certain amount of leeway on a Friday night.’

‘It was me.’ Maggie Mul en cleared her throat. ‘I was the one who thought there was nothing to worry about. I was the one who persuaded Tony that we should just wait for Luke to come home.’

‘Why didn’t you say this yesterday?’ Porter asked.

‘Is it real y important?’ she said.

‘I’m sure it isn’t, but—’

‘We waited. That’s al that matters. We waited when we shouldn’t have and I’l have to live with that.’

‘There was an argument,’ Mul en said.

Thorne’s eyes stayed on Maggie Mul en. He watched her drop her head and stare at her feet.

Mul en sat up straight in his chair and continued. ‘Luke and I had a stupid row that morning. There was a lot of shouting and swearing, the usual kind of stuff.’

‘What did you argue about?’ Thorne asked.

‘School,’ Mul en said. ‘I think maybe we were putting him under a bit of pressure.
I
was putting him under pressure.’

‘Luke and his dad usual y get on so wel .’ Maggie Mul en looked at Porter, spoke as though her husband were no longer in the room. ‘
Really
wel . It’s not normal for them to argue like that.’

Porter smiled. ‘The fights I used to have with my mum and dad . . .’

‘Sometimes I think Luke’s closer to his dad than he is to me, you know?’

‘Don’t be sil y,’ Mul en said.

‘I get jealous sometimes, if I’m honest.’

‘Come on, love . . .’

Maggie Mul en was staring straight ahead.

Thorne fol owed her gaze to the elaborate fireplace; to the flame-effect gas fire and the half-life-sized ceramic cheetah sitting to one side of it. ‘Was this row real y that serious?’ he asked. ‘Serious enough for Luke to leave without a word?’

‘No way.’ Mul en was categorical. Said it again to ensure that Thorne and Porter got the message.

‘Mrs Mul en?’

The drum and bass coming through the ceiling seemed louder for a few seconds. Stil staring towards the fireplace, Maggie Mul en shook her head.

‘Whether it’s got anything to do with this argument or not, Luke’s disappearance may stil have a simple explanation.’ Porter waited until al faces were turned to her before carrying on. ‘We’ve at least got to accept that possibility.’

Maggie Mul en stood up and smoothed down the back of her skirt. ‘I’m happy to accept it, love. I’m
praying
for it.’ She walked across to the fireplace, reached for a packet of Silk Cut on the mantelpiece.

‘Obviously, we’ve checked out al his friends,’ Porter said. ‘But in the absence of any sort of communication from anyone who might be holding Luke, there has to be a possibility that he’s gone away with someone.’

‘You mean this woman?’ Mul en said.

‘He’d been spotted with “this woman” on other occasions.’ Thorne stood up too and walked behind the sofa, the relief from the pain in his leg almost instantaneous. ‘If Luke’s seeing an older woman, he might have thought better about tel ing you.’

The boy’s mother was clearly not convinced. ‘I can’t see it.’ She fumbled for a cigarette. ‘I can’t imagine Luke with a girl his own age, let alone someone older. He isn’t confident with girls. He’s a bit awkward.’

‘Come on, Maggie,’ Mul en said. ‘He could have been into al sorts of things. I don’t mean drugs or anything like that, but kids have secrets, don’t they?’

‘Your husband’s got a point,’ Thorne said. ‘How wel does any parent know an adolescent?’

Maggie Mul en lit her cigarette, took in the first lungful like it was oxygen. ‘I’ve been asking myself that quite a lot,’ she said. ‘Ever since I started to wonder if I was ever going to see my son again.’

In the kitchen, DC Kenny Parsons opened another cupboard and peered inside. ‘Maybe we should just leave it.’

Hol and was sitting at the table, idly turning the pages of a
Daily Express
. ‘Don’t be nervous, mate. As family liaison officer, you definitely get biscuit privileges.’

‘
Result
. Here you go.’ Parsons produced an unopened packet and placed it on a tray next to the mugs. Coffee had already been spooned into each. The kettle had boiled minutes ago, but been ignored.

‘So how d’you reckon things are between them?’ Hol and asked, nodding towards the living room. ‘Normal y, I mean.’

Parsons flicked the kettle on again and carried the tray to the table. He was in his mid-thirties, Hol and guessed, a dark-skinned black man with hair cut almost to the scalp, and the trick of looking untidy in a perfectly presentable suit. ‘You know they split up for a while a few years back?’

Hol and nodded; Porter had told them as much. The team were looking at the family, of course, but not as closely as they might have, had Luke been a bit younger; or if it had been more obviously an abduction rather than a kidnap. The family were certainly not under any suspicion, not this early on at any rate, but a few discreet enquiries had been made al the same.

‘She was the one that walked out, right?’ Hol and asked.

‘Yeah, but she wasn’t gone for very long.’

‘Old man playing away from home, d’you reckon?’

‘Usual y the way, isn’t it?’

‘So what about now?’

Parsons considered it. ‘Things are pretty good, I think.’

Hol and had discovered quickly that his new col eague was not short of opinions. He had plenty to say about those on his own team, and was far more relaxed when it came to talking about the Mul en family than he was about helping himself to their digestives.

Hol and was happy enough to get another perspective on the case.

‘Bear in mind that even splitting the shifts, we’re not here twenty-four hours a day,’ Parsons said. ‘Mul en was fairly adamant early on that he didn’t want anyone stopping overnight.