Dead of Winter (44 page)

‘Then walk there!’ Fenwick shouted loud enough for his voice to be heard by the unfortunate officer at the other end.

‘I hope to do so, sir. We’re just trying to persuade the inspector here.’

‘Put him on.’

But Fenwick was interrupted by Nesbit’s return and the communications technician handed him the headset with relief.

‘If you don’t have a qualified driver you are to return to Alfriston and meet us in the car park. We have two teams successfully on their way; that should be enough.’

Fenwick paced the short distance to the map and turned his back.

‘Sorry, sir, but they really can’t go on without owner permission and lacking training; particularly not in this weather.’

Fenwick said nothing. Nesbit passed him a fresh cup of coffee and they waited in silence. At seven minutes past three the second team was back on the radio.

‘We are concealed twenty yards from the farm. There are signs of occupation and a Land Rover in the yard with an index number matching the vehicle stolen from the garage. What shall we do, sir?’ The question was directed at Nesbit who looked expectantly at Fenwick.

‘What’s your name?’ Fenwick settled a headset more comfortably.

‘DC Aspen, sir. Sergeant Tate is right next to me.’

‘Put him on.’ There was a rustling that deafened him. ‘Jeremy, how many are you?’

‘Just the two of us and the farmer. That’s all that could fit in the tractor cab and we didn’t want to risk the trailer in case it slowed us down. Aspen and I were the smallest.’

‘Wait where you are out of sight until I call you back.’ He turned to Nesbit.

‘Where’s the second team; do we know?’

Nesbit had anticipated his question and was already on another radio.

‘They estimate less than ten minutes away and there are eight of them. They did take a trailer. Where should they rendezvous?’

Fenwick radioed Tate back and asked for his exact location and then told him to wait until the other team arrived. It was twelve minutes before the next call but by then there were ten officers on location. Nesbit and Fenwick agreed that there was no chance to send more of the Local Support Team and to use the teams they had there. The senior officer on site was a Sergeant Mulberry. Nesbit gave him a good write-up including previous resisted arrests, so Fenwick decided they had to trust to him.

As official senior officer present Nesbit directed the operation: deployment of officers around the main house covering all exits with two to stay in the yard by the vehicle.

The signal was too weak and inconsistent for them to remain connected while the men entered the house so they waited in silence apart from the howling storm outside. Fenwick was chewing the side of his thumb and only stopped when it started to bleed. In a surprisingly short time Mulberry called in.

‘We have him, sir! We’ve got the bastard! It’s Mariner, for sure. He was fast asleep in bed! Piece of cake.’

‘And Issie,’ Fenwick bellowed. ‘Is she all right?’

There was a horrible pause.

‘Well, go on.’

‘We can’t find her, sir. We’re searching the main house but so far nothing. There are signs she was here. There’s damp ladies’ underwear drying in one of the bathrooms and Mariner insists she must be hiding somewhere … but it looks as if she may not be here.’

Fenwick reached out to the wall for support.

It was impossible to breathe; he couldn’t suck in enough air and his head started to spin. Fenwick clutched the door frame and struggled not to sink to the ground. She wasn’t there. His insistence had been proved right; they had found Mariner and evidence that he had been holding Issie at the farm but … He gasped and Nesbit glanced at him with concern. By concentrating on his breathing he managed to calm down and the palpitations slowed. The black spots faded from his vision.

Had Mariner dumped Issie somewhere, alive or dead? Was her body hidden even now on the farm? He heard Nesbit ordering an immediate search of the premises while one of the radio operators was calling in POLSA.

‘What is Mariner saying?’ Keeping the panic out of his voice took effort but he thought he managed.

‘He’s incoherent, seems to be ill or on drugs or something. From what we can gather he insists Issie is there somewhere.’ Nesbit was holding the mike and turned away to give another stream of instructions.

Fenwick continued to take slow, deep breaths.

‘Ask them to put Tate on, would you?’

Nesbit handed him the radio.

‘Jeremy, listen. You need to be my eyes and ears. I want you to search for anything that might give us a hint of any kind as to where Issie might be.’

‘Will do; I’ll call you back.’

As soon as he broke the connection Fenwick started to pace the van; long steps that meant he was turning constantly in the confined space. Nesbit passed him a fresh coffee and he took it without noticing.

Where is she?
He pulled out the picture of Issie that Jane Saxby had given him, of her daughter hanging upside down by her knees from the branch of a tree, laughing, sticking her tongue out at the camera, belly button stud glinting in sunlight that filtered through the leaves. He felt his throat tighten. She wasn’t dead; she couldn’t be.

‘It’s Tate for you, Superintendent.’

‘Put him on speaker.’

‘Here’s what we think has happened. It looks as if Mariner has been given a cocktail of chemotherapy drugs and sleeping pills. We’ve found empty prescription packets in the kitchen bin with Issie’s grandfather’s name on them. Our theory is that Issie spiked his food. There are the remains of a whisky toddy that we are sending back for tests.

‘Mariner is still pretty incoherent but he says he felt fine until Friday. He can’t remember anything at all about today other than the need to sleep or rush to the toilet. He swears that he has no idea where Issie might be.’

Fenwick stared at the photo.
Clever little Issie. You worked out an escape plan. But you’re too smart to set out into the worst blizzard of the winter, unless
…

‘Is there television, Internet or radio at the farm?’

Nesbit looked at him as if he had lost his senses but Tate answered immediately, as if expecting the question.

‘Yes, sir—’

‘Damn!’

‘—but there’s no power. According to Mariner the mains supply failed three days ago and they switched to a generator but it ran out of diesel this morning. So …’

‘She wouldn’t have heard the revised weather forecast. She didn’t expect the blizzard until Christmas Day. That explains it. Issie planned to leave ahead of the storm, knowing that if she waited they could be trapped without power for days. And Mariner says she was there this morning?’

‘Yes, he keeps repeating it; that is when he’s not in the toilet. He’s leaking almost constantly.’

‘Spare us the details, Sergeant. With luck there’ll be some permanent damage to the bastard, but right now we need to find out where Issie has gone.’

‘He might have hidden her body somewhere and this is all a lie,’ Nesbit volunteered into Fenwick’s grimace.

‘It’s a possibility but we can’t assume so. What if she’s out there in this?’ He gestured to the walls of the MIU just as a blast of wind reminded them of the storm raging beyond.

‘How on earth are we going to find her?’ Nesbit countered. ‘In this weather, with the farm in the middle of nowhere. Even if we knew the direction she was heading in it would be suicide to send a team out in this!’

Fenwick glared at the DCI but he couldn’t disagree. Nesbit continued, knowing he had the force of logic with him.

‘And anyway, are you telling me that a seventeen-year-old abused, traumatised girl would have the courage and intelligence to plan something like this? To drug a kidnapper we know has been sexually abusing her? Studies show that a kidnap victim adjusts their behaviour to appease their captor. She would have been conditioned into submission long ago.’

‘Eighteen,’ Fenwick said. ‘She’s eighteen not seventeen and yes, that is exactly what I’m saying. You don’t know Issie …’

‘And with respect, sir, neither do you. You’ve never met the girl.’

‘Her mother says …’

‘Her mother! What desperate parent have you ever met who
doesn’t idealise their child into some wunderkind as soon as they vanish?’

Fenwick had such a strong urge to punch Nesbit that he had to walk away. As he did so there was a discreet cough from the radio.

‘We’re still scouring the farm but if we are to mount a wider search we need to start as soon as possible. It’s already growing dark and it will be pitch-black soon in this weather.’

‘No way,’ Nesbit shook his head, ‘it would be like looking for a needle in a haystack.’

Fenwick had waived his operational authority, was already likely to receive a severe reprimand for even being there. He couldn’t pull rank on the DCI but that didn’t mean he was about to give up.

‘You said when I arrived that your men were equipped for a severe-weather search.’

‘Yes but—’

Fenwick held up his hand.

‘Supposing I can find out where she might be heading; would you reconsider?’

Nesbit scratched his head, not bothering to hide his irritation.

‘Perhaps, but how will you do that?’

‘I’ll call her parents. They might be able to help us.’

‘For God’s sake, Fenwick, I mean, sir. They’re likely to say anything to get us out there. I don’t think we can trust them, with the best will in the world.’

‘Jane Saxby wouldn’t lie to me. Look, I’ll let you listen in so you can judge for yourself.’

Fenwick pulled out his phone but before he could dial it rang, startling them both. He answered.

‘Superintendent Fenwick?’

‘Yes.’

‘It’s Jane Saxby.’ A shiver went down Fenwick’s spine as he put the call on speaker. ‘Excuse me for calling you but I just had to.’

‘Do you mind – you’re on speaker so my colleague can hear the call?’

‘Fine; I know this will sound crazy but you must listen to me.
It’s Issie,’ Fenwick’s heart leapt painfully, ‘I think she’s in terrible danger. I know I told you when I last saw you that I dreamt she was safe and warm—’

Out of the corner of his eye Fenwick saw Nesbit shake his head and he just hoped her mother wasn’t about to blow any chance he had of persuading the man to risk his officers’ lives.

‘—but since lunchtime I’ve felt this increasing sense of dread. It’s so real it makes me physically sick and, Superintendent – I’m so very, very cold.’ He heard her voice catch. ‘I think he might have given up on the ransom idea at last and dumped her outside.’

There was a rustle of the receiver being muffled and behind it the sound of sobbing, quickly stifled. Nesbit wasn’t looking so sceptical any more.

‘Issie has been missing for almost three weeks. Have you felt like this before?’

‘No, never. I told you there was a time I knew she was terrified and that bastard has been abusing her but never anything like this … and it has nothing to do with it being Christmas Eve. I just
know
something is wrong. The last few days I’ve been feeling more positive for some reason, and this morning … I woke up feeling so sure you would find her. The day felt different somehow; I had real hope for the first time. But then around lunchtime it started. I felt cold, sick, so worried I couldn’t even think and it has just got worse. So in the end I had to call you. Superintendent,’ he heard her gulp, ‘I think Issie is dying.’

He looked at Nesbit who gave an imperceptible nod.

‘There has been a development,’ he heard her gasp and hurried on, ‘we haven’t found Issie but there has been progress. I’m passing you over to the officer in charge of this part of the operation.’ Fenwick handed over his phone.

‘This is DCI Nesbit, Lady Saxby; I organised a localised search for Issie at Abbott’s Farm.’

‘My mother’s house! But why there?’

‘We received information that led us to believe Mariner might be there with your daughter.’

‘But you’ve had it checked several times. Why now?’

Nesbit looked at Fenwick as if thinking exactly the same question.

‘I believe it was at Superintendent Fenwick’s insistence, ma’am.’

‘I don’t understand.’

‘We can explain in detail later but right now it is very important that we tell you that we apprehended the suspect Steven Mariner at the location in question.’

‘You’ve found him?’ It was barely a whisper. ‘And my daughter?’ Softer still.

‘She no longer appears to be with him but there is evidence to suggest that she was staying there. According to Mariner she was there at breakfast but he has no idea where she might be now. We are searching the property and outbuildings but so far there is no trace of her.’

‘She’s been there, recently?’ Fenwick could hear the fury building in her tone. ‘And you failed to find her!’

‘What’s wrong, darling?’ They heard Bill Saxby in the background, his voice becoming louder as he drew closer to the phone.

‘They’ve found Mariner at Mummy’s place. And Issie has been there! But she isn’t there now.’

‘Give me that!’

‘What the fuck’s going on? Why didn’t you have someone there guarding the place permanently? We told you day one that Issie might suggest they go there.’

Fenwick knew that he had in fact pooh-poohed the idea when Bernstein had insisted on a list of addresses for all Issie’s friends and relations.

Guarding it permanently on the off chance she might persuade Mariner to go there was illogical but he could understand Saxby’s insistence. Once a theory became certainty every fact, every action or lack thereof, was judged through a different lens. The inquiry that would inevitably follow this case would be horrible, would probably wreck his career, but he didn’t care. That wasn’t the point. They needed to find Issie.

‘Now we know she was there,’ Nesbit was saying, ‘we need
your help to work out where she might have gone. One theory is,’ he looked at Fenwick and gave a sigh of capitulation, ‘that she managed to escape from Mariner earlier today. We found him drugged and incapacitated.’

‘But why would Issie set off in the middle of a blizzard? She’s not stupid.’ Lady Saxby had taken the phone.

‘It’s only one hypothesis, made more feasible by the fact that she might not have known the weather was due to change. There is no power at your mother’s house and even early this morning the forecast was for the snow to arrive on Christmas Day, not today.’

‘Oh God! You’re right. If she thought the weather conditions weren’t too bad it is exactly the sort of thing Issie would do. She was always having adventures when she stayed with her Nana and Pappy. She knows the Downs around there like the back of her hand. You have to find her!’

‘For that we need your help. Is there anywhere in particular she would have gone?’

‘I don’t know,’ there was despair in her voice, ‘but she would have planned carefully, my father drilled that into her, and she would have chosen a route she knew well. That probably means sticking to the South Downs Way. The question is, in which direction?’

Fenwick marvelled that the woman could master her fear and put away her anger so quickly; to be so calm and focused. She was remarkable, just like her daughter.

‘The good news is,’ she continued, ‘that she has proper outdoor clothes at the farm. She kept them in the boot room ready for when she visited. Check to see if they’re missing. If they are gone then so’s she. Meanwhile, do you have an Ordnance Survey map of the area?’

The two men walked over to it.

‘You see the farm?’ Fenwick stared at the red circle. ‘There’s a footpath that crosses the public byway where it meets the track to the farm.’

‘Got it.’

‘It’s not the one to Alciston or Berwick.’

‘No, understood.’

‘Follow it south-east and you’ll come to a village called Alfriston.’

The blue cross.

‘That’s where we are now.’

‘Thank God; then there’s hope. Issie is most likely to be making her way to Alfriston. She’s been walking that route since she was a toddler. She would have chosen somewhere familiar. I’m certain that’s where you will find her. Is Superintendent Fenwick still there?’

‘I’m here.’

‘I know the weather is atrocious; I suspect there are probably rules that say you can’t send officers out when their lives might be at risk but you
have
to find her, Superintendent. Andrew, please. Don’t abandon Issie now when you’re so close. I’m begging you. If you’d only got there a few hours earlier we wouldn’t even be having this conversation.’

‘I know.’ Fenwick looked at Nesbit. Was it enough to persuade this man to put lives at risk?

Nesbit was studying the map.

‘It’s barely two miles,’ Fenwick said, acutely aware that Issie’s mother was listening. ‘If we send out a search team from here and another from the farm, we could cover the distance inside an hour, even in this weather.’

He could sense Nesbit trying to persuade himself that he wasn’t breaking regulations. Fenwick held his breath.

‘Very well, I’ll authorise a search until we lose the last of the light.’

‘Thank you,’ Jane Saxby murmured just before her husband grabbed the phone.

‘Find her, Fenwick, and you will never have to worry about money again. If you don’t, your life will not be worth living.’

‘Bill, no!’

‘I don’t need any further incentive – positive or negative – to find your daughter, sir,’ Fenwick said calmly and broke the connection. He turned to Nesbit.