The back door was open. Her blood ran cold. He was obviously in the garden, she tried to reassure herself. Her throat dry, she hurried outside. He still hadn’t got any shoes on. She really would have firm words with him when—
He wasn’t there either, but the side gate was open. Fear gripping her chest like a vice, she flew through the gate, down the path and onto the road, scouring it left and right. There was no sign of him. No sign of anyone. No cars.Nothing.
‘Ollie!’ she screamed, willing herself not to buckle right there and sink to her knees. ‘Ollie!’
Fifty-Four
Joe
Seeing Grant Caldwell heading away from the property astride a formidable-looking horse, Joe debated what to do. Approaching him would probably spook the animal. In any case, he wanted to get a look at his car before speaking to the man, or his not-so-delightful wife. Grant Caldwell, he’d discovered, drove a Range Rover Sport, black in colour. Sarah’s description had been vague – it could be any number of vehicles – but it fitted, and this car would certainly be pretty nifty if the need arose, off or on the road.
Negotiating the long drive, he pulled up a way from the house, a detached Georgian farmhouse set in a good two acres of paddock. Impressive, he thought, letting himself through the five-bar gate into a large gravelled parking area that boasted a pond, complete with fountain. The bloke must be making a bob or two just to pay for the upkeep. It was the sort of property most people could only dream of.
Glancing around, he bypassed the four-car garage, heading for the front door. The Range Rover was parked outside. Guessing it wouldn’t be there if the man had anything to hide, he decided to take a look at it before knocking anyway. If he was spotted, he could always say he was admiring it. He hadn’t quite worked out his story as to why he would be calling unannounced, but he would get to that when he needed to. If they didn’t know about Steve’s accident – or claimed not to – then that would be a reasonable excuse.
Bingo, he thought two minutes later, surveying a sizeable dent in the bumper. No scratches, he noted, meaning the impact was unlikely to have been metal against metal or the car hitting any other hard object. Impact with an animal might result in that kind of damage, but Joe reckoned it was more likely to have been caused by hitting something on two legs rather than four. No doubt Grant – or Sherry, whichever of them might have been driving it – would have an explanation. He was betting, though, that if he could get the vehicle towed in and examined forensically, it would yield the evidence he suspected was there.
Crouching down, he peered more closely at it. There were no visible signs of blood or fibres, but that didn’t mean there weren’t any. He wasn’t sure he was likely to get a request for a forensic road collision investigation sanctioned, though, considering there were no fatalities or life-changing injuries. The only witness had been Sarah, who understandably hadn’t been able to provide much detail. They had no registration number, and the initial responders hadn’t come up with much; tyre marks wouldn’t help without specific identification marks, and the chances of pursuing that line of investigation was also minimal.
Sighing, he straightened up. Except for the fact that Sarah had said the car appeared to be coming right at her, which had shaken him, he wasn’t entirely sure what he was doing here. It could be that the Caldwells were involved, one or both of them. Sherry, maybe, going to see her daughter after imbibing too much wine over dinner? It might be no more than that, an accident, the driver running scared because they’d been drink-driving. Joe couldn’t escape the niggling worry gnawing away at him, though, that it wasn’t that simple. That what had happened to Steve was malicious intent. Taking into account the definitely weird things going on, his overriding worry was that Sarah might have been the prime target.
So, what could he do about it? Pose a few questions, he supposed. Ideally to Sherry and Grant Caldwell separately. Maybe he would get lucky and one of them would slip up and contradict the other’s story.
Running a hand over his neck, he was about to turn to the front door when something cracked into the back of his skull with the force of a sledgehammer. Blinking hard against the blinding jagged lights that danced across his eyes, he dropped heavily to his knees. He didn’t have a chance to wonder what the fuck was going on before the second blow floored him.
Fifty-Five
Sarah
‘Where is he?’ Cutting the call to Joe, whose number she’d rung repeatedly on her way here, Sarah pushed through Steve’s front door almost before he’d opened it.
‘Who?’ His arm pressed to his ribs, Steve took a step back as she stormed past him. ‘Sarah, what the bloody hell is going on?’
Continuing along the hall, she banged the lounge door open, glancing in, and then flew to the kitchen. It was empty. No smell of breakfast or coffee, no sign that anyone had even been in it this morning. ‘Whereishe?’ She whirled around, back to the hall. ‘Where’s mybaby?’ she screamed.
‘Ollie?’ Steve asked, the colour draining visibly from his face.
Oh God, no.Seeing his genuine bewilderment, the alarm in his eyes, Sarah’s heart froze. He seemed to have no idea what she was talking about. Snatching her gaze away, she turned to race up the stairs, pushing Ollie’s door open, as if by some miracle she would find him playing there, then flew to the main bedroom. The bed was unmade. Steve had clearly just climbed out of it. No Laura. Panic twisting inside her, she stepped inside, glancing around the room, for what she wasn’t sure. She wasn’t likely to find her hiding under the bloody bed.
Trying desperately to stay calm, she swung back to the door – and stopped, her gaze falling on an oval locket lying on the dressing table. Picturing Ollie making a tiny ‘o’ shape with his thumb and forefinger when she’d asked him about the photo Laura had shown him, her heart leapt. This had to be what he meant.
Tentatively she picked it up, took a breath to brace herself – she wasn’t sure why – and prised the clasp open. For a second, she thought the blue-eyed, blonde-haired little boy looking back at herwasOllie. That the tiny wisp of hair in the other side of the locket was his. She’d trimmed his fringe, after all.
It wasn’t Ollie, but seeing afresh the striking resemblance to him tore another hole in her heart. Did Laura truly imagine that Ollie was Jacob, that somehow she could replace him?
Gulping back the nausea rising inside her, she returned the locket and ran back to the stairs, coming face to face with Steve, who was making a painful attempt to climb them.
‘Where’s Laura?’ she demanded. She’d been sure she would find Ollie here. Been desperate to. She’d slipped away from the police, who’d tried to console her, assuring her they would find him. She knew they wouldn’t. They were moving too slowly, knocking on neighbours’ doors, for God’s sake, while her innocent child was with a woman who was plainly deeply disturbed. They needed to find Laura. That was where he would be. They hadn’t been listening. They’d offered her platitudes. He’d probably wandered off through the open gate, they’d said. He wouldn’t have got far. They would find him. Like Jacob? she’d wondered. The little boy who’d disappeared from the face of the earth?
Even after she’d shown them the bunny, still they’d tried to reassure her, offering her tea while they waited for a family liaison officer who would be able to keep her informed.Tea!As if that would help, as if she could drink it without choking. DearGod, she couldn’t do this.
‘I need to talk to Laura.’ Biting back her fury in the face of a man whose pallor was now the colour of death, she squeezed the words out and tried hard to remain rational. Laura wouldn’t hurt him; she loved him – that was the hope she was clinging to.
‘She’s … not here.’ Steve told her what she’d already established, his voice ragged, his breath rasping. ‘I took some painkillers, early this morning. I was out for the count. I didn’t wake up until I heard you hammering on the door. When I looked for Laura, I realised she wasn’t here.’
‘And you don’t know where she is? What time she went out?’ She stared hard at him, saw the rise and fall of his throat as he swallowed.
‘No,’ he admitted, his gaze drifting down and back. ‘What’s going on, Sarah? Where’s my son?’ He took a step towards her, the look in his eyes a mixture of terror and confusion.
