I sat back in my chair and stared at the man as I had done so often now. In spite of his weariness and distress, both of which I was quite sure were genuine, he continued to function surprisingly well. At first sight he seemed to be broken — and yet he remained impressively articulate. Was he too articulate, I wondered, not for the first time.
‘What if someone took him out of your house, took him away? Is that what you now believe may have happened?’ I asked.
‘I keep thinking about that. I don’t know. There’s no sign of anyone having broken in as far as I could see. Your men have been all over the house already, haven’t they? What have they found? Why won’t anyone tell me anything?’
‘Dr Jeffries, all we want to do is find your son,’ I told him coldly. ‘Perhaps it is you who has something you should tell me.’
It was Richard Jeffries turn then to stare at me — long and hard. His lower lip trembled.
‘Detective Chief Inspector, I knew from the moment that Stevie disappeared that I would be a suspect again. The number one suspect, I suppose. After all those other allegations I suppose that is inevitable. I don’t know if you can imagine what I have gone through in the last few weeks, all the whispers and pointed fingers. You don’t really think people didn’t know I was being investigated and what for, do you? I’m a doctor, that makes it really juicy.’
The trembling lip curled into a fairly ineffective half sneer. Then he fixed an earnest gaze on me.
‘I have been losing patients by the truckload every day since this nightmare began last November,’ he said. ‘But I haven’t cared about anything except my children, keeping them safe and keeping them with me. Nothing else has mattered. Now my son is gone and I don’t know where and I know I am going to be accused again of hurting him. I would not harm him for the world — I would rather cut off both my hands.’
He held his hands out before him as if to prove the point then he bowed his head and started to cry.
I watched him for several seconds. His emotion could surely be nothing but genuine. If Richard Jeffries was guilty of harming his son then he was putting on some act.
The same thing could be said about Robin, I thought, and was immediately ashamed of myself because it was vital that I concentrated 100 per cent on the disappearance of Stephen Jeffries. Yet in-between running the major operation of finding a missing child my thoughts kept turning to Robin and what the new turn of events in the Natasha Felks case really meant.
I mentally chastised myself for allowing my mind to wander, and after we finally sent Richard Jeffries and his wife home, settled down to listen to the tape of the interview with Mrs Jeffries. We checked and double-checked for any discrepancies, however small. There were none. The evidence of both parents matched in every detail. And, just like her husband, even in the face of persistent and repetitive questioning Mrs Jeffries never changed her story one iota.
When I had finished listening to the tape I sent it to be transcribed and spent the rest of the afternoon ensuring that the operations room I had set up was running smoothly, making sure that all the manpower available to me was being properly and effectively utilised. Nothing stirs up the emotions more than a case involving a child, and never is the level of press and public interest greater. I had my work cut out to ensure that everything possible was being done, and all of it correctly. Several teams had been sent out on door-to-door enquiries, taking statements, and I arranged for local reservoirs to be dragged and divers sent down. Nearby woods, empty buildings, anywhere a child might hide or be hidden, were to be searched meticulously.
I was quite obsessive about every aspect of the operation, and I intended to drive every officer involved in the case to the limit. Probably because I feared I might in some way be to blame for whatever may have happened to Stephen Jeffries, I was brutally determined that no further mistakes would now be made. I stayed at Kingswood until gone midnight, and became so absorbed in what I was doing that, for once, I did not think about Robin at all.
I wanted to solve this case quickly more than any I had ever headed before — and I wanted desperately to find the boy alive and well — and I was familiar enough with the basic rule of missing children cases. As every hour passes so the prognosis worsens.
I kept my head down and my mind on the job and off Robin, who had thankfully returned to Abri, for two more days before I gave in. I told myself that I really needed to know exactly what progress the Devon and Cornwall Constabulary were making. So I submitted to temptation and called Todd Mallett.
I hoped that in view of my own Abri Island experience and the roasting I had received from the coroner that Todd would not be surprised by my continued interest in the case and would put it down to understandable curiosity. I had no intention of revealing that I had even seen Robin Davey again, let alone fallen into bed and undoubtedly heavily in love with him. Indeed I had so far kept that secret from everyone at work and even from friends and family except Julia and my sister Clem, both of whom I trusted absolutely.
What Todd had to say to me made me further disturbed.
‘Everything points to Robin Davey,’ he said. ‘Except there’s no hard evidence and apparently nobody in the world apart from me and my lads think there would be a chance he would murder anyone.’
My heart did a quick somersault. This was the first time I had actually heard the word murder used.
‘So you still suspect him?’
‘Too damn right,’ said Todd Mallett. ‘Back to basics, isn’t it? Nine murders out of ten are domestics. But I can’t find a decent motive for this one. Davey and Natasha Felks weren’t yet married. There was no long-term tension. Everyone we have talked to regarded them as the perfect couple. Find me a motive and I might stand a chance of getting the bastard.’
‘I heard on the grapevine that you had new evidence,’ I probed.
‘Really?’ he replied questioningly. But I knew he wouldn’t be surprised. Police forces thrive on gossip. I decided to go for broke.
‘Something about the dead woman having carved Robin Davey’s name on the Pencil.’
There seemed to be a bit of a pause before Todd spoke again, but I may have imagined it. Certainly he appeared happy enough to discuss the matter with me — after all I was another senior police officer, a colleague, although I was well aware his attitude would have been rather different had he known of my relationship with Robin. But he didn’t know.
‘About the last thing she did,’ said Todd eventually. ‘She carved the name while clinging to that damned rock, holding on for her life. Doesn’t bear thinking about does it.’
I shuddered. The picture he conjured up was all too vivid to me.
‘But why wasn’t the carving found before?’ I asked.
‘It was quite high up, twelve feet or so above the ledge they land the boat against, and way above normal eye level,’ Todd explained. ‘She must have climbed up to try to escape the tide. It should have been spotted before, of course, but the investigation into Natasha Felks’ death has never actually been a murder enquiry, and the SOCOs may not have been quite as thorough as they should have been.’
‘So how was the carving eventually found?’
‘We had a phone call from Abri. The caller told us about it and also that he knew for a fact that Jason Tucker had not taken the boat out at all that day, that he’d been with him all along.’
I felt my breath catching my throat. So that was the new witness Todd had referred to when he interviewed Robin.
‘Who was the caller?’ I asked, not really expecting him to tell me. But I was surprised by the answer.
‘I don’t know,’ said Todd Mallett. ‘He wouldn’t give his name, assuming it was a man. To be honest we couldn’t even tell that for certain. Whoever it was seemed to be talking through a handkerchief or something.’