Janice held her eyes for a moment more. Then, with a dismissive shake of her head, she let her go. As she turned away, wiping her hands on her sweater, she glanced across the street. A man wearing, incongruously, a full-face Santa Claus mask and a zipped-up ski jacket was running across the road towards her. That’s early for Christmas, she had time to think, before the man leaped into the Audi, slammed the door and pulled away on to the open street.
26
Janice Costello was probably the same age as her husband – little pinched lines around her mouth and eyes gave it away – but when she opened the door into her elegant tiled hallway she appeared much younger. With her pale skin and jet-black hair knotted at the back of her head, the jeans and casual blue shirt worn a little too big, she was like a child next to her foppish husband. Even the blotchiness of her eyes and nose from crying didn’t detract from her youthfulness. Her husband tried to put an arm under her elbow to help her as they went down the hall into the huge kitchen-diner, but, Caffery noticed, she snatched it away and continued on her own, her head held high. Her awkward, dignified gait suggested someone in physical pain.
MCIU had assigned their own FLO to the Costellos, DC Nicola Hollis. A tall girl with long, pre-Raphaelite hair who couldn’t have been more feminine but insisted on calling herself ‘Nick’, she stood quietly in the Costellos’ kitchen, making tea and arranging biscuits on a plate. She nodded silently at Caffery as he came in and sat at the big breakfast table. ‘I’m sorry,’ he said. A child’s drawings were scattered across it, with crayons and felt tips. He noticed that Janice chose a place at the table that was separated from her husband by another chair. ‘I’m sorry it had to happen again.’
‘I’m sure you’ve done your best to catch him.’ Janice spoke stiffly. It must be the only way she could contain it all. ‘I don’t blame you.’
‘A lot of people would have. Thank you for that.’
She gave a bleak smile. ‘What do you want to know?’
‘I need to go through the whole thing again. You told the emergency-call handler—’
‘And the police in Wincanton.’
‘Yes. And they’ve given me the basics, but I just want to get it clear in my head because my unit’s going to be taking the case from here. I’m sorry to put you through it again.’
‘It’s OK. It’s important.’
He took out his MP3 recorder and set it on the table between them. He was calmer now. Before the call about Emily’s kidnap had come in he’d realized how overwrought he was getting. After the canal he’d taken time to have lunch and force himself to do something outside the case – even found himself walking around a branch of Holland and Barrett hunting down glucosamine for Myrtle. Eventually his fury with Prody and Flea had loosened up a little. ‘So, it happened at around four?’ He checked his watch. ‘An hour and a half ago?’
‘Yes. I’d just picked Emily up from school.’
‘And you told the call handler the man was wearing a Santa mask.’
‘It was all so quick – but, yes, a rubber one. Not one of the hard plastic sort, but softer. It had the hair and beard and everything.’
‘You didn’t see his eyes?’
‘No.’
‘And he was wearing a hoodie?’
‘The hood wasn’t up, but it was a hoodie. Red. Zip-up. And I think jeans. I’m not sure about that, but I do know he was wearing latex gloves. The sort doctors wear.’
Caffery pulled out a map and spread it on the table. ‘Can you show me the direction he came from?’
Janice leaned over and peered at the map. She put a finger on a small side road. ‘This one. It leads down to the green – the common where they sometimes have the fireworks.’
‘Is it on a slope? I’m not very good with contour lines.’
‘It is.’ Cory swept his hand across the map. ‘A steep slope all the way from here to here. It doesn’t end until here, almost all the way out of town.’
‘So he ran up the hill?’
‘I don’t know,’ said Janice.
‘Was he out of breath?’
‘Well, no. At least, I don’t think so. I didn’t really see much of him – it was over so quickly. But he wasn’t straining.’
‘So you didn’t get the feeling he’d run all the way up the hill.’
‘Probably not, thinking about it.’
Caffery already had a team out combing the surrounding roads for a dark-blue Vauxhall. If the jacker had been out of breath he might have parked at the bottom of the hill. If not, they could keep the search for the car on the level streets near the abduction site. He thought of the black pins in the map in his office. ‘There’s no station in Mere, is there?’
‘No,’ Cory said. ‘If we want the train we have to drive to Gillingham. It’s only a few miles.’
Caffery was silent for a while. Did that blow his theory that the jacker was using the railway network to recover his car? Maybe he was using another vehicle. Or a cab. ‘This road where it happened.’ He ran a finger along it. ‘I drove along it on the way here. It’s got a lot of shops.’
‘It’s quiet in the day. But if you go there in the morning on the school run—’
‘Yes,’ Janice said. ‘Or on the way home from school. Well, it’s the place most people stop if they’ve got to pick up some last-minute groceries for supper, or in the morning if they’ve forgotten a drink for their kid’s lunch box, say.’
‘What had you stopped for?’
She pressed her lips together and moved them in and out between her teeth before she spoke. ‘I had – uh – coffee all over me. I had a flask that was leaking. I stopped to get rid of it.’
Cory shot her a glance. ‘You don’t drink coffee.’
‘But Mum does.’ She gave Caffery a tight smile. ‘I was going to my mother’s after I’d dropped Emily with friends. That was my plan.’
‘You were taking her some coffee?’ Cory said. ‘Can’t she make it at home?’
‘Does it really matter, Cory?’ She kept the stiff smile on her face, and her eyes on Caffery. ‘Under the fucking circumstances, does it really matter? If I’d made the coffee for Osama bin Laden would it really be relevant—’
‘I wanted to ask,’ Caffery said, ‘about the witnesses. There were quite a few, weren’t there? They’re all down at the station now.’
Janice dropped her eyes, embarrassed. She pressed her fingertips to her forehead. ‘Yes,’ she said. ‘There were a lot of people. Actually . . .’ She looked at Nick, who was pouring hot water into four mugs. ‘Nick? I don’t think I’ll have tea, thank you. I’d like a drink. Do you mind? There’s some vodka in the freezer. Glasses up there.’
‘I’ll do it.’ Cory went to the cupboard and pulled out a glass. He filled it with vodka from a bottle with a Russian label and set it in front of his wife. Caffery looked at the glass. The vodka smelt to him like the calm end to a day. ‘Janice,’ he said, ‘you were having an argument with one of the women. That’s what I’ve been told.’
She took a sip. Set the glass down. ‘That’s quite right.’
‘What was the argument about?’
‘I’d stopped in the wrong place. I’d stopped too near the zebra crossing. She yelled at me. And she was right to yell at me. But I didn’t take it very well. I was soaked in hot coffee and I was . . . upset.’
‘So you didn’t know her?’
‘Only by sight.’
‘Does she know you? Does she know your name?’
‘I very much doubt it. Why?’
‘How about the other witnesses? Was there anyone you knew by name?’
‘We haven’t been here long, only a year, but it’s a small town so you get to know faces. Not names.’
‘And you don’t think they know your name?’
‘I don’t think so. Why?’
‘Have you spoken to any friends about this?’