I hang up as Julianne lunges for the handset and finishes on the floor. I reach down to pick her up. She slaps my hand away and turns on me, her face contorted with fury and fear.
‘YOU DID THIS! YOU BROUGHT THIS ON US,’ she screams, stabbing her finger at me. Her voice drops to a whisper. ‘I warned you! I told you not to get involved. I didn’t want you infecting this family with your sick, twisted patients or the sadists and psychopaths you know so much about.’
‘We’ll get her back,’ I say, but Julianne isn’t listening.
‘Charlie, poor Charlie.’ She groans, collapsing on the bed in great snorting sobs. Her head is hanging over her naked thighs. There’s nothing I can say to comfort her. I cannot comfort myself.
The phone rings. I pick up.
‘Hello, Daddy, it’s me.’
My heart breaks.
‘Hello, sweetheart, are you all right?’
‘I hurt my leg. My bike is busted. I’m sorry.’
‘It’s not your fault.’
‘I’m fright-’
She doesn’t finish the statement. Her words are cut off and I hear masking tape being ripped from a spool.
Gideon’s voice replaces hers.
‘Say goodbye, Joe, you’re not going to see her again. You think you can fuck with me. You have no idea what I’m capable of.’
‘Charlie has nothing to do with this!’
‘Call her collateral damage.’
‘Why take her?’
‘I want what you have.’
‘Your wife and daughter are dead.’
‘Is that so?’
‘Take me instead.’
‘I don’t want you.’
I hear more tape being pulled off the spool.
‘What are you doing?’
‘I’m wrapping up my present.’
‘Let’s talk about your wife.’
‘Why? Have you found her?’
‘No.’
‘Well, I have a new girlfriend to play with. Tell Julianne I’ll call her later and give her all the details.’
Before I can ask another question the lines goes dead. I dial the number. Gideon has turned off the mobile.
Julianne doesn’t look at me. I wrap the quilt around her shoulders. She’s not crying. She’s not screaming at me. The only tears are mine, falling on the inside. They’ve never come so easily.
56
A dozen detectives and twice that many uniforms have sealed off the village and the access roads. Vans and trucks are being searched and motorists questioned.
Veronica Cray is in the kitchen, along with Safari Roy. They look at me with a mixture of respect and pity. I wonder if that’s how I appear when I confront someone else’s misfortune.
Julianne has showered twice and dressed in jeans and a pullover. She has the body language of a rape victim with her arms crossed tightly over her chest as if desperately holding on to something she can’t afford to lose. She won’t look at me.
Oliver Rabb has two new mobiles to trace- mine and the one Gideon used when he first called Julianne. He should be able to track the signals up until an hour ago when Gideon broke off contact.
There is a ten-metre GSM tower in the middle of a field, two hundred yards north-west of the village. The next nearest tower is on Baggridge Hill a mile to the south; and the next closest on the outskirts of Peasedown St John, two miles to the west.
‘We need Tyler to phone back,’ says DI Cray.
‘He will,’ I answer, staring at Julianne’s mobile, which is sitting on the kitchen table. He knew her number. He knew the house number. He knew what clothes she was wearing, what lipstick and jewellery she had on her dressing table.
Julianne hasn’t told me exactly what Gideon said to her. If she were a patient in my consulting room, I’d be asking her to talk, to put things into context, to deal with her trauma. But she’s not a patient. She’s my wife and I don’t want to know the details. I want to pretend it didn’t happen.
Gideon Tyler has been inside my house. He has taken everything important- trust, peace of mind, tranquillity. He has watched my children sleeping. Emma said she saw a ghost. She woke and talked to him. He isolated Julianne. He told her what lipstick and jewellery to wear. He made her stand naked at the bedroom window.
I have always tried to put dark thoughts aside and imagine only good things happening to my family. Sometimes, looking into Charlie’s sweet, pale, changing face, I have almost come to believe that I could protect her from pain or heartbreak. Now she’s gone. Julianne is right. It’s my fault. A father is supposed to protect his children, to keep them safe and lay down his life for them.
I keep telling myself that Gideon Tyler won’t hurt Charlie. It is like a mantra in my head, but the message brings no comfort. I also try to tell myself that people like Gideon- sadists and psychopathsare few and far between. Does that make Charlie one of the unlucky few? Don’t tell me there’s a price to be paid for living in a free society. Not this price. Not when it involves my daughter.
Recording devices are being attached to the landline of the cottage and a scanner programmed to pick up conversation on our mobile phones. Our SIM cards have been transferred to handsets with GPS tracking capabilities. I ask why. The DI says it’s a contingency. They may want to try a mobile intercept.
The village is framed through the window, looking like a page from a storybook with great billowing clouds, streaked by the sun. Imogen and Emma have gone next door to Mrs Nutall’s house. Neighbours have come outside to look at the police cars and vans parked in the street. They’re having casual conversations, exchanging pleasantries and pretending not to gawk at the detectives going door-to-door. Their children have been shooed inside, locked away from the unknown danger stalking their streets.
I hear the shower running upstairs again. Julianne is under the water, trying to wash away what happened. How long has it been? Three hours. No matter what happens Charlie will remember this day. She will be haunted by Gideon Tyler’s face, by his words, by his touch.
Monk ducks as he enters the kitchen, making it suddenly appear smaller. He glances at DI Cray and shakes his head. The roadblocks have been up for more than two hours. Police have knocked on every door, interviewed residents and retraced Charlie’s steps. Nothing.
I know what they’re thinking. Gideon has gone. He managed to get away before police sealed off the roads. Neither of the mobiles Gideon used has transmitted since 12.42. He must know we can trace the signals. That’s why he changes phones so often and turns them off.
As if on cue, Oliver Rabb arrives, shuffling up the front path like a nervous bag lady. He’s carrying a laptop computer in a shoulder case and is wearing a tweed cap to warm his smooth head. He wipes his feet three times on the doormat.
Setting up his laptop on the kitchen table, he downloads the latest information from the nearest base stations, triangulating the signals.
‘It’s harder in areas like this,’ he explains, brushing invisible creases from his trousers. ‘There are fewer towers.’
‘I don’t want excuses,’ says Veronica Cray.
Oliver goes back to the screen. Outside in the garden detectives are congregating in the patches of sunshine, stamping their feet to stay warm.
Oliver sniffs.
‘What is it?’
‘Both calls arrived through the same tower- the nearest one.’ He pauses, ‘But they originated from a tower outside the area.’
‘What does that mean?’
‘He wasn’t in the village when he called you. He was already out of the area.’
‘But he knew what Julianne was wearing. He made her stand at the bedroom window.’
Oliver shrugs. ‘He must have seen her earlier in the day.’
He checks the screen again and explains Charlie’s movements. She was carrying my mobile, which was pinging a tower about a mile south of Wellow while she was at Abbie’s house. The signal changed when she left the farmhouse just after midday. According to the strength analysis, she started moving towards home. That’s when Gideon knocked her off her bike and took her in the opposite direction.