The Locker (4 page)

six

Tea: the panacea for
all ills. Ruth went into the kitchen. It was tidy and methodically laid out, more hotel room than a home, everything easy to find with no clutter. While the water boiled she slid open a couple of drawers, one close to a wall phone. Most houses would have had a notepad or whiteboard nearby for phone numbers or names; but not this one. There was nothing; no unnecessary paperwork, no jottings, letters or bills.

Spooky.

She took the tea into the living room. Nancy had been crying, the telltale tracks of tears down her cheeks. Vaslik was making no effort at conversation, but staring through the front window with a blank expression. A monolith in a smart suit. She was angry with him, wanted to rip off a stretch of skin for what he'd said. But she recognised the tactic. If there was something else going on here, something from deep in the private fabric of the Hardmans' lives, they had to get to it fast and not waste time. It wasn't out of the question that Hardman
had
been screwing the nanny, and had decided to take off with her and his daughter and stage the thing as a kidnap. If so, it was stupid and elaborate and extremely cruel.

Men being led by their dicks did stupid things. But so elaborate and cruel? Unlikely.

She glanced at her computer. It had finished downloading the photos from the disc, including a couple of Tiggi. Long legged and striking rather than pretty, she had the cool look of a catwalk model. Ruth revised the likelihood of a
husband-nanny
fumble under the stairs having turned into something more serious. Having someone like her around the house would be a temptation for any man. She tried to recall who the young woman reminded her of but it wouldn't come.

With a faint touch of guilt, she found herself thinking the same thoughts as Vaslik. Had Hardman jumped her in the bathroom one day while wifey was out? Told her it could all be so different if only they could be together? Or had Tiggi been the instigator, a sexy chick looking for a new life in the UK and a man to latch on to?

Nancy jumped to her feet, reacting to Ruth's return as if she had just arrived. It was a strange leap in timing but probably triggered by a delayed reaction.

“Who are you people? I mean, what are you?” She was gabbling as if trying to make sense of their presence, her body vibrating like a tuning fork. She brushed angrily at her eyes and threw a cold glance at Vaslik, the clear enemy. “What are you doing here? I don't understand what the number and code were about or why I had to call you.”

“We're your case officers.” Ruth handed her a mug of tea. She had added two sugars to help in the calming process. “Think of us as investigators.”

“Like police.”

“No. Not police. The number you called is to a company called Cruxys Solutions. It's like an insurance company and we're like claims investigators—only we sort out situations, we don't pay out claims.”

“Is this all this is to you—a situation?” The retort was immediate and confrontational, the air around them sizzling with anger as if she had just found a new voice and was able to give vent to her emotions.

Ruth ignored it; it was something she was used to. She wasn't absolutely sure how she'd react if anyone close to her was kidnapped, but it wouldn't be calm, she knew that.

“That's not what I meant.” She took the smart disc from the reader and replaced it in the photo frame, making sure Nancy saw her do it. The woman needed to hold on to whatever was familiar, whatever was close to her, to get her through this nightmare. “I've got the photos I need. I'll get them printed and ready for circulation if we need them.” She pressed a button on the side of the frame and the images began scrolling through once again, distracting Nancy's attention. A quick glance showed she had visibly relaxed, although she was clearly affected by seeing the familiar pictures again.

“Why later?” She sounded bewildered. “You could do it now, couldn't you? Somebody may have seen her.”

“We can't put them out there yet—not until we know more. If the people who left the note know we're here, they'll assume we're police.” Using the softer reference of those who had left the note, rather than who had taken Beth, was deliberate; avoiding triggers and buzz words was a key approach to alleviating surges of stress in the ones left behind.

It seemed to work. When Nancy next spoke, she sounded calmer.

“I still don't get it. Why did I have to call you at all?”

“Didn't your husband say?”

“Not really. He mentioned it once, and said if there was ever a problem … like anything happened to him and I needed help, I had to call that number. To be honest I didn't go into it further because it was something I didn't want to think about. It's bad enough knowing the kind of areas he must work in without considering him never coming home again.”

“You're not alone in that. As to why, your husband was merely looking after you; the contract would do that. We call it Safeguard.”

“Like an insurance policy?”

“Like that.” She explained that Safeguard had originally been conceived for executives posted to Latin America, where kidnappings were once big business. Now, however, they were global and often used to cover oil workers or mining engineers in Africa and the Middle East. What she didn't say was that it didn't guarantee a safe return, but knowing a team of specialists—mostly
ex-military
—would be despatched to conduct a search was worth its psychological weight to victim and family. “The contract means that if there's a problem, we step in and do whatever's necessary.”

“Like what?” The woman's eyes were dull liquid, the head not listening, only hearing.

“We arrange alternative safe accommodation if required; funds to tide the family over if there's a shortfall; a channel of communication if that's possible, to keep everyone informed; even alternative schooling for children if they have to be moved temporarily.” She didn't say why that was ever necessary. Telling this woman right now that some families were under direct threat, not just the person kidnapped, would in all likelihood kick her over the edge. “Our clients are global. They're companies, governments, individuals.”

“What kind individuals?”

“All sorts.”

“Rich people?”

“Yes. Is your husband rich?”

“No!” The word gusted out on an explosion of bitter laughter. “God, I wish. He's a charity worker. We get by, that's all … most of the time.”

“But you employ a nanny. That's not cheap.”

“I pay that out of my
part-time
work. I'd go mad stuck in here all day every day.” She gave a harsh laugh. “I know that makes me sound selfish, but I can't help it. Have you ever tried holding a conversation with a
four-year
-old? It probably makes me a bad mother, too, but that's tough. Anyway, as for money, Tiggi charges very reasonable rates. At least, she did.”

“Don't dwell on it.” She allowed the silence to increase while Nancy calmed down, and checked her phone to bring up the summary of the Hardmans' contract with Cruxys. Nancy was clearly feeling volatile—who wouldn't be?—but that was good in its own way; she was beginning to let out more about herself and her family. Ruth wasn't about to assume the worst about this woman, but something was off about this whole deal and she couldn't put her finger on it. It was about time to add a little pressure of her own to the mix. “Mmm. Interesting.”

“What? What have you found?”

“Nothing. I was puzzled, that's all. Why do you move so often?”

“How do you know we do?”

“Your record shows several previous addresses.” It also showed that Michael Hardman had taken out the Safeguard contract with Cruxys just over two years ago, but she didn't say it. Some couples were like that: one half preferring not to know about the mundane stuff, the other seeing no need to talk about it. For whatever reason, the Hardmans had moved house five times in twenty months and Michael Hardman had taken measures in case something happened to him. Neither was a crime, and people moved all the time. But five different addresses?

“We're not rent jumpers, if that's what you're thinking.” The tone was sharply defensive. “Michael doesn't like being tied to one place, that's all. He's got itchy feet. And he's always off somewhere new. He says it's not worth buying property until we're settled.”

“And you? What do you think?”

Nancy shrugged. “I go where my husband goes, of course. Are you married?”

Ruth shook her head but said nothing, allowing the atmosphere to cool. She watched as Nancy tasted her tea. If it was too sweet she didn't seem to notice. She said, “You asked what we do, Nancy. Slik and I have been assigned to you until this matter has been resolved. We're here to help you.”

“
Resolved
?” Nancy's voice flared instantly, a shade away from hysteria. “You think this is a crossword puzzle … that it will be all tidied up by
tea-time
? For fuck's sake, this is my daughter you're talking about, not a case of dry rot! She's been kidnapped!”

“Sorry. Bad choice of words.” Ruth was unmoved. “Until we get her back, I meant. And we will. But you have to help us.”

“How? Christ,
I don't know anything
.”

“You might think that. We'll see. First, though, we need to bring in our experts to check the house. Room by room, starting with Beth's.”

“Why?”

“It's what we do, in case anything was left that we can't see. How often did your daughter's nanny stay over?”

“Not often. Only when I needed to be out late. She lived not far away but I didn't want her getting back late at night. She shares a house with several others.”

“Others?”

“Other Poles, I suppose. They come and go, looking for work.”

“How long had she worked for you?”

“Six—no, eight weeks.”

“You've no idea why she would have taken her things away? You didn't fall out with her, give her reason to leave?”

“No, nothing like that. She was fine yesterday.”

Ruth produced a lined A4 notepad from her briefcase. “I'm going to have a chat with my colleague and ring the office to arrange for the inspection team. Do you have a rear access to the garden? We don't want to make their presence obvious.”

“Yes. There's a gate to a service lane at the back. It's not locked.”

Ruth exchanged a look with Vaslik, who lifted an eyebrow at the implications and went outside. Then she said, “While we're doing this I want you to write down everything you know about Tiggi; full names, description, age, contact details, friends, family, home address, clubs, pubs, hobbies—anything you can think of. And I mean anything. Doesn't matter how trivial or salacious it might seem. This is about Beth, not her.”

Nancy stared. “Surely you don't think
she
took Beth? That's crazy—why would she? She doted on her.”

“I'm sure she did.” Ruth handed over the notepad. “Anything that comes to mind. Also about your husband's work, names of colleagues, friends, places he's been. It doesn't have to be in any kind of order. Stream of consciousness will do.” Her face softened. “It usually helps to just let it all out.”

“Usually? My God, how often do you have to do this kind of thing?”

Ruth didn't reply. She waited for her to start writing, then left the room and went in search of Vaslik.

seven

“She's lying.” Vaslik was
standing by the rear gate. He spoke without any hint of surprise, as if the human condition was an open book.

“Of course she's lying. Everyone does about something. But why—and what about?”

“I don't know.” He told her about all the documents being in the wife's name. “Hardman's name doesn't appear on anything as far as I could see.”

“I'm not surprised. He's never here, is he? She's the one left running things. It makes sense that she has to sign off everything. Hell, you tangle with our Data Protection Act and you'll see what I mean.”

“She's too calm, though.”

“You call that calm? That was some slap; you're lucky she didn't rip your face off.”

“It didn't hurt.”

“Only because you anticipated and rode the blow. Are you in the habit of getting knocked about by women?” When he looked surprised she snorted and said, “What—you think women don't know about
rough-house
techniques? My dad was a cop and a
part-time
boxing coach; he taught me to defend myself.”

Vaslik said, “You know the sign of a male chauvinist?”

She gave him a wary look. “You mean other than a small dick and an IQ to match? Let's pretend I'm dumb, shall we?”

He waved a dismissive hand. “Don't worry your pretty little head about it—you're just a girl.” As he turned away she swore she heard him chuckle, and smiled in spite of herself.

She said, “Can we get back to the matter in hand?”

“Sure, why not. What's bothering you?” When he turned back, his face was serious.

Ruth gestured at the house. “You're right. She's too calm. She should be climbing the walls, screaming at us and all the rest, demanding to know what the cops are doing about her daughter. Any mother gets her child snatched should be incandescent with anger and fear. But not her. Not on the same scale, anyway. I can't figure out why.”

Vaslik tilted his head in agreement. “She's scared, but controlled. It's unusual, but I've seen it before. With some people the full emotion takes time to kick in.”

“Seen it before how?”

“I should have mentioned it. I was in a child abduction unit in New York City before joining the DHS. We had to deal with a lot of family situations; fathers or mothers taking the kids to make a point or protect them from harm. Once we knew what we were dealing with it made the picture much clearer.”

“Is that why you made that dig about the nanny—to get under her skin?”

“Yes.”

She almost smiled. “You must have got slapped a lot.”

“Not true.” His mouth twitched. “Although one pulled a gun on me. That was a surprise; she was an
eighty-one
-
year-old
grandma. She didn't like cops.”

She was silent for a few moments, then said, “OK, so you know what you're doing. That's good; we can use that. What else did you find in the house?”

“Other than the nanny's room having been sanitised and changes of clothes for the kid taken, nothing.”

“You think she's involved?”

“Could be. She would know which clothes to take and where to get them, and the fact that all trace of her is gone, too … now that's unusual.”

“Why?”

“Whoever did this made sure there's nothing we can use. That means it wasn't a
spur-of
-
the-moment
or emotional thing, but planned.”

“So it could be the husband.”

“Maybe.” He indicated the open gate and the rear access lane, which was thinly layered in tarmac and just wide enough to bring a car or small van for residents to move bins and garden rubbish. Both sides were lined with hedging that had been left to grow wild. “If it wasn't him, they'd have come in this way. There's excellent cover all the way. Anybody coming through here would be screened by these hedges. It's how I'd do it, anyway.”

Ruth agreed. Entering through the front door risked being seen along a street that probably lived on gossip and curtain twitching. Leaving the front door open as if in the aftermath of a snatch had merely been a psychological trigger to put a final scare into Nancy.
After the card with its initial trigger points—the dead phone, the unanswered calls—seeing her home wide open and with the abandoned teddy on the doormat would have been the final piece to convince her it wasn't a hoax.

“But why would they do this? Hardman's a charity worker.”

“That's what she says.” Vaslik was looking up in the sky. “Doesn't mean it's so.”

“All right, brains, out with it. What do you know?”

“About this? As much as you do. There are several reasons for child abduction: there's family stuff, like I mentioned, usually involving an absent parent. Then there's outside motivation. The main reasons are sex, money and leverage. This could be sex but I'm betting on money or leverage.”

“Agreed. But who?”

“Good question. Off the top of my head I'd say the nanny's part of it, and one of the workers at the gym, which means these people have some reach.” He shrugged. “More than that, until we find out who could want something from these very ordinary suburban people
, I'm just guessing.” The way he placed emphasis on the word “suburban” indicated a strong degree of cynicism.

She took out her cell phone and dialled the office. It was time to get a team in. She gave directions on how to reach the rear gate, listened for a few seconds, then said to Vaslik, “Come on, let's go ask more questions. This time, try to be nice.”

They found Nancy in the same position, as if welded to the spot. Her face looked drawn, but there were no more signs of tears. Cried out for now, Ruth guessed, the well gone dry.

The notepad was on the coffee table, covered in neat handwriting.

“Done?”

“Yes. I'm not sure it will help much.” Her voice was flat with defeat, as if writing down the details had added another layer of doubt about the people close to her.

Ruth ignored the pad. Making sense of it would come later. For now the questions were the priority.

“The team is on its way. They're also sending someone to stay with you—a woman named Gina Fraser. If you're agreeable, she'll use Tiggi's room.”

She'd been surprised by the selection of Gina Fraser for this job. A former member of the Diplomatic Protection Group responsible for guarding government ministers and foreign embassies, she had only recently returned to work. After joining Cruxys she had been assigned to support a wealthy Qatari family who had incurred the wrath of a rival family by denying the marriage of their daughter to the other family's son. The marriage had been aimed at healing a historical tribal rift. What had at first seemed an
inter-family
spat had quickly turned violent. Two of the spurned son's uncles had arrived from Qatar, threatening consequences for the perceived insult. Gina Fraser, seen as the outward “face” of the family, had been targeted and shot twice as a warning.

She had nearly died. After two operations and months of therapy, she had come back, but Ruth wondered if she was back to full form. If anything blew up here, the consequences could be awkward. But she bit her tongue; it wasn't her job to
second-guess
the Cruxys selection process.

“Why send someone else?” Nancy looked worried. “I thought you'd be staying here.” She didn't include Vaslik, his presence clearly discounted.

“We can't, not all the time; we need to be out there looking for Beth, following up any leads.”

“Like what? What have you found?” She leaned forward, instantly alert.

“Nothing yet. There are a number of things we have to do, such as checking Tiggi's background, talking to the people at the gym … and to the charity Michael's working for. For that we'll need a contact number and name.”

“Oh.” Nancy's shoulders slumped at the mundane sound to the list.

“You have to realise that the kidnappers might wait a couple of days before contacting you again. It's better if Gina's here
full-time
to support you. You can trust her—she's very good at what she does. She and the team will come in through the back gate. They know what to do, so you don't need to do anything. Right now I need to go over a few things with you about your husband.”

“Why?” She seemed disconcerted by the sudden change in tactics, and Ruth put it down to stress. It was something she was going to have to get used to.

“Simply because he was mentioned specifically. They want him to know what happened. Why? Like I said before, this is not about you and not even Beth. It's about something else … maybe something your husband knows or did. But until the kidnappers come back and tell you what they want, we're in the dark.”

“You think they will contact us?”

“For sure.” Vaslik spoke from by the front window, his voice was soft. “Kidnappers work for profit—for an outcome. The note they left tells us that. We have to find out what that outcome might be, what they're willing to risk being caught for. Maybe they'll tell us soon. If we can make a connection, it gives us a lead on who could have planned this. Who stands to gain by it.” He spoke fluidly, clearly experienced with such events, then added carefully, “I want to apologise for what I said earlier. It was rude of me.”

Both women looked at him in surprise, Ruth especially.

Nancy shrugged, said nothing.

“Right,” Ruth said, to puncture the silence, and took out the recorder and placed it on the table. “Let's do this. Have you tried contacting your husband again?”

“Yes. Just now.” She indicated the cordless phone on the seat beside her.

“And?”

“It went to voicemail. He's probably out on a field trip. The local coverage could be patchy or nonexistent. I left a message.”

“May I?” Ruth picked up the phone and touched redial. A standard voicemail robot, sexless and bland. She put the phone down. “Where can we find his employers?”

“I tried the only number I've got. There's no answer.”

“Is that normal?”

“I don't know—I don't often have to tell them my daughter's been kidnapped.” She shook her head in irritation. “Sorry. I didn't mean that. The charities he works for … they're not mainline; they often work from temporary offices with minimum staff, putting all the money into field operations and resources.”

“We'll need the address details.”

“I'll look.” Nancy stood up and left the room. Ruth and Vaslik exchanged looks but said nothing. When Nancy came back she was carrying a ring binder. She flipped it open, frowned when she found what she was looking for, then scribbled on a
post-it
note.

She handed it over. “Sorry—that's all I've got.”

Ruth checked it. It was a phone number. “Does this charity have a name?”

“Probably, but I don't know what it is. I told you—he works for more than one. I forget which one this is.”

Ruth handed the note to Vaslik, who took out his cell phone and walked into the hallway.

To get her back to talking, Ruth asked, “What did your husband do before the charity thing?”

Nancy frowned. “All sorts. I think he worked in the city for a while, then he got tired of it and decided to do something worthwhile.”

“Did he make any money?”

“No. It wasn't that kind of job. I think it was more admin than anything. He never spoke about previous jobs—I don't think he considered them of value compared to what he does now.”

“So he's an idealist?”

“Is that wrong?”

“Not at all. How did you meet him?”

For the first time there was the ghost of a smile. “I was in Paris, helping at a business conference. I used to work in marketing. I was walking past Sacré Coeur during a break and snapped the heel of my shoe on a cobblestone. God, I was so embarrassed. But suddenly, there he was. He came to my rescue and got me a cab to my hotel. We started dating when I got back to London.”

“How romantic. And he was a charity worker then?”

“Yes. I believe he was with Oxfam at the time. But he left them not long afterwards to go freelance. He said there were lots of smaller organisations who needed all the help they could get without paying big bucks to their staff.” She lifted her shoulders. “If that makes him something of an idealist, then I guess he is.”

“What places did he work?” Vaslik had
re-entered
the room. He was juggling his phone in one hand.

“Mostly in Africa. He was a field coordinator and travelled all over.”

“Name some names,” said Ruth.

She hesitated, blinking, as if her mind was mired in glue. Then she said, “Rwanda, Mali, Somalia … countries where they've had the guts ripped out by war, famine, disease—you name it. I can't remember where else—he goes wherever he's needed.”

Ruth glanced at Vaslik. “None of them gel for me.” When she received a nod of agreement she added, “Where else—away from Africa?”

“I don't know. Places—I forget where.”

“Did you ever go to any of these ‘places?'”

“No. He never invited me. It was hardly likely to be a holiday, was it? Anyway, I'd have been in the way, excess baggage.” The words were tinged with a trace of sadness, and she added, “Sorry—I didn't mean that.”

“Fair enough.” Ruth stood up and Vaslik moved towards the door.

“You're going already?” Nancy sounded alarmed.

“We have to. We've got things to do if we want to get on top of this. Gina Fraser's on her way and should be here in a few minutes. She'll stay here with you. We'll be back, though, soon enough.” She had a thought. “The gym you go to. Are you a
card-carrying
member?”