The Locker (7 page)

eleven

Nancy observed the arrival
of the forensics team with feelings of resentment. Two men and a woman in casual street clothes, each carrying a large aluminium briefcase. They filed through the back gate and into the kitchen with courteous nods, but she could see the thoughts behind the eyes, knowing that they were judging her. What mother, they were thinking, goes to a gym and leaves her young daughter in the  dubious care of a nanny, while her husband is off somewhere where she can't even get hold of him?

Screw them, she thought; they don't know anything about me or my family. And neither, she decided, does the tall,
rod-thin
woman with the
coffee-coloured
skin who followed them minutes later, and proceeded to prowl the house like a tiger. She introduced herself as Gina Fraser and announced that she would stay with Nancy until her daughter was returned. For now she wanted to get a feel for the layout of the house and its surroundings.

“Why?” Nancy didn't want her here any more than the others, and she definitely didn't care for the cool manner with which she was being studied, like a laboratory specimen on a glass plate.

“Because it's my job. It's what I do.” Fraser's attitude was short on social skills, with a
take-it
-
or-leave
-it tone that precluded idle chat. “I'm here to look after you, to make sure you're safe. To do that I
have to know my way around.” Her manner softened momentarily as she added, “You need to be here for when Beth gets back. It's my job to see that you are.”

“You're a bodyguard?”

“Yes.”

“Are you armed?”

“Would that bother you?”

“Yes, of course. Why would you need a gun in my house?”

Fraser shrugged. “To shoot anyone who tries to harm you.”

Nancy wasn't sure if she was joking, but felt herself repelled by the idea. “Just like that?”

“No. I'd probably warn them first. Or not.” A lift of an eyebrow was the only hint she gave that she might not be serious.

Nancy followed her around the house, watching as she tested windows, checked locks and viewed every aspect from the house of the road, garden and neighbouring properties. It looked casual, but she was certain the woman didn't miss a thing, and began to feel that Fraser, at least, had her best interests at heart, unlike the other people currently burrowing into every aspect of the house, scooping up material, vacuuming the carpets with small,
hand-held
machines and placing debris she mostly couldn't see in neat plastic bags.

After a while she broke away from Fraser and watched the team, led by a man who had introduced himself as Jakers. A robust looking individual in his fifties, with
steel-grey
hair and rimless spectacles, he seemed to look right through her. It made her feel uncomfortable and she broke away after a while and watched from a distance.

“Do you have to go through my things?” she demanded more than once, when drawers were opened and cupboards inspected. “Nothing in there has been touched, I can tell you now.”

“Won't be long,” Jakers responded each time. “We'll be out from under your feet in no time.” He might as well have added the words, “if you leave us alone to get on with it.” But he didn't.

She stopped in the living room in front of a photo of Beth, all smiles and
pink-faced
. She felt instantly the eruption of tears coming on and rubbed her eyes before they could spill. Breaking down wouldn't do, not here and now. She had to remain in control and wait for Michael to get here. Then Beth would be returned and everything would go back to normal.

She looked round for her phone, then remembered the American, Vaslik, taking it from the kitchen. She waited until the searchers had moved into the living room, then went through to the kitchen and opened drawers until she found it, lying on top of some tea towels. She had to try Michael's number again, to tell him what was going on. Not having some kind of contact was driving her out of her mind.

A shadow moved and Fraser appeared behind her like a ghost. “What's up?”

“I want to try Michael's phone again.”

“It's best you don't,” Fraser replied, and eased the phone out of her hands. “You need to stay off the lines in case they call.”

“They?” She thought Fraser was talking about her two colleagues.

“The people who took Beth.”

Her throat closed tight at the reminder and she felt a momentary panic at not being able to breathe. She swallowed hard to regain control, then said, “How would they? They don't know the numbers.”

“You think?” Fraser cocked her head to one side. “They got close enough to take the battery out of your phone. I think they'll have the number of your landline, too.”

Nancy backed off, suddenly reminded that whoever had taken Beth had somehow managed to worm their way into every aspect of her life and routine. Fraser was right: they had controlled her phone, so what else had they managed to take over?

She went into her bedroom where the team had just finished searching. Everything had been put back neatly enough, but there were the inevitable signs that nothing was as it had been before, the subtle differences in layout showing that somebody other than herself had been here.

It was a further reminder that her life had changed, and there was nothing she could do about it but wait and put her trust in divine providence.

Not like the woman, Gonzales; a strong woman, assured and forthright, who probably never experienced a moment of doubt. She wouldn't baulk at such events, but would know precisely what to do to fight back.

She found herself almost envying her that strength. But she countered it by thinking that Gonzales didn't have somebody like Michael in her life. Or Beth.

She sat on the bed, feeling utterly alone, wondering what was going to happen … and what kind of catalyst had brought this nightmare onto her and her family.

twelve

“What's this for?” Ruth
was holding the CD. Vaslik had dropped it in her lap without comment. His clothes were damp with rain and his face gleaming in spite of the car's heater. He appeared not to notice.

They were sitting in Ruth's car a block away from the rear entrance to the Hardman house. The rain was steady, one of those relentless London showers that takes no prisoners and obscures the surrounding scenery like a veil.

“Call it a visitor's gift. It's good for the nerves.”

“I don't need my nerves soothed, and if I did I'd play whale music, not the Balalaika.” She turned it over and read the blurb. “Still, might make me less suicidal than bloody Snow Patrol. Thank you. Did you come up with anything?”

He described the empty shop. “I think our Mrs. Hardman is hiding something.”

“Or she's gullible and believes everything her husband tells her. It happens; people believe what they're happy to hear.”

“Wives, you mean?” Vaslik smiled. “I didn't know you were a feminist.”

“I'm not. But look at the facts: most husbands have more control in one way or another, and most wives let them. I'm not saying it's the fault of the men or the weakness of the women, it's simply the way it is.”

“You think that's the case here?”

“Sort of. But I think Nancy Hardman is an extreme example; she believes utterly in her husband, accepting his absences without question. She's adopted the position of never asking where he goes or what he does: she just accepts it as part of the job he's chosen in life. I don't understand that kind of relationship, but I know it's not uncommon.”

“So her part of the bargain is to run the family life, bring up the daughter and act like it's normal? I don't get that.”

“It's normal to her. It probably wasn't once, but she's hardly a firebrand; she knows next to nothing about his life before they met and seems happy to go along with what he wants. That's a little weird but I bet she's not the only one.”

“Do you want to confront her about it?”

Ruth shrugged. “And say what—that she's a submissive drip who allowed her husband to impose his life on her without question?” She shook her head. “Let me think about it.”

“What about the nonexistent charity shop?”

“She might not know about that. It was just an address somebody gave out to get the phone. Doesn't mean they ever went there.”

“Or it was cloned.”

“Or that. Either way, if the whole thing is a fake, telling her could do more harm than good.”

She told him about Fitness Plus and how it wouldn't have taken much to bone up on Nancy Hardman's every movement. “I could get past the desk without trying, but my money's still on the CCTV. If there's anything to see, Aston will get it.”

“And in the meantime?”

“We'll go in and check on Fraser and have another swing at the wife. I just don't believe Hardman could go this long without getting in touch with her. Something about this doesn't feel
kushti
.”

He lifted his eyebrows. “You speak Romanian?”

“I speak street. Come on.”

They left the car and made their way through the rain to the rear gate. They were halfway down the garden path when a figure stepped out from the side of the house near the kitchen door. It was a woman. She had one hand behind her back. The other held a
rolled-up
newspaper.

Ruth put out her hand to stop Vaslik, who was already moving away to the side, his stance stiff with tension. “Steady—it's Gina.”

Fraser looked calm and controlled. She was dressed in boots, jeans and an
all-weather
top, as if she had just popped out between errands to take in the washing. But Ruth wasn't fooled. The newspaper was a blind; make a wrong move and Gina would toss it in the air to draw the eye while bringing out her other hand from behind her back. The rest would be textbook—and deadly.

Gina saw Ruth and relaxed. “Hi, Ruthie. How are you doing, girl?”

“I'm good, thanks. Have you met Slik?”

Gina nodded and brought her hand to the front. She was holding a small
semi-automatic
pistol. She flicked her jacket aside and slipped the gun into a holster high on her hip. “No, but I heard about him. You OK, Andrei?”

“Always.” Vaslik walked past her without smiling and entered the house.

“Friendly. What's his problem?” Gina commented wryly.

“Hormones, I think.” Ruth couldn't do much about Slik's attitude; he'd probably heard about Gina getting shot and was doubting her capabilities to carry out her job effectively. She found herself sharing as little of those doubts. The former bodyguard looked good at a distance, but up close she looked wasted, with dark rings round her eyes and an unnatural gauntness to her cheeks. Given what she had been through, she had good reason.

The gun was something else.

“Are you supposed to be carrying?” Ruth asked her. Cruxys employees were not officially authorised to carry weapons, although in extreme situations where life and limb was threatened, some were known to bend the rules. She wondered what Vaslik felt about that, having come from a gun culture where going armed was a factor of daily life for those involved in law enforcement and security.

“They said it was OK, considering.”

Ruth didn't believe her, but let it pass. In Gina's place she'd have been carrying a Heckler & Koch MP5 switched to full auto. “How's the lady of the house?”

“Not great. She doesn't like me being here and doesn't hide it. I can't make out whether she's a latent racist or if it's a territorial thing.”

“She's hard work, I agree. But give her the benefit of the doubt; she's just had her kid snatched and her life's gone belly up. Any calls or visitors?”

“None. The team did their bit and left. I don't think they found much. Jakers was getting truly pissed because she wouldn't leave them alone for two minutes, always hovering and asking what they were doing.”

Bill Jakers was a former Met Police Scene of Crime officer in charge of the support team who ran forensics and provided equipment and logistics for case officers like her and Vaslik. He normally had the patience of a saint but clearly Nancy hovering over his shoulder had tested it to the full.

“I think he was hoping I'd put her in cuffs and lock her in the bathroom. It was tempting, but I resisted.” She hesitated, then said, “Jakers found a small spot of blood in the nanny's room, on the doorframe. He said to mention it.”

“Significant?” In other words, was it fresh.

“Fairly. Just a spot. Could have been nothing.”

Ruth absorbed the information. It might prove that the snatch had happened here, rather than on the street. If there had been a struggle, such as the nanny protecting her charge, then she'd have been the first obstacle down. Or it could have been coincidence.

“Thanks, Gina.” She was no further forward, save that it might knock on the head any idea of the nanny being involved. But if she wasn't, where was she? Would they have bothered taking an adult with them? It increased the risk of exposure considerably, having a hostile along who could kick off at any moment.

She'd been studying Gina while she was talking, her eyes in particular. It wasn't her job to run field assessments of other staff members, least of all one who'd been injured in the line of duty; but she was trying to figure out how much Gina had changed since the last time they had met.
Self-confidence
was a must for her job, but it could easily vanish after the kind of hot contact she had experienced. She could only judge by appearances, but in spite of her colour and thinness, she had to admit that Gina looked good and ready to go. She'd certainly come out here
double-quick
and ready to intercept them, so she had lost none of her alertness.

“Where's the camera?” She meant the one that had spotted their approach.

Gina nodded towards the rear gate. “There's a minicam covering the lane and others on the sides and front. I saw you coming but the rain killed some of the detail.” She brushed moisture off her face. “Which reminds me, can we get inside? I don't want to push my luck and catch pneumonia.”

They walked inside, Gina turning to scan the rear garden before following and closing the door. It was done smoothly and Ruth decided to try and get Vaslik
on-side
about her. Just because he had high standards and some women didn't seem to figure, it wasn't fair riding her because she'd got herself shot.

The kitchen had been turned into an observation room. Two monitors sat on the work surface, each with a split screen linked to separate cameras. The pictures were good apart from the rain, but clear enough to give adequate warning of an intruder.

Nancy was waiting for them in the living room, body as tight as a
bow-string
. She stepped forward to greet Ruth, face open to receive news. She looked fragile, as if the intervening hours since they had last spoken were draining her of vitality.

“Have you found anything?”

“Not yet.” Ruth glanced at Vaslik but he gave a minute shake of his head. She still hadn't decided whether to tell her about the deserted shop in Queensway; finding out that her husband's supposed charity base was empty might be enough to undermine her world even further. At worst it would prove nothing except that the charity was a fake.

And that her husband had lied to her.