Nowhere to Run

‘As I said, Mr Stillwell, elimination. OK. I think we’ve taken up enough of your time for now. Sophie, do you want to go with Mr Stillwell and send Mr Sanderson in here?’

He had planned to leave talking to Sanderson until later, when he’d had a chance to corroborate his alibi, but Stillwell’s comments had blown that out of the window. With Sanderson having no alibi, it was essential to talk to him now.

‘OK, Sarge.’ She snapped her notebook closed as Stillwell stood up and headed for the door.

‘And Sophie?’

‘Sarge?’

‘When you’ve sent him here, have a word with Richards. Get any password that might be needed and have a quick shufty through Sanderson’s computer, all right?’

‘Is that legal?’ asked Stillwell.

‘It is, if we’ve got your boss’s permission,’ Pete told him.

As they left the room Pete moved around to the far side of the table then made a few notes while he waited for Sanderson to come through.

He had just finished writing when the door opened and he looked up to see the tall, slim architect enter and close the door behind him.

‘You wanted to see me?’

‘That’s right. Take a seat.’ Pete waited for Sanderson to sit opposite him.

The sun had come out and Sanderson squinted slightly against the brightness although the window was facing west and it was still not yet noon. ‘We’re looking into the disappearance of Rosie Whitlock. We understand you know her.’

‘Yes, of course.’

‘Where were you between eight-fifteen and eight-forty yesterday morning?’

‘Uh . . . On my way here. I was late getting in because I had a flat tyre. Why?’

‘Where exactly did you get this flat?’

‘Between Marsh Green and the airport. We live at West Hill.’

‘So, a minor road with very little traffic.’

‘That’s the idea. Better for getting here in the rush hour.’

‘Did anyone see you while you were dealing with your flat tyre?’

‘As you said, it’s a minor road with not a lot of traffic. So, no, I don’t think so.’

Pete pursed his lips. ‘Anybody see you leave your house?’

‘Why? Am I a suspect here?’

‘Everybody who knows Rosie is a suspect until we eliminate them. Did anyone see you leave home?’

‘No. My wife leaves before I do.’

‘So you have no one to corroborate your whereabouts from – what time did your wife leave the house?’

‘Eight.’

‘From eight o’clock to nine-thirty-ish, when you arrived here, then?’

‘I suppose. But that doesn’t mean I had anything to do with whatever happened to Rosie. What did happen, anyway? Alistair couldn’t tell me much last night when he rang.’

‘What’s your relationship like with her? I understand she’s your daughter’s best friend.’

‘What’s my . . . ? Wait a minute. What is this? It sounds like you’re accusing me of being some sort of paedophile.’

His answers were all perfectly reasonable but, with the victim being his daughter’s best friend, he had been just a bit too offhand until the last question. Pete decided to push him a bit, now the opportunity had arisen. ‘Not at all. But she is a pretty girl. And they grow up fast, don’t they? Look sixteen when they’re thirteen, given half a chance. And the fashions these days . . .’

Something flickered in Sanderson’s eyes then he frowned sharply. ‘You must have me confused with someone else, Sergeant. I’m certainly not attracted to my daughter’s friends.’ He rubbed at his cheek. ‘I’m a married man. A happily married one, in fact. Ask my wife.’

Pete nodded. We will, he thought. And your daughter, if needs be. ‘OK,’ he said.

The door opened and Sophie entered. She gave him a slight shake of the head. Nothing untoward on Sanderson’s computer. Not that Pete had expected anything on a work machine, but you never knew. Sanderson watched her move around the table and sit down next to Pete. Pete could see the question in his eyes. ‘Right then,’ he said. ‘I understand my colleague spoke to you yesterday evening, asking for your permission to check your daughter’s computer, her emails and so forth, to see if there’s anything in there that might point towards any problems Rosie might have been having.’

‘Yes, and I gave it.’

‘Your wife just works mornings, yes?’

‘Yes, but . . .’ He shrugged and straightened his collar. ‘If it’s all the same to you, I’d like to be there when you check. I’m not really comfortable with strangers being in my house when I’m not.’

Pete grimaced. ‘Have you got a number for your wife?’

‘Of course.’ Sanderson reeled off the number and Pete wrote it down then clicked his pen shut and stood up.

‘OK. Thank you for your time, Mr Sanderson. We must crack on now. Time is of the essence in cases like this. Come on, Sophie.’ He ushered her quickly out of the room and towards the lifts.

Once the doors had closed behind them, she turned to him with a frown. ‘What was that all about? You were out of there like a cat with a banger up its arse.’

‘He’s got no alibi for the time in question, he had plenty of time to get to Risingbrook and snatch the girl. And there was something not right about his reaction when I mentioned girls her age and the way they dress. So, I want to talk to his wife before he can and get her to let us in and check out both the daughter’s computer and his. What time is it?’

‘Ten to eleven.’

‘So, if she finishes at twelve-thirty – give her an hour to get home – we’ve got a couple of hours to get there and be ready for her.’

CHAPTER 10 (#ulink_f2b5ba29-5550-5158-aa62-0cfac29f9e9d)

‘How’s it going?’

Jane watched him rub some of the rain out of his hair. ‘I’ve been to Alistair’s office, spoken to his colleagues and run their names, as well as those of all their recent clients. I got confirmation from him while I was there that the phone we found in bits outside the school was Rosie’s. I also checked his computer. Nothing. So I went back over to their place, spoke to several neighbours to see if they’ve seen or heard anything out of the ordinary lately.’

The phone on Pete’s desk began to ring.