through. Her mind was dividing down two paths: one, the main one, was concern for Gemma, a feeling of queasy uncertainty that told her something was wrong. Luke said he’d been in touch with the police, and that they hadn’t been concerned, but that was before the discovery of the missing files. Or would the police say that showed Gemma had meant to leave, that she had wiped all her files because…because what? Because she had something to hide?
That was the second strand of Roz’s concern. If Gemma had gone deliberately, the implications for the group could be serious. Roz closed the door of her room, and leant against it. The silence closed round her. She needed some time to think, and, she realized, she needed to contact Joanna. Joanna had to know. She dialled Joanna’s number, but got the answering service. She hung up. She’d better plan what she was going to say. She pushed a pile of papers out of the way to reach her notepad and a pen. The papers were her Monday’s to-do pile. The various tasks snagged her mind, and she leafed through the stuff as she tried to work out what, exactly, to say to Joanna.
That reminded her about the draft report for DI Jordan. Gemma needed to complete it and send it off. But Gemma wouldn’t be there. Suddenly, she was sure of that. Whatever had happened, Gemma would not be back soon, maybe not at all. Roz would have to check that report, phone the rather brusque DI Jordan and explain why it was being delayed for another day. She remembered Joanna’s ebullience on Friday. She dreaded telling her.
A disk that had been concealed in the pile of papers slipped out and fell to the floor. She frowned as she picked it up. She was very careful not to leave disks lying around, careful to keep them filed and classified where they could be found as soon as they were wanted. She must have been distracted on Friday. She picked it up to see what it was. No label. That was odd. She never, never, put anything on a disk without labelling it. It must be someone else’s, but who would leave this in her office?
Then she remembered Gemma in her room on Wednesday, fumbling nervously and dropping her bag on to the desk. It must have fallen out of the bag, and Gemma hadn’t noticed. She picked up the phone to call Gemma’s extension, tell Luke what she’d found, but then she put it down. Better see what she’d got first. Gemma must have been planning to take the disk with her. She put it into her machine, ran it through the virus scan, and opened it.
There were three files: JPG files, pictures. The file names weren’t very helpful – AE1, AE2, AE3. Roz was disappointed. She didn’t want pictures, she wanted some of Gemma’s work files. She double-clicked on one and watched the picture form on the screen.
At first, her mind wouldn’t process the image. Then she was…what? Shocked? Embarrassed? Amused? No wonder Gemma kept these in her bag, not lying around the department. It was a picture of a woman – of Gemma – naked, sitting on a patterned quilt with her knees drawn up and her arms resting on them. She was looking over the top of her arms, straight at the camera. Her eyes gleamed with suppressed laughter. Her legs, below the drawn-up knees, were parted, exposing her to the camera’s eye.
She opened the next file, not knowing if she should, or if she wanted to. Gemma, standing this time, her wrists held above her with a rope that was stretched painfully tight, pulling her up so that she was standing on tiptoe. Her eyes looked directly out of the screen, challenging and inviting. The third file showed Gemma on a bed with her hands tied again and again pulled above her head. Her knees were bent and her legs were splayed. She was wearing a basque that was laced so tightly it bit into the flesh. The background was dark and shadowy. Roz sat in silence. She didn’t know what to do. She didn’t understand why the pictures were stored on the disk. Why would Gemma be carrying them around in her bag? Who did she plan to show them to?
Hands touched her shoulders and she jumped. She swung round, and Luke was behind her. Her heart hammered in her throat and for a moment she felt sick. ‘Luke! Shit! You scared the life out of me!’ She tried to catch her breath.
‘What have you got there, Roz?’ His voice was quiet and even. He didn’t apologize for startling her.
‘It’s…’ Her voice sounded artificial, and before she could think what to say, his hand was on the mouse and he ran through the other files. Neither of them spoke for a moment. Then he closed them and took the disk out of the drive.
‘Gemma’s, I think,’ he said.
‘Luke…’ She didn’t know what to say.
‘It’s OK.’ His voice was carefully empty of expression. ‘We took those a couple of months ago. They were just photographs.’
That was true. They were just photographs. But Roz felt angry with Luke. She wished she hadn’t seen them – or wished, at least, that it hadn’t been him who had taken them. Gemma had put them on a disk and was taking them somewhere. Why? She looked at Luke, who was holding the disk between his thumb and forefinger, his eyes narrowed in thought.
‘It’s none of my business,’ she said. She could hear her voice sounding cold. ‘I thought…’ What? What had she thought? That the files would contain some explanation for Gemma’s disappearance?
He met her eyes. He seemed distracted, as though he was thinking about something else. ‘No, no problem.’ His voice was detached, that flash of anger in his office gone as fast as it had come. He raised his eyebrows at her. ‘Well, you know something you didn’t know before.’
She knew that she didn’t know Luke as well as she had thought. She felt as though she didn’t know him at all.
Snake Pass, Sunday morning
As Sunday dawned over the Pennines, it became a fine winter’s day. The sky was cloudless blue and the air was still. The temperature had dropped, and the ground glittered with frost. It was a day to bring the walkers out, and Keith Strong had decided to get ahead of the rush and make an early start. He knew the Peak well – he worked as a part-time ranger, keeping an eye on visitors to the park, offering a helping hand, getting walkers out of difficulty, taking part in rescues when things went drastically wrong. In the Peak, rescues usually meant someone had been stupid – tried to walk the path up Mam Tor, the shivering mountain, in high-heeled sandals (really, he’d seen it), gone on the tops in bad weather without the right equipment, gone climbing on the edges without safety gear. Today, he wasn’t working; he was out just to enjoy the countryside. His mate, Tony, was driving over to Manchester first thing, and Keith had persuaded him to go via the Snake and drop Keith off at Doctor’s Gate. He planned to take the path up Devil’s Dyke, following the route of the Pennine Way, and walk across to the Flouch Inn. It was a long walk and a hard one, but the weather was right, and he needed a day out. It would do Candy good as well.
Tony dropped him on the straight stretch of road before Doctor’s Gate. ‘I’m not stopping on that bend,’ he said. Keith raised his hand in thanks as Tony drove off, shouldered his rucksack and set off up the hill towards the culvert. He kept Candy on the lead for the road bit. She was obedient – all his dogs were well trained – but she was young, and she was excited and full of energy. It wasn’t worth the risk. She pulled at the lead and he spoke firmly to her, but he let her pull again as the hill got steeper. It made carrying his rucksack up that incline just a bit easier. As soon as they reached the culvert and crossed the road, he let Candy off the lead and she ran ahead up the dyke, sniffing eagerly, dancing with enjoyment. Keith reflected, not for the first time, that it was much easier to make a dog happy than a woman.
He let Candy explore. There were sheep, and at this time of year they could be in lamb, but Candy knew better than to chase them. He sat down on a rock to tighten the laces on his boots and put on his gaiters. Frost or not, it could be muddy up on the tops. He noticed the car with the half awareness
