what we did find off to forensics, but unless he smokes or chews gum – and there were only two bits of that fresh enough to be relevant – I don’t think it’ll get us anywhere. Certainly not before we’ve got him in custody some other way.’
Pete nodded. ‘Thanks, all of you, for trying anyway. As far as the school itself, an initial search turned up nothing but we’ve got a full team going in there, to do the job properly, in…’ he checked his watch ‘. . . about an hour. Other than that, the only thing that came up was a young lad who seems to have had something of a crush on Rosie, from a distance. Richie Young. The consensus among the other kids seems to be that he’s a bit weird, a bit of a loner, but essentially harmless. Follows her around at a distance. He’s not in school today, though. His mother phoned in this morning. He’s off sick.’
‘Could be a coincidence, boss,’
‘Could be, but you know me, Jane. I don’t like ’em. So I’ll follow up on him when we’re done here. Anybody got anything to add on the school before we move on?’
Heads were shaken in a silence that Pete allowed to stretch for a few seconds.
‘Right. We need to check with the school – and with the one Rosie’s mum works at – that all the staff have current CRB checks in place. No one’s there that shouldn’t to be. Make sure they’ve all got solid alibis for yesterday morning. Any that haven’t, we’ll need to interview. The rest of us need to carry on with last night’s interviews. Track down those we weren’t able to get in touch with and check on the alibis of those we spoke to. Dick and Jill, if you want to start checking alibis, grab a couple of uniforms to help out. Jane, you can get a list together of all the people we still need to interview and get started on that with Ben. Usual drill – neighbours, close family and friends first, then widen the net. Colleagues, friends of friends, schoolmates and the parents of, and don’t forget the folks that live around Risingbrook itself. Right. Anything else?’ He gazed around the assembled team. They looked determined, ready to go. ‘No? Let’s get to it then. And anybody who finds her by lunch gets a pint on me.’
A ripple of cynical laughter went around the room and Pete gave it a few seconds before holding up his hands. ‘Rosie’s been missing for twenty-six hours now, so it’s time to pull our fingers out and get a wiggle on. And the press moratorium has been lifted, as of five minutes ago. I spoke to our beloved leader and he’s got that in hand.’
‘I bet he has,’ Feeney said dryly.
‘We might as well make what use of him we can. Now, come on. Let’s try to find this girl before any harm comes to her.’ Pete stepped away from the whiteboard as those who were seated stood up and everyone moved off to get on with their assigned tasks. ‘Sophie,’ he called.
One of the PCs who were on the way to the door stopped and looked around.
‘I need you with me, OK?’
Her eyes widened in surprise. ‘Yes, Sarge.’ She stepped out of the group. ‘What are we doing?’
‘Having a talk to the Young boy. Best to have two of us there.’ Pete often found that a female presence helped in such situations. It tended to keep things calmer. Plus, there was the different perspective that they brought to an interview. They tended to see things differently – and see different things – to men, which could be useful. It was one of the reasons he worked so well with Jane. ‘We need to find out if young Richie Young is as innocent as he ought to be, or if his mum’s covering for him.’
*
Richie Young’s dark hair was lank and longer than Pete would have expected to be allowed for a boy at a school like Risingbrook. Its central parting was failing miserably so that it hung down like a ragged curtain in front of his too-bright eyes and pale, shiny face as he sat sullenly against far too many pillows in a bed that smelled stale and unwelcoming. His thin chest was heaving as if he’d just run all the way from school. His mother sat on the corner of the bed, her hand firmly on his knee as if to prevent it from bouncing in front of the two police officers.
Pete pulled the chair out from under the desk and turned it around. With a jolt, he noticed a maths textbook on the desk that was the same one Tommy had been using. Then, on a shelf beside the desk, what looked like a brass coin. He recognised it as a token from an amusement arcade. There were several in Tommy’s room, from time he’d spent in the place down Fore Street.
Pete had been shocked when he realised that his son was gambling. He remembered wondering what else the boy got up to that he didn’t know about. Did this lad and his son know each other? He leaned forward in the chair, fighting the urge to ask. Come on, Pete. Stick to the subject.
He shared a glance with Sophie, who was standing by the door, arms folded as if guarding it. ‘So,’ he said. ‘Do you know of anyone Rosie’s receiving any unwanted attention from? Anyone she’s having problems with?’
‘No.’
‘And you would know, right? You being a close friend of hers?’
‘Are you taking the . . . ’ he glanced at his mother ‘. . . mick?’
‘Why would you think that?’
‘You must have got my name from school, so you must have talked to the other kids.’
‘And?’
‘No, I don’t know of anyone she’s having problems with. She’s popular. She’s not bitchy or stuck-up like some of them. She includes people, you know?’
People like you, Pete thought. Outsiders. He nodded. ‘And you’re sure you didn’t see anything unusual, anything out of place when you got to school yesterday? Or hear anything, maybe?’
‘No. If I had, I’d say, alright?’ For a moment, he looked like he wanted to continue, but then he clammed up once more, his arms folded across his thin chest.
‘Well, that just leaves me wondering one thing, Richie. What aren’t you telling me?’
‘Nothing.’
Pete couldn’t read Richie’s expression through his hair, but his mother straightened in her seat, about to object, then held her silence as a tiny doubt took hold in her mind. She’d seen it, too. The question was, was it relevant? Did he want to push the kid now, in front of his mother, or keep him as a potential witness for later?
‘Who did you see when you got there? Give me some names.’
The boy’s lip curled. ‘I don’t . . . There was Matt Andrews and a couple of his friends. Holly Gregson. Tess Carver.’ He shrugged. ‘That’s about it.’
Pete wrote the names down. He would check with them later. He stood up, putting away his notepad and pen. ‘Well, if you think of anything, or remember anything that might be relevant, you call me, right?’ He took out a card, but the boy had retreated into himself. Pete turned the chair back around and put the card on the desk. ‘My number’s there. Any time.’ He nodded to the mother. ‘Thank you, Mrs Young. Sorry to have troubled you.’
*
‘What d’you reckon, Sarge?’
Pete started the engine and glanced across at Sophie. ‘I reckon he knows more than he’s letting on. Maybe it’s because his mother was there, maybe more than that.
