would you? Stick it on speaker.’
‘Hello? DS Gayle’s phone. Hold on, I’m putting you on speaker.’
A tinny voice came from the little speaker. ‘Hey, boss. Wanted to check something with you.’
‘What’s that, Dave?’
‘I’ve just been visiting with one of our local sex offenders, a Barry Enstone. He claims to have an alibi, provided by his girlfriend. Only he doesn’t want us to speak to her until he’s had a chance to tell her about his past, which he hasn’t done yet. I don’t think he’s involved, so am I all right to just check up on her indirectly and leave him be until tomorrow?’
‘You’re sure about him, are you?’
‘As sure as I can be.’
Pete drew a breath. ‘All right. If the girlfriend pans out, then move on.’
‘OK. Cheers, boss.’ There was a click and the connection was cut.
Sophie handed him back the phone. ‘Another one bites the dust?’
‘We can’t always drop on the right guy first time out the door.’
‘No, but once in a while would be nice, wouldn’t it? Especially when we’re on the clock, like we are with this case.’
‘Bloody weather.’ Sophie knocked the rain off her hat and replaced it neatly on her head as the lift carried them up to Neil Sanderson’s workplace.
‘Yes. Which is another reason why we need to find Rosie as quick as we can.’ Pete looked up at the row of numbers above the lift doors. Number two lit briefly as they passed that floor. ‘We don’t know where she is or, if someone’s taken her, what conditions she’s being held in. If she’s still being held.’
‘Yeah, but . . . statistically, they reckon we should have another twenty-four hours before . . .’ Her voice trailed off.
‘That’s what the stats say.’ But we all know what they say about stats, he thought, but kept to himself.
The lift stopped with a ping. The doors slid open and they stepped out. Pete showed his badge to the receptionist. Molyneux and Richards was picked out in large, silver lettering on the wall behind her. ‘We’d like to speak to one of the owners, if possible.’
‘Mr Richards is in. I’ll tell him you’re here.’
‘Thank you.’
She picked up the phone and dialled. ‘Mr Richards, there are two police officers here. Can you speak to them?’ She nodded. ‘OK.’ Putting the phone down, she looked up at Pete. ‘He’ll be out in a second.’
Moments later a tall, well-built man in his fifties came through the door to her left, his brown eyes direct as he shook Pete’s hand. ‘Brian Richards. How can I help?’
‘DS Gayle. This is PC Clewes.’ Pete glanced at the girl on the front desk. ‘If we could perhaps go through to your office?’
‘Yes, sure.’ He led the way through a large, open-plan workroom where Pete counted nine staff at a mixture of desks and drawing tables. His office was one of two half-glassed enclosures at the far side. He stepped in and offered them chairs. ‘Now . . .’
‘We’re looking into the disappearance of a young girl,’ Pete said. ‘Her best friend is the daughter of one of your employees, Neil Sanderson. As a known associate, we need to eliminate him from the inquiry, so I was hoping to ask you about him.’
‘OK.’
‘How well do you know him?’
‘Not well, in the sense of spending time together outside the office, but I’ve known him as a colleague for . . . seven years now, I think.’
‘Is there anyone here he does spend time with outside the workplace?’
‘He’s big mates with Tony.’
‘We’ll need a word with Tony then, if that’s OK. But, before that, is there anything you might want to tell us about either of them? Anything you might be aware of that’s in any way irregular?’
‘What, you mean . . . ? No. They’re just two regular guys, as far as I’m aware. They’ve both always been the height of professionalism at work. Both very good at their jobs. There’s never been any hint of anything inappropriate with either of them.’
‘OK. We haven’t spoken to Mr Sanderson yet. We’re just compiling backgrounds and alibis for now. But if you could point him out?’ Pete turned in his chair.
‘There, second from the right.’
‘Dark-haired guy with the blue and yellow check shirt?’
‘That’s right.’
‘And his mate – Tony?’
‘Sitting across from him.’
‘Right. Well, we don’t want to disrupt your day any more than we have to. Is there somewhere we could have a word with Tony?’
‘We have a conference room. Grand title for an office not much bigger than mine, really, but it has a table and a projector with a screen for talking to clients and so on. It’s next door.’
‘That would be perfect.’
‘Right.’ He stood up and went to the door. ‘Tony. Have you got a minute?’
The man looked up, then stood and came towards them. As he stepped into the small office, Richards said, ‘Tony Stillwell, DS Gayle and PC Clewes. They’d like a word if that’s OK. I said you could use the conference room.’
Pete stood up and held out his hand. ‘Nothing to worry about, sir. We just need to ask you a few questions about a friend of yours, that’s all.’
Stillwell’s handshake was tentative. ‘OK.’
Sophie moved to replace her chair in the corner.
‘Don’t worry about that, I’ll get them,’ Richards told her. ‘If you want to take them through, Tony . . .’
‘Uh . . . Yes, sure.’ He led the way back through the studio to the reception and past the receptionist’s desk to the door at the other side of it. ‘Here we are.’
There was a table big enough to seat ten people. A projector on it was aimed towards a screen on the far wall. Stillwell went around to the far side and took a seat, the windows behind him. ‘So, what’s this about?’
‘A young girl went missing yesterday,’ Pete told him. ‘Her best friend is the daughter of a friend of yours, Neil Sanderson, so we need to ask you about him.’
Stillwell relaxed visibly. ‘OK. No
