Peter Gayle. And this is DC Bennett.’
‘Come in. My wife’s through there.’ He stood back and indicated a door to the right of the big hallway.
They went into a large, bright sitting room where Mrs Whitlock sat on one of three cream sofas, a barely touched cup and saucer on the coffee table in front of her. In her thirties, blonde hair held back from her face in a chignon, Pete could see that she was a woman of natural style and beauty, despite the haunted look she wore now.
Her husband followed them in and sat beside her, taking her hand. ‘Please, have a seat. These are the detectives, Jess.’
She glanced up, clearly in shock.
Pete took the sofa at right angles to theirs. ‘Pete Gayle. This is Jane Bennett. We just need to establish the facts of the situation, then we’ll get out of your hair.’
‘Please. Ask us anything,’ Alistair said. ‘Just . . . find her, Sergeant.’
Pete took out his notebook and saw Jane doing the same. ‘That’s what we’re here for. Now, we only have what you told my colleague on the phone, so… We need to build as full a picture as we can.’
‘Why? Surely, it’s not Rosie’s fault she’s gone? What can we tell you that’ll help find whoever took her?’
‘If she’s been abducted, rather than gone off on her own . . .’
‘Of course, she hasn’t gone off on her own,’ Whitlock snapped over him. ‘She has no reason to. She’s perfectly happy at home. And at school.’
Pete raised his hands. ‘As I was saying, if that’s the case, then whoever took her would have probably at least seen her before. It may well be someone she knows or someone you do. Or, if it was random, then one of you may have seen something out of the ordinary. Perhaps an unusual vehicle on the road out there.’ He waved towards the street. ‘Someone hanging around when you picked her up from school or in town. Anything.’
Whitlock squeezed his eyes shut and tilted his head back for a moment. ‘I’m sorry. Where should we start?’
‘We’ll need a picture of her. As recent as possible. Mrs Whitlock, you took her to school this morning. Is that usual?’
She looked up, a dazed look in her hazel eyes, took her hand back from Alistair and clasped them in her lap. ‘We share the job. Sometimes I do it, sometimes Alistair does.’
‘All right. Which way did you go? As much detail as you can, please.’
She shook her head slightly. ‘The same way as always. Left at the end of the road, bear right then turn right by the junior school. It’s really not that far. We only drive her because she’s never up in time to walk.’
‘Did you see anything out of the ordinary along the way?’
‘No.’ She shook her head. ‘Nothing. It was just an ordinary morning.’
‘No one following you, perhaps?’ Pete pushed. ‘An unusual vehicle parked nearby when you got there? An accident or roadworks?’
‘No, there was nothing. As I said, just a normal morning. I dropped Rosie barely a hundred yards from the school gates. There were mothers and kids everywhere, just like always. I pulled away and . . .’ Her face crumpled and she covered it with her hands as she burst into tears. Her husband put an arm around her shoulders and held her.
Pete recalled Louise’s similar reaction in this same situation, just a few months ago, and his own seething need to stop talking and get out there, searching for his child. Emotion swelled like a lump in his chest. ‘I’m . . .’ He coughed and cleared his throat. ‘I’m sorry, Mrs Whitlock. But this is very necessary. You didn’t see anyone you knew when you got there? Stop for a chat, maybe?’
She took a deep, shuddering breath and shook her head. ‘As I said, I dropped her off, pulled away and went on to work.’
As she took out a tissue and dabbed at her eyes, Pete turned to her husband. ‘And if you take Rosie to school, you go the same way?’
‘Yes.’
‘At the same time?’
‘Of course.’
‘And when you realised she was missing, you phoned her friends?’
‘Yes. That was my first thought. Maybe she’d gone home with one of them. She doesn’t have any evening activities on a Tuesday. But they said they hadn’t seen her all day.’ His voice seemed to clog. He swallowed.
Instinctively, Pete was inclined to believe the couple. They gave every appearance of being genuine and honest and, having been in this same situation himself, just a few months ago . . . Or was it that that made him feel this way? He was going to have to work hard to maintain his objectivity on this one. ‘Evening activities?’
‘She swims at county level. Loves tennis, too.’
He nodded. ‘We’ll need a list of her friends. Has she got a boyfriend?’
Jessica looked horrified while Alistair shook his head. ‘Not that I’m aware of.’
‘Mrs Whitlock?’ Pete pushed.
‘No. Good Lord, she’s only thirteen.’ She looked about to crumble again, but held herself together somehow.
‘Of course. But, kids these days – you never know, do you? We also need to know about anywhere she goes regularly. Like for the tennis and swimming. Anywhere she goes with friends. Or with you or other family members.’
Alistair shook his head like a man confused by what was happening around him. ‘She goes into town with her friends, like all teenage girls, and she has school and her sports. That’s it, apart from the occasional party or sleepover and the usual family stuff.’
Pete nodded. ‘If you could make us a list of her friends, with their contact details, and where she goes to swim and play tennis, then, sir.’
‘Right.’ He got up and stepped out of the room.
‘Does she have a favourite place, Mrs Whitlock? Somewhere she might feel safe?’
‘What? Why?’ She looked confused.
Pete shrugged. ‘We have to allow for every possibility.’
Alistair came back into the room, a small beige book and a notepad and pen in his hands. ‘What’s this?’
‘I was asking if there’s anywhere Rosie might consider special. A safe haven. Favourite place. Anything like that.’
Alistair shook his head. ‘We’ve never . . . Why would she need a place like that?’
‘You’d be amazed at what goes on in kids’ heads,’ Jane said. ‘She doesn’t have any history of depression or anything like that, does she? Mood swings beyond what you’d expect from a teenage girl?’
‘No. Certainly not.’ Mrs Whitlock’s eyes grew wide with
