Chapter 43
Chapter 43
When would this purgatory finally be over?
Charlie had spent nearly two hours in Jennings’ company and the novelty had well and truly worn off. First his grumbling, then their spat, then the heavy silence, then this: a subtle-as-a-sledgehammer dumb show of disgruntlement. The sighing, the endless tapping of his feet, the constant checking of his watch. It would have been amusing if it wasn’t so annoying. For a grown man, an experienced police officer, it was both staggeringly infantile and completely inappropriate.
‘Look, I get the message, OK?’ Charlie eventually responded, her annoyance boiling over. ‘You’re pissed off with the boss, you’re pissed off with me, you’d rather be busting heads in Freemantle, but we are where we are, so can we drop the histrionics and just do our job?’
‘So I’m not allowed to have an opinion, am I?’
Dear God, was he going to start up again?
‘Of course you are. But is it possible you might be a little less emotionally incontinent? Honestly, you’re worse than my kids …’
This seemed to have the desired effect, her junior colleague calling time on his pantomime of disaffection. Settling back in her seat, Charlie smiled, privately congratulating herself on this small victory for common sense. But as she relaxed back into the well-worn fabric, she noticed something that immediately dispelled her good humour. Lorraine Marwood had suddenly emerged from her house, hurrying out the front door and scanning the street wildly. Her gaze seemed to sweep over them, but she registered no surprise or concern. Indeed, she didn’t even seem to notice their presence, desperately searching for something, or someone. Now she was turning back to the house, retrieving her mobile from her pocket and punching the keys furiously. Seconds later, the front door closed with a bang.
Charlie was out of the car before the sound had died away, hurrying towards the suspect’s house. She heard Jennings’ door open, heard her colleague call after her, but she ignored him, hurrying up to the front door and pounding on it. She knew what she was doing was rash, ill-considered even, but she was suddenly filled with a terrible sense of foreboding.
The door flew open to reveal Lorraine Marwood. Charlie noted the two stages of her reaction: first hope, then disappointment.
‘Hello, Mrs Marwood. I’m DS Brooks,’ she said quickly, presenting her warrant card for inspection. ‘Is Ryan home?’
Instantly, Charlie knew she was right to be worried. The blood drained from Lorraine Marwood’s face and her lie was swift and unconvincing.
‘He’s asleep. He’s … he’s completely exhausted after this morning. Can you come back—’
But Charlie was already pushing past her.
‘Ryan? Ryan, are you there? If so, please show yourself immediately.’
‘What on earth do you think you’re doing? You can’t just barge in here.’
But Charlie held up a finger, silencing her. Taking a few paces forwards, she darted a glance into the living room, then the kitchen, before turning her attention to the stairs, driving up them two at a time.
‘Ryan? It’s DS Brooks. Please show yourself.’
She knocked on his bedroom door, then pushed it open. Stepping inside, she saw that the light was still on, the computer playing a movie, but there was no sign of Marwood.
‘Shit.’
Retreating, she checked the family bathroom, the master bedroom and finally the guest suite. But all were deserted, as she’d known they would be. Returning to the landing, she collided with a flustered Lorraine Marwood.
‘Where is he, Lorraine?’ Charlie demanded tersely.
‘I don’t know,’ the tearful mother protested, giving up all pretence at resistance.
‘Where’s he gone?’ she persisted, advancing on the middle-aged woman.
‘I’ve no idea, please believe me …’
But Charlie shook her head, determined not to cut her any slack.
‘It’s the truth, I swear,’ Lorraine persisted, anguished. ‘I went into the kitchen to get a cup of tea and I noticed that the back door was ajar. I called up to Ryan and when he didn’t answer, I went upstairs …’
Charlie didn’t linger to hear the rest, tearing past the shocked mother, and out through the kitchen into the garden. Haring down the path, she made straight for the far fence, which backed onto a rear access alleyway, bordering thick woodland. If Marwood had managed to spirit himself across the alleyway, he would be free and clear by now, but how was that possible? There’d been no contact from the surveillance officers stationed at the top of the alley and the padlock was clearly still in place on the rear gate. How then?
Charlie could hear DC Jennings thundering down the garden path towards her, but she paid him no heed, desperately scanning the fence for an answer to the mystery. And now, to her horror, she found it. In the far left-hand corner of the garden, a bulky bag of compost had been cast aside, revealing a deep hole abutting the back fence. Dropping to her knees, Charlie fired her torch into the darkness. It was makeshift, it was narrow, but there was no question that the tunnel was big enough for Marwood to squeeze himself through, bringing him out in the thick grass of the alleyway beyond. Had he used that cover to crawl away, eluding the attention of the officers parked at the head of the alleyway?
Anguished, Charlie radioed the team urgently, but they merely confirmed her worst fears – they had neither heard nor seen anything. Furious, Charlie stared down into the abyss. Was this Marwood’s favoured escape route? The way he’d repeatedly managed to escape the surveillance of his mother, the probation service and now them too?
The sound of Jennings’ arrival made Charlie turn, junior officer skidding to a halt beside her.
‘Where’s the fire?’ he demanded. ‘What the hell’s happening?’
‘Marwood’s done a bunk,’ Charlie shot back fiercely. ‘We’ve lost the suspect. That’s what’s happening …’
Jennings looked aghast, but Charlie was swift to follow up.
‘Now are you going to tell DI Grace? Or am I?’