had a predilection for hanging around outside a primary school and watching little children. It’s his own fault. If there was a possibility it was your daughter in there …?”
She only had to watch Korpanski’s face redden to know his answer. “You think he’s guilty?”
She stared through the windscreen for a minute or two before answering. “I don’t know,” she said finally. “He could be innocent. But if I turned out to be wrong and he had abducted Madeline Wiltshaw and she was sitting inside and you and I were sitting outside, we would have a large smear of egg on our faces.”
Quite apart from a troublesome conscience to live with - for the rest of their lives.
“So?”
“We go in.”
Chapter Six
It was never as dramatic as it looked on the TV soaps. There was no need for Korpanski to kick the door panel through. A simple flick of a credit card got you into most places these days. Yale locks were instantly obedient to Joanna’s Connect card.
The door swung open.
The flat was small and dingy, the air stale and silent. All the interior doors were closed. They were standing in a small, square hall lined with flowered, 70s wallpaper, the door swinging behind them. Joanna pulled on a latex glove and, with Korpanski breathing down her neck, she threw open each door in turn. Minutes later they knew wherever Madeline was she was not here. There was no space to hide her in the one bedroom, tiny sitting room/kitchen or the bathroom. They must move on and leave Haig Road to the SOCOs to search for trace evidence. It was both a relief and a disappointment, and their return to the school was slower.
Horton Primary was as full of activity as a beehive in the height of summer. Officers were standing outside, alert and watchful, talking to one another.
They straightened as Joanna approached.
“Who’s co-ordinating you?”
“Sergeant Farthing, Ma’am.”
“And he’s …?”
“In the classroom.”
She and Mike walked quickly along the corridor to see the tall figure of Will Farthing bending down to pick something off one of the child-sized worktables. At anyother time she would have laughed because he looked so hugely out of proportion to the tiny tables and chairs. Farthing looked relieved to see her. He hadn’t long had his extra pips and this was his first major investigation. He would be anxious to get it right. “We’ve made a swift search of the school, Ma’am,” he reported. “She isn’t here. We’ve circulated a description to all officers. I understand Baldwin’s turned up. D.C. King’s dragged him off to the station. The child’s parents have been taken home and a WPC is with them. We’ve taken statements from the two teachers and someone’s gone round to Mrs Parson’s house - the classroom assistant,” he answered her blank look. “We’ve contacted 60-70% of the parents of the other children in Madeline’s class. So far none of them remembers seeing the little girl actually walk out of the school. They were all busy doing something, distracted by a stampede of children excited to be off for the holidays. There was a bit of rough play between a couple of the kids. Baldwin’s van was spotted at the end of the road at about a quarter past three by a Neil Platt, the dad of one of the little girls in the reception class. He took the number and said he’d been planning to ring you when he’d got home.”
“So Baldwin came back,” Joanna mused. “He just couldn’t keep away, could he?” Korpanski looked grim.
“OK, Farthing.” She flashed him a smile. “Thanks. Well done. And now I think I’d better go down the station and have a word with Colclough.”
Colclough was the Chief Superintendant, a paternalistic man who liked to be kept informed of all developments. So far he’d always backed Joanna. She knew he believed in her - which would make it worse if she ever failed.
She was soon back at the station.
It took her no more than a few minutes to fill him
Learning to Kill: Stories