The Stolen Children Page 5

  Her thin shoulders had become stiff, and I could see, beneath her carefully maintained exterior, she was deeply upset and worried. And of course, she was, I thought, she’d lived and worked alongside the Wooding family for over a decade. She’d watched Lawrence grow up. She’d have to be heartless to not feel anything for them, if they did treat her as well as she said they did.

  “There was nothing… strange or out of the ordinary that happened before they left?” Stephen asked. Though he could make himself intimidating when he wished to, his face was currently soft with sympathy.

  Rebecca passed a hand over her hair. “No, nothing that I noticed, or was told.”

  The back door of the kitchen opened, and we all looked up. A dark-haired man about Rebecca’s age, or slightly older, stepped inside. He looked unsurprised to see us there and nodded, taking off his peaked cap.

  Rebecca turned to face him. “Officers, this is my husband, Nicholas. Nicholas, these men will want to talk to you.”

  “Give me a minute to sort myself out, and I’ll be right with,” Nicholas told us.

  Rebecca got to her feet to make her husband a mug of tea and put it down on a coaster in front of him when he took a seat across from us.

  “Thanks, love,” he murmured, taking a sip before giving us his full attention. “You’re here about the family?”

  “We are,” I confirmed. I ran through much the same questions as I’d asked Rebecca, but he didn’t have much to add. He told us that he was the groundskeeper, and didn’t spend a great deal of time inside the house, and mostly only spoke to Mr Wooding.

  “And did he seem his usual self?” I asked. “Was he acting in a strange way at all?”

  Nicholas gave me a look like it was an unintelligent question to ask. “Of course he was out of sorts when his boy was missing,” he said. “That weekend, he was right worried, naturally.” He made a noise in his throat and shook his head, frowning. “An awful business, the whole thing. Completely out of character for them, I’m sure Rebecca told you?” he said.

  I nodded, not sure how to press for more information without irritating the man. “Did Mr Wooding talk to you of his business?” I tried.

  But Nicholas shook his head. “Oh no, our talk was solely about matters of the house.”

  I held back a sigh. “And other than the worry that would be expected from having a missing child,” I said, “there was nothing else out of the ordinary that he did?”

  I expected Nicholas to shake his head again, but he paused. Stephen straightened slightly by my side, and I waited for the older man to speak. He took a sip of his tea and sat in thought for a moment.

  “This is his private business, you understand,” he said after a long minute. “I wouldn’t tell you if it wasn’t for our concern for the Woodings’ welfare.”

  “Of course,” I said. These two were clearly loyal, and I couldn’t imagine them gossiping about their employers at all.

  Nicholas rubbed his chin, which sported a short, neat beard speckled with grey. “He and I were due to have a meeting about the work he’s having done on the west lake. I assumed he wouldn’t wish to deal with it, considering the circumstances, but, well, he hadn’t cancelled explicitly, so I went to his office, regardless.”

  I nodded, listening closely.

  “I hope you know that I’m not the sort to go listening at doors,” he said, glancing up to meet my and Stephen’s eyes firmly. “I only overheard this because Mr Wooding’s voice was raised.”

  “I understand.”

  Nicholas nodded. “Well, he was talking about acquiring something.” He paused. “A weapon, I believe it was.”

  “Nicholas,” Rebecca said quietly. I glanced over at her and saw that her face was a picture of surprise. “You didn’t tell me this.”

  Nicholas sighed. “I had intended to speak to Mr Wooding about what I overheard myself,” he said, “but I never had the chance, since he and Mrs Wooding disappeared the very next day. It was a great shock.”

  Stephen and I shared a look. “Thank you for telling us this,” I said genuinely. “Do you know what sort of weapon it was?” I could hazard a guess, but it would help if Nicholas would confirm it himself.

  He was quiet for long enough that I thought he wouldn’t answer. “I believe it was a gun he was after. He’s not a violent man, you see.”

  I nodded. I understood that Nicholas was putting himself in a difficult place by confiding this in us, as Mr Wooding could get in a good deal of trouble for illegally acquiring a gun, if he turned up alive and well. But it gave us the first piece of solid evidence that something had scared the Woodings, and that they did not leave of their own volition, apart from Nicholas and Rebecca’s statements.

  I took a breath. Now was when I stopped asking for information from them and instead gave them something in return. “We’ve actually got some news for you both, if you haven’t heard?”

  Rebecca had been hanging back, standing over by the sink, but she approached now as if drawn by invisible strings.

  “News?” she repeated faintly.

  “Good, I hope,” I said cautiously. I glanced over at Stephen, and he gave me a nod, likely guessing what I needed to tell them. “They have found Lawrence. That’s why we’re here today, what re-sparked interest in the case.”

  Rebecca’s hand moved to her mouth. “And?” she said. “Is he well? Were his parents with him?”

  “He’s recovering at the York hospital,” I told her. “I believe he’s stable, but the hospital won’t release medical details without him having a guardian. Do you know who his next of kin is?”

  Rebecca still looked shocked, as did Nicholas, and it took her a moment to reply. “That… would be his aunt, Mrs Wooding’s sister. I can fetch her details for you.” She left the room, her expression dazed.

  “Will we be allowed to see him?” Nicholas asked. There was a yearning in his eyes, and I wondered whether this man had been close with Lawrence. The two of them seemed to care about the boy and, if they’d been here throughout Lawrence’s entire life, I wouldn’t have been surprised if they cared for him.

  “I’m not sure at this stage. I’m sure when he’s improved, and his aunt is with him…” I trailed off. Nicholas nodded in resigned understanding. They weren’t blood relatives so they wouldn’t have priority.

  Rebecca returned with a slip of paper with Lawrence’s aunt’s name and contact details written on it.

  “Thank you,” I said, taking a picture of it on my phone, in case I lost the paper, and tucking it away. “You’ve both been a big help.”

  She gave a sharp nod. “We appreciate you coming to tell us that someone found Lawrence.”

  Neither seemed to want to talk any further, and Stephen and I left them alone to process, going off to search the house. I had the idea that, had Rebecca not been reeling from shock, she would have insisted on accompanying us around the house. As it was, she allowed us to roam freely down the long, elegant halls. In a moment of superstition, I crossed my fingers by my side and hoped that we’d find something useful within these lavish, old walls. Talking to Rebecca and her husband had only solidified in my mind how much these people were missed, and I wanted nothing more than to see them all reunited, Lawrence and his parents.

  Six

  “How old do you think this place is?” I asked Stephen as we rambled down the corridor, the deep-pile carpet feeling like soft moss under my shoes.

  He shrugged. “Georgian? No idea, to be honest.”

  “Split up?” I suggested. “I’ll try to find the bedrooms, if you can look for the office, living room,” I wrinkled my nose, “they probably have like, three.”

  Stephen sighed. “Most likely. I bet I’m going to get lost in this place.”

  “I’d say to leave biscuit crumbs, but I think we ate them all,” I said and got a smile from Stephen. “Text me when you’re done?”

  He gave me a sarcastic salute. “Will do, boss.”

  I walked off without responding to t
hat one, heading down the hall towards the staircase. The bedrooms had to be upstairs, so I took the stairs at a jog and peered into each of the rooms, finding a number of bedrooms, but none which looked particularly in use, or personal.

  I finally found Mr and Mrs Woodings’ bedrooms at the end of the long hall which seemed to be two separate suites. Perhaps there was some trouble in paradise, I thought, or else Mr Wooding just snored. I tried Mr Wooding’s room first, which was elegantly decorated and painstakingly neat, but with enough possessions left around that it looked lived in. I noted the laptop on the writing desk in one corner to pick up later for the tech team, but nothing else immediately jumped out at me. After how they had found Lawrence, I couldn’t imagine that his parents really had just disappeared off on a trip without letting anyone know, especially when their son was missing, but it didn’t hurt to have additional confirmation to make the case as clear cut as possible.

  With that in mind, I looked for anything missing, which might indicate that Mr and Mrs Wooding had planned to leave, but found nothing. The drawers and wardrobe were full of neatly folded clothes, and all their toiletries were in place in the bathroom. So, I concluded, they either left of their own will, expecting to be back within the day, or else they were taken. Not from here, I assumed, since Rebecca had said she’d seen them both leave the house, and I had yet to see any sign of a struggle.

  I gave a minute’s consideration to the idea that Rebecca and Nicholas could be lying, and had had a hand in the family’s abduction, if that was what we were looking at. But I didn’t give the thought much credit; Rebecca had been the one to report them missing, after all.

  After scouring the bedroom, I moved onto Mrs Wooding’s room. Her rooms were more feminine, and also looked less lived in, like she didn’t spend a great deal of time here. She had cosmetics out on her dressing table, but they were covered in a layer of dust that seemed thicker than a month’s worth, and when I opened one of the tins of cream, it was completely dried up.

  Even after I’d gone through the place carefully, I still ended up empty-handed and gave up the search for the time being. Tucking the laptop under my arm, I set off to track down Lawrence’s bedroom.

  When I found it, almost at the opposite end of the house, it was about as opposite to his parents’ bedrooms as possible, and I couldn’t help but smile at the sight of posters tacked to the expensive wallpaper and clothes strewn across the floor.

  The door creaked behind me and made me startle, twisting around quickly. But it was just Rebecca, stepping inside the room behind me.

  “His mother doesn’t like us to clear up after him,” she said, a little flatly. “She says he ought to deal with his own mess.”

  “Sounds like me as a teenager,” I said wryly. I looked around the room and wondered where a teenager like Lawrence would keep things he wanted secret. Probably on his phone, I decided, but he would have had that on him when he was taken. No self-respecting teen leaves their phone behind wherever they’re off to.

  “So you last saw him on the Friday,” I said, more thinking aloud than anything.

  “Yes,” Rebecca confirmed. “To be frank, I believe he may have sneaked out.”

  I turned to lift my eyebrows at her. “I see. Where might he have gone?”

  She looked at me for a long second. “You haven’t talked to him yet?”

  “No, the hospital said he wasn’t well enough for that. And, since he’s under eighteen, he’d need somebody with him when we talked to him.”

  Rebecca nodded thoughtfully. “I expect he might have gone to his friends, or down to the river. He’s been picked up by police from there before, and my husband went to collect him.” Some of her previous stiffness had fallen away, and I wondered if she was more open now that we’d told her that Lawrence was alright, with the relief making her talkative. Or perhaps, the news had improved her opinion of us.

  I tugged my notebook out and made a note of what she’d said. “Anywhere else he might’ve gone?”

  She thought for a minute. “A party?” she guessed. “Though where, exactly, I have no idea.”

  “That’s good to know,” I assured her. “And did Mr and Mrs Wooding have smartphones?”

  She sent me a slightly amused look. “Yes. They both used them extensively, as did Lawrence.”

  I hummed and noted that down too, before rubbing my chin. “And security footage?” I asked. “Do you have cameras here?”

  “We do. There are some priceless antiques in the house, you know, and Mrs Wooding especially is very conscious of protecting them.”

  I raised my eyebrows at that, but Rebecca had turned to lead the way out of the room, so she didn’t see. I cast one last look around Lawrence’s room, snagging his laptop from his desk, too, before I followed her out.

  She led me down at least two flights of stairs so that we seemed to be underground and then through a labyrinth of narrow hallways, all of which were very plain and barely wide enough for two men to pass by each other.

  “These are the servants’ quarters then?”

  She glanced back at me. “Yes. These days, the various staff the family employ come in from offsite. It’s only my husband and I that live in situ.”

  We headed into a room near the end of the hallway, and the size of it and the number of computer monitors surprised me, all of which showed different areas of the house and grounds.

  “Wow,” I murmured. “You weren’t kidding.” She sent me an unimpressed look and ignored that remark. “Have you looked through this already?” I asked her. “For the night Lawrence wandered off, or the Monday?”

  She frowned slightly. “No, we haven’t. It wouldn’t be our place. I don’t believe there’s anything to see either, but if you must,” she gestured to the seat in front of the monitors, “help yourself. I will be in the kitchen when you’re done.”

  I nodded and dropped down into the seat, wiggling the computer mouse to get it to load up. I spent the next half an hour trawling through the relevant days’ footage, which, unfortunately, didn’t seem to include cameras inside Mr Wooding’s office and other private rooms, which were the places where I would have been most likely to find something useful. But it made sense that they wouldn’t want cameras invading their privacy.

  “Oh, there you are,” I muttered, leaning forwards to study the grainy picture more closely.

  “Darren!” Stephen’s loud voice made me jump so badly that I almost fell out of the chair.

  “Christ, Steph!” I snapped, glaring at him. He looked a little sheepish. “Give me a sodding heart attack.”

  “Don’t be a drama queen,” he said. “I’ve rung you twice. Had to ask the housekeeper where you were.”

  I clicked my phone on and saw that I had two missed calls. “Sorry,” I said. “I got wrapped up looking through this.”

  Stephen took in the wall of computers and whistled. “Pretty impressive kit here. What’ve you found?”

  “Just this,” I said, rewinding the recording, which showed a low-quality picture of a stretch of lawn.

  “What am I looking at?”

  “Wait a minute.”

  A figure jogged across the grass, turning back once, so that his face was caught on camera. “Who’s that, then?” Stephen said, leaning forwards over my shoulder.

  “He looks like Lawrence,” I said, remembering the picture I’d seen of him on his social media. “I think it confirms Rebecca’s idea that he ran off on Friday night. Apparently, he’s been picked up by us lot before.”

  Stephen made a noise of surprise. “We looked into the parents’ backgrounds, but I didn’t put him through the system,” he said.

  “Aye,” I agreed. “Maybe we should. Though his parents might’ve hushed it up,” I added, a touch bitterly.

  “Yeah, it’s possible.”

  I’d fast-forwarded through most of the camera footage for the days that might’ve helped us, but didn’t find much of interest. There were videos of Mr and Mrs Wooding leaving on Monday
, but there didn’t seem to be anything strange about their departures. What Nicholas had said about the gun Mr Wooding had been seeking out made me look twice at the man’s thick coat, but it was impossible to tell for sure if he was carrying.

  “Rich people,” I muttered, watching him climb into his expensive car, which I recognised as the distinctive swooping lines of a Morgan.

  Stephen huffed a laugh. “My thoughts exactly. We done here?”

  I shut down the computer. “Aye. Let’s go drop you off for some cheap pub food.”

  We dropped by the kitchen to let the housekeeper and her husband know that we were heading out, and let ourselves be shown out, since I wasn’t a hundred percent sure I could navigate through all the twisting halls.

  “Thanks for your time,” I said at the front door.

  Rebecca gave me a tight smile. “I hope you can find Mr and Mrs Wooding soon.”

  “As do I,” I said seriously. I couldn’t make any promises, but I hated the thought of Lawrence growing up without his parents and would do my damnedest to find out what had happened to them. If we discovered the worst, at least it would provide closure, and wouldn’t leave the boy forever wondering whether they were out there somewhere.

  Seven

  Stephen had no patience for my grumbling after we arrived back at the station. “Mate, you could’ve been with me, eating pie. You chose to go running up a bunch of hills.”

  I groaned as I sat down in my office chair, a new cup of coffee in hand. “Thanks a bunch for the sympathy. Really means a lot.”

  “You’re going to be so sore tomorrow,” he added.

  I sent him an unimpressed look. “Nice of you to point that out.”

  He chuckled. “Alright, what’ve we got on next, then?”

  I rubbed my forehead. “We need to contact these relatives of Lawrence’s first, I reckon. Sooner that happens, the better.” I checked my watch and saw that it was nearing four o’clock.