Blazing Obsession Page 5

  I told her the dealerships were firing on all cylinders. “They’re flying, breaking sales records all over the place. I’m particularly pleased with John Hartley. You remember him? We promoted him from your company to group leasing manager. He’s got off to a great start – pulled in loads of business.”

  She looked at me quizzically. “Really? Personally, I think he’s just a jumped-up salesman with the gift of the gab.”

  Her hostile tone took me by surprise. I put it down to professional jealousy.

  *

  A few days later, Lynne and I celebrated Valentine’s Day with dinner at Bertorelli’s, the scene of our first serious encounter at my fortieth birthday party in November. She looked especially beautiful – her faultless, translucent skin glowing in the soft lights of the restaurant.

  I’d already sent her a bunch of red roses and a card declaring my undying love for her. Her card to me extolled the same gushing sentiments.

  We discussed our future on the basis that, so far, Nick appeared to be behaving himself. We felt nicely relaxed after sharing a bottle of Lanson champagne.

  Lynne, smiling sheepishly, said, “I’m not sure how you’re going to take this, but I won’t be drinking alcohol much more after tonight.”

  “Oh, why not?” I said. She stared at me, continued smiling, saying nothing. Suddenly I realised what she meant. “You don’t mean –”

  “I’m pregnant!”

  “You’re what?”

  “I’m having your baby!” Her smile widened, wider than I’d ever seen. Although we’d taken some precautions in our first few passionate encounters, I remembered we hadn’t been as diligent as we should have been.

  My emotions overtook my brain’s capacity to absorb the ramifications of adding to my new ‘family’. Lynne’s delight was obvious. If this is what she wanted, then I wanted it too.

  Grabbing my hand under the table, she said, “I know it’s unplanned but I’m really pleased. Do you want to be a dad?”

  “Of course I do. It’s just… er… so unexpected. You’ve had time to get to grips with it. Yes… yes… I’m delighted. Of course, I want to be a dad. Wow!”

  Still overwhelmed, I said, “Well, another bottle of Lanson’s called for I think… especially as it’ll be a few months before you can drink again. Tell me more. When’s our baby due?”

  “Not until August. We’ve plenty of time to get organised.”

  “Who else knows?”

  “Well, Mum, obviously. She’s as excited as me. And Alisha. She’s equally chuffed. Oh, I also told Georgie. Of course, he doesn’t understand everything, but he seems excited about having a little brother or sister. I haven’t mentioned it to anyone at work yet. I thought we could leave that until later.”

  Feeling slightly miffed, I said, “It appears everyone knew before me.”

  “I’m sorry. I couldn’t contain myself. Actually, I only told them tonight, just before you picked me up.”

  I felt better, but didn’t have good vibes about Nick’s attitude if Georgie told him the news, as I’m sure he would. But tonight wasn’t the night to share my thoughts. She knew I’d be ecstatic once I’d had time to think about it.

  After my divorce from Annie, I never thought I’d be a dad. We’d discussed it when we were together and decided to have children later in life. We never got that far.

  In the months following, I found myself looking at children’s clothes and toys in department stores, wrestling with the question; did I want a boy or a girl? I was caught up in the exhilaration of having someone with my genes roaming the planet long after I’d departed.

  *

  On a dull Monday in early February, Peter, my business partner, and I were reviewing the first three months of our new group leasing business with John Hartley. The figures were already spectacular.

  “As you can see, we’ve exceeded the last quarter’s sales targets by some margin.” Hartley’s smooth, cultured, BBC voice dominated the room. “You’ll have to get a Securicor van to deliver my bonuses!” The margin between self-confidence and cockiness was paper-thin.

  The only blot on his copybook had been a row he’d had a month earlier with a newly appointed female member of his admin team. She’d come to Peter’s office in tears. Said Hartley had ‘lost it’, called her a ‘useless tart’.

  Peter and I challenged him about it. He waved his hand in the air and said dismissively, “Oh, she screwed up some paperwork, that’s all. I can’t have anyone on the team who won’t pull their weight.”

  “Well, it’s not acceptable. She’s only just started. And she’s a kid, basically. You’ll need to show a bit more patience, John.”

  “I’m sorry. I want the department to be the best, that’s all. Should I apologise to her?”

  “I think you should.”

  “It won’t happen again, I promise you.”

  *

  Back in my office after the meeting, my phone burst into life. It was 3.30pm.

  “James! Thank God you’re there!” Lynne sounded breathless and agitated. She spoke quickly.

  “I’m worried about Georgie. Nick asked if he could have him stay an extra night over the weekend. Said he’d take him directly to school on Monday morning. It seemed churlish not to agree.” I heard her sniffle.

  “He never arrived. The school called my office, but I’ve been in meetings all day and stupidly, I didn’t check my messages until just now.”

  “Calm down! I can hardly hear what you’re saying.”

  She took another deep breath.

  “Sorry. Mum only found out about it when she went to pick him up from school. He never arrived. I’ve been calling Nick ever since. There’s no reply. I can’t think what’s happened.” She started crying.

  “OK. Try not to worry. I’ll go round to Nick’s flat straight away. Give me the address. I’ll call you as soon as I get there. Where are you?”

  “I’m just leaving the showroom to go to my flat.”

  “Is your mum there?”

  “Yes.”

  “Good. I’ll see you soon.” I stood, kicked my desk, turned and then kicked my wastepaper bin hard. It careered across the floor, bouncing against the wall, scattering papers in all directions.

  *

  Nick lived in a ground floor flat in a scruffy street in Poplar, a mile from Lynne. The front door had seen better days and the closely drawn curtains in the window had faded to the colour of dirty sand.

  I rang the doorbell several times, and getting no reply, I looked up at the upper floors hoping to see signs of life. I rang the bell of the flat above, labelled, A. Nazir.

  “Yes?” The intercom crackled.

  “I’m trying to contact Mr Nick Burrows. Do you know if he’s around? It’s urgent.”

  “Well, no. He’s not.” He spoke with a cultured, singsong, Indian accent. “I saw him with his son yesterday morning, leaving the flat. He carried a suitcase and the boy had a large rucksack on his back.”

  “Did he tell you where they were headed?”

  “No, he didn’t. I’m his landlord and he owes me rent. I shouted after them. They ignored me. If you see him, please remind him he’s a month overdue.” The intercom shut off abruptly before I had time to question him further.

  Heading to Lynne’s flat in pouring rain, the wipers worked hard as the streetlights refracted the oncoming traffic’s headlights. My brain raced to work out my next move.

  Margaret opened the door. With anxiety scrawled over her face, she said, “Thank God you’ve arrived. Lynne’s beside herself.”

  I told them both what happened at Nick’s flat. “We’ll have to go to the police,” I said. “And they may ask if Georgie has a passport, as a matter of routine.”

  I’d recently seen a TV programme about abduction and for some reason, this fact stuck in my brain. I hoped I wasn’t over-reacting. It was the landlord’s mention of suitcases and rucksacks that bugged me.

  Lynne exclaimed, “What! You think Nick’s taken him abroad?
You can’t be serious?”

  “No, of course I don’t. It’s one of the things the police’ll want to know. Does he have his own passport? Is it here?”

  Slumping back down into a chair, she said, “Not long before Nick and I separated, we went to Disneyworld in Orlando, Florida. About three years ago. Georgie was five or six. It was a vain attempt at saving our marriage. We added Georgie to Nick’s passport. I assume he’s still on it.”

  As she stared firstly at her mother and then at me, her eyes, already slightly red-rimmed, trickled with tears, realising the implication of what she’d said.

  “Let’s go to the police. Now. Come on. Oh, and bring a photo of Georgie with you.”

  Sobbing profusely, she wailed, “I… I… can’t believe it. What’s made Nick do this? He’d been acting more sensibly lately.”

  Putting my arm around her, I squeezed hard. “I’m sure there’s an explanation. We don’t know the full story. I’ll get your coat.”

  *

  We drove to the nearest police station in West India Dock Road in Limehouse, a few minutes away. Neither of us spoke as the swishing tyres and wipers interfered with our thoughts, which we kept to ourselves. Lynne got through almost a box of tissues as she dabbed her eyes constantly.

  After outlining our predicament to a polite and understanding ruddy-faced duty sergeant, he showed us through to a private interview room and told us a senior detective who had experience of abduction would be along shortly.

  “I’m Detective Sergeant Evans. I’ll be your Investigating Officer. And this is Detective Constable Liz Ashburton.”

  You could pass DS Evans in the street without noticing him. Average height, average weight, neat haircut, dull clothes, aged around thirty-five with a strong Welsh accent.

  DC Ashburton, in her mid-twenties, blonde, green-eyed, around five feet five inches and heavily built, wore a constant, steely, no-nonsense expression.

  Noticing Lynne’s distress, she offered her a glass of water. After Lynne had taken a sip, DS Evans said, “OK? Sergeant Williams has outlined your concerns to me, but can you start from the beginning?”

  I explained my relationship with Lynne and that, although I wasn’t the child’s father, I’d visited Georgie’s last known whereabouts.

  Lynne tearfully told the officer about her difficult relationship with Nick and the background to the contact and the restraining orders, following the physical abuse she’d suffered.

  “He’s such an arsehole! This is typical of him. He only thinks about himself. Doesn’t give a shit about anyone else.”

  I’d never heard her go off like this before. I expected more of a response from the detectives but I guessed they’d seen many cases of abused women in the past.

  After an hour of questioning, note taking and working through a checklist of documents running to two pages, the DC took them to be uploaded into a computer.

  DS Evans leant back in his chair and said, “Since Mr Burrows hasn’t formally asked to take the boy away, this looks like a clear case of abduction, which is a criminal offence. And we can’t yet rule out the possibility that your son’s been taken overseas.” He ran his tongue around the inside of his mouth each time he made a point, a habit I’d noticed earlier.

  Lynne let out a gasp.

  “And the fact it’s been now, what …” glancing at his watch, “around ten hours since he wasn’t taken to school, as arranged, and almost thirty hours since the last sighting of him, is of concern.”

  My impatience with the process kicked in. I resisted blurting out, “Of concern hardly covers the magnitude of the problem, does it?”

  “The eyewitness account about your ex-husband and the boy being seen with a suitcase and rucksack is a big issue. We’ll need to get officers onto that immediately. I’ll go to Burrow’s apartment block and take a statement from the landlord and from anyone else who may have seen them.”

  Lynne interrupted. “Why are you so sure they’ve gone abroad?”

  “Well, I’m not a hundred percent sure, but you told me about your trip to umm …?” He looked at DC Ashburton, who’d returned to the room. “Orlando,” she said.

  “Ah, yes, Orlando, Florida. To visit Disneyworld. Sounds like it could be the likely bait for the boy to agree to go with his father.”

  “What are you going to do about it?” I said sharply, mindful of time rattling by.

  The DS ignored my exasperation. “We’ll contact the National Ports Office and request an all ports warning. Mind you, if they’ve already left the country it’s a waste of time. I’ll get officers to check the passenger lists on flights out of the London airports to Orlando starting on Saturday. If that draws a blank we’ll widen our search.”

  Lynne sobbed again.

  “We’ll also file a Missing Person Report on the Police National Computer. Every police station in the UK will have photos, descriptions and the last-known whereabouts of your ex-husband and the boy.”

  Turning over a page of his notebook and scanning it, he said, “Oh, and with the eyewitness evidence we have and the time that’s elapsed since the last sighting we’ll be able to get a search warrant for your ex-husband’s flat. I’d be keen to see if there’s any evidence suggesting what his plans are. I’ll conduct the search first thing tomorrow.”

  “Is there anything we should be doing?” I said, keen to show Lynne I, too, desperately wanted to get this resolved.

  “You could think about anywhere else they might have gone. And, of course, if you hear anything, please call me.”

  “What are the chances of getting Georgie back quickly?” I asked.

  Before answering, he did that thing with his tongue again.

  “Honestly, it’s hard to say. But tracing someone these days is a whole lot easier. Everyone leaves an electronic footprint. We’ll get cooperation from the credit card companies and mobile phone operators, if he has one, to locate them. Finding them may not be that difficult, but this is not the main problem.”

  “What is, then?”

  “If they’ve gone abroad, it’s going through the red tape and the courts that takes the time. Once we know for sure, I suggest you get hold of a family solicitor experienced in these aspects as soon as possible. DC Ashburton can give you a list to choose from.”

  Sitting back, forcing the front legs of his chair off the ground and placing his hands behind his head, he said, “I don’t think there’s much more we can achieve tonight.” He stood and offered his hand to each of us. “We’ll do all we possibly can to get your boy back safely, Ms Burrows.”

  Lynne broke down again, crying uncontrollably. I tried pulling her close to me to comfort her as we stood to leave, but she brushed me off.

  As we walked to the car, holding our coats above our heads to protect us from the rain, I said I’d stay at her place so if any news came in overnight I’d be on hand. She nodded.

  As soon as we arrived, she disappeared to the bedroom without saying a word. Later I found her curled in the foetal position, fully clothed, her eyes shut. Her erratic and shallow breathing betrayed her concern. I lay on my back on a sofa bed in the sitting room, my mind racing, thinking about anything else that I could do to get Georgie back home.

  I concluded it must have been the combination of my blackmail attempt and Lynne’s pregnancy which drove Nick to abduct Georgie. On both counts, I pleaded guilty.

  It concerned me, too, that I hadn’t told the police or, more importantly, Lynne about employing a private investigator to spy on Nick and using the information to get him to back off hassling her. I decided to tell them both the next morning.

  I woke to the sound of a coffee grinder whirring in the kitchen. By the time I got there, I saw Lynne, wearing a blue dressing gown and a towel tied in a turban around the top of her head sitting on a breakfast stool, clutching a coffee mug. She barely acknowledged me. I poured myself a cup.

  I asked, “Do you want me to fix toast and scrambled eggs with your coffee?”

  She shook he
r head. “Coffee’s fine.”

  “Lynne, you’ve got to eat something. It’ll only take a few minutes. ”

  She glared at me and said, “Do you think me being pregnant made Nick do this? Or maybe you’d said something to upset him?”

  It wasn’t quite an accusation, but was implied in the tone of her voice.

  “I don’t think so. Maybe it’s just the pregnancy. To be honest, telling Georgie first wasn’t a good idea. I’m certain he’d have told Nick. You should have let me tell him, or you could have told him yourself.”

  “Oh, so you think it’s my fault do you?” Some of the anger she’d displayed last night at the police station returned in her voice.

  I topped up her coffee and said, “No, of course not. You know Nick’s unpredictable. He needs careful handling. You said Georgie was excited about having a brother or sister and if he told Nick, that would have got right up his nose.”

  “None of this would have happened if I hadn’t met you.” Her voice shot up an octave or two.

  “What’s that supposed to mean?”

  She yelled, “You, a big shot businessman, you thought you could handle Nick. You totally underestimated him. He’s capable of anything. Because of you he’s taken my son to… God knows where!”

  “Look, I know you’re a bit stressed but −”

  “A bit stressed! Of course, I’m a bit bloody stressed. My son’s been taken away from me… I may never see him again!”

  Sobbing, she banged the coffee mug down hard on the granite worktop and stormed out of the kitchen, slamming the door behind her.

  I’d lost my appetite. I sipped my coffee whilst staring out of the apartment window down towards Limehouse Basin. Last night’s rain had given way to a bright, sunny spring Tuesday morning. From this vantage point, the slowly moving traffic and the even slower moving barges and ferries on the river appeared normal and ordered – such a difference from the drama unfolding before me.

  I called Pat and explained that Lynne and I wouldn’t be in for the rest of the week. I told her I had to deal with a family problem.

  Lynne came back into the kitchen. She’d dressed and applied make-up to her cheerless face.