Hope to Die

Gis is smiling. ‘Which is exactly why the boss called Surrey last night – they’re checking any links Andrea Sullivan might have to the trucking industry. Anyone who might be prepared to do her a favour.’

Quinn finishes his croissant and wipes his fingers. ‘How far have they got?’ He’s frowning slightly, evidently wondering how to get himself back on the front foot.

Gis makes a face. ‘Nowhere, last I heard. Father was a postman, no uncles, no brothers, no obvious family links at all. But they’re interviewing her again this morning.’

‘And have Dutch Police checked those overnight crossings?’ asks Sargent.

‘They searched the Hook of Holland one that got in at four thirty and came up empty.’ He checks his watch. ‘We should be hearing about the eight and eight thirty arrivals any time now.’

‘And the passengers?’ asks Bradley Carter, not to be outdone. ‘We don’t know she was on a lorry.’

Gis shakes his head. ‘No Camilla Rowan or Andrea Sullivan on any of the manifests, and no one answering the description. Apparently it wasn’t exactly busy.’ He gives a wry smile. ‘Not sure I’d fancy the North Sea at this time of year either. Not for eight bloody hours, anyway.’

Quinn is up by the map now. ‘I’m assuming we’re ruling out airports?’

‘The APW should catch that,’ says Gis steadily. ‘That is why they call it an All-Ports Warning. But we can do a follow-up with Stansted and Southend if you think it’s worth it. They’re the closest.’

Ev looks at the map. ‘But both of those are still over an hour away. She’d need transport. Maybe she picked up another car?’

‘I talked about that with the boss – he didn’t think a rental was much of a runner. Too much documentation.’

‘Sullivan could have left another car for her in Felixstowe?’ offers Carter.

Quinn snorts, but Gis is keeping a straight face. ‘That’s a possibility, of course, but in the scheme of things, pretty unlikely.’

Carter flushes. ‘I just meant I couldn’t see her wanting to go by train – too much risk of getting spotted.’

‘Coach?’ suggests Ev. ‘Not so much surveillance there.’

Gis nods and turns to Carter. ‘OK, why don’t you pick up on that? Get on to the coach companies?’

Quinn grins. ‘Careful what you wish for, Carter, eh?’

* * *

She hears the cab door bang open and then the swing of weight as Rock climbs in. The partition is drawn across, but there’s no doubt who it is. The smell’s a giveaway, for a start. Coal tar soap. Her father always used that stuff. Brings it all back. And not in a good way.

‘You OK in the back there?’

Rowan fights down the nausea; seasickness was one thing she hadn’t bargained for.

‘Fine, thanks.’

‘I’ve got some mints if you want them. It might get a bit rough later.’

What do you mean, later? she thinks.

‘We’ll lose mobile signal too, just so you know.’

She didn’t, but it makes sense.

‘I’ve been checking the news,’ continues Rock. ‘Nothing about you. Not that I can find, anyway.’ There’s a pause, then, ‘Have you heard from her?’

‘Who, Sullivan? No, not since yesterday.’

‘You think the filth are on to her?’

‘Maybe. They were asking questions. But she knew it’d probably happen sooner or later. And she’ll be OK. She’s a tough cookie.’

Rock laughs. ‘I bet.’

There’s the sound of the glovebox opening and then the partition slides back an inch or so and a packet of Extra Strong Mints drops on to the end of the bed.

‘I’d better go. We aren’t supposed to be down here when we’re at sea. You gonna be OK?’

‘It’ll be a long day tomorrow, I’m going to try and get some sleep.’

A laugh. ‘It’ll be worth it. All the cheese you can eat, eh.’

Yeah, well, she thinks, I need to be losing a few pounds, not putting them on.

‘It’ll do,’ she says. ‘For now.’

* * *

Adam Fawley

30 October

10.40

‘Sorry, boss. We’re coming up empty.’

Looks like our run of luck has run aground.

The whiteboard is covered with red crossings-out: not on the Harwich passenger ferries, not on any of the freight ones, not on any known flight. We’re running out of options, and we’re running out of time.

‘So,’ I say, forcing some energy into my voice, ‘anyone got any other ideas?’

‘I think we should widen the search, sir,’ says Sargent. ‘To other ports.’

Quinn’s smirking but I ignore him. ‘Why do you say that?’

She looks a little nervously at Quinn, then back at me. ‘I know you said it’s unlikely she’d rent a car, and public transport was probably too much of a risk –’

‘Go on.’

‘Well, if we’re right and she’s on a truck, then isn’t it possible it picked her up at Bromness –’

‘We’ve already ruled that out,’ says Carter, with a Quinn-like sigh. Not sure if he’s consciously copying or just imprinting. Like baby geese. Come to think of it, with that tufty hair of his, he does look rather like a gosling. ‘They’ve checked – she wasn’t on any of the ferries.’

‘Not those, no,’ says Sargent. ‘But that’s not what I meant. I meant maybe she picked up the lorry there – a lorry that’s now on its way somewhere else. To another port.’