Текст книги "Harum Scarum"
Автор книги: Felicity Young
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‘I was trying to shake the gambling habit,’ he said. ‘I think maybe I have now, but I wish it hadn’t had to be like this.’
A constable shuffled in with fresh coffee.
Stevie went on. ‘Have you ever lost or suspected your photos stolen? Has someone ever tampered with your computer, you think?’
Holdsworth paused for thought. ‘No, but it wouldn’t be hard to scan the pics and put them back on my desk—my office door doesn’t have a lock, anyone could take them...’
‘They’re the kind of photos that would appeal to a paedophile—’
‘Oh come on, you’re not harping back to that again. I photograph what I’m told, nothing more, nothing less. And I don’t do porn. If you have a beef with anyone, take it out on Miranda Breightling, not me.’
‘What about the snaps of the girls getting dressed in the change room?’
‘No way!’
Stevie took from the file before her a photo of a young girl wearing nothing but underwear, bending down to pick up an item of clothing from the floor. She slid it across the table to him. Aware that he was under the light again, Holdsworth flushed and jumped to his feet. ‘That’s not mine, Jesus, I swear it! Maybe someone used my equipment. Maybe there’s a hidden camera, that’s it...’
‘Then I suggest you do all you can to help us find the guy who did it. Your reputation’s at stake in this.’
‘Help you? What do you think I’m doing?’
‘Have you seen anyone hanging around the modelling agency recently who shouldn’t have been there?’
Holdsworth sat down again and folded his arms. ‘There’s always creeps hanging around, hoping to get a glimpse of the girls. To her credit, Miranda insists that parents arrive on time for pick-up, that the girls aren’t expected to make their own way home.
‘They need to get a bouncer for the place. Christopher tells them to clear off when he’s there, but he’s not the kind to get his hands dirty. Christ, he was almost flattened by some bruiser the other night. I nearly called the cops when I saw them in the street, it looked like things were about to get violent.’
‘But you didn’t call the police?’
‘Well, they seemed to sort things out, ended up walking off arm in arm.’
‘Arm in arm? That’s sounds a bit strange.’
‘I thought so too, especially as earlier they looked like they wanted to tear each other’s throat out.’
‘Where did they walk to?’
‘A pub, a parked car, I dunno.’
‘Did you get a glimpse of this man?’
‘Not really, it was pretty dark.’
‘Short, tall?’
‘Smaller than Christopher I think, but powerfully built. And you know, I think there was a kid too, lurking around.’
A kid? The phone interrupted Stevie’s thoughts. She left Holdsworth and moved to the corridor outside the interview room to talk to Monty.
‘Thought you’d want to know that the final forensic report is in on Kusak’s van,’ he said.
‘Go ahead.’
‘The long dark strand of hair found in Kusak’s van has been identified as belonging to Emma Breightling. It was matched with hair from the brush in her bathroom.’
She told Monty she needed to talk to him, pocketed her phone and thanked Holdsworth for his help and sent him on his way.
But on her way to Monty’s office she received an urgent page from Clarissa. Shit, everything seemed to happen at once in this place.
‘Make it quick Clarissa, something’s come up,’ she said as she pushed through the swing doors of the ops room.
‘Yeah, well this is important too. I’ve done some more digging on the Katy Enigma site and some of the stuff is pretty shocking when you look closely. A lot of stories by kids obviously trying to deal with issues of abuse. The poem you found was just a start.’
‘Yeah, ok, ok, go on.’ Stevie was itching to get upstairs and see Monty.
Clarissa clicked her mouse and opened a link. ‘This is a new one, it only came in this morning.’
Stevie stooped to peer at the screen.
Katy Enigma knew that she was the only one up to the task of eliminating the monster. She devised a cunning plan, which involved the staging of her own abduction. The plan was very risky, but she knew she had to attempt it or die trying.
She left a series of clever clues in her bedroom. She wasn’t sure if the police would get them or not, but that didn’t matter. What mattered was that the monster would understand and the monster would follow her to her secret hiding place. Once across the drawbridge and into the castle there would be no escape, and no one to hear his cries. He would be as helpless as any of his victims and Katy would make sure he suffered even more.
To kill a vampire you use a wooden stake, to kill a werewolf you use a silver bullet, but to kill the monster from under the bed you work slowly, using an ancient set of silver blades...
28
Stevie didn’t have time to wait for the lifts and took the stairs up to Monty’s office two at a time. ‘I think I know where Emma is; she’s at Stoppard’s showroom. The postcard on the teddy was obviously a clue, and Stoppard knew it too, that’s why he took it,’ she said as she burst into the office. ‘I’m going there now, only I need Tash...’
Monty gave little reaction to her words preoccupied it seemed with trying to reach into the pocket of his jacket hanging on the back of his chair.
‘Just a minute, Stevie, let me just get this. Hell...’ He put his hand to his chest. Sweat glistened in a pool at the base of his throat. His face had turned quite grey.
‘Monty, what’s the matter?’ she said, her own throat tightening in panic.
‘Just get my thing for me, I’ll be okay.’ He seemed to be having trouble pushing out his words.
‘What thing?’ Stevie desperately groped in his jacket pocket—coins, car keys—finally pulling out a small orange canister. ‘This?’
Monty nodded and took the Nitrolingual pump from her and administered a couple of quick sprays under his tongue in a way that told her he’d done it before.
‘Just a bit of chest pain,’ he murmured. ‘It’ll go soon.’
Stevie clutched his shoulders, the whereabouts of Emma Breightling now the furthest thing from her mind.
The medication began to kick in. Monty rubbed his hands over his face, slowly straightened in his chair and looked at her blearily. She put her cheek against his and ran her fingers through his hair. ‘You scared me. Thank god, thank God,’ she murmured over again.
He took her hand and kissed it. ‘Get going,’ he said. ‘Go and find Emma.’
‘Not until I know you’re on your way to hospital.’
‘I’ve had my spray, I’ll be okay now.’
Stevie shook her head, reached for the phone and called an ambulance, despite his protests.
‘How long have you had this?’ she asked after she’d put the phone down, trying to keep her tone free of recrimination.
‘Not long, the doctor said it’s just a bit of angina. It started in my jaw, I thought it was toothache—’
‘The toothache, of course.’
‘I’m booked in for tests next week.’
‘A bit of angina and you didn’t tell me...’ she stopped as she noticed his colour change and knelt again at his side and stroked his face. ‘It’s okay, I know now, but I wish I hadn’t had to find out like this.’
The light from the window shone on his hair and made it glow like the slanting rays of autumn. It was an observation she’d often made before, but not for some time she realised, with dismay.
‘Emma,’ he said.
‘I’ll go as soon as I know you’re okay.’
‘What made you think...?’
‘Everything’s beginning to fall into place,’ she interrupted, deciding it was better for her to do the talking and save him the effort of asking the questions. ‘I think Emma’s been suffering long-term abuse from Aidan Stoppard. The message board she and Bianca belonged to was mainly for kids with these kinds of problems. She’s run away to Stoppard’s place in the hills and is planning some kind of ambush there. The scalpels—remember how they were missing from Breightling’s safe?’
Monty shook his head. ‘You’ve got to be kidding. The kid’s got them? How did you—’
‘Sorry Mont, but we don’t have time for this right now. You just have to trust me.’
‘Always in a hurry, there’s never any time...’
‘Listen,’ Stevie cut him off. ‘Any idea where Stoppard is now?’
‘No idea. Maybe still with the Breightlings.’ He reached for the phone. ‘I’ll check with the officer who’s waiting with them.’
Stevie stopped him with her hand before he could punch in the numbers. ‘Don’t worry, I’ll get someone onto him.’
Just then, Wayne knocked and entered the office.
Stevie climbed to her feet, still holding Monty’s hand. ‘He’s not well, I’ve called an ambulance.’
Wayne took in Monty’s pale face, the sweat beading on his forehead, and his jaw dropped. ‘Fuck, shouldn’t he be lying down?’
‘No, he bloody well shouldn’t be lying down,’ Monty snapped.
‘Well, he should at least calm down then,’ Stevie said.
Wayne was shuffling his feet, she could tell he was searching for something positive to report.
At last he said, ‘I’ve got Sammy Nguyen and a social worker in the interview room downstairs, boss.’
‘Good. Before you start though, we need to bring in Aidan Stoppard. Get some people onto that pronto. See if you can organise a full scale search of his country place, Chateau-by-the-Lake’
‘On what grounds? I can’t just pluck a search warrant from the air, Mont, I need some sort of evidence.’
‘Then leave it to me for the time being,’ Stevie said. ‘Tash and I will conduct the preliminaries, see what we can find.’
Monty washed his hands over his face. ‘You’d better go now. If you think you know where Emma is, go and find her. Take whoever you need. And be bloody careful, Stoppard could easily slip through the net, and God knows how he might react if he finds himself cornered. In fact, you’d better sign out for some side arms.’
‘But the ambulance...’ Stevie hesitated.
‘Go,’ Monty urged. ‘I’m all right.’ He gave her a smile that made her throat ache. Fighting back tears she kissed him, squeezed Wayne’s arm and left the room.
29
EXCERPT FROM CHAT TRANSCRIPT 210107
HARUM SCARUM: I know some1 who does gross things 2
BETTYBO: do u want 2 kill him 2?
HARUM SCARUM: oh yeah that would b sooooo sweet
Emma Breightling no longer heard the frogs croaking in the lake or the night-time warbling of the magpies in the trees. To her, the only sound was the gravel crackling under the Porsche’s tyres and her own heart thumping in her ears. She held her breath as she stood behind the Chateau door, peeping through the crack. The purr of the engine ceased and the car door slammed.
A key turned in its lock and the Judas door creaked open. She heard the slap of footsteps on the front path, the whistle of a jaunty tune.
When he came into her line of vision, the whistling stopped. He shot a smile in her direction, as if he had X-ray vision, as if he could see her jammed there behind the front door. Oh God, he knew she was there! She wanted him to think that she was waiting for him, but she hadn’t planned on getting herself trapped here behind the door— stupid, Emma, stupid!
Before she could even attempt an escape, his foot hit the door with a crash, slamming her into the wall. He ducked from the falling pot as it shattered to the floor sending a shower of muddy water splashing across the quarry tiles. By the time he’d grabbed her arm and spun her around he was laughing out loud.
‘You silly little girl! Did you really think I’d fall for that? We read the story together, don’t you remember—the Famous Five wasn’t it?’
Emma tried to yank her arm from his grasp but his fingers sank deeper into her flesh. She screamed, ‘Let me go! The police will be here soon—they know all about you!’
‘They know nothing about me, darlin’, nothing at all; they didn’t even see your post card. A little cryptic for a simple plod I’d have thought. I guess you wanted me to think you’d changed your mind, that a little tumble in the hay with good old Uncle Aidan wasn’t quite as bad as you’d first thought.’
He chucked her under the chin and studied her face. ‘You really are an intriguing little thing, so different from your mother.’ He burrowed his face in her hair. ‘The lovely smell of a brand new dolly, straight from the box...’
She tried to recoil but he held on to her tight, pushing her against the wall with one hand as his other worked its way down her body until he reached the packet of scalpels and removed them from her pocket.
‘Well well, what do we have here—looks like daddy’s missing heirlooms.’ He examined the felt-wrapped packet and laughed. ‘Oh I see now. The idea was to lure me here, overpower me and carve me up with these.’ He clicked his tongue. ‘And your parents think you’re so bright. Well it seems you’re not so bright about everything, eh Emma? Underneath it all you’re just a silly little brat with an over-active imagination.’
She braced herself as he pinned her arms to her sides and pulled her against his body. Pressing his open lips to hers, he rammed his tongue into her mouth. She gagged as she attempted to tear her mouth away, struggling at the same time to drive her knee into his groin.
When he finally drew back he smiled and said, ‘Oh yeah, and a fighter too. We are certainly going to have fun with you.’
Her lips stung. She choked down a sob and wiped her mouth on the shoulder of her T-shirt and forced herself to look at him. What was he talking about—we?
She noticed a ripe bruise on his cheek. Maybe the pot had nicked him after all; she hoped it had. Maybe the wallop on the head she’d given him last night would finally take effect. Maybe any minute now he’d keel over and drop dead at her feet.
‘Your father,’ he put his finger to the bruise. ‘It seems the great ice man, your precious, talented, silver-spoon-in-the-mouth father is starting to melt.’
‘He’ll tell the police. He’ll tell them what you’re really like!’
‘But he doesn’t know what I’m really like, darlin’. As far as he knows, I’m just the guy who screws his wife and screws him out of his money. He doesn’t know I’m going for the trifecta—his little girl too. And even if he did, he wouldn’t dare. Your father is a coward. He won’t be helping you, even if he could.’
Emma swallowed and filled her voice with false bravado. ‘But I know about all the gross things you do up here, and it’s not just the things you try and do with me. I’ve already told the police. They know everything. I told you, they’re coming.’
Stoppard paled, squeezing her arm so hard now she thought it would break. She shouldn’t have said that. Oh God, he really was going to kill her now, he was. Stupid stupid stupid. He stared at her so hard she could almost hear the cogs turning in his brain.
One side of his lip curled and finally he spoke. ‘You little bitch, true or not, you’ll live just long enough to regret this.’
Taking her hand, he yanked her down the front passageway of the Chateau, kicking at the broken shards of pottery and negotiating his way around the puddles of water. ‘Don’t slip,’ he said, ‘there’s a good girl. My mates don’t do damaged goods.’
‘So, just what were these clues that Emma was supposed to have left for us in her bedroom?’ Tash asked as they sped towards the blue haze of the hills, lights flashing and siren wailing.
‘I can only think it was the postcard of Stoppard’s chateau. The Mexican throw rug might have been a clue too I suppose, the guy imports Mexican art. But if it hadn’t been for the appearance of that story on the web page, I don’t think I’d have put two and two together.’
‘Has Stoppard been picked up yet?’
‘No, he left the Breightlings at midday, said he was going to his office in the city, but he wasn’t there when the uniforms went to fetch him. He wasn’t at his Terrace apartment either.’
‘Do you think he’s out there already?’
Stevie shook her head and shrugged. If he was, she didn’t know who was in the greater danger, Stoppard or Emma.
Tash creased her brows as she thought. ‘Is she really capable of murder you think?’
Damn! It was uncanny how they’d share a line of thinking. It took a moment for Stevie to answer. She was thinking about the long dark hair found in Kusak’s car. When at last she did speak, she had trouble finding her voice, as if her own ears did not wish to hear the truth. ‘Yeah, y’know, I think she might be. She’s not your average kid.’
They drove a short way in silence, both lost in their own thoughts. Stevie tried to remind herself not to make preemptive judgements until they’d gathered more facts; the presence of one hair did not make Emma a murderer.
She had Tash ring around until she came up with an after hours number for Donna French, the counsellor at Emma’s school. It was a frustrating conversation, the psychologist reluctant to tell Stevie anything about Emma’s history other than what she already knew: that she was a gifted child and kept down for a year at school because of poor hearing at an early age.
‘Shit, Donna,’ Stevie found herself losing patience. ‘This kid could be in real danger. Isn’t there anything else you can tell me?’
‘If she’s in danger, then you need to find her. You don’t need her psychological profile. Patient confidentiality, Stevie.’
‘Then give me a generic run-down of a gifted child,’ she snapped.
She heard Donna sigh. ‘Okay, but this isn’t necessarily Emma Breightling, right?’
‘Go on.’
‘You’d be amazed at how many gifted children get misdiagnosed because often their behaviour is thought to be ADHD.’
‘Emma was kept down because of glue ear, was she also thought to be ADHD?’
Donna ignored her. ‘Impatience, restlessness, easily bored, you can see how sometimes giftedness can be confused with ADHD. Certain personality factors also often accompany high intellect and creativity that can be very difficult for both parents and teachers alike. Power struggles between the child with parents and teachers are not uncommon.’
‘I can see that with the mother,’ Stevie interrupted.
‘The gifted child was once only assessed within the very narrow framework of academic achievement, meaning that the personality problems afflicting such children were often disregarded. Things are changing, thank goodness, and the psychology of such children is now getting more research. They can end up as very disturbed kids if not handled correctly, on rare occasions even multiple personality disorders develop.’
‘Multiple personalities—you have to be joking!’ Tash exclaimed.
There was a pause while Donna attempted to identify the voice.
‘Detective Constable Hayward,’ Stevie told her, a finger on her lips to Tash.
Donna regained her stride. ‘Yes, but as I said, MPD is very rare. Gifted children tend to feel emotions intensely, they are sensitive and idealistic, the downside being that they are susceptible to feelings of anxiety and helplessness, and in turn, depression. They get intensely frustrated with those who don’t feel as deeply as themselves.’
‘Does Emma have many friends?’ Stevie asked.
‘They are often ostracised by their peers, seen by them as know-it-alls, nerds or even freaks.’
‘Emma seems to prefer to hang out with younger kids.’
‘I can’t comment.’
‘She seems to have an intense desire to help vulnerable children.’
‘It goes with the territory.’
‘What about committing a crime? Would a child like this see the ends as justifying the means?’
‘Stevie, it’s all just speculation, I really can’t say...’
‘Thanks, Donna. Thanks a lot.’
Stevie hung up, put her foot to the floor and joined Tash in a medley of curses aimed at the blur of scenery speeding by the car window. It wasn’t Donna’s fault, Stevie said when they’d both calmed down, Donna had said all she could within the constraints of the job. She told Tash she’d ring Donna back later when the shit had stopped hitting the fan, when they’d found Emma.
Next she tried to call Monty at the hospital, but they wouldn’t let her speak to him while he was still being examined. The nurse assured Stevie that his condition was stable. Perhaps it was just as well they couldn’t talk, she thought with a sigh, it would’ve been impossible with Tash in the car too. There was much she needed to tell him, and it wasn’t all about Emma and the case.
Tash turned the siren off as they left the city and the traffic behind. They were silent again. Stevie didn’t know what she was most afraid of finding.
30
A steep driveway, about a kilometre long, was the only way to reach Aidan Stoppard’s country showroom. Stevie and Tash bumped their way down the poorly maintained bitumen as they headed towards a valley hemmed in by hills of dense jarrah. It was twilight, but they could still make out the shine of the lake and the faux-turreted Chateau spooning around the curve of its southern edge. Full-grown deciduous trees dotted the lawns and beneath them sprouted the silhouettes of squat figures with bulging eyes, protruding ears and swollen tongues. Stoppard’s Mexican artwork Stevie presumed, and shivered.
From a good distance she could see Stoppard’s Porsche parked in a carport next to a high wall surrounding the shore side of the building. There were no windows overlooking them, so she switched off the engine and coasted in silently, rolling to a stop behind his car, blocking it off should there be any attempt at a getaway.
Neither of them spoke. Tash reached under her jacket and checked her gun. An iron-studded Judas door in a larger wooden door in the surrounding brick wall seemed to be the only way in.
‘It was a magic, fairy tale kind of a place,’ Stevie remembered Emma telling Izzy. ‘Part castle and part luxury villa, and it was built over a lake where a billion waterlilies grew.’
And here it was, just as she had said, and just as pictured on Stoppard’s business card and the postcard. Stevie slipped on her shoulder holster, covered it with her denim jacket, and grabbed a torch from the glove box. In the twilight, objects had begun to take on a grainy texture.
She indicated for Tash to check the lakeside of the Chateau, while she explored the garden side. She found no other doors or windows, though halfway along the wall was a small opening with a heavy iron door, much like an old-fashioned coal chute. The door remained rigid when she pushed against it. She rubbed the rust from her palms onto the seat of her jeans.
Tash was waiting for her back at the Judas door. ‘There’s no getting around the side of the Chateau, unless you want to swim for it,’ she whispered.
Stevie explained that the garden side was similarly inaccessible while she pushed against the Judas door, then the larger door in which it was situated, finding both locked. She tipped her head toward the wall, cupping her hands as a step for Tash. Then with a couple of heaves and a jump she was on the other side of the wall herself, standing in the courtyard next to her.
The dying light caught the shine of waterfalls and ornamental ponds, birdbaths and the umbrella shapes of palms. An eccentric set of stone steps spiralled their way up a tower almost as tall as a lighthouse, looming on her right hand side. Through its small windows she saw the shadowy shapes of more Mexican gargoyles.
Light shone from under the front door; two small windows on either side of it were heavily curtained. They moved silently across the moss covered paving, following a small, unfenced path along the side of the building, the only margin between the rough walled chateau and the lake.
A floating jetty fingered its way from the path. Stevie could just make out the shape of a diving board at its end and a tethered rowboat. A fish jumped and broke the stillness of the dark water, sending out ripples of silver bangles. From across the lake, she heard the low muttering of roosting chooks. Perhaps the boat was used to row to the island to gather eggs. This place would be a paradise for kids. No wonder Emma used it as her home base for Katy Enigma.
They crept towards the back of the Chateau and came across a small paved barbecue area accessed by some partially closed French doors through which a sheet of light flooded. Water lapped at some semi-submerged steps leading from the paving into the lake. Under the surface, the shadows of great fish glided like submarines.
The detectives stood on either side of the French doors and watched Stoppard move about the room, walking between a stereo system and a large oak table on which several cardboard boxes had been placed. The delicate strains of Pachelbel’s Canon floated past them, tripping over the golden light before disappearing into the darkness of the lake beyond, while the deep bass steps of the cello lingered on.
The ceilings of the room were as high as a medieval banquet hall, but instead of shields and weapons, the walls were covered with hanging masks: gargoyle heads with horns and pointy beards, bared fangs and mouths shaped in silent screams. Price tags dangled from the masks. A huge carved wooden throne with a red and white ‘special’ sign sat in a corner.
Stevie shivered.
Tash gripped her arm. ‘You ready?’ she mouthed.
Stevie straightened from her crouch, counted to ten, then opened the French doors with a flourish.
‘Bloody hell!’ Stoppard dropped the box he’d just lifted from the table.
‘Good evening Mr Stoppard,’ she said, shutting the doors behind them.
Tash moved to the stereo and turned the music off. She took a moment to gaze around the room, her eyes settling on the table covered in boxes. ‘What’ve you got here, thinking about moving house?’ Tash delved into a box and pulled out a fistful of CDs and DVDs. Another box clearly contained photographic equipment, a tripod leaning against the table next to it.
Stoppard’s eyes widened. ‘Hey, wait, what the hell do you think you’re doing?’
‘We have reason to believe Emma Breightling’s here somewhere in this house,’ Stevie said.
‘Well I can assure you she’s not. I’d appreciate it if you took your sticky paws off of my things; some of my equipment is very delicate. You can’t just barge into a man’s house like this and start rummaging around with his things.’ His mother tongue became more emphasised as his diction sped up, Stevie noticed; he was saying wiv, not with, and fings.
‘We can if we have reason to believe a life might be in danger.’
‘Crap!’
Stevie pointed to the table. ‘What’s all this stuff for, anyway?’
Stoppard managed to call back some of his composure, reverting once more to an Australian rhythm of speech. He dismissed her question with a casual wave. ‘It’s a corporate video I’m having filmed here. Some footage has already been taken. The crew are coming back next weekend to finish it off.’
‘For the showroom? Interesting.’ Stevie looked at the numbered covers of the DVDs. ‘Not much on the labels, but I guess you must have some kind of an index of what’s what.’ She gazed around the room, seeing no sign of a TV. It would have been interesting to see what was on those DVDs.
‘There’s an index somewhere around. Maybe one of the crew has it.’ He smiled, fingered the curl behind his ear and looked her in the eyes. ‘You still haven’t told me what this is all about.’
Stevie tilted her head to Tash. ‘Carry on.’
Tash climbed some wooden stairs leading up out of the hall. They heard a thump on the floor above their heads, the sound of a door creaking open.
‘Sit down, Mr Stoppard,’ Stevie pointed to a heavy backed chair at the table. ‘We need to question you further about the disappearance of Emma Breightling.’
Stoppard dropped into the chair, folded his arms and crossed his legs. His white pants were streaked with what appeared to be mud.
‘What’s that from?’ Stevie indicated the dirt.
‘Burying bodies, what do you think?’ When Stevie didn’t return his smile, he sighed. ‘A bit of impromptu gardening—c’mon officer, I’ve already told you what I know.’
‘You were told by the officers that we might need to contact you again. You gave them a mobile phone number that you have not been answering. You said you would either be at your city office or your apartment, but you weren’t at either of those places when they called around.’
‘I asked if I could go home, they said yes. This is my home too.’
‘You gave me your card, but you never mentioned this place to anyone else. I’ll bet you’re kicking yourself now about giving it to me. A bit over confident, weren’t you?’
Stoppard pursed his lips. ‘I’ve nothing to hide.’
‘Yes you do. You’ve been abusing Emma Breightling.’
He threw his eyes to the ceiling. ‘For God’s sake, where did you get that from, her father? Nothing but the ranting of a desperate man whose child is missing. I’ve never touched Emma and I’ll sue anyone for slander who says I did. You’ve no bloody proof.’
He was right: other than the mysterious circumstances surrounding Emma’s disappearance, all Stevie had was an ambiguous poem on a web page which she couldn’t even prove was written by Emma.
‘The officer at the Breightlings’ house said you and Mr Breightling had words, that he hit you.’ Stevie indicated the bruise on Stoppard’s cheek.
‘And I told your officer that Breightling’s action was of no concern to me. I told him to put the outburst down to anxiety over his missing daughter. I won’t press charges.’
‘How very compassionate of you. But I understood it had more to do with the affair you’ve been having with his wife, to whom you’ve also been supplying cocaine.’
Stoppard moistened his lips. ‘He’s not the first man to have been cuckolded. Maybe if he’d given her a bit more attention it wouldn’t have happened. He’s no one but himself to blame.
As for the coke, well...’ he spread his palms to indicate its insignificance.
‘Did Emma come here, Stoppard, is she hidden somewhere in the Chateau?’
‘Why the hell would she want to come here?’
‘I understand the chateau means a lot to her; she knows the place well and has been visiting it all her life. She even writes stories about it.’ Stevie made a show of spinning around to admire her surroundings. ‘It’s a wonderful place, a fantasy place. You must have invested a lot of time and money in it.’
‘With the help of a very talented architect and an artist friend of mine,’ Stoppard said with false modesty. ‘An escape from the city, but less than an hour’s drive away. A place for people to bring their families, picnic and enjoy the art in a relaxing environment—and hopefully leave with lighter cheque books.’ A thin-lipped smile worthy of the St Trinian’s spiv flickered across his mouth.
