The Missing Children Case Files

Chapter Ten

Then

Chalfont St Giles, Buckinghamshire

Detective Chief Superintendent Jagtar Rawani cut an unassuming figure as he moved between the rich crimson leather sofas, eyeing the large family portrait hanging above the unlit fireplace. He towered a good foot above Elizabeth Hilliard and, even though the doorways in the old manor were relatively high, the detective had felt the need to duck as he had been shown into the drawing room, declining Rosa’s offer of tea. Elizabeth had also declined but not because she wasn’t parched; she was already making light work of her father’s single malt.

‘It’s a beautiful painting,’ DCS Rawani commented, still transfixed by the enormous reminder of what had been taken from them only four hours earlier.

The detective was staring at Elizabeth as if expecting an answer. Had she missed his question?

‘Sorry, what?’ she said.

‘I said, is it recent? The painting. I was just trying to work out how old Cassie would have been when it was painted.’

‘It was completed five months ago,’ Elizabeth replied, squashing herself further into the armchair where her father had often allowed her to sit upon his lap while he had studied the markets in one broadsheet or another.

‘Will Mr Hilliard be joining us soon?’ the detective asked, turning and fixing his impatient stare on her.

Some other detective had arrived at the scene shortly after Richard had turned up, and had begun coordinating efforts. It was she who had told them it was best to return home and await news. Neither she nor Richard had disagreed; what more could they have done at the scene to get Cassie back? Neither had the kind of connections required to track down child abductors.

Elizabeth shuddered at the thought of what the abductors might be doing to poor Cassie, nearly slopping the glass of single malt across her lap.

As soon as they’d got in, Richard had said he had business calls to make and had headed through to his office, locking the door. In a state of numbness, Elizabeth had gone up to the main bathroom, switched on the shower and emptied a bottle of antidepressants over the counter beside the basin, scattering them, trying to calculate how many would be necessary to take away the pain. In the end, she’d scooped them into her hand and returned them to the bottle. Her father wouldn’t have been happy to see her so close to giving up.

He’d know what to do. He’d return and make sure the bad men faced justice for their crimes. He always knew what to do.

The door to the drawing room opened and Richard marched into the room, thrusting his hand out towards the detective, offering him a drink, and asking for the latest update in the case. Elizabeth didn’t need to think too long about what had perked him up and, knowing Richard, the trace of white powder would still be clinging to the tip of his nostril for all to see exactly what he’d gone into his office to do.

Traditionally handsome, Richard still had a full head of thick brown hair thanks to his little trip to East Asia for a discreet transplant last year. He wasn’t physically strong, yet he had a physique that most men his age would kill for. His secret wasn’t to watch what he ate – in fact, Elizabeth couldn’t recall the last time she’d actually seen him eat anything – but in the appetite-suppressing white powder. He didn’t hide his drug use from her just as she didn’t hide her ever-increasing reliance on alcohol and pills to encourage sleep.

‘Have you tracked the van yet? My wife said it was navy blue, but the road we were on only goes to one place and they must have traffic cameras and the like you can view. Where did the van go after leaving the main road? Surely if you find the van you’ll find Cassie.’

He didn’t realise he was talking too fast and Elizabeth made no effort to point it out. If he was stupid enough to snort a line of cocaine while there was an on-duty police officer in the house then he could face those consequences alone.

The detective was clearly sizing Richard up, and for a moment Elizabeth thought he might arrest her husband there and then. Instead, he steered Richard to one of the sofas and sat down beside him.

‘We are doing everything in our power to locate the vehicle used to take your daughter, Mr Hilliard. I have a team tracking down and viewing traffic and privately owned security camera feeds to monitor the van’s movements. We don’t have a registration number which makes the trace more challenging, but we are trained professionals and this is what we’re good at. We will pursue every avenue until we learn what happened and who is responsible. The reason I’m here now is to try and establish exactly who would want to take Cassie and what their motivation might be.’

Richard clapped his hands together excitedly. ‘Good. Good. Absolutely. Any way we can help, we’re happy to.’

It was as if Elizabeth was no longer there, sitting in the corner, observing the drama playing out like a scene on the stage.

‘Thank you, Mr Hilliard, and I appreciate my questions aren’t going to be easy to hear but I can assure you they are a necessary evil. I need to look at every angle in order to narrow down and eliminate possibilities.’

‘Just like Sherlock Holmes,’ Richard said, before erupting into unconstrained laughter that was inappropriate for the situation.

‘Tell me, Mr Hilliard, can you think of anyone – perhaps a business rival or an unhappy client – who may have wanted to cause you serious harm?’

Richard’s laughter stopped in an instant. ‘No. None at all.’

‘What is it you do for a living, Mr Hilliard?’

‘I run a company specialising in the tracing and purchase of rare antiquities on behalf of a very exclusive client list,’ he replied, more composed now.

‘Can you be more specific?’

‘My clients – customers – come to us when they want a specific piece of art or an antique. We have contacts across the globe and so if, let’s say for example, you could afford to, and wanted to, purchase a Monet, you would come to us and say what you’re looking for and what price you’d be prepared to pay. We will then reach out to our contacts and see what’s available in the market and place a bid on your behalf. If it’s accepted, we then carefully ship and deliver the painting to you, taking a commission for our efforts.’

DCS Rawani’s gaze took in the rest of the room: a Matisse, a Degas, and a Gauguin. ‘It must be a lucrative business judging by some of the pieces you have hanging here.’

‘This is my father’s house,’ Elizabeth spoke up, catching the pair of them off-guard.

‘Yes,’ Richard chimed in, ‘as my wife says, this is my father-in-law’s house. That said, most of our clients aren’t shy about the cost of artwork and when someone really wants a specific piece they’re often prepared to pay whatever it takes to get hold of it. It’s not uncommon for fees in the millions to be exchanged.’

‘And your commission is…?’ the detective asked.

‘Depends on the nature of the piece, but anywhere between ten and twenty per cent after delivery.’

The detective whistled through his teeth. ‘You probably make more in one deal than I earn in a year.’ He paused to let that sink in. ‘That sort of money might make you a target for criminals. Have you noticed anyone suspicious hanging around either here or at your work premises?’

Richard shook his head.

‘What about you, Mrs Hilliard? Have you noticed anyone or any suspicious vehicles hanging around? Maybe you’ve spotted a particular car or motorbike several times in different places at different times and thought it seemed a touch odd?’

Elizabeth shook her head too. ‘No, nothing. I’m sorry.’

‘Any threats received by either of you, even something so small it didn’t necessarily register as a threat? Maybe something on social media, or email, or in the street?’

‘Nothing that immediately springs to mind,’ Richard concluded. ‘Are you sure I can’t get you something to drink? I’m parched. Rosa! Rosa!’

The housekeeper entered the room, head bowed, shoulders stooped, awaiting instruction.

‘Ah, there you are. Be a dear and fix me a gin and tonic, would you? Lemon, but no ice. Thank you.’ He turned back to the detective. ‘Are you sure you don’t want a cup of tea? Glass of water?’

‘No, I’m fine, thank you.’

Rosa nodded and shuffled off back out of the room.

‘I would like to speak to your house staff tonight as well,’ the detective said. ‘Is Rosa your only member of staff?’

Elizabeth snorted but didn’t follow it up with a comment, choosing to drain her glass instead.

‘There’s also Teddy,’ Richard said. ‘He’s our gardener and general errand boy, but I don’t see how speaking to either of them is going to help track down the men responsible for snatching Cassie.’

Elizabeth snorted again, imagining exactly what Teddy would reveal about her husband’s proclivities if put under pressure.

The detective stood suddenly and moved back across to the fireplace, taking another long look at the canvas of the three of them. He kept his back to them as he spoke. ‘It is my belief that your vehicle was deliberately targeted in this afternoon’s attack. Whoever is behind it knew that the Range Rover would be on that section of road at that time, which is why they brought a rocket-propelled grenade launcher to disable the vehicle. They targeted it, but it’s not clear to me yet whether they intended to snatch Cassie from the outset, or whether they were targeting one of you. Given that they left Mrs Hilliard in the car unscathed, it’s likely she wasn’t part of their plan, but that doesn’t mean they weren’t after you, Mr Hilliard.’

The detective spun round on his heel, but neither Richard nor Elizabeth reacted. ‘Either way, these people knew the Range Rover would be there, which suggests they had insider information. Who’s to say your housekeeper, driver, or gardener didn’t slip that information to them, or to some intermediary, for a few quid extra in their pocket?’

Elizabeth could see her husband’s mind whirring with the possibility that his biggest secrets could come tumbling out of the mouth of his young lover, who really did have an eye for garden landscaping.

‘Then there’s the royal connection,’ the DCS said, turning his stare on Elizabeth. ‘It’s your father’s side that’s distantly related to the royal family. Is that correct, Mrs Hilliard?’

Elizabeth peeled herself out of the upright chair and stumbled towards the drinks trolley at the far end of the drawing room where Rosa had just filled Richard’s glass before returning to the kitchen via the second door. Filling her own glass once again, Elizabeth was light-headed as she struggled to retrace her steps back to the armchair.

‘Yes,’ she slurred, once she was re-seated.

‘If Cassie was the target, it could be a veiled attempt at striking out at the royals. It’s been done before. I will be liaising with the Specialist Royal Constabulary to pursue that angle.’ He turned back to Richard. ‘I’d like you to supply a full client list for your business, along with the names of anyone who petitioned for your services and for whom you were unable to deliver the item they sought, anyone who could be disgruntled. I’ll speak to your housekeeper now but would appreciate you giving me the gardener’s contact information tonight.’

Richard’s face paled but he nodded and excused himself from the room just as Rosa entered, handing him the gin and tonic as he passed. Elizabeth watched the detective ask her to sit and answer some questions, calculating whether to tell him the true nature of Richard’s import company. If it meant getting Cassie back then it was a price she was prepared to pay, but if it had nothing to do with the business, she didn’t want to call the wolves to their doors.

For now, she would wait.

Daddy would be home soon, and he’d know what to do.

Daddy always knew what to do.

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