In Pursuit of the Proper Sinner (Inspector Lynley, #10)(9)

“One man and two women?” Price asked four times.

“I don't know, I don't know. And what does it matter?” Nan said testily. “It may have been the same woman calling twice. What difference does it make? What's that got to do with Nicola?”

“But just one man?” Constable Price said.

“God in heaven, how many times am I going to have to—”

“One man,” Andy interposed.

Nan pressed her lips into an angry line. Her eyes bored holes into Price's skull. “One man,” she repeated.

“It wasn't you who phoned?” This to Julian.

“I know Julian's voice,” Nan said. “It wasn't Julian.”

“But you have a relationship with the young lady, Mr. Britton?”

“They're engaged to be married,” Nan said.

“Not exactly engaged,” Julian quickly clarified, and he cursed in silence as the damnable heat rose from his collar-bone to suffuse his cheeks yet again.

“Had a bit of a quarrel?” Price asked, voice shrewd. “Another man involved where you didn't like it?”

Jesus, Julian thought. Why did everyone assume they'd rowed? There hadn't been a single harsh word between them. There hadn't been time for that.

They hadn't quarreled, Julian reported steadily. And he knew nothing about another man. Absolutely nothing, he asserted for good measure.

“They had a date to talk about their wedding plans,” Nan said.

“Well, actually—”

“D'you honestly know any woman who'd fail to show up for that?”

“And you are certain she intended to return by this evening?” Constable Price asked Andy He shifted his eyes over his notes, going on to say, “Her gear suggests she might have intended a longer outing.”

“I hadn't thought much about it till Julian stopped by to fetch her to Sheffield,” Andy admitted.

“Ah.” The constable eyed Julian with more suspicion than Julian felt was warranted. Then he flipped his notebook closed. The radio receiver that he wore from his shoulder buzzed with an incomprehensible stream of babble. He reached up and turned down the volume. Easing his notebook into his pocket, he said, “Well. She's done a runner before, and this's no different to that, I expect. We'll have ourselves a wait till—”

“What're you talking about?” Nan cut in. “This isn't a runaway teenager we're reporting. She's twenty-five years old, for heaven's sake.

She's a responsible adult. She has a job. A boyfriend. A family. She hasn't run off. She's disappeared.”

“At present, p'rhaps she has,” the constable agreed. “But as she's bunked off before—and our files do show that, madam—till we know she's not doing another runner, we can't send a team out after her.”

“She was seventeen years old when she last ran off,” Nan argued. “We'd just moved here from London. She was lonely, unhappy. We were caught up getting the Hall in order and we failed to give her the proper attention. All she'd needed was guidance so that—”

“Nancy.” Andy put his hand gently on the back of her neck.

“We can't just do nothing!”

“No choice in the matter,” the constable said implacably. “We've got our procedures. I'll make my report, and if she's not turned up by this time tomorrow, we'll have ourselves another look at the problem.”

Nan spun to her husband. “Do something. Phone Mountain Rescue yourself.”

Julian interposed. “Nan, Mountain Rescue can't begin a search unless they have an idea …” He gestured towards the windows and hoped she would fill in the blanks. As a member of Mountain Rescue himself, he'd been on dozens of cases. But the rescuers had always had a general idea of where to begin looking for a hiker. Since neither Julian nor Nicola's parents could even generalise about Nicola's point of departure, the only avenue left to them was to wait until first light, when the police could request a helicopter from the RAE.

Because of the hour and their lack of information, Julian knew that the only possible activity that actually could have grown from their midnight meeting with Constable Price would have been a preliminary phone call to the closest mountain rescue organization, telling them to assemble their volunteers at dawn. But clearly they had failed to impress upon the constable the gravity of the situation. Mountain Rescue responded only to the police. And the police—at least at the moment and in the person of Constable Price—weren't themselves responding.

They were wasting time talking to the man. Julian could see from Andy's expression that he'd arrived at this same conclusion. He said, “Thank you for coming, Constable,” and when his wife would have protested, Andy went on. “We'll phone you tomorrow evening if Nicola hasn't turned up.”

“Andy!”

He put his arm round her shoulders and she turned into his chest. He didn't speak until the constable had ducked out of the kitchen door, gone to his panda car, switched on the ignition, and flicked on the headlamps. And then he spoke to Julian, not Nan.

“She always likes camping in the White Peak, Julian. There're maps in Reception. Would you fetch them please? We'll each want to know where the other's searching.”