Endangering Innocents by Priscilla Masters

abducted.”
    It was one of the few times she had considered Mike as a parent. She studied his blunt features silently for a few moments and wondered what sort of a father he made. Her own had been a Peter Pan, Huke a bully, Matthew an over-caring, indulgent father too easily manipulated by his teenage daughter. And what about Korpanski?
    Intolerant was the word that sprang to mind.
    “But you heard what the teachers were saying,” Joanna said slowly. “Everyone was distracted. You know, Mike, like the magician’s trick. Everyone’s looking in the wrong place. At the wrong time. They assume one thing when another is really happening. They believe their eyes when it’s those very eyes that are deceiving them. Maybe everyone was busily looking the other way when Madeline was spirited into a car. It must have happened in the split second that no one was looking her way.”
    “There would have been a struggle - surely.”
    “Not if -” Joanna said, suddenly assaulted by the vision of the quiet, solemn child who had let herself be pulled along the pavement without putting up a struggle. Madeline had been a compliant child.
    Because the price of not being so was too high? 
    She jerked herself away from the picture. “Not if Madeline assumed the person was sent by her family. We know a variety of people picked her up from school. Anyway - didn’t Baldwin say something about Huke dragging her into his van? No one’s said anything about that.”
    “You’re not starting to use what Baldwin says as evidence?”
    Joanna backed down. “Why not? Who do you suggest we believe? Huke?”
    “Well - I’d rather trust …” Mike’s voice tailed off.
    “Exactly.” Korpanski had pinpointed the very essence of the case. “Madeline wasn’t exactly surrounded by a sealed unit of loving family, was she?”
    Korpanski ran his fingers through his hair.
     
    It was eleven o’clock by the time she let herself in. The cottage was in darkness. And it was cold. If Matthew had been home he must have gone out again. Though his car was in the drive no fire was lit. The table lamp in the corner was the sole source of light. She flicked the central heating back on, and went into the kitchen. To smile. Matthew read her like a book. He’d propped a note up against a large bulbous wineglass. “Gone to the pub. Bottle in fridge. Ring me when you get home.” He’d signed his name only with a huge X.
    But she didn’t ring him. She poured herself a glass of Chardonnay, kicked her shoes off and settled into the sofa. There was no knowing when Matthew would be back. Certainly she could not expect him home at traditional pub closing time plus the fifteen minutes drinking up time. The local pub had the relaxed habit of “lockins”, largely ignored by the moorland police who saw no real harm in them, and welcomed by the locals - holiday-makersas well as residents. It provided an excellent night life in the village of Waterfall. But if she joined Matthew at the Red Lion it would put the landlord in a difficult position. A Detective Inspector could hardly join a lock-in. Not without putting an early end to the evening. And even if she rang him the landlord would guess who was on the other end of the telephone. Matthew had made friends with a few of the locals. He made friends easily, enjoyed chatting to them - mainly dismal farming talk these days but he could sympathise and empathise. She, in contrast, wanted, needed to be alone. Particularly tonight. She needed to think. The force were providing plenty of action. They were the footsoldiers. Taking statements, asking questions, carrying out searches, cross referencing on the PNC. But what she needed was concentration. She must orchestrate their movements, help them to direct their energies in the right direction. Madeline’s disappearance was like the Chinese Puzzle with irregular blocks of wood meant to form a perfect globe. It seemed impossible. But Madeline Wiltshaw had disappeared -