Hostage to Murder by Val McDermid Page B

the bell went for the morning interval. Five to eleven.”
    The classroom door burst open and Tam Gourlay burst in. He was a bear. Six feet and six inches of brawn, topped with a thick head of dark auburn hair and a full, neatly trimmed beard one shade lighter, he stormed into the classroom like a force of nature. Without pause, he rushed to Bernie, pushing the policewoman to one side. “Has that bastard Bruno taken him?” he demanded.
    â€œTam, oh Tam, I’m so sorry,” Bernie sobbed.
    â€œSorry? It’s not your fault you married a bastard first time round.” He glared belligerently at Sergeant Meldrum. “So what the hell are youse doing to stop him? Christ knows where he’ll take the boy.”
    â€œWe’ve already circulated a description to the ports and airports, sir. We’re doing everything we can,” the policeman said, his tone placatory.
    It didn’t work. “Is that all you can say? Have you not got weans? Jesus, man, can you not see the state she’s in? You’ve got to find the boy.”
    â€œWas Mr. Cavadino ever violent during the marriage?”
    â€œWhat’s that got to do with anything?” Tam demanded.
    â€œNo, he wasn’t,” Bernie cut in.
    â€œAnd has he had access to Jack since the marriage broke down?” Meldrum continued.
    â€œHe’s taken him out him half a dozen times when he’s been in the country,” Bernie said, sounding calmer now her husband was present.
    â€œMrs. Gourlay, do you think he’d offer any kind of physical threat to Jack?”
    She shook her head. “Bruno wouldn’t hurt a hair on his head.”
    â€œYou see my problem, sir?” Meldrum asked, his tone that of sweet reason. “The child doesn’t seem to be at risk. OK, Mr. Cavadino didn’t have permission for this custody visit, but he has
previously returned Jack safely. We’ve no reason to think a crime has been committed.”
    â€œI don’t believe I’m hearing this,” Tam roared. “Our boy gets kidnapped and you think that’s OK?”
    â€œWith respect, sir, that’s not what I said.”
    Tam looked at the sergeant as if he wanted to hit someone and he was the best candidate. “Listen, pal,” he growled. “Get your finger out and get our boy back. Or else you’ll wish you’d never joined the polis. And that, my friend, is a promise.”
    Â 
    Lindsay poured two glasses of pinot grigio and took them through to the living room, where Sophie was sprawled on the sofa, a book on preparing for pregnancy open on her lap. “There you go,” Lindsay said, offering Sophie a drink. “I’ve just put the potatoes in the oven. Dinner’ll be about three quarters of an hour.”
    Sophie shook her head. “No wine for me, love.” She patted her flat stomach. “Better safe than sorry.”
    Lindsay put both glasses on the end table and slid on to the sofa, lifting Sophie’s feet into her lap. “Sorry, force of habit. I forgot your body’s a temple now. How are you feeling?”
    Sophie snorted with laughter. “Exactly the same as usual. I don’t think you get symptoms within twenty-four hours of insemination. What about you? How’s the ankle? You should be the one with your feet up.”
    â€œAch, it’s not too bad. It’s more stiff than sore now. Do you mind if I put the local news on?” she added, reaching for the TV remote control.
    â€œNews junkie,” Sophie teased her. “Of course I don’t mind.”
    The screen came alive on a police press conference. A uniformed chief superintendent sat behind a table. Next to him, a woman with red swollen eyes looked as if she was holding herself together by sheer force of will. Her hand was held by a giant of a man with a neatly barbered mane of hair and a heavy beard. What could be seen of his face looked sullen. The sound faded up on the