44

The car park at the Greyhound was rapidly filling up. There were two ambulances, an array of patrol cars, plus several unmarked cars, with more arriving constantly. The Land Rover was being photographed, and both Rita and the woman from the toilets were in the ambulances.

It was only a matter of minutes since Chris Saunders had sped away, but the West Yorkshire Police helicopter was already making noisy circuits overhead, its silvery beam criss-crossing the night sky. Kieron Burnett had been confirmed as missing. Half a mile down the road, Chris’s house was being taken apart, and a few miles further off, in Cleckheaton, Whitcliffe Mount School was overrun with police search teams.

Meanwhile, the car park was alive to the constant chatter of radios, as officers arrived from Leeds and from various points in Kirklees. There was also a healthy presence of bystanders, many of them holding up their phones as they videoed events. A couple of uniformed officers were having trouble keeping the public back, especially those whose cars were now trapped in the car park. It was chaos, and it would already be on Twitter and dozens of live-streaming sites.

Joe watched as a small, red Audi arrived, came to a momentary stop, then drove slowly in his direction. Gwyn Merchant flashed his headlights as he pulled up next to Joe.

‘How’s Rita?’ he said as Joe got into the passenger seat, glad to be out of the circus.

‘She’s OK. Mild concussion.’

‘What about the kid? How’s that going?’

‘Kirklees are dealing with—’

‘Fuck Kirklees. We’ll find him.’ He grabbed a small laptop from the back seat and fired it up. ‘What do we know about this woman, Joe? Social media? Where’s her presence?’

Joe paused. But only for a second.

‘Facebook.’

‘Right. We’re looking for somewhere to hide a kid. Christine Saunders. Tell me about her,’ Gwyn said as he searched for her Facebook account.

‘She’s ordered. In control. Neat dresser, stylish but not fancy.’

‘Right. Character? Habits?’

‘Runs courses on finance at the local library. One on bereavement too. Believes in helping folk, or she used to.’

‘OK,’ he said as his fingers moved with practiced speed across the keyboard. ‘Right! I’ve got her. Carry on.’

‘She’s a Maths teacher, background in accountancy. I dunno…’

‘She’s about your age, right? Is she fit?’

‘What?’

‘Is she fit? Seriously? I mean, fit, ripped, skinny? What’s your relationship with her?’

‘No, nothing like that. But she is fit. She goes on long walks in the country… Oh, Jesus! Look back through her Facebook posts. It’s an app.’

Gwyn’s face was about an inch away from the screen.

‘What app? Speak to me, Joe.’

‘Maps. She posts the routes. Likes long walks.’

‘Maps, maps…’

‘Y’know, maps of where you’ve been.’

A massive breath from Gwyn.

‘Oh, I know!’