Gone by Mo Hayder Page B

lining the road. ‘Of course,’ she muttered. ‘I know what’s going on. I know what you’re saying.’
    ‘It’s like you’re not here any more, Sarge,’ he said. Some of the others murmured an agreement. ‘It’s that thousand-mile stare. Going through the motions. You say
we
’ve lost it, but if there’s no one at home at the top of the pile then you might as well give up. And, not that it’s all about the money, but it’ll be the first year we won’t be seeing our competency pay at Christmas.’
    She turned again and eyed him steadily. She loved Wellard. He’d worked for her for years now and he was one of the best men she knew. She loved him more than she loved even her brother, Thom. A hundred times more than she loved Thom. Hearing Wellard speak the truth was hard.
    ‘OK.’ She knelt up and put her hands on the back of the seat. ‘You’re right. I haven’t been at my best. But
you
–’ she pointed a finger at them ‘–
you
guys haven’t lost it. It’s still there.’
    ‘Eh?’
    ‘OK. Think back to what the POLSA said. What was in the tyre treads?’
    One shrugged. ‘Wood chips. Titanium and stainless-steel swarf. Sounds like a manufacturing place.’
    ‘Yes.’ She nodded coaxingly. ‘What about the titanium? Did that ring any bells?’
    They stared back at her. Not getting it.
    ‘Oh, come on,’ she said impatiently. ‘Think back. Four, five years? You were all on the unit then: you can’t have forgotten. A water tank? Freezing day. A stabbing. You dived it, Wellard, and I was surface side. There was some dog kept coming out of the woods trying to mount my leg. You thought it was bloody hysterical. Don’t you remember
that
?’
    ‘Over near the Bathurst Estate?’ Wellard was frowning at her. ‘The guy chucked the weapon in the hatch? We found it in about ten minutes.’
    ‘Yes. And?’
    He shrugged.
    She looked expectantly from face to face. ‘Christ almighty. I’ve got to hand-feed you. Remember the place – decommissioned factory? It wasn’t on this POLSA’s map because it’s closed down. But do you remember what it had been making when it was open?’
    ‘Military gizmos,’ said someone at the back of the Sprinter. ‘Parts for Challenger tanks, that sort of thing.’
    ‘See? The grey matter’s starting to stir.’
    ‘Which, I’m guessing, has some components made out of titanium? And stainless steel?’
    ‘I’d bet my life on it. And do you happen to recall what we had to drive through to get to the damned water tank?’
    ‘Christ on a bike,’ Wellard said faintly, realization dawning on his face. ‘A timber yard. And it’s this direction – the way you’re heading.’
    ‘You see?’ She started the engine, threw them a look in the rearview. ‘I said you hadn’t lost it.’

14
    Caffery stood alone on a small track that ran through pine forest, the air around him scented and muffled by the trees. A hundred yards to his right there was a decommissioned arms factory, and to his left a lumber-yard surrounded by worn, weatherboarded sheds. Sawdust, darkened to an apricot colour by the rain, was piled under a huge rusting hopper.
    He kept his breathing slow and quiet, his hands slightly held out at his sides, his eyes focused on nothing. He was trying to get something elusive. Some kind of atmosphere. As if the trees could give up a memory. It was two in the afternoon. Four hours ago Sergeant Marley’s team had ignored the POLSA’s instructions and headed out here. They hadn’t had to search long, just thirty minutes, before one of them had discovered a remarkably clear set of tyre tracks that exactly matched the Yaris’s. Something had happened here last night. The jacker had been here and something important had happened.
    Behind Caffery, further back up the track, the place was overrun with crime-scene investigators, search teams and dog handlers. An area had been taped out, fifty yards radius from the point of the clearest tyre marks. The teams had