Hard Time by Maureen Carter Page A

remains of a plain omelette, and now
sipped peppermint tea; the irritable bowel must be playing up again. “The kidnappers would have to have been pretty sure Dunston would deliver without too many awkward questions. So they must
have known him beforehand. Or someone pointed them in his direction.”
    Bev shrugged, nodded. “But we don’t know who...”
    “No, we don’t.” He scraped back his chair. “Yet.”
    She stood, grabbed a few chips. “Get the spade, shall I?”

14
    The spacious sitting room at The White House was like a West End set, the elegant figures of Jenny and Richard Page draped in theatrical poses on peppermint damask furnishings.
Lit by shafts of sunlight, DI Mike Powell paced the carpet, long fingers stroking lantern jaw. “You’re sure you’ve never seen him hanging round?”
    A pair of heads shook in unison. The Pages were adamant. They didn’t know Wayne Dunston, they’d never met Wayne Dunston. Until he turned up at the house, they’d never laid eyes
on Wayne Dunston. They’d made the points, several times.
    DC Carol Pemberton observing, taking notes, sensed the couple’s growing impatience. As far as the Pages were concerned, Dunston was a minor player in the unfurling drama. Unlike their
son.
    The couple’s edginess confirmed a concern expressed by the family liaison officer. Colin Henfield was away, grabbing a change of clothes, but he’d taken Carol aside for a quick word
on the QT. He reckoned the pressure was getting to the Pages, especially the father. Richard had stormed out several times to cruise the streets, searching for Daniel. Colin had tried restraining
him, tried talking sense, but Page had been beyond reason and reasoning.
    Carol recognised the pattern. Fathers often need to get out, to do something; mothers stay home, can’t do anything. She watched Page wander to the window to gaze across a
manicured lawn. Frown lines suggested deep unease. For a successful businessman accustomed to a lead role, playing and needing support clearly didn’t come easy. Mr Ad Man of the day before
now looked more Big Issue salesman, unshaven unkempt underdog.
    He turned, shoulders sagging, hands stuffed deep in casual cords. “How do we play this?” The ransom demand had been clear: half a million or Daniel would be killed. Details for the
drop would follow.
    The DI stopped pacing, consciously or otherwise mirrored Page’s stance. “By the book.”
    Carol, face a blank, glanced up. As if there was one.
    Still, precedents and police procedures existed, even if no case was the same. And there were consistent factors, as Powell explained in a general way. Duty of care to the child was paramount,
and a non-confrontational set-up had to be in place for the handover. Of course, that could only be activated when the kidnapper released instructions.
    “Meaning?” Jenny Page appeared ghost-like, ethereal. Except she was the haunted one. In her pale arms lay a Dennis the Menace t-shirt. It belonged to the angelic Daniel, the scarlet
and black in stark contrast to the trailing ivory dressing gown Jenny still wore at lunchtime. Every few minutes she lifted the soft material to her face, inhaled little boy and lost love.
    Powell sank into a deep armchair at right angles to her. “The kidnapper has to believe you’ll do what he says.”
    “We will.” No hesitation.
    “It’s not that simple, Mrs Page.”
    Gaze fixed on Powell, she made it easy for him. “Someone’s holding Daniel. We pay. He comes home. End of story.”
    But it wasn’t. They weren’t writing it. A happy ending wasn’t a given.
    Powell didn’t go there. He gave a tight smile, brisk nod. “We’ll have a clearer idea, Mrs Page, when we know what’s in the kidnapper’s head.”
    “How much longer, inspector?” she groaned. “I can’t...” She buried her face in Daniel’s shirt. Carol felt huge sympathy, even felt sorry for a floundering
Powell, who was clearly out of his emotional depth.
    The