Page 40 of The Vanished

“Do you really think someone is tracking us?”

“I was advised not to take the risk,” Quinn replied and hoped that Emma would be satisfied with this answer.

Emma nodded wisely. “Yeah, they can probably pinpoint our location if they are.”

That was a terrifying thought, but Quinn wasn’t going to go down that rabbit hole. They had followed Sean’s instructions to the letter, and now they would wait and see what tomorrow would bring. Quinn downloaded the book for Emma, then, once the children were happily occupied, she decided to check out the bedrooms. Max’s bed would be set up in the master bedroom, and her children would take the second bedroom. There were two beds, so the girls would share, and Alex would have a bed to himself. She was sure there would be endless arguments and complaints, but eventually they’d settle down. Sharing a bed for a night or two was hardly the end of the world.

Quinn wished she could spend an hour with the earring, but she was too afraid to leave the children unattended for even a minute. If she did manage another foray into the past, it would be once Gabe came back. Unable to use her phone, she grew restless. What was she to do? She should have brought her laptop so she could do some research, but, since Wi-Fi was off the table, the computer would be virtually useless to her anyway. She would have loved a cup of tea, but there were no teabags or milk.

“Mum, you have a call,” Emma said. She was staring at the screen of Quinn’s mobile. “Someone called Sean.”

“Thanks, Em.”

Quinn reached for the phone and stepped outside.

TWENTY-SIX

Quinn strode down the dock, determined to speak to Sean in private. The children were unsettled enough already, and she didn’t want them overhearing the conversation. The narrow dock jutted out over the lake like a pirate ship’s plank, and she stopped at the very end, far enough from the house that she wouldn’t be heard. The sky was darkening, the first stars of evening twinkling in the lake’s mirrored surface. The island—now little more than a shadowy hillock—seemed to crouch like some furry beast, its back hunched, its head bent towards the water. Quinn knew she was being fanciful, but she was utterly alone, and even the reassuring lights of the main house were obscured by the clump of trees that formed a natural barrier between the boathouse and the rest of the property.

“Are you safe?” Sean asked as soon as Quinn answered the phone.

“Yes. We’re near Keswick, at Montrose Lake House.”

“And Max?”

“As well as can be expected under the circumstances. He misses his dad.”

“I’m sending you a photo,” Sean said. “Look carefully and tell me if you’ve ever seen him before.”

Quinn opened the image and studied the man in the picture. The photo had been taken from above and in profile, so she couldn’t see his face clearly. He was lanky and wore jeans, a dark green sweatshirt with some sort of logo on it, and work boots. A black cap was pulled low over his eyes, but she thought they might be light. He had a strong nose and a square jaw, and his dark blond hair was cut short at the back and sides.

“I’ve never seen him before,” Quinn said.

“Are you certain?”

“Yes. Who is he?”

Sean sounded annoyed. “The colleague I had in mind is running another investigation and was unable to help. I had to tap another former employee, who, truth be told, wasn’t overly keen to get involved. But he did promise to help. DI Malone pulled CCTV footage from the cameras outside the hospital. It would appear that this man was waiting for Logan. He trailed him at a discreet distance once Logan left the hospital after his shift ended at five. He followed him all the way home.”

Quinn gasped at the implications of this. “Sean, Logan could be at home. He might be hurt.”

“He’s not. DI Malone sent two officers to perform a welfare check. They didn’t find Logan, but they found traces of blood and gunshot residue.”

“Can DI Malone not check the cameras near the house? Maybe he could see where Logan went.” Or was taken, Quinn’s mind supplied unhelpfully.

“He did that already. A man driving Logan’s car left the house just before six. He was alone.”

“A man?”

“He was wearing what appears to be the same cap as the chap in the photo and a sweatshirt with the hood pulled up. It was impossible to make out his face.”

“Don’t the Met have facial recognition software?” Quinn exclaimed, and wondered if that was just something they used in crime shows to heighten the drama.

“Retrospective search, which analyzes images pulled from CCTV, can be highly effective when certain criteria are met.”

“And in this case they were not?”

“Even if the cameras caught a clear image of the man’s face, which they did not, he would have to be on a watchlist in order to be identified.”