Read No Trace for Free Online Page A

away.’
    ‘Well, you’d better get moving then, hadn’t you?’
    ‘It’s totally impossible, Ferg . . . Maybe in six months, a year . . .’
    ‘No, Friday,’ Tait insisted. ‘I’m serious, deadly serious. The eyes of the world are on you, Gabe. Strike while the iron is steaming hot.’
    Poppy, seeing that he really was in earnest, said, ‘But my exhibition, Fergus. It’s still got two weeks to run. Why don’t we wait till then?’
    ‘Sorry, love, I’ll make it up to you. This has to happen now.’
    Gabe stared at him. ‘You’re crazy.’ But his mind was working and it seemed to Kathy that there was a spark of excitement in his eyes. She wondered if it was Poppy’s objection that had persuaded him.
    ‘What’ll we call the show?’ Fergus asked. ‘How about Scream , in honour of Batty Betty? And Munch of course— we can put an image of his painting on the invitations.’
    ‘Too corny,’ Gabe said immediately. ‘How about, No Trace ?’
    ‘Brilliant! That’s it!’ Fergus cried. ‘I’ll get the designer working on the invitations and posters right away.’
    ‘But Poppy’s right,’ Gabe protested, though without much conviction, Kathy thought. ‘Let’s make it a month, three weeks at least. We’ll know then . . .’ he stopped, before adding in a whisper,‘. . . about Trace.’
    ‘That’s exactly the point, Gabe, don’t you see? We have to do this now, while it’s front page news. And it can only help the police, with the publicity and all.’
    ‘I’m not sure about that,’ Kathy said. ‘You’d better hold off any firm plans until I’ve got clearance.’
    ‘You go ahead, Sergeant,’ Fergus waved airily as he got to his feet. ‘I have to go. Have you been to The Pie Factory yet?’
    Kathy said no.
    ‘Well, you must come over and see us. Poppy here has a fabulous show on at the moment, The Loss of Many Little Things —you’ll love it. Are you coming, my dear?’
    Poppy said she’d stay with Gabe for a while.
    ‘Good idea,’ Fergus said, heading for the stairs. ‘Get a few ideas flowing for No Trace .’
    Kathy started to protest, but he was already gone.
    Poppy moved closer to Gabe and began talking to him in a low, insistent monotone. It was to do with his work, Kathy realised, picking up phrases, ‘. . . a narrative of pain . . . absence and loss . . .’ but the tone was private, almost intimate, like a trainer psyching up a fighter for the ring. Gabe listened, stuffing food into his mouth. Kathy left them to it and went over to the window to ring Brock.
    Brock was in the control centre that the borough operational command unit had established in the Shoreditch police station, the focus of a storm of activity. He listened to Kathy’s report of Tait’s plans to exploit, as she saw it, Tracey’s disappearance.
    ‘Publicity can only help at this stage,’ he told her, and said he’d get the media unit to agree on some guidelines with the art dealer. ‘Get over here for a team briefing at four, will you, Kathy? I’ll send someone to sit with Rudd.’ He sounded preoccupied.
    All over London the mobilisation was in full swing, detectives tracking down previous offenders, uniforms knocking on doors, volunteers searching parks and wasteland, new technology cranked into action. Brock stared at the large plastic-covered street map of east London on the wall, on which coloured marks were constantly being added and erased to track progress on the ground. To one side, as if to encourage the searchers, were pinned the pictures of the three missing girls, Aimee, Lee and Tracey. They depended on him now. The machine was in his hands. He was filled with a sudden overwhelming sense of inadequacy.
    One of the computer operators said something and the supervising inspector replied, then turned to Brock as if expecting his comment.
    ‘Sorry,’ he said. ‘What did you say?’
    ‘Oh, just about the new data, sir—so much of it.’
    They were all looking at him now, expectant,