‘Correct.’ Cummings smiled superciliously. ‘Clocked up at two in the morning’ – he paused, smirking as he held Mark’s gaze – ‘in the heart of the red-light district. So much for the father of the year award, hey, Cain. Play classical music while you’re doing the business, do you?’
Mark stared incredulously at him. ‘No way,’ he said vehemently, his heart rate spiking as he realised he was being set up from all angles. ‘I haven’t been anywhere near there – on or off duty.’
‘We have photographic evidence, DI Cain,’ said Edwards, still watching him in that supposedly non-judgemental way he had. But the pen he was tapping rapidly on his desk and the fact that he was addressing him formally told Mark he was being judged – and found guilty. Of this. ‘CCTV images,’ Edwards went on, now eyeing him steadily, as he leaned back in his chair.
He waited.
Mark kneaded his forehead. He didn’t answer. How could he, other than to say It wasn’t me?
‘We also have a photograph which shows you apparently assaulting a sex worker,’ Edwards added, laying the pen down on his desk, as if demonstrating that he’d considered the facts and found him guilty. ‘Do you have an explanation for that?’
Tanya Stevens. Mark fixed his gaze hard on Cummings. ‘Provided by?’ he asked, bile rising in his throat.
‘A fellow officer who felt obliged to draw my attention to it.’
‘I bet he did.’ Laughing disdainfully, Mark dragged his gaze away. ‘It was a different time, a different place.’
‘To the one you weren’t in,’ Cummings added drolly.
Mark looked contemptuously back at him. ‘You bastard,’ he seethed, fury burning impotently inside him.
Cummings nodded, almost imperceptibly, a smirk playing at the corner of his mouth as he turned to perch himself on the edge of Edwards’ desk. ‘Bit of a shitty thing to do, wasn’t it, DI Cain, using your wife’s car to fuck prostitutes? Get off on it, do you?’
His wife’s? Mark was confused, for a split second. She’d had access to that too. Access to their lives and everything in it. Free access to Mel and Poppy, while he was being detained for Christ knew how long. ‘I have to get out of here,’ he said, his stomach knotting painfully. ‘I need to leave.’
‘You should know we’ve called in a forensic specialist to examine the car, DI Cain,’ Edwards said dispassionately.
‘A forensic?’ Mark was astounded. ‘Looking for what?’ he asked, his panic escalating.
Edwards didn’t answer.
‘You’ve been on top of the Daisy Evans case from outset, haven’t you, Cain?’ said Cummings. ‘Obsessed, almost.’ He paused, as Mark’s shocked gaze shot back to his. ‘One can’t help but wonder, given your… shall we say, sexual preferences… were you obsessed with finding her, or making sure no one else did?’
Mark felt the blood drain from his face. ‘Are you serious?’ He looked in utter disbelief between the two men.
‘We’ve been doing some digging,’ said Cummings. ‘Had a difficult childhood, didn’t you, DI Cain? Abused at the hands of your father. That must have been hard to deal with.’
Now he had to be joking. Mark shook his head, repulsed by the man and the implication. ‘Not in the way you’re implying,’ he said, his throat tight, his voice calm.
‘Really?’ Cummings’ accusing gaze strayed to his. ‘Still fucked you up, though, didn’t it, DI Cain?’
‘This is crazy!’ Mark clenched his fists. ‘You’re way out of order, Cummings, and you know it!’ He was now dangerously close to exploding.
‘Getting a bit irate, DI Cain? Not thinking of getting physical again, are we?’ The perverse pleasure Cummings was taking in this was written all over his face
Mark was close, too close, to taking a swing at him, and the bastard knew it.
‘Back off, DS Cummings,’ Edwards ordered, his expression now one of complete disillusionment as he stared at Mark. ‘We found something in the car, DI Cain,’ he informed him solemnly.
‘Such as?’ Mark asked, his throat dry, his mind racing as he ran through the possibilities, blood being the most likely.
‘One of Daisy’s shoes,’ Cummings provided. ‘How did that get there, Cain? I mean, one would assume you’d never met the girl before she went missing.’
Oh, sweet fucking Jesus, no. The news hit Mark like a thunderclap. This wasn’t happening. It couldn’t be. Please, God, don’t let this be happening.
‘No doubt the forensics examination will yield more,’ Cummings added.
‘Do you have anything to offer in your defence, DI Cain?’ Edwards asked him, agitatedly. ‘Anything at all that might give me pause for thought before cautioning you?’
Reeling, Mark swiped at the perspiration tickling his forehead. Mel had obviously handed over his computer. Gulping back his nausea, Mark recalled the hatred in her eyes, the way she’d looked at him when she’d believed him capable of manipulating her, drugging her, kerb-crawling, for fuck’s sake. And now this. She wouldn’t alibi him. She couldn’t. He’d been sleeping on the sofa. Panic now tightening his gut like a vice, Mark closed his eyes.
‘You’ve been having a few problems at home, haven’t you, DI Cain?’ Cummings went on matter-of-factly. ‘Arguments, concerning the children? Are they yours, DI Cain? Or was your wife claiming they weren’t so you didn’t try for custody?’
Mark eyed him, completely bewildered.
‘Just wondering,’ he said, shrugging, ‘whether it might explain why your daughter’s gone missing.’
‘Where is she, DI Cain?’ Edwards asked quietly. ‘Where’s Evie?’
‘Jade,’ Mark squeezed the word past the parched lump in his throat, his emotions going into free-fall as he realised where this was leading, ‘I have to find her,’ he said throatily, turning for the door.
‘Jade. This would be the girl who says you raped her?’ said Cummings.
Feeling as if an express train had just slammed into him, Mark stopped dead in his tracks. She was framing him, knocking nails into his coffin, one by one, and he could do nothing? He didn’t have a snowball in hell’s chance of convincing anyone that he’d had no part in any of this. Christ. His baby? His family?
He needed to get out of here. A sluggish pulse beating prophetically at the base of his neck, he continued towards the door.
‘You really are a lowlife piece of scum, aren’t you, Cain?’ Cummings said disgustedly. ‘Spouting your holier than thou crap. Lording it over everyone, hiding your sick perversions—’
‘Enough!’ Edwards cut him short. ‘DI Cain, you might like to take this opportunity to call a solicitor.’
Mark sucked in a breath, knowing what was coming next.
‘Mark Cain, we are legally obliged to inform you that we are arresting you on suspicion of child abduction and offences contrary to the Sexual Offences Act 2003.’ Mark could feel Cummings’ satisfaction as he cautioned him.
‘You do not have to say anything, but it may harm your defence if you fail to mention when questioned something which you later rely on in court. Anything you do say may be given in evidence. Do you understand, DI Cain?’
Mark nodded slowly, his jaw clamped tight. ‘I need to go,’ he rasped, reaching for the door despite knowing he stood no chance of getting through it and out of the station.
Cummings was on him in a second, locking an arm tight around his neck. ‘You’re going nowhere, mate,’ he snarled in his ear.
Two officers bursting through the door to flank him either side, Mark tried to stay upright as Cummings landed a vicious blow to his side.
* * *
Mark stopped struggling as he was manhandled through the main office, the hostile glances of his supposed colleagues telling him all he needed to know. In their eyes, he really was the lowest of the low. His only hope was Lisa, who knew him almost as well as his wife did – or had. Mark prayed harder than he’d ever prayed as he was escorted past where she stood amidst the audience who’d gathered for the show, wilting with relief as he noted her expression. Not open disdain. Confusion, but not repugnance.
Mark didn’t speak. He doubted he could get the words past the fractured pieces of his heart, which were now wedged like shards of glass in his windpipe. He prayed again instead, that Lisa would read the desperation in his eyes.
Lisa nodded. ‘I’m on it, sir,’ she said simply.
Seventy-Three
JADE