Gone

by Leona Deakin

  Harry paused. ‘I really hope not. I hope that’s not on me.’ A deep frown creased his forehead.

  ‘You still think she disappeared of her own accord?’ asked Bloom.

  ‘It’s getting on for three months now. That’s a long time, isn’t it? To not see your children or check how they are?’

  Faye Graham’s fury burned in her veins. This new player – some jackass called SRB – had only entered The Game three weeks ago but he was already at level two. It had taken Faye nearly two months to reach the second level, and from the stats that were posted each week, she knew that she’d been the fastest riser until this shitty little upstart had come along to steal her crown.

  She had taken her eye off the ball. In January, she’d been focused and obsessive. She had checked the website constantly, analysing the stats and the posts from other players, detailing their various achievements.

  For every new challenge, the game matched you with an opponent. If you won, you moved up to compete against a higher-level player. The loser moved down a level and was paired with a lesser competitor. It was survival of the fittest. And it was constant. As soon as you completed one challenge, there was another waiting, and the threat of a competitor who could achieve the goal better or quicker. There was no time for anything else. It was exciting and addictive. Faye hadn’t felt this alive in years.

  Her mistake had been choosing her stupid-ass husband as a target for the latest challenge.

  She’d enjoyed cancelling his suppliers, calling up his clients to say he was under investigation for misconduct, spreading rumours about him on professional forums. She wished she’d done it years ago. All those days bored at home with the kids. She could have been having fun.

  But she had enjoyed it too much. She hated him too much. And she’d lost sight of the game.

  Now she was falling behind. It was all Harry’s fault. He had ruined her long before she had ruined him. He had ruined her body, convincing her to have children, and then ruined her career by encouraging her to look after the kids. She’d thought he would be successful and rich, but he had been boring and unambitious and, to top it all, an irritating arse.

  She had to make sure Harry could never ruin her again.

  13

  Back in the office, Bloom and Jameson were waiting to hear from Geoff Taylor about the disappearance of his son Grayson.

  As they waited for his call, Bloom pulled together a summary of the case on her iPad. She was creating an electronic incident wall, with everything they’d learned so far. They had a virtual wall for every case and they added fresh information and new hypotheses as the investigation progressed. It was an invaluable tool for collating their findings and sharing critical information.

  ‘There are literally no commonalities,’ said Jameson, peering over Bloom’s shoulder. ‘Our victims are different ages, different genders, and work in different professions. We have a thirty-five-year-old soldier signed off with PTSD, a forty-two-year-old self-employed accountant and mother of two, a twenty-nine-year-old shelf-stacker and a twenty-year-old politics student who all disappeared from different places across the country. The two women are parents, the two men aren’t – but Stuart is about to be a father and we don’t know for sure that Grayson hasn’t fathered a child. But still, that feels a bit tenuous. The women are professionals and the men aren’t.’

  ‘It’s a heterogeneous group. But with no diversity of ethnic background and all from England,’ said Bloom.

  ‘So why these four people?’

  ‘And why on their birthdays? That’s the biggest link so far.’

  Jameson pursed his lips. ‘I’ve checked their birthplaces, but they’re spread across the UK. I’ll check their social media footprint again. Look for hobbies. I’ve started tracing previous jobs and am waiting for a call from an old mate.’

  Bloom knew that when Jameson said ‘old mate’, he meant a contact with the highest level of security clearance. A person who could access most of the details of most of our lives, should they so wish.

  The office phone began to ring.

  ‘That’ll be Geoff Taylor,’ said Bloom.

  Jameson answered, pressed the speaker button and introduced himself. He was beginning to explain the background to the case when his mobile flashed on the table. Bloom saw that the incoming number was blocked and nodded for him to take it. It was probably his ‘old mate’. Jameson headed into the hallway and Bloom took over the phone conversation.

  ‘Can you tell us about Grayson’s disappearance, please?’ she asked.

  Mr Taylor explained that his son had gone missing after meeting a girl on a night out. He’d hoped he was simply losing time in her student bedroom. But some of Grayson’s friends had tracked down the girl and she said she’d last seen him outside a club at the end of the night.

  ‘Have the police checked the CCTV?’ Bloom found it easier to gauge a person’s response over the phone. The lack of visual stimuli made it easier to detect a lie: the deceit was evident in what a person said – the hesitations, the lack of details, the inconsistencies – rather than in the tapping of a foot or a shifty look to the left.

  ‘Yes, but only on that street. They said that anything more would be a strain on resources. They saw Grayson walk away from the club, but not which way he went at the end of the road. They haven’t let me look at the footage. They told me, and I’m quoting here, “There’s literally nothing of interest to see.”’

  Bloom exhaled … Nothing of interest to see. The insensitivity of some officers infuriated her. She understood that they became desensitized, but this footage could be the last sighting of Grayson. And, if the worst had happened, it might be Geoff’s final chance to see his son.

  ‘So you’re confident he walked away alone?’

  ‘That’s what they’re saying,’ said Geoff.

  ‘Tell me about Grayson, Geoff. There are four people who have gone missing and we’re trying to find out if they have anything in common.’

  ‘What do you want to know?’

  ‘What sort of person is he?’

  ‘He’s a very intelligent boy. He takes life seriously. I had a few problems with him when he was younger, right after he lost his mum, but we came through it and he’s grown into a fine young man.’

  ‘What kind of problems?’

  ‘The usual. Just what you’d expect from a teenage boy burying his grief. He’d get angry, smash things up – but who wouldn’t in those circumstances?’

  ‘Of course,’ said Bloom. ‘He’s studying political science, is that right?’

  ‘That’s right. He’s in his second year – he’s doing very well. He’s very passionate about how the world is run. I suppose he’s like me in that sense. He takes an interest, you know? But he sees angles I don’t. He thinks critically about things and sees the darker side of people’s motivations.’

  Bloom could see Jameson pacing back and forth in the hallway outside their office. He was thrusting his right hand up and down and she knew he was getting annoyed.

  ‘Was Grayson enjoying university?’ she asked.

  ‘Oh, yes. Definitely. He’s very popular. They’re a great group of lads. They’ve been fantastic helping me find this girl. He had no reason to go off, no reason at all. It has to be this bloody dare.’

  Jameson came back into the room. His face was flushed and he gestured at Bloom to wrap up the call.

  ‘This has been very helpful, Geoff. I’m sure we’ll need to speak to you again, but this should be enough for now.’ She noted down a few final details, then said goodbye and hung up.

  ‘Go on,’ she said to Jameson. ‘What’s happened?’

  ‘So it turns out Lana Reid is not a serving soldier. Not in the Army or any other military service. In fact, she has never been a serving soldier. She’s never even applied for a civilian job. I mean … what the hell? My sister’s known the woman for nearly ten years. Claire looks after her kid while Lana’s posted overseas.’ Jameson continued to pace. ‘And bef
ore you ask, no, she is not part of some Secret Service operation. I checked.’

  ‘I see,’ said Bloom.

  ‘It makes no sense. I’ve seen her in uniform. The day she left for her last tour. I was at Claire’s when she dropped off Jane. She had all the gear and an Army-issue bag in her car. I saw it.’

  ‘And the bag was on show in the car rather than in the boot?’ asked Bloom. Had Lana staged it? But if Lana wasn’t in the forces, where was she going? What was she doing? ‘This changes everything. Lana is a serial missing person. And she’s also keeping a big secret. There’s potential for blackmail.’

  Bloom picked up her phone, googled Sheffield University, scrolled down the Contact page and dialled the number for Grayson’s department.

  ‘Politics department, Margaret speaking,’ said a woman with a soft voice.

  ‘Good afternoon. My name is Dr Augusta Bloom. I’m part of the team investigating the disappearance of one of your students, Grayson Taylor. He’s a second-year political science student. Can I please have the contact details for his personal tutor?’

  ‘I’m not sure I—’

  Bloom interrupted, choosing her words carefully. ‘My team provide specialist support to police forces across the UK, including the South Yorkshire Force.’ She wasn’t lying. She waited for a moment.

  ‘OK,’ said the woman. ‘Let me just …’

  Bloom wrote down the name and number. ‘Thank you for your efficiency, Margaret. Much appreciated.’ She hung up and dialled the number she’d been given, turning the loudspeaker on.

  ‘Hello?’ said a male voice.

  ‘I’m looking for Grayson Taylor’s personal tutor,’ said Bloom. ‘Have I come through to the right person?’

  ‘You have,’ he replied. ‘How can I help?’

  Bloom introduced herself and explained the situation. Grayson’s tutor ummed and aahed politely.

  ‘You see,’ he said eventually, ‘I’m not sure he was having a fantastic time. He failed his first year after missing three exams and was in the process of retaking them when he went missing. But he hadn’t attended any lectures or tutorials since October. I challenged him about that just before Christmas, and, well …’

  ‘Go on,’ said Bloom. ‘This is all very helpful.’

  ‘He said that if I pushed him to attend he would make an official complaint to the Vice-Chancellor.’

  ‘About what?’ asked Bloom.

  The tutor took a moment to respond. ‘My competence. Grayson said I was incompetent.’

  Jameson shook his head. ‘Charming,’ he muttered.

  Bloom thanked the tutor for his time and hung up.

  ‘Just as I thought,’ said Bloom. ‘So what does this tell us? Two of them are lying. Lana about where she’s been going and what she’s been doing all these years, and Grayson about how well he’s doing on his course. Faye Graham’s husband said she’d been unhappy, so maybe we do have a group of people who all want to run away.’

  ‘Libby may be lying about Stuart being happy.’

  ‘Possibly. But I don’t think Geoff was lying to me. He believes his son is doing great, because that’s what Grayson is telling him. You don’t think Jane is lying, do you? She can’t know that her mother has been faking this Army job.’

  ‘God, no,’ said Jameson.

  ‘And I didn’t get the impression that Faye Graham had told her husband she hated being a mum. It was his best guess based on her behaviour.’

  ‘So the families are in the dark?’ Jameson said.

  Bloom smiled at her colleague until he nodded and said, ‘The families are always in the dark. Do you know who I’d like to hear from?’ she added. ‘The person who sacked Stuart Rose-Butler from Leeds Bradford Airport two years ago.’

  Jameson nodded. ‘Yeah, Libby was cagey about that. I’ll get on to it.’

  ‘See if we can speak to them tomorrow morning. I’ve got to get to my session in Islington now.’ Bloom checked her watch and began to gather her things. ‘Make it a video conference if you can. I’d like to see their expression when we ask about Stuart’s dismissal. I expect it will show us what they think of him.’

  ‘You’ve got a theory building, haven’t you?’ said Jameson. ‘I can see it.’

  14

  Seraphine sat in the consulting room and listened to Dr Bloom and her mother talking on the other side of the door. Mum was doing her usual performance: ‘This is all about me, me, me.’ Seraphine heard her say, ‘What’s wrong with her? Why is she not responding to this? Is she repressing something? I don’t want her growing up with issues.’

  Seraphine smiled. Issues.

  ‘Penny, please be reassured that I’m doing all that I can to help Seraphine.’ Dr Bloom sounded authoritative. Seraphine made a mental note to practise that same tone of voice.

  ‘But what’s she saying? What’s she thinking? I can’t get a word out of her,’ said her mother.

  ‘I’m afraid I can’t reveal what’s being said in the sessions. Seraphine needs to know that she can trust me.’

  ‘But I’m her mother – you have to tell me.’ She sounded emotional. Seraphine knew tears were imminent.

  ‘If I’m to really help your daughter, as you’d clearly like me to, I need her to know that she can tell me anything and that I won’t tell a soul.’

  Seraphine suspected that Dr Bloom knew she was listening and that this conversation was really for her benefit.

  Bloom continued, ‘Does Seraphine usually talk to you?’

  No answer.

  ‘So her reticence is normal? Try to take some comfort from that. I would be far more concerned if your daughter were acting out of character.’

  A few moments later, Dr Bloom opened the door and entered the consulting room. She sat back in her seat with her legs crossed and her notebook open on her lap.

  Seraphine sat as she had on previous occasions with her back straight, her feet and knees together and her hands in her lap. She didn’t know what the doctor’s new posture meant so she wasn’t yet sure whether to mirror it.

  ‘Good morning, Dr Bloom.’ Seraphine smiled sweetly. ‘How are you?’

  ‘I’m well, thank you. And you?’

  ‘I got the results of my mock GCSE Maths paper back today. I got an A star.’

  ‘Congratulations. You must feel pleased.’

  Seraphine did feel pleased; elated, in fact.

  ‘What’s happening with the investigation?’ asked Dr Bloom.

  ‘Nothing. They’re still waiting for Dreary to wake up and tell them his version of events.’ Seraphine clocked the question in Dr Bloom’s raised eyebrows. ‘We call the caretaker Dreary Darren … because he is.’

  ‘Dreary Darren. Who came up with that?’

  ‘We did.’

  ‘You and your friends?’

  Seraphine nodded.

  ‘Tell me about them.’

  ‘They’re … normal.’

  ‘Good normal or bad normal?’

  Is there any such thing as good normal? ‘Just normal.’

  ‘Nice?’

  ‘Yeah.’ Why not?

  ‘Is Claudia part of the group?’

  Bitch face. ‘Yes.’

  ‘And are you close to Claudia?’

  ‘We hang out in school.’

  ‘And out of school?’

  ‘A bit, but I like to do my own thing. Claudia and Ruby always want to do pyjama parties and each other’s make-up. It’s boring.’

  ‘So what do you like to do?’

  ‘Have fun.’

  ‘How?’

  Seraphine shrugged. ‘Do stuff. Try stuff. Learn stuff.’

  ‘How do you compare to your friends? Let’s say on a scale of one to ten, with ten being high, how would you rate yourself?’

  Ten. ‘Probably seven or eight.’

  ‘And your friends?’

  ‘Three.’ Apart from bitch face, who’d be minus three.

  ‘What makes you an eight?’

  ‘Well, I’m definitely s
marter … I get much higher grades … and I think I’m prettier. I don’t need make-up, for instance. Plus they moan and cry and giggle over stupid stuff. Most of the time they talk nonsense.’

  ‘But you don’t?’

  Seraphine shook her head. ‘I don’t see the point.’

  ‘Do you feel different, Seraphine?’

  ‘Different?’

  ‘To your friends and your family. Do you ever feel you have a better grasp of the world and how it works than those around you?’

  Seraphine felt uncomfortable for the first time since she’d walked in. Had she made a mistake? Did other people not think themselves superior to their friends? Maybe she should have given them a seven or eight too. She said nothing.

  ‘My PhD focused on young people, teenagers much like yourself, who are in many respects outstanding. And I mean outstanding in both senses of the word: they have some superior abilities and attributes, but also they stand apart, like an evolutionary branch that has veered off in its own direction.’

  Seraphine had suspected she was superior to her friends for quite a while. For example, she knew it was easy to get someone to do what you wanted if you went about it the right way. But her schoolmates didn’t seem to see that. But maybe, as the doctor said, that was because they weren’t as bright as her.

  Dr Bloom’s light-brown eyes stared, as if peering directly at the thoughts in Seraphine’s head. ‘Do you often find you remain unemotional about things, Seraphine?’

  Seraphine couldn’t work out if this was a trick question, so she stayed quiet.

  Bloom clasped her hands together as though praying. ‘It’s a very strong characteristic, in my experience. The type of quality people look for when employing air-traffic controllers, for instance, people who need to remain calm in a crisis. Would you say you’re like that?’

  Seraphine liked the idea of being calm in a crisis. ‘I suppose.’

  ‘Other than your recent experience with Mr Shaw, when was the last time something really upset you?’

  She couldn’t think of an example. ‘I don’t know. I don’t really cry. They tried to stop me going on the Art trip at school, which made me angry, but Mum spoke to them and sorted it all out.’