by Luca Veste
Privacy had ceased to really exist.
For Mark, that was the kind of thing he enjoyed. Seeing what people were hiding behind the public facade. Behind the posts, the pictures. When you began to delve into the private messages and emails, that’s when you learned the truth.
‘Was the uncle there?’
‘Yeah. Wouldn’t have minded a bit of warning about him. He’s a big fella with an even bigger temper.’
‘He’s got a record as long as one of his arms,’ DI Bennett replied, a smirk behind her tone. Mark didn’t exactly share the joviality she was feeling. She didn’t have to spend time with him. ‘Some of it is a bit too close to be ignored.’
‘What do you mean?’
‘I thought you said you’d read the file?’
Mark paused, wondering if she was going to get annoyed with him for not reading every last sentence she’d handed over to him. ‘I read most of it.’
‘I suppose you didn’t have much time to familiarise yourself with the case,’ DI Bennett replied, seeming to let this one go for now.
‘Sorry,’ Mark said, hoping the oversight would be ignored. He made a mental note to read everything before barrelling forwards. Hoped he’d remember to do that in the future. ‘Forget it. Anyway, he’s got some previous,’ DI Bennett said, sighing loudly and turning back towards him now. ‘Domestic violence, accusation of rape, which didn’t make it to court. CPS refused to take it on. Matrix think he’s into drugs now as well. Has some connections to some known dealers. An ex-girlfriend had a restraining order against him for a while, too. He doesn’t seem to have been in trouble for a few years now, apart from the odd disorder on a Saturday night. Nothing major. Guy has a temper and doesn’t seem to stick to targeting one gender either.’
It was Mark’s turn to sigh, as he tried to put a list of all the things they didn’t know against the little they did. And why this was even his job anyway. ‘I’m guessing you want me to find out what his relationship was like with Emily specifically, then?’
‘In one,’ DI Bennett replied, the sound of paper shuffling accompanying her words, as she began moving things around her desk. A sure sign he was about to be ushered out. ‘It’s usually someone close to the victim, after all. If we find a body, it’ll make things easier, but for now, unless anything else comes to light…’
‘He fits,’ Mark finished for her. ‘Especially with a record like that. Not such a stretch that there’s been abuse and she’s threatened to out him. Or this was the first time and she fought back. Or something to do with the drugs angle. Lot of possibilities for me to work on. So far, he doesn’t seem anything other than pissed off with us for not doing more to find her. And he seemed to be genuinely upset earlier. Could be an act, I suppose, but if it is, it’s a convincing one.’
‘It’s not like we haven’t seen some damn good actors over the years. He could be hiding something.’
‘You might be right,’ Mark replied, the thought of going back to question the man-mountain filling him with dread. ‘I’ll get working on things. See if there’s anything more to it. I’ll check in with you again later.’
Mark went straight out of the office and went to the bathroom. Looking himself over in the mirror, he tried to see if anything was out of place, anything that would suggest he wasn’t up to this. He looked as he always did. He walked into a stall and relieved himself before reaching for the flush. His finger paused as the door opened outside and he heard two deep laughs.
‘Has he gone back there then?’ A voice he recognised. Dale Williams. He was a detective constable from another office, who was a few years older than him.
‘Yeah, think so,’ a higher voice replied. The DC from earlier, who had so casually dismissed him. ‘I don’t know why he’s annoying, but every time he speaks, I just want to lamp him.’
‘I know what you mean. Some people are just like that.’
‘Wonder how long it’ll take for him to finally realise this isn’t for him.’
‘Thought the penny would have dropped by now, to be honest.’
‘He’s just a pain in the arse. Hopefully getting something like a missing teen will be the end of it. She turns up dead and he’s screwed if he’s missed something, which he probably will. He’s not exactly the brightest bulb in the box. Press will crucify him if he gets something wrong.’
‘I’m just glad he’s not on my team now. I had to work with him on something a while ago and almost tore my own hair out at the endless questions.’
Mark listened in silence, then flushed the toilet and walked out of the stall. Didn’t make eye contact with either man as they looked over their shoulders at him from the urinals and he washed his hands. He thought he saw something approaching guilt pass between them, but couldn’t be sure. It was more likely defiance – he couldn’t imagine they’d be that bothered by him hearing them talk about him behind his back.
He tried to think of a response, something witty and cutting, but failed.
Instead, he dried his hands and left the bathroom without saying a single word.
It had been this way since he’d joined the team. Only from a certain group, but still, it was enough to know there were people out there watching his every move, waiting for him to make a mistake. They thought he was too young, too inquisitive. Not willing to just shut up and do the job the way they did.
Mark was standing in the corridor outside the bathroom, trying to forget the words from his co-workers. Eventually, he put his head down and made his way back into the main office.
Hearing that had made him feel determined to prove that he belonged there. He would keep going, keep doing the job.
Show them that they were wrong about him.
And he would start by finding out what happened to Emily Burns.
Nine
The rest of the work day disappeared in a blink of a few hours. Requests for more information about Emily’s social media, trying to track down her father. It had been time to leave before Mark knew it.
Now, sitting in his car, mobile phone in hand, his finger was hovering over the call button of Natasha’s contact details. The screen dimmed, then finally turned to black, as he hesitated. The sky outside was darkening and his stomach rumbled, as he tried to decide whether to call her. Or eat first. Or grow a backbone instead.
He brought the phone back to life and swiped his passcode over the screen. Stared at the contact name a little longer, then shook his head. He was about to place it back in his pocket, wondering what he’d eat, when a knock at his window nearly gave him a heart attack.
‘Are you coming out or what?’
Natasha’s voice was muffled by the window, but her smile wasn’t. He placed a hand across his chest and then opened the car door. ‘Scared the life out of me.’
‘I was getting bored of waiting for you to decide to call me,’ Natasha replied, walking away from him and towards his house. ‘That’s what you were going to do, right?’
Mark didn’t answer as he caught up to her and opened the front door.
They didn’t exchange much further conversation once the door closed behind them.
* * *
Later, scrolling through a food delivery app trying to find something that looked appetising, Mark felt the inevitable slide from personal life back to thinking about the missing girl. Wondering if while he was smiling, satisfied, she was out there waiting for him to be interested in her again.
This was happening more often. It had once been easy to close his door and forget about the job as soon as he was at home. Lately, that had become more difficult. The more horror he witnessed – even in those short periods of time the job wasn’t mind-numbingly boring – the more difficult it became to forget. The things people did to each other… It was enough to make him wonder how the human race had made it this far.
‘I want something quick and greasy,’ Natasha said, shaking him out of his thoughts. She was already getting dressed and sitting beside where he lay. ‘I’m starving.’
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‘I don’t think you’ll have to worry about the greasy part,’ Mark replied, settling on a takeaway place with the third-highest rating. ‘Here you go.’
He watched her as she chose something on the menu and handed the phone back to him. Mark went for something similar and paid for it quickly. ‘I best get dressed.’
‘So, were you deciding whether or not to call me?’
Mark paused, boxers on but trousers still halfway down his legs. ‘What do you mean?’
‘Outside, when you were sitting in the car for five minutes. Was that what you were trying to decide?’
‘No… well… yeah, I guess you caught me. Only because I didn’t know if I should, you know?’
He managed to get his trousers up but couldn’t see his socks anywhere. Probably balled up at the end of his bed. Or on the landing. He couldn’t remember taking them off now. He was just glad that he had.
‘That’s okay, I know we’ve been moving a bit more quickly lately. I just wondered if the line you gave me at the start was real or not.’
‘What line?’
‘The whole shy thing,’ Natasha said, waving it off as she spoke, as if it didn’t matter. ‘I suppose I just wasn’t sure if you were telling the truth or not.’
Mark grimaced, his teeth coming together and grinding against each other. ‘It wasn’t a line. And things aren’t moving too quick. I would have called. Eventually. It just takes me a bit of time. Courage and that.’
‘It’s fine, honestly, I get it. I’m just used to men who look the way you do being overly confident. Arrogant, even. It’s not often you see someone who has everything together but doesn’t realise it.’
‘Now you’re just trying to make me blush.’
Natasha laughed and it filled the room. ‘Maybe so. Doesn’t mean I’m not right though.’
‘You’re… you’re really good-looking too, you know.’
Mark waited for Natasha to respond, but she didn’t say anything. Instead, she smiled at him then left him to put on more clothes. He heard her going downstairs.
That time, he was sure he’d said the right thing.
He found her sitting in his living room, legs tucked underneath her on the sofa. He stood in the doorway, unsure what to do next. Would she want to cuddle? They hadn’t really done much of that but he’d like to. He wanted to know if they were boyfriend and girlfriend in her mind, as they were in his. He hated that there was no way of knowing these things without asking.
‘Stop hovering and sit down,’ Natasha said, making the decision for him. Mark made his way into the room proper and perched on the edge of the sofa next to her.
They fell into a comfortable conversation – small talk, which made Mark feel on safer ground – until the food arrived. Natasha attacked it like she hadn’t eaten in days, while he tried to take his time and not spill sauce down his chin.
‘So, when you told me you were a detective, I thought you might solve murders and stuff like that,’ Natasha said after a few minutes demolishing a burger. She was already reaching for a slice of garlic bread, before closing the Styrofoam lid on the container. ‘Like on the telly.’
‘Well, we don’t get all that many in Liverpool, but I am with Major Crimes, so I guess it’s only a matter of time. Honestly, it’s not as glamorous as it sounds. Especially at my level.’
‘Yeah, I’m sure you think that, but to an outsider, it definitely sounds more interesting than stacking shelves at Tesco or something like that.’
Mark let out a short laugh. ‘Okay, I’ll give you that. But your work sounds way better. More rewarding.’
‘Then you’ve not met enough people in social work.’
That wasn’t true, but Mark let it go. Working in the police service meant he’d dealt with all levels of social workers. Some more enamoured to their jobs than others, but commendable the vast majority of the time.
Probably the closest he could find to matching the police, to be fair.
‘And anyway,’ Natasha continued, sitting back into the sofa, seemingly finished with eating for now. ‘I haven’t been doing it long enough to have the really interesting cases that the older lot get. That’s probably the same for you, I suppose.’
‘I’ve been in the police for almost a decade. When I moved over from uniform to being a DC a couple of years ago, I thought it’d be something else. Turns out there’s still the same problems, I just don’t have to wear a uniform when they come up.’
‘Or those ridiculous helmets,’ Natasha replied, then laughed again, the sound of it echoing off the walls.
‘You’d be glad of one of them when you’re working in Concert Square on a Saturday night, I can tell you.’
Natasha stopped laughing and stared at him. Mark held her gaze for a few moments, then looked down at his half-eaten burger. He closed the lid, leaned forward and placed it on the coffee table. He was aware she was still staring at him as he brushed a few crumbs from his top lip.
‘What are you working on at the moment then?’
Mark sat back on the sofa and shook his head. ‘Nothing much. A missing teenager. Only been gone a few days, but they’re not hopeful. I’m trying to be.’
‘Happens all the time. I’m sure you know the score on that one. Quarter of a million a year? Usually back within a day or two. Only a tiny proportion disappear forever or end up… you know.’
‘Dead,’ Mark finished for her. ‘There’s something about this one I can’t quite put my finger on. A part of the story I’m not seeing yet. I’ve only been on it a day though, so I’m sure it’ll all come out. And I’m probably just pretending I have some kind of intuition, like all those old detectives seem to have.’
‘Would it help if I started calling you Poirot?’
‘As long as I don’t have to grow the moustache.’
Natasha started to laugh, which set Mark off. When it subsided, he sighed and scratched the back of his head. ‘Honestly, I thought it would be… not easier, but something like that. Like I’d know what I was doing as soon as I was actually doing it. It’s been eighteen months and I still feel clueless.’
There was a slight shift of weight from his shoulders as he spoke. A release. A momentary feeling of relief to share this with someone.
‘I get that,’ Natasha replied, moving a strand of hair back behind her ear. ‘I’m sure it’ll get easier. And that you’re doing fine anyway.’
‘I haven’t made any massive screw-ups yet, thankfully.’
‘How old is she?’
‘Nineteen.’
‘An adult…’
‘Exactly. Yet, the way her family talk about her – not outright, but it’s implied by what they say – they act like she’s far younger. Like she couldn’t be trusted to look after herself. It doesn’t seem like she was very popular. No friends in real life, only online.’
Natasha sighed and tucked her legs beneath her once more. ‘Hopefully she’ll turn up. I’m seeing a lot of that sort of thing at the moment. Teenage girls, dealing with social media and all of that crap. The bullying that’s going on is rife. My colleagues who have been doing the job a lot longer reckon it’s never been as bad as it is now.’
Mark nodded, unable to disagree. They sat in amiable silence for a little longer, tiredness suddenly washing over him. He thought about Emily Burns, the house where she’d last been seen and the family who’d been left behind.
He wanted Natasha to be right, for Emily to be found soon.
But something told him not to get his hopes up.
Ten
He was a minute’s walk from the yard where the blood was found when the call had come in. Mark imagined there would have been little discussion before DI Bennett had taken over and called him in.
The scene was a hive of activity; uniforms swarming from all over the city. Young students being led from the fifteen-storey building overlooking the scene and questioned by uniformed police. Asked what they had seen, what they knew.
All of these people th
ere for one reason.
The body of a young female had been found lying in a crumpled heap at the base of the building. In an alleyway, which was hidden from view at the front. Found that morning by an unlucky refuse collector. Dead after falling from the top of the building, which seemed taller every time Mark looked up. A long drop down.
He tried not to think of the condition she was in now as he worried about what he was going to say to Emily’s family. The proximity of the scene where her blood had possibly been discovered suggested she had now been found. Possibly. Mark wasn’t feeling the usual sense that something was about to end.
He could see the buildings around the yard in the distance, the walk from there to where he was now standing being cordoned off and checked.
‘We’re pulling CCTV at the moment,’ a voice said beside him. Mark turned and saw a familiar face among a crowd of strangers. Detective Sergeant Stuart Cavanagh, a kind-eyed bloke who was only a few years older than him. They’d barely shared more than a few words of conversation over the past year and a half, but it had always been cordial. He hadn’t shunned him or talked behind his back like the rest seemed to. Mark guessed he’d been told to make sure the new guy didn’t mess anything up.
‘Going to be difficult to pinpoint a time of death quickly,’ Mark said, stepping back as another forensic officer turned up. ‘Have you seen her?’
‘You don’t want to know.’
Mark nodded, but knew he would eventually have to see the body. If only to make sure it was Emily.
If that was possible.
‘We’re pretty sure it’s her,’ DS Cavanagh said, as if he was reading his thoughts. ‘Same age, same build, same hair colour. Her face is… well, not in the best condition. Hopefully they can sort that out before the family need to identify her.’
‘No chance it’s someone else? It’s strange that no one has found her if she was there for a few days.’