by Luca Veste
‘So, you’ve not seen Emily, or any of your kids in over a decade. Or their mum. Or any of their family.’
Another short pause. ‘That’s right.’
‘Emily is missing…’
‘You said that when you first came in and I told you then – I can’t help you.’
Barry stood up with the easy grace of someone used to alighting from a bar stool, even with a bellyful of booze inside him. He stopped in front of Mark, scratching at his face and looking up towards him. He was smaller than Mark had been expecting, with the air of a man who had spent his life trying to make up for the fact. ‘Look, it’s sad that the kid has done one, but I’ve got nothing to do with it. She probably just got sick and tired of that woman and her mind games. She’ll turn up sooner or later. And she still won’t want to have anything to do with me, so why should I care now? It’s not like it’s going to end in some lovely reunion or some such bollocks. No, best leave me out of it. We’ve all moved on. Those kids probably don’t even know my last name anymore.’
Mark stood aside as Barry shuffled off towards the exit, wondering if he should try one more time. Whether he should make the man see sense and actually care about his own flesh and blood.
Yet, he knew he wasn’t there to be Jeremy Kyle, as Barry had said.
‘Your neighbour from across the way wants you to bring her back a pint of milk.’
Barry lifted a hand in response, but didn’t turn around.
He clearly didn’t care, but Mark couldn’t worry about that. He only needed to find out one thing. What happened to Emily Burns.
And the answer to that wasn’t there, in that pub, with its fat barman and a man who looked twenty years older than he was.
The barman gave him a look as he walked away, but went back to staring at the television. Mark waited, knowing what was coming.
‘He’s not letting on about something, am I right?’ Mark said, when he’d waited long enough to know he would have to talk first. ‘Want to help me find a missing girl?’
The barman sniffed, but turned to face Mark. ‘It’s probably nothing…’
‘Could be something though.’
‘Listen, Barry is messed up. An alcoholic, just like his old fella. And his old fella before him. Doesn’t mean he doesn’t love his kids.’
‘They always do,’ Mark said, leaning on the bar and eyeing the beer on draught. Wishing he could have a quick pint before going back out onto the street. ‘He’s not exactly willing to do anything to help though.’
‘He doesn’t know anything.’
‘What’s not being said here?’
The barman shifted on his stool. ‘We’ve heard some weird things about the girl for the past few weeks. Someone who knows the family told Barry about it last week.’
‘What kind of things?’ Mark said, trying to keep his voice level. He straightened up at the bar. ‘It could be important.’
‘Some guy came in last week and said he’d heard one of Barry’s girls had been seen in town stopping random people and asking weird questions. Like she was on drugs or something.’
‘Weird how?’
‘I don’t know, about their sex lives, stuff like that.’
‘What do you mean? Sex lives?’
‘Like, pretending to interview people, but getting very personal.’
Mark shook his head and made a mental note to ask Emily’s family about this. If some randomer in a pub knew about it, no doubt they would. He wanted to know why they hadn’t told him. ‘What did Barry say about it?’
‘Just laughed and said something about the mum. He’s always banging on about her. All women, I guess. You get that kind of thing a lot in here. Should have seen it during the Women’s World Cup on the big screen. Thought there was going to be a riot.’
Mark shook his head at the ridiculousness of that, but continued on regardless. Tried to get more out of the bloke, but didn’t get very far.
Tried to work out what he’d learned and whether this was just another wasted trip.
The words from that Facebook comment came back to him then. A game.
That’s how he felt. As if he was in a big game, that he was being played with. Batted around from side to side, with no real clue of how to stop it.
He straightened up and made a decision.
There was no way he was going to let that happen.
Twenty-Seven
Mark tried to talk to Barry again later at home, but the absentee father was having none of it. Mark gave up eventually, but only when the older man went silent for five minutes, ignoring his questions entirely.
Barry’s head was firmly in the sand now.
He travelled back across the city, making his way to the Burns’s house. It was a twenty-minute drive, giving Mark a chance to get his thoughts in order. The discovery of Joanna Carter had proven to be an unwelcome distraction from what was happening to the Burns family. He could feel the doubt from DI Bennett and DS Cavanagh that the two were connected, but he was increasingly sure that his instinct was right.
There was a reason Emily was there that night. That time. There was a reason Joanna Carter was found dead and why someone on CCTV followed her up to that rooftop.
With every passing moment, it became more and more unlikely they would find Emily alive.
Stephanie opened the door for him, giving him a good morning, then making her way back to the kitchen. He popped his head around the living-room door, firing off a greeting to Julie as he did so. She was curled up on one sofa, a blanket over her body, but she was wide awake. As awake as she could be, anyway. She had slid back into silence since the press conference, the energy after the identification evaporating.
He wanted to ask about Emily’s odd behaviour, but didn’t think he’d receive an answer while Julie was in that state.
Mark moved through to the kitchen, sitting down at the table as Stephanie switched on the kettle. She busied herself with rinsing mugs – just the two cups. He guessed she knew her mum wasn’t in the mood.
He had a quick look past her, out into the back yard for the uncle. He breathed a sigh of relief when he saw it was empty.
‘No Rich this morning?’ Mark said, as Stephanie handed him coffee and sat down opposite him. ‘Thought he’d be waiting for me.’
‘He was out late apparently,’ Stephanie replied, looking fresh and alert, despite the pressure, the weight of what the family was going through. ‘Scouring the streets for Emily, he told Mum. Probably had some jobs on and didn’t want to be lumbered with all of this anymore.’
‘Jobs?’
Stephanie didn’t answer, giving him a look he knew meant he should drop the subject. Something illegal, no doubt. It made little difference to Mark what he was doing, he was just glad he wasn’t around. His aggression was barely contained the more the days went on.
‘Uncle Rich,’ Mark began, trying to sound calm and relaxed. ‘I think we both know what his jobs entail, right?’
He waited for a few seconds for Stephanie to answer, but she looked away from him nervously.
‘Does he deal with students?’
Stephanie shook her head. ‘I don’t know.’
‘You might have heard something though? Maybe from friends, or the like?’
‘Maybe, I don’t really pay attention,’ Stephanie said, raising a finger to her mouth and chewing on a nail without biting into it. ‘I don’t want to know.’
Mark nodded, knowing there was probably some truth to that. He thought about probing further, but it was only a semi-formed thought at that moment and he needed more time to go over it.
A drugs angle. He’d have to ask Pathology if they’d had a report of anything in Joanna Carter’s body at her time of death. Could be something to it. He stored it at the back of his mind for now and continued talking to Stephanie, changing the subject.
‘Have you thought about going back to classes on Monday?’
‘Not really,’ Stephanie replied, cradling the mug in front of her.
‘I don’t think it’s a very good idea. I’d only be thinking about Emily and what’s going on back here. It’s not like I’d be able to concentrate on anything they were saying.’
‘The distraction might be a good thing, you know? A way of forgetting what’s been happening, even if it’s just for a few hours.’
‘Why would I want to forget?’
Mark cleared his throat, annoyed with himself for the poor choice of words. ‘Sorry, that came out wrong. I mean… a way of putting it to the back of your mind for a little while. It’s not healthy to live with this much anxiety. You need a break from it.’
‘I’m fine.’
The words sounded final, yet Mark could see she was thinking it over. This was something he tried to do often while investigating cases: encourage them to do tasks, any little thing to take their minds off what was happening. He’d witnessed too many families driving themselves into unending angst when they thought of nothing else but the situation they were in.
He also needed them to see a way out.
‘I’m doing everything I can to find out what happened to Emily. I need you to level with me though – if there’s something, anything, you can think of that might be important or not, I need to know it.’
Stephanie was silent for a few seconds, looking away from Mark, before she turned back to him. She shook her head. ‘There’s nothing else.’
Mark didn’t believe her. Instinct again, he thought.
‘It’s not going to have a happy ending, is it?’
Mark didn’t reply, taking a moment to choose his words carefully. ‘I was involved in a case back when I was in uniform. I was about twenty-one, twenty-two, so must be about eight years ago now. I had just finished probation, so had only been a copper for two years. Anyone will tell you, you’re still the new kid even then. Still am, to some degree. There was a call about a teenager gone missing – young girl, about seventeen. I recognised the address straight away when they gave it to us over the radio. Been over there a fair few times for a load of different reasons. The usual council estate stuff: fights, domestics, thefts, you know the score. This family was pretty notorious, but only in the few streets around where they lived. Anyway, we were always getting called out there for some reason or other. The girl, she was in the middle of five kids. Had a younger sister, but three older brothers who were nightmares. She’d disappeared before, getting up to all sorts, no doubt. It was always only for a day, tops. She’d waltz back in, usually just around the same time we’d show up. I hadn’t dealt with that side of them before, but I knew about it. I didn’t think this time would be any different.’
‘It was though, right?’ Stephanie said, as Mark paused.
‘She’d left the house the day before, about five p.m., they said. Just said she was going out, nothing more. Took the details and told them we’d keep an eye out for her, that sort of thing, thinking she’d be back soon enough.’
Mark had a clear image in his head of that house. So different to the one he’d spent almost a week in now. The smell of damp and despair seeping out of every wall. The yellowed wallpaper, the nicotine stains on the dad’s fingers, as they prised open another can of cheap lager. The lines on the mum’s face, crevices deeper than were normal on the face of someone in their forties. The shouting and arguing from other, unseen places within the house.
‘She wasn’t, was she?’
‘No,’ Mark replied, shaking his head. ‘I heard a few days later that it had been passed to CID. I kept up to date with the case, though. Think it was the look on her mum’s face that did it for me. Like she couldn’t work out why this had happened to her. Anyway, they found her bag a day or so later. Whatever money she’d had in it had gone, along with her phone, but other stuff was in there. You start fearing the worst then. They said as much – the detectives working it, I mean – when I asked, that they were probably looking for a body. The bag was found in a park somewhere, can’t remember now. They found a piece of clothing, torn off, hanging from a bush. The mum thought it looked like something her daughter had been wearing.’
‘As bad as blood, I imagine,’ Stephanie said quietly, staring at Mark as he continued to talk.
‘Numerous calls came in. Someone had seen her being dragged off the street, another person saw her hitchhiking out the city. Talking to men who had angry looks on their faces, or wandering the streets late at night, looking the worse for wear. It seemed like everyone and no one had seen her. The family went on telly, like you did, and I remember watching it thinking, this story is only going to end one way.’
‘And it didn’t?’
‘No,’ Mark replied, attempting a half-smile across the table at Stephanie. ‘She knocked on the door a week later, like nothing had happened. She’d gone to a house party on a whim. Didn’t really know anyone there, except some lad she’d been chatting to online. Lost her bag while she was drunk, but was having too good a time to care. Drink and drugs involved, and the attention of a good-looking older lad. Spent a week getting off her head and whatever else you can imagine in this lad’s bedsit. No contact with the outside world at all. The lad didn’t have a TV, no internet. Basically, they stayed in that room for a week – eating pot noodles, smoking weed, and getting drunk and… well, you can imagine. She – they – had no idea anyone was even looking for her. She was as shocked as anyone when she came back to police being involved and all that.’
‘That doesn’t sound like something Emily would… could do.’
‘Maybe,’ Mark said, holding his hands up in mid-air. ‘Maybe not. But that doesn’t mean there isn’t something else keeping her away. Something stupid, something that’ll make no sense. It doesn’t have to be the exact same story to have the same outcome. I’m not saying it’s what’s happened, but I’m saying you never know. That’s why you can never give up hope. People are just full of surprises. You can never tell what they’re going to do next. You can never predict their behaviour, their choices, their decisions. Life would be easier if you could, but there you go.’
‘Thanks for trying,’ Stephanie said after a few seconds of silence, staring into Mark’s eyes. They lingered for a moment, then she turned away. ‘I just can’t see it. Something bad has happened to her. I can feel it.’
‘You can’t know that…’
‘I know something, Mark,’ Stephanie said, her voice louder now, interrupting his. ‘I don’t know what it is, but I can feel it here, in the pit of my stomach. Eating away at me. Like it’s a part of me dying off or something. Something bad has happened to her. I know it.’
‘That’s just your fear, Stephanie,’ Mark tried, keeping his voice level and soothing. Or trying to at least. He was never sure if it came out as soothing or patronising. ‘You’ve been through a lot this week. You need a break.’
‘I don’t need a break,’ Stephanie replied, her raised voice reverberating around them, bouncing off the walls and shifting the atmosphere in the house. She slumped back in the chair and covered her face with her hands. ‘I’m sorry. It’s just… I need my sister back.’
She began to crumple in front of him, his chair scraping back before he realised it was happening, moving across towards her as she dissolved into tears.
‘It’s okay,’ he said, an arm around her shoulders as he squatted down next to her. ‘I know you want her back. We’re trying all we can to bring her home.’
‘I know,’ Stephanie said through gulps of air. Her body shook with emotion, as the week’s events finally caught up with her. ‘I just can’t live like this anymore, with the not knowing. That’s what’s killing me. The fact I have no idea where Emily is, or what’s happened.’
‘I know, I know.’
‘But…’
‘What is it?’ Mark said, his arm still around her, as she grasped on to him with one arm and wiped the other across her face. ‘I’m here to listen to anything you have to say.’
‘Part of me… part of me hopes she never comes back. That she’s found a place for herself. Awa
y from all of this. A better life. One where she fits in properly and isn’t angry or upset. Not lashing out at people. Somewhere she belongs.’
‘I understand,’ Mark said, hoping she believed him. ‘I need some more answers though, before I can find her, okay? There’s things that aren’t being said that need to be.’ Stephanie shook her head, frowning towards him. ‘We’ve told you everything…’
Mark held a hand up. ‘I’m not accusing anyone of leaving things out, or not telling the truth. It’s just… I’ve heard some things about Emily. About her behaviour over the past few weeks.’
‘I don’t know,’ Stephanie began, then stopped herself, wrapping her arms around herself. ‘It was just stupid games, that was all.’
‘What kind of game are you talking about?’
Twenty-Eight
Mark waited for Stephanie to compose herself once again, allowing the atmosphere to settle before tackling the next step. It was almost like a play running in his head – the lines and actions he had to act out so he could look for the correct responses, the real ones.
Mark sat back down at the small table, finished his coffee in a long swig and set the cup down. Looked across at Stephanie, who was still cradling her own drink.
‘I know we’ve been over this before, but I need to have everything in the right order here. There’s still so much I don’t know and I need the whole story right. Have you been back much in the past few months? Home, I mean?’
‘Not really,’ Stephanie replied, staring at her mug. ‘I’ve been busy and that. I rang Mum as much as I could, but you know how it is.’
‘How were things with Emily during that time?’
Stephanie shook her head. ‘We weren’t really talking. Not for a couple of months. I’m sure it would have sorted itself out, but you know… Sometimes when you think you have the time to let things happen naturally, it turns out you don’t.’
‘Did you hear anything about Emily while you were away? Her behaviour?’
Stephanie shifted, her chair scraping back as she stood and walked over to the sink. ‘Not really.’