‘Neither did I,’ said Adam.
‘I was out for the count,’ Mark said.
‘I saw the fool get into his car, but it was too late by then,’ Eric said. ‘He was gone.’
‘And you didn’t think to phone the police?’
‘To be honest, I don’t think I was thinking straight,’ Eric sighed. ‘I was tired. I’d had too much to drink. We all had. And part of me just thought it would serve the silly sod right to crash on the lane and have to walk back here and tell us what he had done to that precious car of his.’
Harry fell silent for a moment, reading back through his notes.
‘Well, I think that’s all for now,’ he said, and he saw Gordy give a supporting nod. ‘Like I said, the team is on this, we’ve got door-to-door going on, and we’ll be chasing up any and all contacts, including the attendees at the event yesterday, particularly that fan you mentioned. Hopefully, Mr Baker will turn up, but until he does, we’ll do everything we can to find him.’
‘Thank you,’ Anna said. ‘Thank you so much.’
When they were back outside, having continued to reassure Anna all the way to the front door, Harry held up for a moment before getting into his vehicle to head back to Hawes. He turned to stare at the house, the windows glaring back at him as though hiding a secret they dared him to uncover. An overgrown border of flowers surrounded the house like a thin moat, none in bloom now, though some still clung onto the rotting remnants of their fading glory. He walked on a bit, deep in thought, following the flowers, their stems bent, and in one place, a large section looked like some animal had laid down for shelter against the wall, the flowers flattened against the earth.
‘Something up?’ Gordy asked, catching up.
‘Not sure,’ Harry said, casting his eyes back over the place then turning around to head back to the car. ‘Something just doesn’t seem right, does it? But I just don’t know what it is.’
‘How do you mean?’
Harry rubbed his chin thoughtfully. There was something bothering him, though, about the house, about what the others had said, and about how Charlie had driven off, but he couldn’t for the life of him work out what it was. And the house wasn’t giving anything away, standing there in stony silence. ‘It’s probably nowt,’ he said.
Gordy smiled and opened her car door.
‘What?’
‘You said nowt,’ she said. ‘Again.’
‘So?’
‘You’re a lost cause, Harry,’ Gordy said. ‘And either you don’t know or don’t realise it yet, you poor sod.’
The DI said nothing more, just smiled, climbed into her car, and headed off. Harry followed on behind, chewing on what they’d learned, and wondering not so much about what they’d been told, as about what they hadn’t.
Chapter Eleven
Back at the community centre, the team was running through everything they’d gathered about the possible reasons behind, and disappearance of, the author Charlie Baker. Which, so far, amounted to not that much at all. All they really knew was that the event hadn’t gone exactly to plan, Charlie had got drunk, then at some point in the early hours, decided to go for a spin in his car. Most amazingly, Harry thought, the car hadn’t been seen or found anywhere, which meant that despite being massively over the limit, and in a car rarely seen around the dales, the man had somehow managed to drive without incident to some destination as yet undiscovered and hide. Harry had heard from Liz and Jim, as well as Matt, and now it was Jadyn’s turn.
‘Well, I can’t get hold of her,’ he said, holding up the list of contact details Harry had given him from the author event the day before. ‘And I’ve tried everything.’
‘Can’t get hold of who?’ Harry asked.
‘The one you said had a go at that author bloke,’ Jadyn said. ‘In the bookshop. The fan with a bee in her bonnet about ghosts.’
‘Ghostwriting,’ Liz said, herself having just come back from doing house-to-house with Jim and Matt. ‘Not actual ghosts.’
‘I didn’t know ghosts could write,’ Jadyn said. ‘Don’t they just float around and stuff? And how would they use a keyboard anyway? It’s not like they can touch things, is it?’ He started to type on an invisible keyboard floating in front of him.
‘What are you doing?’ Harry asked.
‘Being a ghost,’ Jadyn said. ‘Typing.’ He made a spooky ghost sound then stopped when he realised that everyone else in the room was staring at him open-mouthed. ‘What?’
‘Don’t worry about it,’ Harry said, working hard to stifle a laugh. ‘Now, back to what you were saying. She’s not answering her phone, then?’
‘Not exactly, no,’ Jadyn said. ‘By which I mean I can’t get hold of her at all. The phone number doesn’t exist. It’s just a random collection of numbers that looks like it’s real, but it isn’t.’
‘Perhaps you typed it in wrong,’ Harry suggested.
‘Tried it a few times,’ Jadyn said. ‘Nothing.’
‘Email?’
‘It’s sent, but that doesn’t mean anything. Could be a defunct account or an anonymous one. Bit weird if you ask me.’
‘Is there an address?’
‘Yes, but it’s a 7-Eleven in Birmingham, so I’m pretty sure that isn’t where she lives. Not unless there’s a bedsit underneath the slushy machine.’
‘Ooh, a slushy!’ Matt said. ‘Haven’t had one of those in years!’
‘Same here, actually,’ Jim said. ‘Why is it that the raspberry flavour is always blue? What’s that about?’
As the team descended into an in-depth discussion about the possible reasons for raspberry-flavoured iced drinks being blue, then what alternative colours would suit other fruits, Harry found himself wishing the late afternoon onwards into evening. From what they’d learned so far, he wasn’t overly concerned as to the whereabouts of the famous Charlie Baker yet. His friends and work colleagues were a rather strange bunch, so he assumed Charlie was much the same, and he wouldn’t be at all surprised if, at some point tomorrow, everything would all be back to normal in their world of novelists and dinner parties.
If the man was alive, and he most likely was, Harry thought, then he really didn’t want to be found, not yet anyway. Boredom would win out though, he was sure, and soon enough the wandering author would return, probably to dramatic effect, and into the waiting arms of his agent and the press. And if he was dead? Well then, Harry didn’t know what to think, because it was a hell of a jump to make, from missing person to corpse, and as yet there was nothing to suggest that anything dodgy had actually happened at all, bar a small group of people having rather too much to drink and things getting a little out of hand.
Despite the slightly off feeling he’d been left with after interviewing Anna and the others, Harry had no real reason to suspect foul play. So, for all intents and purposes, it looked as though what they were dealing with was a pissed off author who, after a few too many drinks, had headed off into the dark, probably just to get away from everything, and there was every chance he would turn up sooner or later.
For all Harry knew, this was just a cunning way to gain more publicity. And anyway, the man hadn’t even been missing for twenty-four hours yet, so now was not the time to start jumping to conclusions or connecting things where there was no connection. If it had been a child or a teenager, it would have been different, but Charlie was a middle-aged man who should know better. But still, what Jadyn had said, well, that did sound a little odd, Harry thought. As did the fact that Detective Superintendent Swift had not, as yet, turned up at the office. So, what was keeping him, and why hadn’t he called to let him know that he was going to be late?
‘We need to speak to her,’ Harry said, ignoring his concerns about Swift. ‘Are you sure you’ve got no other details?’
‘None,’ Jadyn said. ‘I even rang Chris, his PA, to see if there was anything else, and there isn’t. What we’ve got is what we’ve got, and none of it puts us in touch with her.’
�
�Why would she want to be so secretive?’ Matt asked. ‘What’s she hiding?’
‘Well, having been there when it all kicked off, she could well have planned to just turn up, say her bit, then disappear,’ Gordy said.
Harry wasn’t so sure. It struck him as rather an odd thing for anyone to do at all, never mind an actual fan of the person they’d gone to see.
‘Jen?’
‘Yes, Boss?’
‘Anything from the owner of the bookshop?’
‘Well, they weren’t at the shop when I got there,’ Jen said. ‘It was being run by someone who helps out now and again. The owner had taken a day trip to Darlington, apparently. Get some early Christmas shopping done or something.’
‘Wow, Darlington.’ Liz laughed. ‘The London of the North!’
‘I’ve left a message on their phone,’ Jen said. ‘Actually, three messages. I’ll try again in a bit.’
Harry glanced at the clock on the office wall. It was already gone four, so just where the hell was Swift?
‘Right, onto other important matters,’ Matt said, standing up. ‘By which I mean, tonight!’
A cheer rolled around the room with the happy ease of waves chasing up a beach.
‘The plan is that we all meet at the White Hart and then head over to The Board Inn for some food. It’s nowt too grand, just a little get-together to celebrate twenty years of me and Joan being married. Which, I think you’ll agree, is pretty amazing.’
‘Amazing? It’s a bloody miracle!’ Gordy laughed.
‘And no one mention to Joan the thing that Harry and I sorted earlier today,’ Matt said. ‘That’s a surprise, okay? I’ll have my iPad on me to show her. And I warn you now, there may be tears.’
‘Well, there had better be,’ Harry said. ‘After what you put me through, going down Crackpot.’
‘You enjoyed it,’ Matt said.
Harry said nothing. He wasn’t about to admit to it quite yet.
Gordy stood up. ‘Right, I’d best be off. I’ll see you all later. Seven-thirty for eight, right?’
‘Yep, that’s right,’ Matt said, as everyone else followed Gordy’s lead, then he looked over at Jadyn. ‘I know you’re on duty tonight, but you’ll still pop in, won’t you?’
Jadyn gave Matt a wide grin, then said, ‘No.’
Harry watched as Matt laughed and clapped the considerably younger police constable on the shoulder. It was a mixed-up team for sure, he thought, but that was their charm. Their differences were what made them work so well together.
‘What are you up to then, Boss?’ Jim asked, holding Fly under one arm.
‘Swift is supposedly turning up to have a chat with me,’ Harry replied. ‘But it’s not looking good so far, is it?’
Jim glanced at the clock. ‘Not much of the day left.’
‘No, there isn’t,’ Harry said. ‘Anyway, I’ll see you later.’ He stood up and ruffled the fur on Fly’s head, then scratched the dog’s ears. ‘And you stay out of trouble.’
Soon enough, the room was empty and Harry was alone. And he was just about to make himself a mug of tea, the kettle switched on, when he heard the door open.
‘Grimm.’
Harry snapped round to find Detective Superintendent Swift in the doorway.
‘Sir,’ Harry said, his voice low with the rumble of rocks tumbling down a quarry face.
‘Sorry I’m late. Got held up.’
‘Well, we’ve been busy anyway,’ Harry said. ‘Tea?’
‘No,’ Swift replied. ‘And I don’t have long, so if we could get on?’
Harry turned off the kettle and sat down opposite his superior officer.
‘So, what’s this all about, then?’ he asked.
‘Well, I won’t beat around the bush,’ Swift said. ‘Instead, just get straight to the reason I’m here.’
‘Which is?’ Harry asked.
‘Yes, well . . .’ Swift cleared his throat.
Harry said no more. Just waited.
‘It’s about DCI Alderson,’ Swift began, and Harry watched as the man seemed to almost squirm in his seat, like there was itching powder in his trousers.
‘What about him?’ Harry asked. ‘All I’ve ever been told is that he’s not around and I’m here as a stand-in. Is he back?’
Swift shook his head. ‘No, I’m afraid not.’
‘So, what’s the—’
Swift jumped in over Harry and said, ‘He’s dead.’
Harry sat back, unsure of what to say next.
‘How?’ he asked.
‘Suicide,’ Swift said. ‘It’s really quite a shock.’
‘I’m sure,’ Harry said. ‘But why? What’s the reason? Where’s he been until now? What happened?’
Swift fell silent, rubbed his eyes, and Harry noticed, perhaps for the first time since working with the man, that the D-Sup looked not just tired, but genuinely upset.
‘We think it’s post-traumatic stress disorder,’ Swift said, his voice sombre, quiet.
‘PTSD?’ Harry said. ‘Why?’
Harry had suffered from it himself, after returning from theatre in Afghanistan, but he’d done the sensible thing and sought help. He knew plenty of others who hadn’t. Some had got through okay in the end, others not so much, falling on the crutch of alcohol, usually. He’d seen PTSD split marriages, destroy families, and yes, he’d lost a friend or two to it as well.
‘Alderson was given the job up here after a particularly bad time of it in Manchester,’ Swift explained. ‘He’d done all kinds of work, even undercover stuff at one point. But things had become rather stressful, then there had been threats against him, his family . . .’
‘Family?’ Harry said. ‘You mean he’s got kids?’
Swift nodded, sorrow in his voice as he answered, ‘Two. Both teenagers, one just starting university, the other in the middle of A-Levels.’
‘Dear God,’ Harry said. ‘This is horrendous.’
‘We think he just snapped,’ Swift said. ‘Just had enough and went, disappeared.’
‘Any idea where or how?’ Harry asked. ‘Where was he found?’
‘In a campervan,’ Swift said. ‘Parked up in the middle of nowhere in the Lake District. The vehicle had road tax and we think he bought it with cash, seeing as he’d drawn a pretty hefty amount out of his account before going off the radar.’
‘This is terrible,’ Harry said. ‘Look, I’m so sorry to hear this. How did he, you know, do it, in the end?’
‘Drink and pills,’ Swift said. ‘Sleeping tablets and whisky. He’d been dead a few days when he was found. No note to his family. Nothing. Just gone.’ Swift clicked his fingers, the sharp snapping sound cold and abrupt.
‘PTSD is pretty rough,’ Harry said. ‘I’ve had it myself. Lost a mate or two to it. Like I said, I’m really sorry.’
‘Then can I leave it to you to share the news with the rest of the team?’ Swift asked. ‘I think it will sound better coming from you.’
‘You’re their commanding officer,’ Harry said. ‘It should be you. I’m just a stand-in.’
‘Yes, about that,’ Swift said. ‘Has your old boss spoken to you at all?’
‘Firbank?’ Harry asked. ‘No. why?’
Swift rubbed his chin thoughtfully, then said, ‘Perhaps I could ask you to give her a ring in a bit?’
‘It’s the weekend,’ Harry said.
‘Still, if you could,’ Swift said, then he stood up and clapped his hands. ‘Right then, I’d best be off.’
Harry rose to his feet as well and asked, ‘We’ll be seeing you at Matt’s do later?’
‘I’m invited, yes,’ Swift said. ‘But could you give my apologies, please? With this news, well, there are things to sort out still, and I’m not sure I’m in the mood for jocularity, if you know what I mean?’
And for once, Harry absolutely did.
‘Not a problem, sir,’ he said.
When Swift was gone, Harry didn’t hang around and instead locked up and headed back to hi
s flat. It was gone five, the sky was working itself to a darker shade with the promise of night and Harry had time to just slump into his sofa and let his brain go to mush in front of the television. Then his phone rang and when he saw who it was his plans turned to dust.
‘So, you want to meet,’ Harry said, standing opposite the Market Hall in Hawes. ‘Give me a time and a place.’
When his father replied, Harry was pretty sure that he heard a smile in his voice.
‘It’s about time that we did, I think,’ came the reply. ‘And it seems that my previous plan to hold you off didn’t quite work. Not that I expected it to, but it was worth a try, don’t you think?’
‘I’m not in the mood for small talk,’ Harry said.
‘I see you’ve moved Ben again.’
‘And I see that you’re still keeping an eye on him. And yet you expect me to trust you?’
‘No, not at all,’ Harry’s father replied. ‘But I know you’ll still agree to see me.’
‘Like I said, time and a place,’ Harry replied. Then he added, ‘But you’ve not told me why you want to meet. And those two goons of yours hadn’t a clue.’
‘Which was why I hired them.’
‘As scum goes, they must have been floating pretty near the surface,’ Harry said.
‘They’re not really my problem now,’ Harry’s father said. ‘And probably won’t be for a few years now, thanks to your involvement.’
Harry wanted the conversation to end.
‘So, what now?’
‘You’ll get a phone call,’ Harry’s father explained. ‘And no, I’m not going to tell you when. But when it comes, you do exactly what it says. Understand?’
‘Yes,’ Harry said. ‘And when we meet, we can hug it out, right?’
But no answer came, the call already dead.
Harry quickly sent a message, only growing slightly frustrated with the predictive text, then stuffed his phone into a pocket, and continued on his way until he was at his flat. He was just about to head in when his phone buzzed again.
‘What?’ Harry said, phone once again at his ear, his voice weary.
‘Sorry, Boss, it’s Jen,’ came the reply. ‘I’ve heard from the bookshop owner.’
Shooting Season: A DCI Harry Grimm Novel Page 10