by Helen Phifer
‘Where does her mother live now?’
‘Cloisters Lane or she used to when she attended here. I have no idea if she ever moved or not. In fact, I’m not sure if she’s still alive. I haven’t seen her for a long time. She became a bit of a recluse after Eleanor disappeared. I see her son though. I think he looks after her.’
Morgan felt as if the breath had just been sucked from her lungs: Charlie lived on Cloisters Lane.
‘What’s her son called?’
‘Elliot Fleming, he was older than Eleanor so he’s probably in his mid-thirties.’
Morgan knew that name – why did she know that name?
‘You’ll know Elliot, everyone knows him. He’s a bit peculiar, a nice man, but dresses a bit flamboyant. I think he’s a bit confused, if you know what I mean, but he’s lovely. I’m sure he’ll be able to tell you about Eleanor and if they ever heard from her again.’
‘Thank you, I’ll go and speak to him.’
‘Do you think there’s a connection – two girls going missing who live on the same street?’
Sandra was fishing for gossip that she could tell the rest of the teaching staff and probably everyone else she knew. Morgan smiled at her tightly.
‘I doubt it, there are significant differences between both girls. It’s probably a terrible coincidence. Rydal Falls is a small town. Thank you for the information though.’
The smile across Sandra’s lips was huge. She was positively beaming. Morgan pressed the green button again.
Exiting the school, she walked across the empty playground out of the gates, just in time to see the large garage doors at the back of the funeral directors rumble into life and a hearse with a coffin inside begin to drive slowly out of them. She shivered. This was turning into the most surreal and saddest day ever. She needed to discuss the other missing girl with Ben and the team, see if he knew about it and was happy for her to investigate further. Although she didn’t think it would hurt if she went and talked to Eleanor Fleming’s family before she went back to the station.
Seven
Morgan drove back to Cloisters Lane. When she parked the car, she took out her all singing, all dancing Samsung work phone and opened up the quick address system. She typed in the address and the name ‘Fleming’: number thirteen was owned by a Gladys Fleming, and Elliot Fleming was listed as living there. Ducking under the police tape, Morgan walked down to number thirteen. This house was a bit run-down and she wondered if Gladys had lost her will to live the day her daughter disappeared. She walked up the path and knocked on the wooden door. Moments later it was opened and she realised why the name Elliot Fleming had sounded familiar when he stood there smiling at her. He was a well-known character around Rydall Falls. He seemed to attract the unkind attention of the local teenagers on a regular basis with his love of flamboyant clothes and Morgan had always felt sorry him. He was always so polite and appreciative of anything the police did, unlike a lot of people.
‘Good afternoon, is it Morgan?’
She smiled. ‘It certainly is. You have a very good memory, Elliot. Can I come in for a chat?’
He beamed at her. Opening the door wide, she stepped into the hallway.
‘Would you like a cup of tea and a cake?’
‘No, thank you. I can’t stay long; I just wanted to ask a few questions.’
‘Oh, I’ve already spoken to Megan. I’m sorry, I haven’t seen the girl.’
‘This isn’t about Charlie. I wanted to ask about your sister, Eleanor.’
The colour drained from Elliot’s face, taking his smile with it. He glanced in the direction of the stairs and whispered, ‘Please speak quietly; Mother isn’t very well. She’s been poorly for some time now. I don’t think she ever got over the shock.’
‘No, I suppose she wouldn’t. I’m sorry but did you ever find Eleanor? Did she ever get in touch with you to tell you where she was?’
He shook his head. ‘Not a peep. We have no idea what happened to her or if she’s okay. I like to think that she’s happy, maybe with a family of her own somewhere. Although you would think she’d want to tell us if she had children, wouldn’t you? Mother would love to know she had grandchildren to fuss over. I’m sure it would lift her out of this dark fog she seems to live in constantly if she knew that.’
Morgan felt bad for Elliot and his mum. They’d spent fifteen years worrying and never knowing if Eleanor was even alive. ‘I can’t imagine how hard it must be for you both. Do you remember anything about the police investigation at the time?’
He laughed then cupped a hand over his mouth. ‘What investigation? They decided she’d run away to find some fame and fortune, get away from here. End of investigation, case closed.’
‘Surely not?’
He shrugged. ‘You could ask yourself. Although I think the detective who came around retired a few years ago. Why are you asking this now? It’s been so long since anyone asked about her.’
‘The secretary at Charlie’s school mentioned it. I thought it needed to be looked into in case there were similar circumstances.’
‘Eleanor was a teenager, a very loud, popular girl who had a boyfriend a few years older than she was, who moved away to university in London. We think she followed him. I don’t think it’s quite the same as a little girl disappearing off the face of the earth.’
Morgan sighed. ‘No, I suppose not. I’m sorry to have bothered you. Thank you for speaking to me.’
‘Anytime, just don’t ask my mother. It might tip her over the edge. We don’t really talk about Eleanor any more; it’s just too painful for her.’
She opened the door. Walking along the path she turned to smile at him, but the door was already closed. It was hard to believe that the police never took it seriously, that a missing girl had been dismissed as a runaway. Surely there were grounds to look into it a little closer. Morgan didn’t know why this had been brushed under the carpet, but she was determined to find out.
At the station, she found Ben in his office on the phone. She was about to walk in when Amy shouted, ‘Better let him finish speaking to the DCI first, Morgan. How did you get on at the school?’
‘How long have you worked for the police, Amy?’
‘Too long, why?’
‘In years, approximately.’
‘Ten years in January, why?’
‘Do you remember Eleanor Fleming who went missing fifteen years ago?’
‘I know the name; I think it happened a few years before I joined.’
Ben walked out of his office. ‘I remember Eleanor Fleming, why are you asking?’
She turned to look at him, praying it hadn’t been him who had dismissed her disappearance.
‘The school secretary said this wasn’t the first time a girl had disappeared, and I thought it might be important.’
‘I was just out of my probation period when that happened. They think she ran away, as I recall.’
‘Who said that? Did you know she lived on Cloisters Lane, the opposite end to Charlie, in a large, detached house?’
‘No, no I didn’t. I never worked on it.’
‘Who worked the case?’
‘Geoff Peterson was the DS at the time. He retired years ago. He was a lazy bastard, old Peterson. The kind of detective that carried a hip flask and openly drank on the job. Where’s this going, Morgan?’
‘Don’t you think it’s a bit strange how a teenager from Cloisters Lane went missing fifteen years ago without a trace and now we have a missing nine-year-old from the same street?’
‘It’s a small town, and that’s a popular area. It’s just a coincidence.’
‘Yes, but two girls have gone from it. Don’t you at least think there could be some kind of connection?’
‘Not really. Look at the difference in ages for a start. I know that the area was searched. I remember the flyers we put up and the newspaper articles appealing for information. We got a few of her friends that came forward and they all said the same thing: she didn�
��t like living here and wanted to get away as soon as she could. She had a boyfriend who moved away to uni; they think she followed him. Morgan, there was nothing to suggest any foul play. Whilst I applaud your tenacity and determination one hundred per cent, we haven’t got the time for you to get sidetracked with this. We need to focus on finding Charlie, not waste precious hours on a wild goose chase from fifteen years ago.’
She didn’t answer him. Although she didn’t agree with him, she respected him as her supervisor, and he was right: Charlie was their priority at the moment; but it didn’t mean that she couldn’t do some digging around to try and find Eleanor Fleming in her own time, did it?
Eight
Morgan was pacing up and down waiting for Ben’s next decision. Ben was back on the phone to the duty detective, Detective Chief Inspector Claire Williams at Penrith, who was covering Rydal Falls whilst Tom, their DI, was on holiday. Morgan was hoping he was telling her about Eleanor Fleming. Amy came in carrying three mugs and placed one on Morgan’s desk.
‘Thanks, what are we waiting for, why aren’t we out there searching?’
Amy answered. ‘Because it’s obvious she hasn’t wandered off on her own. The dog hasn’t picked her scent up. The helicopter hasn’t found her yet, although I’m praying to God it does. Now, we need to start treating it seriously like a crime scene and consider that someone has taken her, or worse, hurt her and concealed her body. Sergeant Al McNulty, the PolSA lead and his team, are taking over conducting the search for her now while we look at the criminal angle.’
Morgan sat down and picked up the mug of too-hot coffee that still had black coffee grounds swirling around in the centre. She blew the hot liquid and took a sip because she didn’t know what else to do. She grimaced because it burnt her tongue and tasted awful. She needed a decent coffee to keep her going, not this rubbish.
‘Have you ever had to deal with anything like this before, Amy?’
She shook her head. ‘No, although kids can be a right pain at times. They wander off and don’t take a blind bit of notice of their parents’ instructions. Yes, we’ve had missing kids but they normally turn up within an hour of being reported missing. I’ve never known one to be missing since the night before. I mean it’s been what?’ – she looked down at her watch – ‘It’s been nineteen hours since her mum last saw her, and none of the neighbours saw her yesterday or they did but didn’t take any notice because she’s always in the front street. No one saw anything odd or noticed a strange car or van in the area.’
Ben ended his phone call. ‘Offender management have one RSO living in that street, Vincent Jackson. Do we know if he has been spoken to?’
Morgan crossed to the spare desk with the stack of clipboards on it that had the names and addresses of everyone who had been spoken to. ‘What number is he at?’
‘Number sixty-eight.’
She found the relevant clipboard and flipped the sheets of paper over.
‘Male occupant spoken to, elderly mother asleep, has Alzheimer’s; she wasn’t spoken to; garden and greenhouse negative.’
‘Who spoke to him?’
She looked at the collar number at the top of the sheet of paper and recognised it. ‘Cain.’
‘Can you get hold of him, Morgan? Amy, can you go and speak to Intel and get me his full records? I vaguely recall him but I’m sure he was arrested for having an interest in children under the age of sixteen, not under the age of thirteen.’
Morgan had to stop herself from saying Eleanor Fleming would have been the right age for him, but she didn’t want to annoy Ben; however, she would bear it in mind. Amy disappeared to go to the floor above them, where the intelligence office was situated. Morgan tried ringing Cain’s police radio and then his phone – both of them rang out.
‘I’ll go back to the scene and see if he’s still there.’
Ben nodded, cupping his hand over the mouthpiece.
‘Morgan, can you go and speak to Vincent anyway? See what you think of him.’
She nodded as he began talking down the phone to the Lancashire control room about the helicopter search, so Morgan left him to it.
Cloisters Lane wasn’t as busy as before. The road was still sealed off at both ends and PCSOs stood in front of the police tape.
‘Excuse me, Morgan, can I talk to you?’
She turned around, not recognising the male voice calling her name.
‘Who are you?’ she asked the man walking towards her. His smile was warm and he had a perfect set of white teeth. As he got closer, his brown eyes crinkled as he smiled. Damn he was good looking, or was it that smile that was? His head was shaved and she could see the ends of a tattoo poking out from underneath the sleeve of his white shirt, which looked as if it was far too tight the way it clung to the muscles on his chest. If Morgan had been asked to describe her ideal man, this was pretty close to what she would have said.
He held out his hand. ‘Finley Palmer, I’m a reporter for the Cumbrian News.’
And just like that her fantasy was broken as she felt the smile on her lips turn into a sneer without even trying.
‘Hey, I’m new around here. You at least have to cut me some slack on account of that.’
He was right, she supposed she should.
‘What do you want, Finley? I can’t discuss what’s happening here. You need to contact the press office if you want an update.’
‘Call me Fin, Finley is my Sunday name. I know, I have a copy of that, I just wanted to say hello and tell you I think you’re awesome.’
Morgan hadn’t been expecting that and she burst into laughter. ‘Oh right, well thank you.’
‘I mean it. I was looking into your background and what happened with the Potter case, then the killer cop and wow, I mean wow. I saw you got a commendation, congratulations.’
She felt herself becoming suspicious; he was good, very good. He’d almost thrown her off guard with the flattery, but he was a journalist so here it came.
‘I wondered if we could talk; go out for a drink or some dinner.’
‘Talk about what? You have the official press release.’
‘About you and what happened, not necessarily for the paper. But the Taylor Marks case is going to be massive when it goes to trial; the whole story is crazy.’
She nodded. ‘Crazier than you could ever imagine.’
‘Right, it is. I wanted to write an article from your angle; you know, all the public and tabloids are going to focus on him. I don’t think they should. I mean why should he get all the publicity? I think it’s about time they focused on how amazing you are, or your team, I mean, not just you.’
His cheeks were much pinker than a few moments ago, and it struck her he was embarrassed to be asking her. Morgan realised that she actually liked him and his idea. Why should Taylor bask in the limelight for his heinous crimes? Not that she wanted any glory for doing her job, but she found the idea a little tempting.
‘That’s really kind of you, but I don’t know if I’d be allowed to talk about any of it, especially not before it goes to court. Thank you for asking though, I really appreciate it.’
She smiled at him, turning to duck under the tape.
‘Wait.’
She stopped and turned back to face him.
‘How about we just go for a drink anyway? I’m new around here and don’t really know anyone. We don’t have to talk about any of that. You can explain to me how to fit in, and I’ll buy the wine.’
‘Are you always so persistent?’
He shrugged and gave her that smile again, the one he must give to every woman he tried to pick up, and she wondered how many of them were able to resist. Then she thought about the last time she’d been on a date, which was like an eternity ago. She didn’t want to go home to an empty house after being reminded of how once again she’d been thrust into the limelight to stop a killer. It would be nice to have come company. Why shouldn’t she go out for a drink with Fin?
‘Okay.’
/> ‘Really, you will?’ He sounded surprised, but not as surprised as she was at her reply.
‘Really, I’ll meet you at The Black Dog at eight. Do you know where it is?’
He nodded. ‘On the high street. Great, thanks, Morgan, you won’t regret it.’
There was that smile again and she grinned back, not sure if this was a date or if he was fishing for something; but as long as she didn’t talk about work it should be okay. If he was looking for a story, he’d soon get fed up because as crazy as Morgan’s working life was, her home life was the complete opposite; in fact, it was unbelievably boring.
‘Bye, I’ll see you at eight.’ He walked across the car park as her phone began to vibrate in her pocket. She pulled it out to see Ben’s name.
‘Why are you not answering your radio? Who were you talking to?’
‘You’re too nosey for your own good. I’m about to go and speak to Vincent. I was talking to a journalist called Finley Palmer.’
‘What did he want? For God’s sake they’re nothing but a bunch of vultures.’
‘He wanted to tell me I was awesome actually, and then he asked me out on a date.’
The silence between them spoke volumes. She didn’t need Ben’s advice or his opinion that it was a very bad idea, but it was coming anyway.
‘It’s none of my business, Morgan.’
‘No, it’s not.’ She stopped him before he could say anything else. ‘I’m an adult, I’m also not stupid. No one has asked me out in ages. I could do with a bit of fun; I’m going stir-crazy working and then going home to an empty flat. Where are you anyway and why are you spying on me?’
She saw his car parked further up the street and watched him get out. He walked towards her, pushing his phone back into his pocket. He caught up to her.
‘I’m not spying. I followed you out of the station, but you drove off. I was going to see if you wanted me to speak to Vincent with you and then we could have grabbed a decent cup of coffee before we head back for the briefing.’