by Lisa Hartley
‘Try his radio,’ Anna suggested, but then Keith Kendrick strode in.
‘Hi-de-hi campers,’ he said, clumping to the front of the room. ‘DS Bishop, do you want to start?’ Catherine stood next to Kendrick, who looked down at her. ‘Problem?’
‘No, guv.’ Kendrick hadn’t noticed Lancaster’s absence. He would though, Catherine knew. He rocked back on his heels, hands in his trouser pockets, eyes scanning the faces of his officers. Catherine told the team what Sarah Watson had said. Kendrick raised himself onto his tiptoes and back down again.
‘Interesting. So it looks like Lauren Cook could be drug mule number two?’
‘It’s a possibility.’
‘There’ll be more than two no doubt, possibly a whole herd. It’ll be like the beach at Skegness if this carries on.’ Kendrick smirked. ‘So we know Lauren dabbled in drugs when she was younger?’
‘No more than lots of people, if what Sarah told us was true. We need to know when she was offered the opportunity to earn a few quid and who by.’ Catherine wrinkled her nose. ‘When we know the identity of our body from the pond, we’ll be able to see if she and Lauren have any friends in common.’
‘But we don’t know her identity yet.’ Kendrick looked at his audience. ‘Or do we? Any news?’ He cupped a hand around his ear and waited.
‘I’ve chased the DNA results up again,’ Chris Rogers offered. Kendrick puffed out his cheeks.
‘Chased them up nicely or kicked their arses?’ he demanded. Rogers blushed.
‘Fairly nicely. They said it should be tomorrow morning.’
‘God Almighty.’ Kendrick scowled. ‘All right. Catherine – what about the rest of the workforce at Worthy and Son?’
She flipped through the pages of her notebook.
‘Lauren’s popular, no one had a bad word for her. No reports of any problems between her and her husband. Again, we need the ID of our body to see if there are any links. It’s worth another visit when we know who she is.’
‘Right.’ Kendrick frowned. ‘Simon, what about Mark Cook and the Chantrys?’
‘Cook bit my head off when I asked if Lauren had ever been involved with drugs, and her mum wasn’t far behind.’ Simon grimaced. ‘If her disappearance is linked to our mule, I don’t think her husband knows about it.’
‘That would make sense if she was trying to earn some money to take him away for his birthday,’ Catherine put in, and Simon nodded.
‘That’s what I thought. Her mum wasn’t having any of it, more or less told me to sling my hook. Her dad didn’t say much. Even when I asked him a question specifically, his wife jumped in and answered. All I could get out of him was that his daughter had never taken drugs to his knowledge.’
Kendrick shook his head. ‘This is bloody ridiculous. Is there anything to report?’
Silence.
The door at the back of the room opened and Dave Lancaster strolled in. Kendrick drew himself up.
‘Good of you to join us, DC Lancaster. To what do we owe the pleasure?’
Dave stopped, blinking in confusion. ‘Sorry, Guv. I lost track of time.’
Kendrick pursed his lips. ‘You “lost track of time”. I see. And how would it be if we all did that, Constable? What if I lost track of time while I was curled up under the cosy flannelette sheets with pretty pink flowers that I hate but my wife insists on having on the bed? If DC Rogers forgot the time on his run that we know he does every single morning, and just kept going all day long until he just dropped dead of exhaustion and sheer despair? If …’
Dave stepped forward, recognising that Kendrick would keep ranting until he exploded.
‘I have some good news, boss.’
Kendrick stared at him.
‘Good news? Are you joking?’
‘Not at all.’ Lancaster dared to step closer, and Kendrick suddenly flung an arm around his shoulders, grabbed his hand and shook it a few times.
‘Dave Lancaster: Detective of the Year.’
‘Well, it’s …’ Lancaster blushed.
Kendrick pointed a finger at him.
‘Don’t you dare try to wriggle out of it now.’
‘I wasn’t. It’s just …’
Catherine raised her eyes to the ceiling.
‘Come on, spit it out.’ Kendrick opened his arms wide. ‘We’re on tenterhooks here.’
‘It’s just that I think I know who our unidentified body might be,’ Lancaster stammered. Kendrick stared at him, then did a few energetic tap dancing steps, his huge shiny brogues thudding across the carpet tiles. Lancaster looked on, bemused, as his colleagues broke into laughter.
‘Come on then, don’t keep us in suspense. Who is she?’
‘The name’s Keeley Pearce. She lives with Shaun Simmington, who we know is a drug user. Her mum was looking for Keeley because she hasn’t heard from her for a few days, but Keeley hasn’t been home either. Her mum’s waiting to talk to us downstairs.’
27
Lauren wrapped her arms around her body as she paced across the threadbare carpet. There was a tiny heater in the corner that was doing its best to spit out some warmth, but it seemed to make no difference. She shivered. There was a camp bed set against the wall with a grubby sleeping bag and a stained pillow bundled onto it. It had taken two nights, but in the end she’d given up. With the unzipped sleeping bag wrapped around her and her head resting on the damp, musty pillow, she’d cried herself to sleep.
She was losing track of the days, she was sure of it. The room was dim, the only window boarded up on the outside. Thin sunlight trickled through the gaps during the daytime, but night seemed to have fallen again. The door was locked, and no amount of kicking or pounding had any effect. She glared at it. There were a couple of two litre bottles of water in the far corner as well as enough packets of crisps, biscuits and cereal bars to last for days.
Would it really be that long? She aimed a kick at the camp bed, rattling it and causing the pillow to fall on the floor. Furious now, she stamped on it, then dropped to her knees, snatching it up from the floor, hugging it to her chest and weeping. Why didn’t they let her go? She’d played her part, done all they’d asked her to. It had been a nightmarish sequence of events, but she’d done it. Why was she still here?
She knew, of course.
She’d seen.
Hearing the dull, wet thuds, she’d gone running, even though they’d told her to stay in the bathroom until she was empty. As if she were a container, a lorry or ship. Empty. She knew what empty felt like now. This gnawing ache, this crawling itch. She missed Mark. She even missed her mum.
She screamed, a high tear of despair, her throat feeling raw when it was over. There was no one there, she knew that. Just her, the cell-like room and the mess on the carpet.
28
The woman looked exhausted. When Catherine entered the room, she glanced up and folded her arms.
‘I didn’t want to come in, did that other copper tell you that? He made me.’
Her voice was a low and deep with a scratchy dullness as if it was little used, brought out only on special occasions. She wore a grey hooded sweatshirt and new-looking jeans. Catherine sat opposite her. This room again. It was cold, the woman hugging herself as she hunched against the realisation that she was going to have to face the truth.
‘My colleague said your daughter is missing?’
She sniffed and gave one quick nod.
‘So they said.’
‘Who told you?’
‘Keeley’s boyfriend and a friend of hers. They all live in a house together in the middle of the Meadowflower.’
Catherine nodded her understanding. The Meadowflower Estate was a run-down warren of council properties. Every police officer in the area knew it well.
‘So you went to the house?’
‘I had to. Keeley wasn’t answering her phone and I’ve had her kids for over a week. Can’t hear myself think. My sister’s with them now and she’s not best pleased either.’ Ailsa Pearce
ran her hands up and down her arms. One foot tapped on the floor. Catherine watched as her fingers discovered a scab on the back of her hand and started to pick at it. ‘I thought their dad might take them, but he’s bloody useless.’
‘Didn’t he wonder where Keeley was?’
The other woman made a sound of disgust.
‘He doesn’t care as long as he’s got his … his beer.’
Catherine glanced at her.
‘Beer?’
Pearce lifted her bony chin and met Catherine’s eyes. ‘That’s what I said.’
‘Okay.’ Catherine pretended to make a note. ‘How many children?’
‘Two, boy and a girl. He’s three, she’s five months. Poor little sods.’
‘When did you last see Keeley?’
Pulling a mobile phone out of her jeans pocket, Pearce frowned. ‘She sent me a text asking if I’d have the kids for a couple of nights. I said all right. She pays me and it’s better than them being left in that house.’
Catherine glanced up. ‘She leaves them in the house?’
‘With their dad,’ Pearce clarified. ‘She wouldn’t leave them on their own.’ She pressed a few keys on the phone, then announced, ‘I got the text a week ago today, like I said, and I last saw her that night, when she dropped the kids off.’
‘Did she say where he was going?’
‘Away with a mate. I didn’t ask.’
‘That’s all she said, away with a mate?’
‘Like I said, I didn’t ask. Between you and me, I was hoping it was a bloke. She could do with kicking Simmo into touch.’
‘Shaun Simmington?’
‘That’s the one. Do you know him?’
‘I know of him,’ Catherine admitted. ‘And he hasn’t heard from Keeley either?’
‘Said if she didn’t come home soon, he’d change the locks,’ Pearce sneered. ‘You can see why I didn’t want the kids there.’
‘Do you have a photo of Keeley?’
‘Loads on my phone.’
‘Could you send me one and write down Keeley’s phone number, please?’
Catherine scribbled her own mobile number on a piece of paper then pushed it and the pen over to Pearce, who nodded before scrolling through the pictures on her phone.
‘That other copper said you’ve found a body? I saw it on the local news as well. Do you think it’s Keeley?’ Catherine met her eyes. The other woman blinked, her lips trembling. ‘If Simmo’s hurt her, I’ll kill him myself.’ Her voice was guttural and Catherine felt a shiver travel her spine. Her phone vibrated in her pocket and she took it out. The smiling face of Keeley Pearce greeted her. Blonde hair. Hazel eyes. The right build. Her stomach lurched.
‘Good enough photo?’ Ailsa Pearce asked, her voice rasping on the question. She knew.
‘Excuse me a moment.’ Catherine got to her feet. Jogging down the corridor, she called to Rich Smithies, just on his way out of the door: ‘Rich, before you go, will you get someone to bring Shaun Simmington in, please?’
Rich groaned. ‘Simmo? Do we have to?’
‘I’m afraid so. There’s a good chance our unidentified body is his girlfriend.’
‘Bloke’s a nightmare. I’ll get the call put out,’ Rich grumbled, shuffling back to his desk. Catherine ran up to the incident room and grabbed the first uniform she saw, told him what Ailsa Pearce had said and asked him to let the DCI know.
She pounded back down the stairs, pushed open the door of the room where she’d left Keeley’s mother, then stopped, hands on her hips.
‘Oh, you’re kidding.’
Ailsa Pearce had disappeared.
Catherine yanked the seatbelt over her chest.
‘She can’t have gone far.’
PC Natalie Roberts started the engine and the squad car shot forward.
‘Blues and twos?’
‘No need.’
Roberts blew a raspberry. ‘Spoilsport.’
‘Child.’ Catherine grinned.
‘Got any sweets?’
‘No.’
She laughed as Roberts stuck out her lower lip. They joined the main road through town, not many people on the pavements as the day passed into evening. The air was crisp, the sky clear and the moon loomed bright behind the grammar school. Roberts nodded at it.
‘Full moon.’
‘Not going to start howling at it, are you?’
‘Good one, Sarge.’ Nat rolled her eyes. ‘Why are we looking for this woman again?’
‘I hadn’t finished talking to her.’
‘Well, I’ve only seen blokes so far and a couple of female runners.’
‘I don’t see her as a runner.’ Catherine thought back to Ailsa Pearce’s scrawny, restless limbs. ‘Anyway, she was wearing jeans.’
Roberts negotiated a sharp corner, then stamped on the brakes as a double decker bus pulled out of a side road.
‘I don’t know, she ran from you. Did you scare her off, Sarge?’
Folding her arms, Catherine gave Roberts a stern glance.
‘You can still go and bring Shaun Simmington in, you know.’
‘Ugh, no way.’ Roberts shuddered. ‘He threw up on me last time.’
Catherine turned as far as she could in her seat, craning her neck to scan the street behind them.
‘No sign of her.’
‘Maybe the huge day-glo police car wasn’t a good idea?’
‘Don’t know what she was thinking.’ With a sigh, Catherine turned back.
‘I hate to break it to you, Sarge, but not everyone likes a cosy chat with a copper.’
‘Thank you, Constable.’
Roberts lifted her hand in a smart salute. The bus dithered along in front of them and Catherine frowned. ‘You don’t think …’
‘There’s a bus stop a hundred metres from the station. If she was lucky …’
‘Shit. All right, let’s go up to the Meadowflower.’
‘You’re joking, aren’t you? I think you’ve mistaken the car for a tank.’
‘Stop complaining, we’ll be fine. Ailsa Pearce lives on the outskirts anyway.’
‘Third time this week,’ Roberts grumbled, changing lanes as they approached a roundabout.
‘What are you moaning about now?’
‘Third time I’ll have been up to the Meadowflower this week. A drunk and disorderly, an assault and now a … what? Absconding mother?’
‘I’m pretty sure our unidentified body is her daughter, Nat. I think she is too.’
Roberts slowed the car as they approached a speedbump. ‘Yeah, fair enough.’
Ailsa Pearce’s house was a semi-detached with a neat front hedge. Nat pulled in close to the kerb.
‘Looks respectable.’
‘Unlike next door.’
Roberts leaned forward for a better look.
‘Is it the massive inflatable snowman on the lawn that you object to, or the Santa hanging from the guttering that keeps flashing his arse?’
‘Both. All of it.’
Pearce’s neighbours were obviously fans of Christmas decorations, and it being the first week of December hadn’t dampened their spirits. Catherine turned away as a huge ‘Happy Xmas!’ sign lit up in neon red and green above the front door.
‘Half the bulbs have blown,’ Roberts observed.
‘Pity the rest haven’t as well,’ grumbled Catherine. ‘Hang on, here she comes.’
Sure enough, Ailsa Pearce had just turned into the road. Catherine opened her car door and strode towards her. When Pearce saw the police car, she half-turned, clearly thinking about running again. Catherine hesitated but then Pearce shook her head as if annoyed with herself and turned back.
‘Well, you’ve found me,’ she said as Catherine approached.
‘We hadn’t finished.’
‘I had. I just want to go home.’ Pearce nodded towards her front gate.
‘What about the children?’
‘What about them?’
‘I can get someone from Social Service
s to come down …’
‘They’re fine with me until … well, until there’s news.’
Catherine nodded. ‘We want to help you, Ailsa.’
Pearce’s laugh was bitter, more of a snarl.
‘Do you? Then leave me alone.’
‘We’re bringing Simmo in for questioning.’
‘Good.’
‘Do you know who his dealer is?’
Pearce made eye contact at last.
‘You know better than that, Sergeant. Ask him. I’ve nothing more to say.’
‘We still don’t have a positive identification on the body we found.’ Catherine’s voice was gentle.
The other woman gave a small nod.
‘So it could be Keeley.’ It wasn’t a question.
‘It could. I’m sorry.’
Pearce pressed her lips together and tipped back her head. ‘She never had a chance growing up around here.’
Catherine said nothing. It was a sentiment she’d heard several times before from different people; usually parents, but those she had arrested often had a similar point of view. Sometimes she agreed with them.
‘Erm, Sarge?’ Nat Roberts had edged her way towards them. Catherine turned. ‘Shaun Simmington’s done a runner.’
29
Back in the car, they headed deeper into the estate. There was a strange, charged atmosphere on the Meadowflower, as if the whole place was holding its breath, waiting for the next violent outburst. It was always the same, each resident eyeing each other and the world in general with an air of suspicion. Row upon row of tightly packed red brick terraces were dotted here and there with squat, oblong buildings that contained six or eight flats.
‘My cousin lives along here.’ Nat glanced at a tiny elderly man who was hurrying along the pavement, clutching a shopping bag.
‘It’s not all bad.’
A tennis ball bounced across the road in front of them and Nat braked hard as a small boy darted out to retrieve it. When he reached the safety of the pavement, he turned and shouted after them, gesticulating as they drove past. Nat glanced in her rear-view mirror.