by Mari Hannah
Through bleary eyes, David looked across the room, imagining her in her fireside chair, the flickering fire lighting up her eyes as she sat reading, her default position. The wonky bookcase in the corner was crammed with her books, historical and contemporary; memoirs and autobiographies among her favourites. Those she didn’t own she’d borrowed from the library in Alnwick, an Aladdin’s Cave of literature that had kept his erudite ancestor company until the day she died in 2014 at the grand old age of ninety-eight. The house had been empty since.
It seemed warmer when she was there.
Soothed by thoughts of his beloved nan, the glow from the fire, and another couple of cans of beer, David was getting drowsy. He laid his head back, shut his eyes, and thought about the lumpy bed he and Luke had shared as boys, a hand of bony fingers pushing through his hair, then smoothing it down, a whisper – Goodnight, you two – as he lost consciousness.
24
The phone was ringing as Frankie got out of the shower. Grabbing a towel, she ran into her bedroom, sweeping her mobile from the chair where she’d left it: DC Mitchell. Swearing under her breath, she took the call. ‘Ray, if this is going to come between me and the takeaway I ordered, you’re paying for it.’
‘It might.’
Frankie caught her reflection in the mirror on her bedroom door. ‘If you could see me right now, you’d know how idiotic that statement is.’
‘There’s been a development.’
Frankie’s heart sank, the news knocking her for six. The phrase Mitchell had used was police speak for a death or something equally catastrophic. Stone couldn’t cope with that, not on the back of his brother’s accident. This would tear him apart. Telling Alex that her son was missing had been an agonising task. Giving her the death message would break her for sure. It was a mother’s worst nightmare.
‘Why didn’t you call me? I’d have come in—’
‘The guv’nor said you’d been up half the night and that I should deal with it.’
‘Yeah, right,’ Frankie said. ‘Windy hated my old man and he’s shafting me.’
‘It’s not working,’ Mitchell said.
‘Damn right. Where was Daniel found?’
‘Sarge?’
‘Daniel, where was he found?’
‘He was never lost.’
‘What? You’re not making any sense!’
‘He was returned home thirty minutes ago—’
‘Oh God!’ Frankie’s mood lifted instantaneously. ‘Don’t you ever do that to me again, Mitch, or you’ll be the one getting a development.’
‘What does that mean?’
‘It means a kick up the arse.’
‘What did I do?’
‘You . . . oh, never mind. Stop buggering about and tell me what you know . . . in plain language.’
‘Yes, Sarge.’
‘Where are you anyway?’
‘Outside the house. Daniel was unharmed and accompanied by his friend Harry Price and Harry’s father, Paul. The lad is perfectly well and, like Price, he’s nonplussed by all the fuss. Price has a caravan near Keswick and goes down there most weekends. He claims he offered to take Daniel along – company for his lad – and Parker agreed. And when Price suggested a pickup after footy training, Parker was OK with that too. Harry and Daniel play in the same team. That’s why our bods didn’t get an answer at Price’s door when they were making enquiries. He brought Daniel home early because he was dying to be reunited with his mum. As you can appreciate, she’s ecstatic. I have no bloody idea what’s going on with her other half. If you ask me, the man is unhinged. That or he’s got some bloody awful advanced Alzheimer’s thing going on.’
‘Was this arrangement made on Twitter?’
‘How did you guess?’
‘It’s a line of enquiry I’ve been following,’ Frankie said. ‘There was no correspondence on Parker’s device about these arrangements last night, I checked it thoroughly. Did you examine Price’s phone?’
‘Give me some credit. I looked at both.’
‘And?’
‘Same as with Justine Segal: the messages are on Price’s mobile, missing from Parker’s.’ Mitchell paused. ‘The guv’nor says you and I need to drop this now, pick up Stone’s case files and get on with them while he’s on compassionate leave. He doesn’t want you going off on one of your crusades – his words, not mine. Be warned, Frank. He thinks you and Stone have been time-wasting on a uniform job.’
‘What does Windy know about police work?’ she said. ‘Do me a favour, Mitch. Before you leave Scots Gap, nip in and tell Alex Parker I’ll be round to see her in the morning.’
‘You’ll have to be quick about it.’
‘You giving the orders now?’
Mitchell chuckled. ‘No, Sarge . . . Remember the burglary reports that came in last week?’
‘What about them?’
‘They’ve been upgraded to aggravated. There were two more last night. The homeowners were tied up and gagged. One had a heart attack and had to be airlifted to the Freeman Hospital.’ Mitchell filled her in on the details. ‘Suffice to say, the guv’nor wants us to crack on with that.’
‘And we will . . . when I’ve seen Alex.’
25
Justine hadn’t been able to get near Daniel since he’d arrived home. Alex had been with him the whole time, feeding him, chatting with him, hugging him. It was comforting to watch the two of them. Though, if she was honest, Justine felt a little resentful and, deep down, pushed out. She got that way sometimes, forgetting that her charges were on loan and not for keeps. Daniel was a kid you warmed to instantly. His disappearance had unglued her. The fact that he was safe assuaged her guilt and filled her with joy.
Like his parents, her relief was heartfelt and profound.
Until now, Justine hadn’t realised how much the boy meant to his mother. Alex wasn’t interested in explanations from the man who’d brought him home, only that he was back where he belonged, unharmed and blissfully happy that she was back from Majorca. Tim was less accommodating. He’d given Paul Price a mouthful at the door, unable to hide his rage. When Price suggested that Tim was party to the arrangement – that he’d agreed via DM that he could collect Daniel from football training and keep him overnight – her employer went into meltdown.
Tim emerged from his study, a drink in his hand. Justine ignored his foul mood, turning the other way, approaching the living room cautiously, half-expecting to be sent away and told that her services were not required for the rest of the evening. She pushed open the door. Alex and Daniel were nowhere to be seen. Both sets of French doors into the garden were wide open. Seconds later, they came into view.
‘May I have a moment with Daniel before he goes to bed?’ Justine said.
‘Of course! He’s tired now, anyway.’ Alex turned to face her son. ‘Daniel – you should be in bed, young man. Get changed and Justine will come and say goodnight. She missed you, darling. We all did.’
Justine tapped gently on Daniel’s bedroom door. He was sitting on his bed, pyjamas on, a book in his hand. She took in the delicate contours of his face, his doe eyes, the awkward embarrassment of a ten-year-old who was glad to see her but didn’t want to show it. She loved that about him.
‘Have you cleaned your teeth?’
He nodded, then grinned at her raised eyebrow, knowing that he’d been found out. They had an arrangement: clean teeth or no treats. As he walked into his en suite bathroom, Justine smiled. She’d once caught him out. His electric toothbrush had been on, nowhere near his mouth, and she’d sent him back for a second try. After that, he hadn’t tried to pull the wool over her eyes . . . until tonight.
He climbed into bed and she sat down beside him.
‘I was worried about you,’ she said.
He almost snorted, a half-smile covering the fact that he thought all a
dults must be deluded. He was such an innocent child. He hadn’t understood the wrangle over his homecoming and skirted the subject when Tim began to interrogate him at the door, until his mother put a stop to it.
‘I thought you were putting up balloons?’ he said.
‘I did,’ Justine said, ‘but I had to take them down again.’
‘Did Mum see them?’
‘Yes, and she liked them very much, especially your brilliant banner.’
He gave a beaming smile. ‘I didn’t want to go to the Lakes but Harry really wanted me to. He was dead excited when he came to footy. Tim told his dad that Mum wouldn’t mind. She didn’t, did she?’
‘No, of course not . . . well, maybe a smidge.’
‘Mr Price said I didn’t have to stay the whole weekend.’
‘And you didn’t.’ Justine winked at him. ‘You missed me too, eh?’
‘A bit.’
‘Well, you’re home now, Dan. That’s all that matters. Do I get a hug?’
He put his arms up, turning his cheek, wanting a kiss but making out that it was such a chore. Her heart swelled as she put her arms out for a hug he fell in to. He’d never know how important it was for her to embrace him after the trauma of the past twenty-four hours. She read to him but within minutes he was gone, the face of an angel, his long eyelashes twitching as he sank deeper into the safety of sleep. Justine kissed his forehead as she did at every opportunity, covered him up, and quietly left the room.
26
The front door was slightly ajar. Frankie looked around her – no one there – pushed it open and peered in, adrenalin pumping, a sense of dread eating its way into her gut. Her concern was unwarranted. The door led directly into the living room. David was curled up on an old-fashioned, two-seater sofa, one leg over the edge, foot resting on the floor, the other leg bent at the knee to fit a piece of furniture far too small for him and probably purchased in the fifties. He was sleeping soundly, head cradled in one hand, a beer can in the other. A dribble of brown liquid had spilled out on to his shirt. Frankie counted five squashed-up beer cans on the coffee table, three more on the threadbare carpet.
She’d seen better-looking crime scenes.
It was cold in the room and the fire was dying. She opened the door to the stove, threw a log in, put her Indian takeaway on the top plate to keep it warm, then stepped into a kitchen her grandma would call a scullery, with no room to swing a cat. The tap squeaked as she turned it on to fill the kettle, the water spluttering out through ancient plumbing, the insight into David’s private life making her feel like the worst kind of voyeur. Whatever she was expecting, it wasn’t this.
‘I see you found everything.’
‘Needs must.’ Frankie didn’t look round. ‘Your burglar appears to have fled the scene.’
‘Hey! I tidied up.’
‘What bits?’ Now she turned to face him, a wry smile on her face. ‘Nice of you to sober up for my visit . . . Crack open another, I have news worth celebrating.’
There was a small folding table in the living room and two chairs. David extended it for all the little cartons and so they could sit comfortably. He found a couple of forks and sat down beside her. They ate hungrily, Frankie relaying the information Mitchell had given her, some unanswered questions still niggling at the edges of her brain. She didn’t bother Stone with them and he didn’t seem to want to talk about Luke either, which she considered slightly worrying.
When they had finished eating, David left the table, stoked the fire again and headed for the sofa. Frankie made coffee, the one item he did have in his otherwise bare larder. ‘Just because this village is called Pauperhaugh, doesn’t mean you must live like one,’ she said as she walked into the living room, a mug in each hand.
‘This is my nan’s place,’ David said.
‘Yours now, I take it.’ She handed him a mug. ‘Did she raise you?’
‘Have you been nosing around while I was asleep?’
‘Force of habit.’ She pointed at the mantelpiece, more especially to the framed photos of two little boys lined up there. ‘I figured that was you and Luke.’ She let her hand drift around the room. ‘And those . . . those and those.’ She laughed. ‘Even my grandma doesn’t have that many embarrassing images on display.’
‘She did a damned sight more than raise us, Frankie.’
Frankie took a seat. She knew his parents were both dead but not the circumstances in which they had died. She felt guilty for not having pressed him on the subject. They had talked about her parents often enough, her old man especially. She seemed to remember mentioning his when he arrived on the scene. He’d sidestepped her questions and she’d backed off, assuming he didn’t want to talk about them. Not everyone was lucky enough to get on with relatives.
‘What happened to your mam and dad?’
‘They went climbing in Glen Coe and never returned. The accident made the national news when it happened. I was six at the time, Luke eight.’
‘And your nan stepped in?’
A smile. ‘Woe betide anyone who’d suggest otherwise.’
‘She did a good job, David.’
‘She was great. You’d have liked her.’
‘Is that her?’
He followed her gaze to the mantelpiece and nodded. ‘That photo is mine. I’ll take the others down when I get around to it. It never seemed important until now. I need to move on, Frank. Can’t live in the past for ever, can I?’
‘Did you see her much after your move south?’
‘Not as often as I’d have liked.’ Another smile.
‘Did I miss something?’
The smile turned to a grin. ‘I’d been planning my last trip for months. Under three weeks to go and I’m carrying on like a big bairn waiting for Santa to hoy himself down the chimney. I loved coming home. It was always a laugh. She had such a great sense of humour, essential if you live here—’
‘It cracks me up, that’s for sure.’ Frankie made a show of looking round the room.
‘Sorry, I shouldn’t have let you come with the house in such a state.’
‘I’m pleased I did.’
‘Why? I’m shit company tonight.’
‘Tonight?’ Frankie grinned. ‘Joking! Give yourself a break, why don’t you? You’ve had a massive shock. Have you checked on Ben?’
‘Not since we dropped him off.’
Frankie stared at him. ‘Don’t you think you should?’
‘He’s not my responsibility.’
‘He’s your nephew and his father died. You don’t need to like him but, given your history, you above all people would understand what that feels like.’
She fell silent and studied him for a while, keen to know more about his past, wanting to ask him why he’d quit the Met and come home; what it was that had prompted the move south in the first place; and what had triggered a meltdown when he first set eyes on Alex Parker.
Anticipating a further exploration into his private life, David changed the subject. Work was always a safer bet. ‘You mentioned Twitter before. What did they have to say?’
‘Nothing. They didn’t get back to me. At the time, I thought it was worth a shot. Makes no difference now Daniel is home. Windy told me to drop it and get on with something else. I’ll have Mitchell cancel the action in the morning.’
He sat back studying her. ‘What was it you wanted my opinion on?’
Frankie had to think on her feet. ‘Windy’s up in arms. Wants to know why we’ve been poking our noses into uniform business. Mitchell said he wants us to reference off the misper job. He’s ordered us to stand down. There’s been a string of serious house burglaries he wants us to investigate. Remote premises. Telephone lines cut. Organised crime, by the sounds of it. Offenders were tooled up, balaclavas, the whole nine yards. They care less if people are at home when they walk in.’<
br />
‘Sounds nasty.’
‘It is.’ Frankie checked her watch. ‘It’s also late, I’d better get going.’
Stone stood at the door waving as she drove away, Frankie watching him in the rear-view mirror. No sign of maudlin. He was going to be all right.
27
Price was so convincing. Tim wanted to put him against the wall and beat the living shit out of him until he told the truth. What the fuck was going on here? There would be questions from Alex today, he could count on it. He’d watched her and Daniel fawning over one another while they got reacquainted, swapping stories of the week she was away, giggling their heads off, whispering conspiratorially, ignoring him. Even Kat got in on the act, calling her nephew, expressing her delight that he was home. Since she’d heard that he was missing, she’d been constantly on the phone. On one occasion, Alex lost her rag, telling her to back off, promising to call her the minute there was news.
Tim couldn’t help feeling left out on a limb, resenting the fact that, for everyone else, the drama was over. For him, it seemed, the nightmare would go on. Using his hands as a vessel, he splashed cold water on his face, trying to shake off the drowsiness he was increasingly feeling. The reflection in the bathroom mirror didn’t please him. He was showing signs of age, losing his looks as well as his grip on reality. He couldn’t remember the last time he’d felt on top of his game.
Their GP had prescribed them both benzodiazepines to get over their loss. Superwoman had only taken hers for a few days to help her sleep, whereas he’d carried on to the point where he became dependent, physically and psychologically. When the doctor wouldn’t give him more, Tim took another course of action and found a man who would. He’d been knocking back pills with alarming regularity ever since, more so in the past six months. Even he could see that his anxiety disorder was out of control. The more he took, the more he needed, until he was doubling up on a combination of drugs and alcohol just to take the edge off.