Gone

by Rebecca Muddiman

  ‘It’s Emma, isn’t it?’

  She stopped and looked up and down the street, as if she shouldn’t be there. Or at least not with him.

  ‘I met you the other day, didn’t I?’ Lucas said. ‘With Tomo.’

  Emma nodded but kept her eyes on her feet.

  ‘Do you want a drink?’

  She shook her head. He stepped a little closer and she finally looked at him properly. ‘Come on. You can’t stay out here by yourself. All sorts of scumbags out here. Come on,’ he said again. ‘Just one drink and then I’ll walk you home. Promise.’ He smiled and he could see her soften. ‘Good girl,’ he said.

  They sat in the back. Every time someone headed their way he warned them off with a glare. The shop was closed. By her third drink she still hadn’t said much, but she’d smiled.

  ‘Give us a triple this time,’ Lucas said to Tony, before looking back at her. ‘Fucking cunt,’ he muttered and walked back to their table. Jenny was standing over Emma, up in her face.

  ‘You fucking get me?’ Jenny screamed and Emma nodded. Lucas grabbed hold of Jenny from behind and dragged her away, pushing her against the fruit machine. Her hair fell over her face, blonde but not like Emma’s. Jenny’s was bleached. Dirty.

  ‘Talk to her again and I’ll smash your fucking ugly face in,’ Lucas said, his face an inch from hers. He shoved her away and walked back to Emma. ‘You all right?’

  Emma nodded but he could see it was time to go. ‘Sorry about her. She’s a proper psycho.’ Lucas held out his hand to her. ‘Come on,’ he said. Emma stood up and took hold of it. He led her out, past Jenny, who glared at them but didn’t say a word.

  Outside, the cold air made her face flush. She stumbled as the effects of the alcohol hit her and he held on to her hand tighter. ‘Come on, we’ll go back to mine. It’s closer,’ he said.

  Chapter 3

  13 December 2010

  Lucas stood on the corner of the street, looking at the house. He’d wondered if there’d be reporters hanging around, but if there had been any they’d all gone home. And who could blame them? It was freezing. The street was empty except for a little old woman walking a dog that looked almost as old as her. Not much had changed in the last eleven years. Nothing ever did around here. People had no money then, they probably had even less now. The place was a dump. Rusting cars resting on bricks and piles of junk cluttering the front gardens. The houses were a mismatch of styles and sizes. Too many were pebble-dashed in some fit of insanity by the builders. At least it was quiet now. When he’d been here back in the day, back when he’d been watching Emma, all the scruffy kids were out causing trouble, making the place unbearable. Asking him for tabs or to go to the offy for them. They did his head in. These days they all stayed inside.

  He remembered standing in the exact same place all those years ago, waiting for her to come out. Seeing her looking at him from the window upstairs, knowing he was watching her. He’d enjoyed the way it made him feel.

  He’d questioned coming back today. But he needed to know if her dad would recognise him. If he’d be able to start pointing fingers when the cops came round. They’d never actually met. But he’d stood outside so many times that it was possible her dad had seen his face.

  Lucas stared at the house. He wondered if it would be the same inside. If Emma’s room would be the same. Perfectly preserved. He’d only been in a couple of times. Once when her dad was out. Once when they were both out. He’d gone into her room. Lay down on her bed. Done what any man would do in the bed of a teenage girl. He’d always wondered how she’d felt when she found it.

  The old woman with the dog finally shuffled her way past him and he crossed the street. More than needing to know if the old man recognised him, he needed to go inside, needed to see her things.

  He straightened his tie and thought about taking it off. Emma’s dad wouldn’t expect one of his daughter’s friends to be that respectable, would he? She was a junkie, a loser. But it was too late now. He’d already knocked. He tapped his feet as he waited, and watched as a figure emerged from somewhere in the gloom of the house and approached the door, disfigured by the glass. Lucas took a breath and put on his game face as the door opened.

  An old man stood hunched in the doorway, dressed in brown polyester trousers and a beige cardigan. Lucas didn’t know what he’d been expecting but it wasn’t this. Not a red-faced pensioner with last week’s tea crusted onto his shirt.

  Ray Thorley looked at Lucas expectantly. Maybe he thought he was police.

  ‘Mr Thorley?’

  ‘Yes. Is it about my Emma? Is there news?’ he said.

  Lucas smiled at the old man and stepped forward. ‘May I come in?’

  Ray stepped back and ushered Lucas in. ‘Have you heard something?’ he said as he closed the door.

  Lucas walked through into the living room and took in all the pictures of the girl he used to fuck. ‘May I sit down?’ Lucas asked as he took a seat. Ray continued to stand, waiting for him to speak. ‘Mr Thorley, I just wanted to offer my condolences—’

  Ray slumped down into his chair and made a noise as if the life were slipping out of him. ‘So it is her,’ he said.

  A heat rushed through Lucas’s body. The police weren’t sure it was Emma. Was that a good thing? The news hadn’t confirmed things but he’d assumed the police were just holding back. Keeping their cards close to their chest. But maybe they really didn’t know. Maybe they wouldn’t be knocking on his door after all.

  Lucas looked at Ray Thorley. He was staring, waiting for a response. ‘I think you misunderstand. I just came to offer my condolences. I was a friend of Emma’s. A long time ago. When I heard I was so upset.’

  Ray pointed at Lucas with a shaky hand. ‘You’re not a policeman?’

  ‘No,’ Lucas said. ‘You don’t remember me?’

  ‘I’m sorry, son, I don’t,’ Ray said, searching Lucas’s face.

  Lucas held back his grin. ‘I was friends with Emma. Knew her from school.’

  ‘Oh,’ Ray said. ‘Of course.’

  Lucas sat forward. ‘I’m very sorry, Mr Thorley.’ He stood. ‘Would you mind if I used your toilet?’

  Ray nodded and pointed in the vague direction of the stairs. Lucas closed the living room door behind him and climbed the stairs. The sign on the door of the bedroom caught his eye.

  EMMA’S ROOM. KEEP OUT!

  It was one of those tacky signs bought from a souvenir shop in a crappy holiday town – Whitley Bay or Scarborough. He remembered seeing it all those years ago. She was embarrassed by it. It was loose on one corner where she’d tried to pull it off. Lucas pushed open the bedroom door and went inside. Nothing had changed except for a hint of mustiness, the way the box of Christmas decorations smells when you get them out of the loft. The smell of her cheap body spray was long gone.

  Lucas sat down on the bed. He remembered touching her. How she’d pulled away from him, scared her dad would come home, scared he’d hear. She thought she was a bad girl but she couldn’t quite follow through.

  He looked at the headboard. Still covered in stickers of the Spice Girls and Take That. Some half peeled away when her tastes had changed. He could still see her huddled against it, wondering if she’d made a mistake saying she wanted to leave it all behind.

  Lucas walked to the window and looked down the street. It was raining again, a cold sleet, coming down almost horizontal. He opened a box on the windowsill, full of jewellery and loose change. He rummaged around and pulled out a familiar silver locket. The one she’d rejected. He wrapped it around his fingers before slipping it into his pocket.

  He could hear movement downstairs. Closing the jewellery box, he slipped out of the room and headed back down to Emma’s father, who was standing by the fireplace, holding a photo of the family on holiday. He seemed oblivious to Lucas’s return.

  Lucas cleared his throat and Ray turned. ‘I’m sorry to have bothered you,’ he said.

  Ray shook his head. ‘All thi
s time and I never thought she was dead. I thought I’d know. I’d feel it here,’ he said, moving a shaky hand to his chest. He drifted off and looked at the clock above the fireplace. Lucas glanced at the clock and realised it bore no resemblance to the actual time. He wondered how long to let the old man talk before leaving. ‘Even when he didn’t come, I thought maybe—’

  ‘He?’ Lucas said. Had Emma found someone else?

  Ray frowned, his train of thought gone.

  ‘You said when he didn’t come.’ Lucas waited for the old man to recall his words, convinced the old guy was batty.

  Ray nodded and pointed at Lucas again with his unsteady hand. ‘Yes. The man who came before. He’d come and tell me my Emma was okay. He helped her out.’

  ‘Who?’ Lucas asked.

  ‘He’d come and tell me she was doing okay and would be back soon. He was nice, a friendly sort. He’d tell me not to worry. I thought she’d gone like the first time, but he brought a letter from her. I don’t know.’ Ray looked around as if trying to place where he’d put it. ‘And then the last time . . . I waited and waited and I started to think something bad could’ve happened but I didn’t feel it. I thought I would but I didn’t. I always thought—’

  ‘Who was he? The man who came?’

  ‘Oh, I . . .’ Ray shook his head and tapped his fingers on his lips. ‘Oh, what was his name? Damn and blast. I should remember.’ He shook his head again. ‘He came from the clinic. He was helping her with her problem.’

  Lucas felt something stir inside him. He’d been there, at her house. Where else had he been? What else did he know?

  Ray shook his head again, trying to shake free the memory. Lucas offered Ray his hand. ‘Again, I’m very sorry about your daughter,’ Lucas said, and Ray thanked him. With obvious effort he walked Lucas to the door. Lucas said goodbye and walked down the path.

  ‘Ben!’ Ray shouted behind him. Lucas turned. ‘The man from the clinic. His name was Ben.’

  But Lucas already knew who he meant. Knew the prick who’d been hanging around Emma like a bad smell, trying to get between them. But how much did he actually know?

  Maybe it was time to get reacquainted with Ben.

  Chapter 4

  13 December 2010

  Gardner closed one eye and aimed the small paper ball at DC Don Murphy. To be fair, you didn’t need to be a sharpshooter to hit the target. He was big enough. But the rules were clear: one point for the gut (easy target), two for the forehead, and three for the mouth. Gardner was going for the money shot. He let go of the paper and watched it sail across the office, landing right in Murphy’s open mouth. Murphy coughed and sat up straight. Gardner raised his arms in victory and DC Carl Harrington tried to claim cheating. PC Dawn Lawton looked up from the corner, smiling at Murphy’s angry bear impression before getting her head back down to whatever she was doing. At least someone was working. Usually Gardner would be the one telling Murphy to get off his lazy backside and do some work but to tell the truth, there was nothing doing. Sure there was paperwork, chasing up a few loose ends, but nothing to really do. He couldn’t decide if he wanted to jinx it by mentioning it or not.

  ‘I could go to HR about this,’ Murphy said and shuffled off towards the kettle.

  ‘I do believe I’m winning by ten points,’ Gardner said to Harrington.

  ‘Nine,’ he said.

  ‘Whatever. I’m still kicking your arse.’

  The phone rang and Harrington picked it up. There was nothing like a sore loser. Gardner wondered what Lawton was up to. The last big case they’d had was a missing teenage girl who’d told her separated parents she was staying at the other’s house for the weekend and had then run off with a teacher. There’d been nothing to suggest the girl had been forced into anything but she was only fourteen. Everything since then had been straightforward, solved in a couple of days. Nothing to get his teeth into. He supposed he should be grateful. After a case like Abby Henshaw’s, which had taken over five years of his life, he should’ve been pleased when things were sorted out so quickly.

  Gardner leaned back in his chair, the high from his win wearing off. He needed to stop thinking about Abby Henshaw. They hadn’t spoken for weeks. Months, maybe. He’d done his job; it was time to move on. And he was trying.

  In a moment of madness he’d signed up for online dating. He’d spent hours tinkering with his profile and drank more than should be necessary in order to send it into the world. He wondered whether admitting to being a copper was a good idea. Or if lying about hobbies would be considered breach of contract. He did have a mountain bike. He just never used it. But he definitely regretted putting the photo on, despite, or maybe because of, the man in the picture being almost a decade younger than he was. To be fair, that was less about vanity than the fact no one had taken his picture in almost a decade. He’d panicked afterwards that someone he knew might see it, might find out what a loser he was, but he guessed if they were on there too they must be as sad as him.

  And though he’d had no luck so far (it’d only been three weeks), in that the sole response he’d had was from someone who listed knitting hats for her cat as her only hobby, it was almost addictive checking his inbox. He was itching to check again but the last thing he needed was anyone in the office finding out what he was up to. Least of all Carl Harrington. He would never live it down. He’d have to transfer somewhere else.

  ‘Oi,’ Harrington said, holding up the phone. ‘For you. A DS Freeman from Blyth.’

  For a moment everything stopped. Gardner felt like the whole office was staring at him. Waiting for a response. How could one little word – the B word – feel like a punch in the guts?

  His own phone started to ring and Harrington indicated he should pick it up. But without wanting to sound like a five-year-old, he didn’t want to and no one could make him. He didn’t want to talk to anyone from Blyth. He didn’t want to get involved.

  The phone kept ringing and now people were staring. Gardner snatched up the phone.

  ‘Gardner,’ he said. DS Freeman introduced herself and Gardner recalled the name from the news. He knew what she wanted, he just didn’t know what he could do to help. If he’d had any ideas about Emma Thorley he would’ve found her eleven years ago.

  When she’d exhausted every avenue, DS Freeman finally hung up and Gardner released the breath he’d been holding. He could see Harrington lurking, waiting for round two, but suddenly he didn’t feel in the mood.

  He clicked onto the BBC website and found the story about the body in Blyth. They still hadn’t confirmed it was Emma Thorley but Freeman had suggested it was looking that way. She must have been there all along. Lying in those woods while he’d told her father that Emma would come back when she was ready. Like she had before.

  He wondered what would be better: that it was Emma Thorley so her father could finally have some closure after all these years. Or that it wasn’t her, that there was still hope.

  If only he hadn’t been so caught up with his own shit, then he wouldn’t have failed her all those years ago.

  Chapter 5

  12 July 1999

  DC Gardner tried not to let his impatience show as Ray Thorley dug around in an old biscuit tin, searching for photographs of his daughter.

  ‘There must be a more recent one than this,’ Ray said, sifting through memories of holidays in caravans and birthdays defined by cakes.

  Gardner looked at the half-dozen pictures of Emma her father had already handed over. Most were a couple of years old. Emma aged thirteen or fourteen – smiling more than most teenagers do in photos with their parents. The girl in the picture was pretty but looked young for her age.

  ‘This one was last year,’ Ray said, handing over another picture. Gardner took it from the man and noticed the happiness levels were down a little. Emma sat beside her mum on a hospital bed, clutching her hand.

  ‘Thank you,’ Gardner said and put the collection down on the coffee table in front of him. ‘Mr Thorley,
I wanted to ask you about Emma’s boyfriend again. Lucas Yates.’

  ‘He wasn’t her boyfriend,’ Ray snapped. ‘I’m sorry. But that boy was not her boyfriend.’

  ‘Okay. But she did stay with him, didn’t she? The first time you reported her missing in . . . February. That’s where she went. Is that correct?’

  Ray gave a quick nod. ‘But she’s not with him now, if that’s what you’re thinking.’

  ‘What makes you so sure?’ Gardner asked.

  ‘Because she wasn’t seeing him any more. She can’t stand him. He hurt her.’

  ‘How did he hurt her?’

  ‘I don’t know,’ Ray said, his voice catching, his eyes welling up. ‘She wouldn’t talk to me about things like that. It was always her mum she talked to. But I know my Emma and she wouldn’t have gone off with him again. She wasn’t a stupid girl.’

  Gardner felt for the man, he truly did. He’d not long lost his wife and then his daughter had gone off the rails. But grief had made Ray Thorley blind.

  ‘Mr Thorley, Emma had problems with drugs, didn’t she?’

  ‘Not any more. She stopped all that.’

  ‘Okay. But it’s not always easy to just stop. Perhaps she was using again and Lucas Yates is a known dealer—’

  ‘No!’ Ray Thorley closed his eyes, shutting Gardner out. Gardner waited a few minutes before standing. No matter what her father thought, he knew the best way to find Emma was to find Lucas Yates. So far he’d had no luck with that, but he’d turn up eventually. Come out from beneath whichever rock he was hiding under.

  Emma Thorley needed help. That was a certainty. It just wasn’t the kind of help her father imagined.

  He watched Ray Thorley sit there, head in hands, refusing to listen to reason. It was pointless. They could sit there all night, going round in circles. He’d keep looking for Yates but it’d have to wait until tomorrow. He was tired. All he wanted to do was go home and chill out.