Gone

by Rebecca Muddiman

  ‘Thank you, Ray,’ Freeman said. ‘You’ve been very helpful. I’ll be in touch.’

  Freeman got back in her car, hands frozen from just the short walk from the house. She dialled Lloyd.

  ‘All right, boss,’ he said.

  ‘I need you to find a number for me. Diane Royle. I’ve got no idea if she’s still local but you could try her dad, Frank Royle. Apparently he’s still living by the hospital.’

  ‘Okay,’ Lloyd replied. ‘Who’s this, then? Another smackhead?’

  Ignoring his comment, she asked, ‘How’re you getting on with Jenny Taylor? Emma’s dad’s never heard of her.’

  ‘Still working on it, boss.’

  ‘Let me know when you’ve got it,’ she said. ‘And if Routledge’s asking for me, I’m going to see Ben Swales. Just like he asked.’

  Chapter 20

  15 July 1999

  ‘Take a seat,’ Gardner said and Lucas Yates slunk into the chair. The last thing he wanted to be doing this morning was talking to some smug little shit about a girl who’d probably show up in a couple of days anyway. But here they were. His head was pounding and Yates was pissing him off already. He really wished he hadn’t finished off that bottle of vodka the night before.

  ‘Where’s Emma?’ Gardner said.

  Yates looked up at Gardner; his eyes creased as if he were staring into the sun. ‘Emma who?’

  Gardner dragged out the chair opposite Yates and sank into it. ‘Emma Thorley.’

  Yates shrugged. ‘Don’t know,’ he said and pulled his pack of cigarettes from his pocket. Gardner just stared at him and Yates grinned, turning the box round and round in his hand.

  ‘When was the last time you saw her?’

  Yates shrugged slowly. ‘Who knows?’ He smiled again, showing his crooked teeth, and Gardner wanted to reach over and punch them down his throat. Yates wasn’t the most obnoxious person he’d sat across from in this room – he’d have to go some to win that title – but he’d chosen the wrong day to piss Gardner about.

  ‘Emma was living with you for about a month in February. That right?’

  ‘Yeah. And?’

  ‘Is she living with you now?’ Gardner asked.

  ‘No.’

  ‘You mind if we check your flat?’

  Yates’ jaw clenched. ‘You got a warrant?’

  ‘No,’ Gardner said, slowly. ‘I’m asking your permission.’

  ‘And I’m telling you she’s not there,’ Yates said, each word slower than the last.

  ‘Prick.’ Gardner stood up and went to the door.

  ‘Can I go?’

  ‘No,’ Gardner said and slammed the door behind him. He’d already spoken to Ben Swales that morning and he’d pretty much agreed with him that the most likely place to find Emma was with Lucas Yates. Yes, she’d tried to get off the drugs, but according to Swales it hadn’t gone as well as Ray Thorley had suggested.

  He squeezed his eyes shut and prayed for the hammering in his head to stop. When he opened his eyes he saw PC Griffin walking towards him. ‘Any luck?’ he asked.

  Griffin shook his head. ‘Nothing.’

  Gardner sighed. He knew full well that Yates wasn’t going to let them into his flat without a fight. Hence bringing him in for a while so that Griffin could go and take a look unhindered. It was worth a try. And just because she wasn’t there right now didn’t mean she hadn’t been with him at all.

  ‘Thanks anyway,’ Gardner said and headed back to the interview room to let the little shit go.

  Lucas watched the door to the interview room open but instead of DC Gardner, with his face like thunder, it was DS Stuart Wallace and his fat little sidekick McIlroy.

  ‘All right, Lucas,’ Wallace said, and checked the corridor before closing the door behind him. Wallace was a prick. Thought he was a clever bastard, playing both sides, but he’d made himself useful once or twice before. ‘I heard you were darkening our doors again,’ Wallace said, resting one foot on Gardner’s vacated chair while he pulled a pack of gum from his pocket. ‘Hope you’ve not been a naughty boy, Lucas.’

  Lucas glared at Wallace. He’d tell him to piss off but he wanted to see how it played out. See what Wallace could do for him.

  ‘Has our DC Gardner been giving you a hard time? You want me to sort him out?’ Wallace looked at McIlroy and they giggled like kids.

  Lucas sighed. ‘What do you want, Wallace?’

  ‘Nothing,’ Wallace said, standing up straight again. ‘I just thought I’d come in and say hello, see if I could be of assistance, but if you’re going to be like that . . .’ Wallace shrugged and walked back to the door. McIlroy was still standing there, folded arms resting on his gut.

  ‘What do you know about Emma Thorley?’ Lucas asked.

  Wallace frowned, as if he were trying to get his brain into gear. ‘Not a lot to know. Missing junkie. Gone for a week or something. Why? You know her? One of your slappers, is she?’

  Lucas shrugged. ‘So that’s it? Just a missing person. Nothing else going on?’

  ‘No. Why, you got something you want to tell me, Lucas? A dirty little secret?’

  Lucas just glared at him and Wallace laughed. ‘Chill out, mate. Just kidding. Don’t worry about it. There’s nothing to this. Heard Gardner talking to the boss. Reckons she’ll turn up in a few days, always does.’

  The door opened and Gardner looked even more pissed off than when he’d left.

  ‘What the fuck are you doing in here?’ he asked Wallace and McIlroy.

  ‘Just talking about our love lives,’ McIlroy said and winked at Lucas before walking out. Lucas watched as Gardner’s face reddened, his fingers curling into fists. He could hear Wallace whistling down the corridor. Tuneless git.

  ‘You. Out,’ Gardner said and Lucas wondered what he’d missed. But he didn’t need telling twice. He walked past Gardner, waiting to be escorted out of the building. Instead Gardner slammed the door behind him, leaving Lucas wondering what the fuck had just happened.

  Chapter 21

  14 December 2010

  Freeman headed for Alnwick and turned on the stereo. Bikini Kill came on, blasting out ‘White Boy’. She turned it off and switched to the radio. She didn’t need to fuel her anger, she needed to think. She found Radio 2 and listened to someone being interviewed about something or other and let her mind wander. Wondering what Ben Swales would say when she showed up at his door.

  She pulled up outside the address she had for Ben. There was an old car on the drive, even crappier than hers. Freeman looked at the house. It was nothing special, just an ordinary semi, but she’d bet it’d cost a lot more than the same kind of houses at home. She could barely afford to rent the piece of crap she was living in, so how did Ben Swales afford this? She couldn’t imagine drug counselling paid that well.

  There didn’t seem to be any lights on in the house but she couldn’t be sure. The house across the street was lit up like Vegas with dozens of flashing Santas and reindeer, so much so that the houses on Ben’s side probably didn’t need to bother with their own lights throughout December.

  She got out of the car, walked up the drive and knocked on the front door. After a minute or so a light came on in the hall and a figure emerged at the door. Freeman could hear a key turning in a lock and whoever was on the other side was pulling on the door, trying to un-jam it. She considered pushing from her side to speed things up but instead stood and waited, hoping her feet wouldn’t freeze completely.

  The door finally opened and a man stood there with a tea towel slung over his shoulder and a pair of what Freeman called ‘granddad slippers’ on his feet. His hair, or what was left of it, was a reddish colour and it looked like he cut it himself. She had a sudden image in her head that this was what Brian would look like in fifteen years’ time. The thought of her being there with him, in her own granny slippers, being run ragged by a herd of kids, made her feel ill.

  ‘Yes?’ he said.

  ‘Ben Swales?’

 
; ‘Yes.’

  Freeman showed him her ID. ‘I’m DS Freeman. Can I come in?’

  Ben swallowed and nodded. He stepped back and allowed Freeman in before turning to the door and trying to coax it back into the door frame. He managed to get it closed and smiled nervously at Freeman. He showed her through to the kitchen and tossed the towel onto the table. He hadn’t even asked why she was there.

  ‘I’m sorry, I was just washing up.’ He looked around and gathered two mugs from the drainer. ‘Please, take a seat. Can I get you a drink?’

  Freeman didn’t usually bother with cups of tea when she went into people’s homes, but she was so cold that she couldn’t refuse the offer.

  ‘Thank you, tea would be great,’ she said and Ben turned away from her to boil the kettle. Freeman sat down and dropped her bag on the floor beside the table.

  From upstairs a woman’s voice called his name. Freeman turned towards the sound.

  ‘I’m sorry,’ he said. ‘That’s my mother. I’ll be right back.’ He walked out of the kitchen and Freeman listened to him go up the stairs. She could hear him moving around, the floorboards creaking, and the muffled sound of voices. A few minutes later Ben walked back in and finished making the tea.

  ‘I’m sorry,’ he said. ‘She’s confined to bed. She can be needy.’

  ‘It must be difficult. Do you have any help to care for her?’

  He shook his head. ‘No, it’s just me.’

  ‘What about work?’ Freeman asked.

  ‘I gave up a couple of years ago when she took a turn for the worse. I do the occasional day if I can get someone to watch her but it’s a rarity now.’

  Ben poured the water and looked at Freeman over his shoulder. She thought he was going to ask about milk and sugar.

  ‘Sorry, can I ask what this is about?’ he said.

  ‘Oh, sorry,’ Freeman replied. ‘I’m investigating a possible murder. I’m just trying to speak to anyone who knew the victim.’ Ben’s face was blank. ‘Have you seen the news? A body was found in Blyth.’

  ‘No. I haven’t seen anything.’

  ‘Right. Well, I’m sorry to inform you, but we think it’s probably Emma Thorley.’

  She saw Ben stiffen, and waited. ‘I’m sorry,’ he said. ‘I don’t know her.’

  Freeman stared at Ben. Now this was interesting. She knew for a fact he was lying. She just didn’t know why. Ben waited. His face remained impassive.

  ‘You don’t know her?’ Freeman asked.

  Ben shook his head. ‘I don’t recognise the name. Should I?’

  Freeman suddenly felt like there was more to Ben Swales than met the eye. He was hiding something.

  ‘You don’t know Emma Thorley?’

  She saw him swallow but he still shook his head and smiled gently. ‘I’m afraid not.’

  Freeman acted surprised. ‘Oh,’ she said.

  Ben let out a nervous laugh. ‘Is something wrong?’ He scratched his cheek, his face reddening again.

  ‘Emma Thorley was an addict, went missing a couple of times. This is going back a bit. ’99. Her father filed reports. Only the second time he retracted it after he was informed that his daughter was safe.’

  Ben took a sip of his tea and Freeman noticed his hands shake slightly.

  ‘Her father said that it was you who came to tell him she was okay,’ Freeman said and stared at Ben.

  ‘Me?’ He shook his head and stumbled over his words. ‘I don’t recall that.’ He swallowed again. ‘He thought it was me?’

  ‘Yes,’ Freeman said.

  Ben rubbed the side of his face and raised his eyebrows. ‘Maybe I did. I don’t remember it, but maybe.’

  ‘He seemed to think you visited him on a couple of occasions. Surely you’d remember that? Also, another police officer questioned you after Emma Thorley disappeared for good. A couple of months after you’d visited her dad. You thought maybe she’d started using again and took off.’

  Ben stared at Freeman like a rabbit caught in the headlights. ‘I . . . yes.’

  ‘Yes? Yes you remember now, or yes, you think you would remember?’

  ‘Yes. I remember something about a girl. I helped a girl who was being abused. By her ex-boyfriend, I think? She left town and I passed on a message for her.’

  Freeman tilted her head. ‘It’s all flooding back now,’ she said.

  ‘I remember saying I’d tell her father but I don’t recall visiting him often. And her name. I don’t remember that. It doesn’t seem familiar. It was a long time ago.’

  ‘Yes. Eleven years. You think you’d remember being questioned by the police, though.’ Freeman watched Ben carefully. Why would he deny knowing Emma?

  ‘I’m sorry,’ Ben said. ‘I can’t believe I forgot about that.’

  ‘No,’ replied Freeman. ‘You’d think it’d stick in your memory.’

  If Ben caught the sarcasm he didn’t show it. He swilled his tea, taking a moment, and then looked up at Freeman.

  ‘I’m sorry, Detective Freeman, but I really didn’t remember her name,’ he said and looked down at the floor. She noticed him looking at her bag, realising it was open, the paper bag from the chemist’s lurking at the top, sharing her secrets. She nudged the bag closed with her foot and Ben looked away, embarrassed.

  Freeman watched Ben. Something was wrong here. The man clearly knew more than he was letting on; had clearly known Emma Thorley quite well. Freeman looked closely at Ben Swales. What did he know? What was his part in all this? He tried to hold her stare but after a few seconds his eyes dropped back to the table. He chewed his lip and Freeman could’ve sworn he was about to speak, but the call from upstairs stopped him.

  ‘Ben!’ his mother shouted. Ben blinked and looked at Freeman.

  ‘Excuse me,’ he said and scurried away.

  Freeman listened to the muffled exchange and heard movement. She wondered who was really up there. She knew it was ridiculous but she couldn’t help it. She walked out into the hall and listened at the bottom of the stairs. She couldn’t quite make out what was being said. She climbed the stairs and stood in the doorway of the first room. Ben was helping an elderly lady out of bed, and being criticised for not doing it right. The old woman caught her eye and cried out. Ben spun around and Freeman felt her face burn.

  ‘Sorry,’ she said. ‘Could I use your toilet?’

  Ben stared at her for a little too long before nodding. ‘Down there,’ he said and pointed to the end of the hall.

  Freeman heard Ben trying to placate his mother as she closed the bathroom door. She knew she wasn’t going to get anything else from him. Not yet anyway. Besides, she was exhausted. She made use of the toilet while she was there and came out to find Ben waiting for her.

  ‘I’m sorry, my mother needs her bath,’ he said.

  Freeman nodded. ‘That’s all right; I need to head back anyway.’ She looked at Ben and the relief seemed to wash across his face. She pulled a card from her pocket and handed it over. ‘If you think of anything you want to tell me, that’s my number.’

  Ben stared at the card and looked as if he might speak again but instead tucked it into his pocket and nodded at her. She waited, hoping he’d change his mind, but he turned and walked down the stairs to the front door. ‘I’m sorry I couldn’t be more helpful,’ he said.

  The rush of cold air hit Freeman and she was almost tempted to ask if she could bunk there for the night. But she stepped outside, shoved her hands into her pockets and turned back to Ben. ‘I’ll probably need to speak to you again,’ she said. He just nodded.

  Freeman walked to her car.

  ‘Goodnight,’ she heard Ben call after her and as she opened her car door Ben struggled to close his before turning off the light.

  Freeman turned the heaters on. She knew she’d be back to speak to Ben again. She just wasn’t sure if time would make Ben more likely to talk or just give him a chance to sort out his story. At least one thing was certain. He wasn’t a flight risk. Not with his mot
her up there.

  Freeman waited until her hands warmed up and then pulled away, wishing she hadn’t come to Alnwick. Partly because she barely had the energy to drive home, but mostly because it had given her more questions than answers.

  Like why had Ben denied knowing Emma? What possible reason could he have? His old boss had suggested he was a bit too involved with some of his clients. But could he have had something to do with Emma’s murder?

  Chapter 22

  4 March 1999

  Emma sat, knees to her chest, on the cold floor. He hadn’t just locked her into the flat this time; he’d locked her into the bedroom. She shouldn’t have said she wanted to leave, to go home. She’d pissed him off. More than ever.

  She could’ve sat on the bed, could’ve tried to sleep, to pass the time unconsciously. But the sheets smelt of him and she knew she would never sleep. She rarely did these days. Always on guard, always waiting for the next time.

  She could’ve moved to the other side of the room to where the radiator was, but what was the point? It was never on. And the window was useless. Too far up to climb out. Too far away for people to see her. As if anyone would care. As if anyone would help her. She wasn’t Rapunzel.

  Her legs ached from staying in one position so long. But she didn’t dare move. She was cold. She needed the toilet. Every so often she wished he’d just come back so at least she could stop thinking about it, about what would happen when he did. At least it would be over for another day.

  She could hear a TV next door. A laughter track. A dog barking. Maybe that was outside.

  And then she heard the key in the door. The scrape of the door across whatever the postman had left. Probably more junk mail. Nothing good came here.

  She pushed herself further into the corner. She could hear him in the kitchen. He’d bought more bottles, she could hear them clinking into the fridge. He was taking his time. She wondered what today would bring. It was giro day. Probably already spent. But money wasn’t a problem for him. Never was. He’d told her they’d go away together when she first moved in. She knew that wasn’t going to happen now. He’d never leave Blyth. Neither of them would.