Gone

by Rebecca Muddiman

  Emma felt a twist in her guts. How could she keep doing these things to him? How could she think it was okay to just walk away from him? From now on things would be different. She would make things right with him. She wouldn’t leave him again.

  ‘I promise,’ she said.

  Chapter 41

  15 December 2010

  Adam was waffling on about the film and Louise made noises agreeing with him but if anyone had asked her what the film was about she wouldn’t have had a clue where to start. The whole thing was a blur, same as the rest of the world over the last few days. Since hearing the news about the body in Blyth she’d been unable to focus on anything else.

  Adam took the shopping bags through to the kitchen and Louise closed the front door. She noticed the scrap of paper sticking out of the letterbox. She pulled it out, tearing it where the paper was soggy.

  She opened the note, tried to make out the scrawl. Please can you call DS Nicola Freeman in Blyth on . . .

  Louise crumpled up the note as Adam came up behind her. ‘What’s that?’ he said.

  ‘Nothing,’ Louise replied. ‘Junk mail.’

  Adam kissed the back of her head. ‘I’m going to get changed,’ he told her. ‘Do you want to eat now?’

  Louise squeezed her hand around the note. How did they know where she was? Did they know that she was involved?

  ‘Lou?’ Adam said.

  She looked up at him. He was waiting for her to answer him. She didn’t even know what the question was.

  ‘What?’ she said.

  ‘Do you want to eat now?’

  Louise nodded and Adam headed upstairs. ‘Stick the oven on, then. I’ll just be a minute.’

  Louise watched him go upstairs. He had no idea. No idea that she’d been keeping secrets from him all this time. No idea what kind of person she’d been – an addict, a whore. If he knew the things she’d done, he would hate her. And he’d have every right. She couldn’t bear it if he found out what she’d done in a past life.

  Chapter 42

  11 November 1999

  The man was in intensive care. Gardner couldn’t stop thinking about him. He checked the time again. Almost 4 a.m.

  He rolled over, desperate to sleep. He could hear the neighbour putting his bin out. God only knew why he did it at four in the morning. Maybe he couldn’t sleep either. He closed his eyes, tried thinking of anything else. Tried counting backwards from a thousand. But all he could see was Wallace, the bloke on the floor, the blood pooling around him.

  Gardner got up and went to the bathroom. Without turning on the light he splashed his face with cold water, gulping it down from his cupped hands. In less than four hours he’d be in front of a panel telling them what’d happened. It wasn’t a thought he relished. And despite what anyone else thought, he wasn’t doing it because it was Wallace. He was doing it because it was the right thing to do. Unfortunately no one else agreed. Out of every copper who was there that day, not one person saw what Gardner had. Course they didn’t. They had the ‘us against them’ mentality. You don’t grass up another copper. To be fair, he never thought he’d grass up another copper. But this was different.

  Gardner leaned against the cold mirror. Maybe he should call in sick. Maybe he should just let it go. Who was going to believe him anyway? The only witness happens to be the one guy who hates Wallace’s guts. There’d be a dozen guys in the office who’d make a statement saying he was out to get Stuart Wallace. Why was he putting himself through it?

  He scrabbled around the bathroom cabinet in the dark, searching for some paracetamol. He thought about the guy in ICU, the pain he must be enduring. He was a kid. Barely twenty-one. And he might’ve been a dealer, might’ve been a scumbag selling drugs to school kids, but he didn’t deserve what Wallace did to him. The law would’ve dealt with him. It wasn’t Wallace’s place. The guy had been so stoned he could barely walk.

  Gardner slammed the cabinet door and stared at himself in the dark. He was doing this for the right reasons. Wallace was out of control.

  He needed to pay for what he’d done.

  Chapter 43

  15 December 2010

  Lucas came out of the pub, fag already lit by the time he was on the pavement. They’d put a heater out there for the smokers but there was more heat coming from the cigarettes. To be honest, he’d rather freeze his bollocks off than listen to Christmas songs any more.

  He’d been wondering how to track down Ben Swales all day. The slapper from the clinic said he’d gone back to Alnwick but Lucas hadn’t found any trace so far. Nothing in the phone book, nothing online. He couldn’t just rock up to Alnwick and expect to find him. But he needed to find him. Needed to find out how much Ben knew. If he’d really left the past behind.

  Lucas stubbed out the cigarette on the wall and tried to decide whether to call it a night when he saw someone staggering up the road, face red from the cold and too much Brown Ale. He didn’t seem to notice Lucas as he walked past.

  ‘Oi, fat fuck,’ Lucas shouted after him and DC Bob McIlroy turned, his eyes finally focusing on Lucas.

  ‘Hey, Lucas,’ McIlroy said, grinning the way only the inebriated can. ‘How’s it going, mate?’

  ‘Not bad. Apart from one of yours giving me stick.’

  McIlroy started laughing. ‘Oh, yeah. You’ve been a naughty boy, haven’t you? Freeman’s got a proper hard-on for you.’

  ‘Yeah, well, she’s got nothing ’cos I haven’t done anything.’

  McIlroy laughed again and slapped Lucas on the back. ‘Pull the other one. It’s got bells on. Christmas bells.’ He turned to walk away, still laughing to himself.

  ‘Hang on,’ Lucas said. ‘I need you to do me a favour.’

  McIlroy shook his head. ‘’Fraid not, mate. That ship has sailed. I’m retiring in a few years. Don’t need none of your problems messing with my pension.’

  ‘It’s just an address,’ Lucas said. ‘Ben Swales.’

  McIlroy kept shaking his head. ‘Not going to happen.’

  Lucas wanted to tell the stupid fat prick that he’d be dead within a year if he didn’t give up the burgers and beer, but he bit his tongue.

  ‘Come on, mate,’ he said.

  McIlroy turned away again. ‘Forget it. Anyway, you said yourself, she’s got nothing. It’ll blow over in a couple of weeks. She’s too busy looking into that other cunt you used to knock about with. Jenny whatshername.’

  ‘Jenny Taylor?’ Lucas said, wondering if McIlroy had noticed the look of panic on his face. Why the fuck were they looking at her too? ‘What’s she got to do with it?’

  McIlroy shrugged. ‘Dunno. Had someone looking for her. Heard her on the phone to that prick Gardner in Middlesbrough.’

  Middlesbrough? A million thoughts ran through his head. Something was almost clicking but he couldn’t quite get it.

  Lucas felt a chill go through him that had nothing to do with the weather. He didn’t want Freeman looking for Jenny Taylor. That would only lead to bad things. Maybe he needed to get to Middlesbrough first. But that’d be like finding Ben in Alnwick. A needle in a haystack.

  McIlroy had started walking away, staggering about, stumbling off the kerb. ‘Happy Christmas, arsehole,’ he shouted over his shoulder.

  Lucas caught up with him and threw an arm around his neck, dragging him into a headlock. McIlroy tried to pull away, eventually pushing Lucas off him. But it’d given him plenty of time to take what he needed. Who knew when a police ID would come in useful?

  Chapter 44

  16 December 2010

  Freeman locked the car and walked towards Ben’s house. She was in a particularly foul mood and didn’t need Ben messing her around again. The case was getting to her. And her dick of a boss was getting to her too, talking to her like she had no idea what she was doing. She may have lacked some focus in the last couple of days but she knew what she was doing. But it wasn’t that that’d caused her mood. When she’d got home the night before she’d found Brian loite
ring in the doorway.

  ‘What do you want?’ she asked and dug out her keys from her bag.

  ‘You haven’t returned my calls,’ Brian said, coming towards her, gym bag thrown over his shoulder.

  ‘Well, there’s a reason for that, Brian. I don’t like you.’ She swiped her key fob and pushed open the heavy door, blocking the way so he couldn’t follow.

  ‘We need to talk,’ he said, pushing his blond hair behind his ear.

  ‘Are you stupid?’ she snapped, spinning around to face him. ‘I told you to leave me alone.’

  Brian grabbed hold of her arm as she tried to walk away. ‘I know you’re pregnant, Nic.’

  Freeman froze, nausea rising again. ‘Excuse me?’

  Brian held up the spare keys she’d given him when she still thought he was worth her time. ‘I went in to get my stuff. You wouldn’t speak to me, so I thought I’d just get my things and go. I saw the pregnancy test in the bin.’

  She didn’t know whether to cry or punch him in the face. ‘You keep a lot of your stuff in the bin, do you?’

  ‘Come on, Nic. Let’s talk about it,’ he said, touching her face. ‘This could be good. For both of us.’

  She removed his hand. ‘You have to be fucking kidding.’

  ‘Nic—’

  ‘Anyway, I’m not pregnant,’ she said. ‘I’ve been to the doctor. The test was wrong.’

  Brian’s face dropped.

  ‘Please don’t come round any more. We’re done,’ Freeman said, and taking the key from him, she slammed the door.

  Freeman kicked the gravel from the path as she approached Ben’s door. Luckily, for both their sakes, he answered straight away. She followed him into the kitchen as she had done a couple of days earlier. She’d started to think he’d skipped town but Williams had called first thing to say she’d driven past and spotted Ben helping his mother into the house. Freeman had relaxed a bit but decided to pay him another visit. His memory had let him down with Emma; she wondered if he recalled Jenny Taylor any better.

  ‘Tea?’ Ben asked as Freeman sat down. She nodded and let him get on with it, wanting his full attention when she asked him about Jenny. He turned back and looked into the mugs as if he’d forgotten what he was doing. Freeman watched him for a few seconds and then intervened. ‘Milk, no sugar,’ she said.

  ‘Yes,’ he said. ‘Yes, of course.’ He opened the fridge and pulled out the milk and poured it into both mugs, then put the mugs on the table in front of her and sat down. ‘It’s cold,’ he said. ‘I thought it might snow again.’

  ‘Yes,’ Freeman said and watched him. He seemed nervous but sat still, now staring into his tea. ‘I wanted to ask you about someone else who came to the clinic. Jenny Taylor.’

  She thought she saw something, a reaction, but Ben kept his head down. He started to lift the mug of tea to his lips but his hand trembled.

  ‘Does that name ring a bell?’ Freeman asked.

  Ben put the mug down and finally looked at her. ‘Yes.’

  She was almost surprised. Thought he might’ve denied knowing her too. Although he’d have to be pretty stupid to do that. And why would he need to, anyway? Jenny hadn’t been murdered and left in a shallow grave.

  ‘You worked with her, tried to help her get off the drugs. Is that right?’

  ‘Yes. For a short time.’

  She waited for him to elaborate.

  ‘I’m sorry,’ he said. ‘What does she have to do with Emma? That’s what you’re investigating, isn’t it?’

  Freeman nodded. ‘I’m trying to find anyone who knew Emma. Who might be able to help me find out what happened. Jenny and Emma were . . . not friends, I suppose, but they knew the same people, hung around together for a while.’

  ‘I didn’t know that,’ Ben said.

  ‘Can you tell me what you do know about Jenny?’

  Ben cleared his throat. ‘She came to the clinic asking for help but she was . . . difficult,’ he said and scratched his ear.

  ‘How do you mean?’ Freeman asked.

  ‘Well, she was . . .’ Ben frowned and looked past Freeman. ‘There were kids who came in who wanted to get clean. Sometimes they hadn’t been using very long, sometimes they’d had something bad happen to them and they wanted out of that world. Usually they were the ones who succeeded.’ He looked back at Freeman. ‘Don’t get me wrong, it was always hard. For all of them. And most of them needed a few attempts before they finally got clean but some of them, some like Jenny, they just seemed wired to be that way. No matter what she said she never seemed to really want out. She’d come to a session and I’d ask why she was there and she didn’t have an answer. You could tell that she’d already made her mind up that that was her life.’

  Freeman shrugged. ‘So why would she bother to go to the clinic in the first place?’

  ‘Who knows? Sometimes they find themselves in terrible situations. They get hurt, see others get hurt. They want out but it doesn’t last. The addiction’s too strong. It wasn’t just Jenny; there were lots of kids, lots of people who’d do the same. The general consensus is that once an addict, always an addict. Whether it’s drugs or alcohol or gambling, whatever. Once you’re in, you’re in. Many people can quit if they work at it but there’s always that temptation, always a chance of relapse.’ He shrugged again. ‘Sometimes people would ask, “Why bother?”’

  ‘And what do you say to those people?’ Freeman asked, her mind drifting to Darren again. He’d sobered up in prison. Fat lot of good it did him in the end.

  ‘Why not?’ He smiled, but Freeman could see the sadness behind it.

  ‘Were you an addict?’

  He gave a sad laugh. ‘No. No I wasn’t. And a lot of people were wary of that, believe me. They’d ask how I could say I understood, how I could know how they felt if I hadn’t been there myself.’

  ‘And how do you?’

  He turned the mug around in his hands. ‘My sister was an addict. I know that doesn’t make me an expert but it gave me an inside perspective. Made me want to help others.’

  Freeman watched him carefully, waited for him to expand. When he was quiet she asked, ‘What happened to her? Your sister. Did she get clean?’

  Ben shook his head. ‘No. She overdosed when she was nineteen.’

  Freeman gave him a gentle smile. Maybe that’d explain his need to help other teenage girls. ‘I’m sorry,’ she said. Ben just nodded and looked into his tea.

  ‘A lot of people who do this job, or who volunteer, are ex-addicts. Often the kids will respond to them more, but I don’t think it’s necessary. Doctors don’t know what it’s like to suffer from all the diseases they heal,’ Ben said.

  ‘Is that how you see yourself? As a healer? Like a doctor?’

  Ben shook his head. ‘No, not really. I’m sorry, that sounded very pretentious, didn’t it? I just meant that you don’t have to have been through an experience to want to help. You don’t need—’ Ben stopped and seemed to struggle with finding the right words.

  Freeman decided to help him. ‘I understand,’ she said, wanting to move on. ‘Let’s get back to Jenny. You said she was difficult, but how was your relationship with her? Did you know her well?’

  ‘No,’ Ben said. ‘I didn’t get to know any of them well. I’m not there to be their friend.’

  ‘Not any of them?’ Freeman asked, thinking about Emma.

  ‘No,’ Ben repeated. ‘You can’t get involved. I don’t think it would end well. There’s a certain intimacy involved sometimes if the client divulges information about their personal life. Some of them see you as a sounding board, often the only person they can talk to . . . but a lot of the time it’s lies.’

  Freeman watched Ben turn his mug in his hands, his tea swilling about. She didn’t like the way he was steering all her questions, making them into generalisations rather than discussing Jenny directly. She wondered if it was a habit borne of his profession – keep things impersonal, don’t discuss the client – or whether he had so
mething to hide. ‘So Jenny told lies?’ she asked.

  He nodded. ‘Yes, I think so. Like I said, she wasn’t really ready for help. She couldn’t be honest with me because she didn’t want to be there.’

  Freeman took out her notebook. ‘Jenny was arrested a couple of times. One was a drugs charge, amphetamines, and the other was for soliciting.’ She looked up at Ben as she said this. He swallowed and gave an almost imperceptible nod. ‘On that second charge, she asked for you to come and pick her up.’

  She watched the muscles in Ben’s jaw work and waited. He nodded again, this time more certain. ‘Yes,’ was all he said.

  ‘Was that usual? For a client to do that? Especially one that you weren’t friends with?’

  Ben shook his head and opened his mouth to speak when his mother shouted from upstairs. ‘Excuse me,’ Ben said and hurried away.

  Freeman sighed. Did his mother have some kind of radar that picked up when Ben was uncomfortable? She could hear muffled voices, movement. She stood up and walked out into the hallway. The place was run-down, hadn’t seen a paintbrush in years. She stuck her head into the living room. There were pictures of angels on the walls, crystals on the mantelpiece. She wondered if they were Ben’s or his mother’s. She guessed at the former. He had the look of an ageing hippie.

  On top of the ancient TV was a framed photo of a teenage girl. His sister, she presumed. Freeman picked up the picture and saw a pretty blonde girl, maybe twelve years old. Before the drugs got her.

  She put the photo back and returned to the kitchen. An image of Darren sprang to mind, playing Nintendo, jumping up and down on the settee, pissed off she was beating him. Ordering a massive pizza when their parents were out. Him eating most of it, far more than a boy of his size should’ve rightfully been able to manage. His short, skinny body, made worse by drink and drugs. She wondered if Darren had come across someone like Ben in prison. Her brother would’ve hated him. Would’ve called him a stupid bloody hippie. She almost laughed. She missed him. Wished things had been different. That she’d made different choices. That he’d made different choices.