Gone

by Rebecca Muddiman

  ‘Couple of years back. I was diagnosed with cancer. Wanted to see her,’ Malcolm said. ‘Hired a private investigator.’

  ‘But he didn’t find her?’

  Angie and Malcolm looked at each other and Lucas saw a flash of anger in Malcolm’s eyes. He didn’t want to push too hard. But if there was any chance of finding out what he needed to know, he had to try.

  ‘Bloody cowboy,’ Malcolm said. ‘Paid him a fortune for him to piss about, driving around the country finding any old girl called Jenny Taylor. Some of them weren’t even the right age. One was a bloody pensioner, virtually.’

  Angie looked like she was going to argue with that point but thought better of it. She turned her attention back to Lucas.

  ‘He wasn’t very good,’ she said. ‘But to be fair, he did find a few Jennys with the right date of birth. Just not our Jenny.’

  ‘Who was the investigator?’ Lucas asked.

  Malcolm shook his head. ‘Johnny Bloody Cowboy,’ he said and Angie rolled her eyes.

  ‘He was called Lawrence. I can’t remember his first name,’ she said.

  Lucas nodded. ‘How did you get hold of him? Did someone recommend him? The police?’

  Malcolm snorted. ‘No one in their right mind would recommend that idiot. Least of all the police, if they were any good at their jobs.’

  ‘We never went to the police,’ Angie said. ‘It was too late by then. She’d been gone so long you lot wouldn’t have listened.’

  Lucas caught the look out of the corner of his eye. In one brief second all the blame and hatred Malcolm seemed to have stored up was directed at his wife. It was her fault they hadn’t looked for Jenny sooner. Lucas almost smiled; they reminded him of his own parents. Lovely couple.

  ‘You still have his number?’ Lucas asked.

  ‘No,’ Angie said and Lucas wondered what was the point of coming. True, he knew that Freeman didn’t get anything from them, but then neither had he.

  ‘Show him the folder,’ Malcolm said.

  Lucas watched as Angie stood and smoothed down her skirt. She walked over to a low cabinet and slid open a door, pulling out a flimsy folder. As she took her seat across from Lucas she opened the file and handed him the loose papers from inside. As he took them, a photo fluttered to the floor. Lucas bent and picked it up. It showed a young woman maybe in her early twenties, though it was hard to say. You could barely make out her features as the photo was taken from a distance.

  Malcolm leaned over. ‘That’s what we were paying for,’ he said and slumped back into his chair.

  Lucas looked back at the sheets of paper in his hand and his heart raced. Suddenly he was back in the game.

  ‘Did you show this to DS Freeman?’ Lucas asked, crossing his fingers and toes.

  ‘No,’ Angie said. ‘She never asked.’

  Lucas nodded and his eyes skimmed the sheets of paper.

  He knew he’d struck gold.

  Chapter 48

  16 December 2010

  ‘I lied to you yesterday,’ Ben admitted. ‘When I said I didn’t know Emma.’

  ‘I know that already,’ Freeman told him.

  Ben sighed. ‘It was only because I was trying to protect her.’

  ‘Whatever it is you know, you have to tell me. Do you know what happened to Emma?’

  ‘No,’ Ben said. He stared at her as if he was weighing up whether to spill.

  Freeman listened to the noise of the TV upstairs. ‘What would happen to your mother if you went to prison, Ben?’

  ‘What do you mean?’ Ben said, his voice unsteady.

  ‘Well, you’re acting like someone with something to hide and if you don’t start telling me everything you know I’m going to assume it’s because you’re involved in this somehow. So again I ask: what would happen to your mother if you went to prison?’ It was a low trick. She didn’t have anything on him. But he was pissing her off.

  She heard him let out a long sigh. ‘Emma came to me one day. She’d been to the clinic, she’d stopped using. But she came to me for help with something else.’ He paused, knotting his hands together. ‘She was pregnant. She didn’t know where else to go. She asked me to help her. I took her to a friend who ran a shelter. She stayed there for a while after she had an abortion.’

  Freeman let out her own long breath. ‘How old was she?’

  ‘Sixteen. Just. She didn’t want her dad to know but she asked me to go and tell him she was okay. I told him she was getting help getting clean and that she wanted to stay away until she was.’

  ‘I’m guessing it was Lucas Yates’ baby,’ Freeman said.

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘Did he know?’

  Ben paused. ‘She didn’t tell him. I didn’t think she told anyone else. But somehow he found out. He went ballistic.’

  Freeman was quiet. Imagine being pregnant with Lucas Yates’ kid. It’d probably come out with a ‘666’ birthmark. No wonder she got rid of it. She fought the urge to touch her belly, to think of her situation in the same breath as Emma’s. Things were different for Emma. She’d been a sixteen-year-old girl, a drug addict. She’d been abused by her boyfriend. Brian was a dick but he wasn’t abusive. She should’ve been able to handle this so much better than Emma but she still felt out of control.

  Emma hadn’t told Lucas Yates about the baby but he’d found out and gone apeshit. She wondered what Brian would say if he found out the truth. She wondered if she would even tell him the truth. She should. But that didn’t mean she would. She’d cross that bridge when she came to it.

  ‘I know I should’ve mentioned this earlier but I swore to Emma I wouldn’t tell anyone. I know it probably doesn’t matter now but I gave her my word.’

  ‘Do you think Yates could’ve killed her?’

  Ben didn’t say anything for a moment. ‘Yes,’ he said, eventually. ‘I think he did kill her.’

  ‘And the last time you saw her alive was when you took her to the shelter?’

  ‘Yes.’

  Freeman left Ben’s house and wondered if he was telling the truth this time. Something was off about him but she couldn’t put her finger on it. If what he’d said was true, then Emma Thorley had clearly trusted him more than anyone else in her life. And he’d been the person Jenny Taylor had called, too. So was he a protector of these girls, a knight to save them from the likes of Lucas Yates? Or was there more to it?

  Chapter 49

  17 June 1999

  He thought it was her. He thought he’d finally found her. And then she’d turned and he realised. It was Jenny. He was going to walk away. He couldn’t do much now, not with all these people about. All the dole scum and old biddies with nothing better to do than hang around the town centre, spending their cash on fish fingers and fruit machines. But he just couldn’t do it. Couldn’t let Ben get away with it again. Couldn’t let Ben take another one from him.

  ‘Oi!’ Lucas shouted and Jenny and Ben both turned. Ben looked like he’d shit himself but Jenny just glared. She was pissed off at him because of last time. Suddenly decided that she was too good for him.

  Lucas caught up to them and shouldered his way past Ben, grabbing Jenny by the arm. ‘What’re you doing?’

  ‘What’s it gotta do with you, like?’ Jenny said and squirmed out of his grasp.

  ‘You’re not going with him.’

  Ben stepped forward but Lucas stared him into silence.

  ‘Says who?’ Jenny said. ‘You don’t tell me what to do. I’m not Emma, you know.’

  Lucas slapped her hard across the face and she staggered backwards. Ben grabbed Lucas’s arm. ‘Leave her alone,’ he said.

  ‘Or what?’ Lucas asked, stepping up to Ben, who dropped his arm. ‘What’re you gonna do? Eh?’ Lucas pressed his forehead to Ben’s, pushing him back. ‘You keep your fucking nose out of this.’

  Jenny pushed Lucas away from Ben. ‘Fuck off, Lucas,’ she said.

  ‘What? You think you’re gonna get clean? I fucking doubt that.’

&
nbsp; ‘I am,’ Jenny said.

  ‘Yeah, good luck with that, Jen.’

  ‘Piss off,’ Jenny said and started to walk away, Ben following behind like a little obedient dog.

  ‘You’ll be back at my door tomorrow, begging me for some shit.’

  Jenny gave him the finger.

  Lucas started walking away too, but turned one last time. ‘Some people are born losers and they’ll die that way.’

  Chapter 50

  16 December 2010

  Freeman was almost home when the phone rang. She wanted nothing more than to ignore it and go inside to bed and stay there for a week. Instead, she picked up but before she could speak she heard, ‘Is that DS Freeman?’

  Now Freeman really wished she hadn’t answered the phone. Angie Taylor sounded pissed off.

  ‘Speaking,’ she said.

  ‘Are you lot in the habit of thieving stuff from people’s homes?’

  ‘What?’ Freeman asked. She already had plenty on her plate. She didn’t need to be accused of stealing from witnesses too.

  ‘That bloke you sent round. He took the file we showed him. Never said a bloody word. If you lot wanted the information—’

  ‘Hang on,’ Freeman said. ‘Which bloke are you on about?’ Freeman could hear the TV blaring in the background but Angie made no attempt to turn it down.

  ‘McEwan,’ she said and then Freeman heard Malcolm shout ‘McIlroy’ in the background. ‘Whatever,’ Angie said. ‘McIlroy, McEwan, same bloody difference.’

  ‘McIlroy?’ Why was Bob McIlroy at the Taylors’? He had nothing to do with the investigation. Not unless Routledge had been interfering.

  ‘Yes,’ Angie said. ‘Clearly the arse doesn’t know what the elbow’s up to.’

  ‘What did he want?’

  ‘Same as you. Asking about Jenny.’

  ‘And you’re sure it was DC McIlroy?’

  ‘Yes, McIlroy. Young fella,’ Angie said.

  Freeman swerved slightly on the road. She hadn’t been expecting that. ‘Wait, what?’ Freeman’s mind was racing. She looked in her rear-view mirror and if there hadn’t been a stream of traffic behind she might well have stopped right there in the middle of the road.

  Angie sighed down the phone. ‘Look. I don’t know what you lot are up to but—’

  ‘When was he there? What time did he leave?’ Freeman said, her heart thumping.

  ‘This afternoon sometime. He left, what . . .’ She could hear a muffled conversation and guessed Angie was conferring with her husband. ‘A couple of hours ago. Maybe four-ish.’

  Freeman’s hands gripped the wheel. ‘What did he look like? Height, hair colour, anything like that.’

  Angie sighed. ‘He was about average height I’d say.’

  ‘So what, five-eight, five-ten?’

  Another sigh. ‘I suppose. Brown hair, looked like a lot of gel or something in it. Sort of sexy too. For a copper.’

  That proved it. Bob McIlroy was not what anyone would call sexy. Even Angie Taylor. Lucas Yates, on the other hand, was a walking hair-product ad.

  Freeman wanted to put the wheels in motion for a warrant for Lucas’s arrest but first she needed to prove it had been him at the Taylors’. The little shit wasn’t going to get away with it. She’d already asked someone to find McIlroy to ask why Lucas had chosen to impersonate him. Perhaps when he sobered up they’d get an answer.

  She pulled up, leaving the car at an angle on the kerb, and walked to the door of the bedsits. There was a speaker system and a main door that was supposed to be locked but in all the times she’d visited it’d never worked. She pulled the door open and went inside. It was almost as cold inside as it was out. There was no one at the desk or in the front room despite the TV playing quietly in the corner. Freeman was relieved; she didn’t want to speak to the old crone unless she had to.

  She started climbing the stairs. Lucas’s room was on the first floor, according to his probation officer. She could hear the sound of TVs and radios playing. As she got to the first floor she could hear someone snoring. It was ridiculously loud. She wouldn’t be surprised if they were called in to a homicide there shortly. If she had to sleep next door to that guy she’d kill him within minutes. Brian was a snorer. Just one more reason she was glad he was gone.

  She reached the door to Lucas’s room and knocked. She waited about ten seconds before knocking again, harder, but there was still no answer. Freeman muttered under her breath. Great, now she’d have to go and speak to the old witch. She headed back down the stairs and stood at reception. There was a bell on the desk like it was an old-fashioned hotel. Freeman was about to ring it when the old woman came out of the room behind her. She stopped short when she saw Freeman.

  ‘We’re full.’

  ‘Excuse me?’ Freeman said.

  ‘We’re full. No rooms,’ the old woman said and pushed past with her laundry basket.

  Freeman sighed. She knew she didn’t exactly look like a copper but come on – she hardly looked like one of the reprobates that stayed in this shithole. She pulled out her ID and the old woman snatched it to inspect it two inches from her face. Satisfied, she handed it back. ‘Which one is it?’ she asked, without so much as a mutter of apology. ‘Which one of the little bastards has done something now?’

  ‘Lucas Yates.’

  ‘Little prick,’ she said. ‘Thinks he’s something special, that one. Thinks the rules don’t apply to him. Always smoking in his room. Brings little whores back with him. He thinks I don’t know but I do. And when I tell him he acts like butter wouldn’t melt. Prick.’

  Freeman tried not to smile. The old woman’s dislike made Freeman warm to her.

  ‘Is he here?’ Freeman asked and the woman eyed her up.

  ‘What’s he done?’

  ‘I just need to speak to him,’ Freeman said but she knew she’d have to give the woman something if she was going to talk any more. ‘He could be a witness to a serious incident.’

  The old woman laughed, a high-pitched cackle. ‘A witness? More bloody likely he did it.’ She pulled a set of keys out of her apron and started up the stairs. ‘I gather you’ve tried the door,’ she said but didn’t wait for Freeman to reply.

  They stopped outside Lucas’s room and the old woman bent to unlock it. She pushed the door open and stepped into the room. ‘It’s all yours,’ she said. ‘Let me know when you’re done.’ She moved past Freeman and as she walked back towards the stairs she hammered on the door of the snorer. ‘Shut up,’ she shouted and then disappeared downstairs.

  Freeman pushed the door closed and looked around. The bed was made and there wasn’t a thing out of place. No clothes scattered across the floor, no takeaway boxes piled up or lager cans crushed and abandoned. She wondered if it was a legacy from his stay in prison or if he’d always been a neat freak. There was a small sink with a toothbrush, toothpaste and a razor on it. In the small cupboard were some clothes, all hung up or folded neatly, mostly designer or knock-off designer stuff. A couple of books on the table next to the bed – Jim Thompson and Elmore Leonard.

  She walked to the window and noticed some cigarette ash on the windowsill. The only real sign of life.

  She turned around and was about to leave. She didn’t know what she’d expected to find. She was only looking for the man himself. She was halfway to the door when her phone rang.

  ‘Freeman,’ she said, still looking around, sure she’d find something.

  ‘It’s Gardner. You rang?’

  Freeman tried to ignore the sarcasm in his voice. She knew she was pushing her luck a little, but needs must. ‘Thanks for getting back to me,’ she said. ‘I need you to try Jenny Taylor again.’

  ‘She still hasn’t called?’ he said.

  ‘No. And I’m starting to think she’s avoiding me.’

  ‘You think she has something to do with Emma’s murder?’

  ‘I don’t know,’ Freeman sighed. ‘But Lucas Yates has been creeping around, visited her parents, tryi
ng to find out where she is. I don’t know if she’s involved or in danger.’

  ‘All right, I’ll see what I can do,’ Gardner said.

  ‘Thanks. Just make sure things look all right. I’m going to try and come down in the morning, speak to her myself.’

  ‘Okay. If you like, I could meet you at the station. Take you over there.’

  ‘Great,’ Freeman said.

  ‘In the meantime I’ll head over, see what’s happening.’

  ‘Thanks. I’ll see you tomorrow.’

  She hung up and flicked through Lucas’s wardrobe, wondering how an arsehole like Yates could smell so nice.

  Chapter 51

  16 December 2010

  Lucas stood on the platform, shivering. He shoved his hands into his pockets and looked down at the few passengers scattered about at the other end of the platform, all studiously ignoring each other. None of them were carrying any proper luggage. Nothing he could lift, no chance of a better coat or another fucking jumper. Maybe when he got into Newcastle.

  He didn’t have any money yet. He reckoned he could get away with no ticket from Morpeth to Newcastle but they were starting to get picky once you got on the major lines. That didn’t bother him. A station the size of Newcastle always had plenty of opportunities for snatching a wallet.

  He watched his breath fog in front of him and looked at his watch. The train was due three minutes ago. He reached in his pocket and took out the picture. It hadn’t been hard to swipe the file. A quick nudge of the cold cup of tea on the table next to him and Angie Taylor was shrieking about her good carpet. Took what he needed, the rest went in the bin.

  He stared at the photo. She hadn’t changed that much. Brown hair instead of blonde but other than that she was the same girl. Anyone else might not have recognised her between the disguise and the shoddy photography. But he did.

  He heard the train approach and tucked the photo away. He got on and moved to the far end of the carriage. He was watching the ticket inspector. Sometimes they tried to catch you out by starting at the other end.