Gone

by Rebecca Muddiman

  He watched the clock on the dashboard change from 10:28 to 10:29. He promised himself he’d go in when it got to thirty. Or he could just turn around and go home. He could go back and face the music with Lawton instead. He’d apologised profusely for not getting to her party and she’d said it was fine but it clearly wasn’t. She obviously thought he’d had no intention of going and maybe she was right. She’d thawed somewhat when he gave her the gift he’d bought – he’d finally settled on a scarf. But he still wasn’t totally forgiven. She still hadn’t made him any coffee.

  He checked the clock again: 10:30. ‘All right,’ he muttered to himself and got out of the car, walking slowly to the old brick building.

  It still had the same musty smell and peeling paint, and the faces had the same look of resignation even though they were different people. He walked towards the offices he used to sit in, that once upon a time he had a laugh in and had mates in. The walk was easy, as if he were just going in for a normal day of work. Someone held the door open for him, maybe mistaking him for someone else, someone who was meant to be there.

  He stopped in the doorway and looked across the room but no one looked up. Phones rang at both ends of the office, people swung on chairs while they were on hold; the sound of fingers on keyboards was different, hardly anyone typed with one finger any more. He looked across to his old desk. Some bald guy he’d never seen before was sitting there, scribbling something down, his face creased with concentration.

  ‘Hi.’

  Gardner turned around and saw Freeman standing there with a pile of folders under her arm and a cup of coffee in her hand.

  ‘Hi,’ Gardner said.

  Freeman beckoned him to follow her and walked to her desk. She pulled up another chair from the desk behind her. ‘What can I do for you?’ she asked.

  Gardner took another look around the office before sitting. There was no one he knew and he felt a little relieved. Facing your demons is easier when they’re not around.

  ‘I thought about what you said. About going to see Heather Wallace. I was wondering if you’d come with me.’ Freeman looked surprised. ‘You think I should go alone?’ he said.

  ‘Probably. But I’ll meet you for a drink afterwards. You can tell me how it went.’

  Gardner agreed to call her and walked back out into the corridor. Coming towards him was Adrian Hingham, who’d still been a green PC when Gardner knew him but was now wearing a flashy suit. He remembered Hingham working with Wallace on a number of occasions and felt his fists ball up as he approached.

  ‘Michael Gardner,’ Hingham said and extended his hand. ‘I heard you’d been hanging around the place. How you doing?’

  Gardner shook his hand and tried not to look as surprised as he felt. ‘I’m good. How are you? Clearly making too much money,’ he said, nodding at the suit.

  ‘Yeah, I’ve made it all the way up to the dizzy heights of DC. The suit was a gift from the missus. She thinks my taste in clothes is appalling,’ he said with a grin. ‘Anyway, I’d better run. But it was good to see you.’

  Hingham trotted off down the corridor while Gardner thought maybe he’d killed another demon. Maybe seeing Heather Wallace wouldn’t be so bad. Or maybe he was pushing his luck.

  He got in his car and drove towards the big house Heather had lived in with her mother. Heather would be what, twenty-three, twenty-four now? She probably didn’t live there any more. Maybe her mother didn’t even live there any more. He pulled up across the street and looked at the house. There was a car on the drive so someone was there. He sat watching for a while and then made a deal with himself. He’d go and knock and if she was there, he’d talk to her. If she wasn’t, he’d drive home and forget about it. Let sleeping dogs lie. He crossed the road and knocked on the door.

  A tall, skinny woman with red hair opened the door and Gardner wanted to turn and run. He knew it was her; she didn’t look any different except for being taller and happier than the last time he’d seen her.

  ‘Yes?’ Heather said and smiled at him. For a moment he contemplated asking if she was happy with her electricity supplier or if she wanted to let God into her life.

  ‘Heather Wallace?’ he asked and she nodded, the smile fading slightly. ‘I’m Michael Gardner,’ he said. ‘I’m a police officer, I—’

  ‘I know who you are,’ she cut him off. The smile had gone completely and her arms were folded across her chest.

  ‘Right,’ he said. ‘I was just . . . I’ve been working on a case with the local police and I wanted to come and . . .’ What? What did he want? She just stared at him, waiting for his point. ‘I just wanted to see that you were all right and to tell you I was sorry about your dad. I never got to tell you at the time but I am sorry about what happened.’ He waited for her to speak but she didn’t, she just stood staring at him and he couldn’t stop talking and suddenly he knew how it felt to be one of his suspects. ‘I never wanted that to happen and if I could change it I would. I really would. I just wanted you to know that—’

  ‘What do you want me to say?’ Heather snapped. ‘That I forgive you?’

  ‘No. I just—’

  ‘Because I don’t,’ she said and slammed the door. Gardner stood there on the doorstep and felt like he’d been punched in the gut. His hands were shaking. ‘I’m sorry,’ he said. As he turned to walk away he tripped on a waving snowman ornament, knocking it onto its side. It wished him a merry Christmas.

  As he climbed into the car he could hear a ringing in his ears. He shouldn’t have come. For her sake as much as his own. He shouldn’t have come. Some things just aren’t meant to be forgiven.

  Chapter 100

  23 December 2010

  Gardner spotted her sitting in the corner, looking out of place amongst the Christmas revellers. She nodded in his direction and he noticed she’d already got the drinks in.

  ‘Got you a Coke,’ she said as he walked over.

  ‘I could do with something stronger,’ he said and sat down, throwing his coat on the seat beside him.

  ‘Well, unless you’re going to spend the night with me, you’ve still got to drive home.’ Gardner raised an eyebrow and Freeman shrugged and pushed the pint glass towards him. He raised it in a half-hearted toast. ‘So?’ she asked. ‘How did it go?’

  ‘About as well as could be expected,’ he said. ‘I shouldn’t have gone. Especially now. Christmas.’

  ‘So there was no goodwill towards men? It was worth a try.’

  ‘Was it? I feel worse than I did before. It’s the last time I take advice from you.’

  Freeman tried to smile over her glass of Coke. ‘Well, I’m the last person to be handing out advice.’ She looked away, towards a group of men and women shrieking and giggling by the bar, probably on a work Christmas party.

  ‘Shit, I’m sorry,’ he said. ‘I shouldn’t have come up here moaning about my own crap.’

  Freeman shook her head. ‘It’s fine. It’s done now.’

  ‘I’m sorry.’

  ‘I’m not,’ she said and started tearing up a beer mat.

  ‘Did the father go with you?’

  Freeman laughed. ‘The father,’ she said. ‘Fat lot of good he’d be.’ She threw the bits of cardboard across the table. ‘Anyway, I didn’t tell him.’

  ‘He’s out of the picture?’

  ‘He is now. We broke up before I found out.’

  ‘Oh.’

  ‘Oh, what? Don’t look at me like that.’

  ‘Like what?’

  ‘With that judgey face. Brian was a dick. He cheated on me.’

  ‘But still,’ Gardner said, then regretted getting into the conversation as Freeman sat up straight like she was ready to fight.

  ‘You think I was wrong. That I should’ve told him. That I’m a total bitch for not letting him have any input.’

  ‘Woah. How did we get to that?’ Gardner held up his hands. ‘Let’s just drop it. I don’t think anything. It’s none of my business.’

  ‘Y
ou’re right. It’s not.’

  They sat in silence for a while and Gardner finished his drink. He wondered whether he should just go. His people skills had done him proud once more. He tapped the edge of the table and tried to judge whether it was safe to speak.

  ‘I’d already made up my mind and anything Brian said wasn’t going to change that. So what would have been the point?’

  Gardner got the feeling she wasn’t arguing any more. From the time he’d spent with Freeman he gathered she wasn’t some shrinking violet. Didn’t need anyone to back her up, to validate her. But whatever front she was putting on now, clearly the decision hadn’t been easy. He knew that. He’d been there. Last year of university with the first girl he’d been in love with. Holly Hughes. She’d told him ten minutes before a lecture before bursting into tears and running off. He’d sat there listening to some drivel about Shakespeare and wondered what the hell he was going to do, whether his life was over. And more to the point, how the hell he was going to tell his mum that he’d knocked up some girl she’d never even met. By the end of the lecture he’d decided that it was going to be fine. Good, even. He didn’t have a clue what else he was going to do with his life after uni, so why not be a dad? Unfortunately, Holly had other plans. She did know what she was going to do with her life after uni, and it didn’t involve kids. She made all the arrangements herself. All he had to do was borrow a mate’s car to drive her to the hospital and that was it. She’d made her decision.

  She kept asking him afterwards if he was angry with her. He wasn’t. Not really. It was the right decision. Just not his decision. She broke up with him three months later. But Freeman probably didn’t want to hear all this.

  ‘You’re right,’ he said and stood up. He dug in his pocket for some change. ‘Another drink?’

  He came back with two more Cokes and his spilt across the table as he put it down.

  ‘I saw Ray Thorley yesterday,’ Freeman said. ‘Emma’s been staying there. He’s a new man. It’s nice.’

  ‘That’s good. What about Adam? Has he stuck around?’

  Freeman nodded as she slurped the full glass. ‘Him and Emma are staying for Christmas. She’s also changed her story.’

  ‘Really?’

  ‘Yep. All lines up with Ben’s. She was on a bus out of town before the body was moved.’

  ‘But she was still involved. Still took on Jenny’s identity,’ Gardner said.

  ‘Yeah, she’s not quite out of the woods yet. So to speak.’

  ‘What about Ben Swales?’

  Freeman shrugged. ‘He’s out of hospital. But he’s still waiting for all this to end. I think part of him wants to go to prison. He thinks he should be punished. I still can’t believe he smashed Jenny’s teeth in. Didn’t think he had that in him.’

  ‘So you think it’s really true? That he planted the ID and buried the body, but didn’t kill her?’

  ‘You don’t believe him?’ she asked.

  Gardner blew out his cheeks. ‘Sounds far too convenient. Finding a dead girl just when you need one.’

  ‘I guess if you work with heroin addicts you’re bound to come across one eventually,’ Freeman said. ‘Especially if they know Lucas Yates.’

  ‘What’s happening with Yates?’ Gardner asked. ‘He’s still not talking?’

  ‘Nope. But I know it was him, I can feel it. But,’ she shrugged, ‘we don’t have enough. There’s Emma’s testimony about what he told her in the woods but she’s hardly a reliable witness. There’s the semen, but that means squat.’ She sighed. ‘I just wish I knew what’d happened. It’s pissing me off.’

  Gardner’s phone beeped and he checked his message. An email from the dating site. Some woman from Guisborough had been in touch. Did he fancy meeting for a drink sometime? Gardner smiled.

  ‘What’s up?’ Freeman asked.

  ‘Nothing,’ he said and slid the phone back in his pocket.

  They sat back in silence and listened as ‘Fairytale of New York’ came on the jukebox. In the corner the office workers started singing along and Freeman and Gardner finished their drinks.

  Epilogue

  6 July 1999

  She lay back on the sunken mattress, her fingers touching her neck where his hands had been. As he’d slammed into her, with his hand around her neck, she thought he would kill her. She didn’t need this. It wasn’t just sex. It was anger. It was hate.

  Bitch. Slut. Junkie. Whore.

  Emma.

  Between the vitriol he called her Emma. For a moment it verged on tenderness until his fury took over again and the name took on the same spiteful tone as the other names he’d called her.

  And then it was over. He pulled out of her, pulling the sheet across his legs, leaving her naked body exposed. He lit a cigarette and tossed the lighter between them. She waited a moment before she spoke – allowing him to calm down, allowing time for the nicotine to kick in.

  It hurt when she swallowed. He was a fucking animal. But she knew that already. She wasn’t expecting anything else. She’d given up on anything else a long time ago. Her life now was pain followed by pleasure. A lot of one, a little of the other. But what pleasure.

  He closed his eyes and she figured it was enough time.

  ‘Have you got any, then?’ she said, her voice catching in her throat. She pulled her tracksuit top out from under him and put it back on.

  He opened his eyes as if he’d forgotten she was there. He stared at her for a second before sitting up, reaching for his jacket and pulling out the small packet. Her heart started to race. She reached out but he pulled back, out of her grasp.

  ‘Give it to me,’ she said, her voice stronger.

  His hand stung her cheek and she knew she’d been too forceful.

  ‘Don’t,’ he said, his fingers wrapped around her face. He threw the packet at her and climbed off the bed. He pulled on his jeans, muttering to himself. ‘Stupid fucking cunts. I’ve had it with the lot of you.’

  ‘Aw, poor Lucas. Did your little girlfriend dump you?’ She giggled and sat up, opening the tiny plastic bag.

  ‘Shut up,’ he said and turned to leave.

  ‘Poor Lucas,’ she said again, in a singsong voice. ‘Doesn’t she love you any more?’

  He was back on her in a flash. Her head snapped back against the mattress as he held her down.

  ‘Don’t you fucking dare,’ he whispered.

  His hands were hot against her neck. She could see herself reflected in his eyes. She wanted to beg him to stop but no words came out. She saw spots flit across her vision. His body was heavy on hers; she could see the veins in his neck bulge. She tried to push him away, kicked at him. She caught him in the balls and he fell away from her. She started to run, tripped over her shoes thrown carelessly on the floor.

  She screamed as he grabbed hold of her, throwing her back on the bed. ‘Fucking bitch.’ He slammed his fist into her face, spitting out ‘Emma’ as he pounded. She tried to call out, tried to make it stop but he just kept going until she couldn’t see, until her face was hot with blood and tears.

  Her eyelids fluttered and suddenly there was nothing. She felt the world darken and his hands fell away. She could feel him, feel his fingerprints on her, feel the life draining from her body, feel death coming over her.

  She wished for the first time in so long for her parents. She wondered if they’d ever know or care.

  She heard the front door slam.

  She was alone.

  And as she finally found her voice for the very last time, all she could say was, ‘My name’s not Emma.’

  Acknowledgments

  Thanks to everyone who helped make this book happen. I’m sure I’ll forget someone for which I apologise, but special thanks to:

  Mam, Dad, Donna and Christine.

  To my unofficial distributors Jonathan (Yorkshire and Bulgaria regions) and Maria (North East and Australia regions).

  To Diane (best boss ever), Andrea and Barbara for lending their names to c
haracters – and just for the record, the real Andrea Round is nothing like her namesake and does not like to be called Anders.

  To everyone at James Cook Hospital who’s supported me and always asks how the next book is coming along – you know who you are.

  To New Writing North and Moth Publishing for continued support.

  To all the crime writing friends I’ve made over the last year – you’re all marvellous.

  To all at Mulholland/Hodder for believing in my work and making it happen, especially my editor Ruth Tross, who I knew I’d get along with after she confessed her love for Buffy the Vampire Slayer.

  To my agent, Stan, for general awesomeness and all the cider he kindly provided me with. I’m sure it helped the book in many ways.

  To Cotton, who will be in one of the books one of these days.

  And lastly, to Stephen, for everything you are and everything you do – thank you so much. xx

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  Table of Contents

  Prologue

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8