‘And her car?’
‘It’s still in with forensics. These things aren’t nearly as quick as you see on TV, I’m afraid. But as soon as we find anything, you will know. You just have to trust us.’
‘I’m finding it hard to trust anyone at the moment.’ Peter thought of Felicity’s relief when the podcast hadn’t aired the night before. Was she hiding more than even he was aware of? Just because of their relationship, that was no reason to think she would be one hundred per cent honest with him. After all, he hadn’t been with her.
‘Understandable . . .’ Allan nodded.
The radio on the detective’s jacket crackled and Peter heard the words ‘Severn Oaks’.
‘What was that? What did he say?’
‘It was a missing person shout.’ DC Allan pushed himself to his feet. ‘Missing person in Severn Oaks. Come on, you’ll have to follow me back. I’ll say I chased off the intruder. Less paperwork.’
45
No one was surprised when they saw the blue and yellow car pull in and turn the corner. They had spent the previous twenty-four hours alternating between relief that no podcast had been forthcoming this week, and fear of what would happen next. Because it wasn’t really over, was it? Mary-Beth was still missing, and Miranda – of all people! – had admitted to killing Erica.
Felicity had thought a lot about the night of the Halloween party – not just since the podcasts had started, but before as well. She’d be at Karla’s, gazing out of the window at the spot where the tree house used to be, and she’d picture what Erica might have seen in the moments before she died. The dead tell no tales, they say, and yet it seemed that, even a year after her death, Erica was still telling tales on all of them.
It had started with that bloody shot game. The drinks had been flowing all night and everyone was plenty drunk enough, but still Marcus had decided that the party hadn’t been eventful enough, and now that the ‘others’ had gone – that was how he referred to the guests who weren’t part of the inner circle – they could let their hair down and have some fun. They all knew what that meant and, sure enough, he had appeared with a tray full of brightly coloured shots: green, purple, and even some disgusting-looking concoction that he’d called ‘brain haemorrhage’. And before long the drinking games had commenced.
Had it been Erica’s idea to play Truth or Dare? Probably: she always did like to stir the pot. Anyway, it had definitely been Karla who had said they weren’t teenagers at a sorority party, but she had been booed by Alex – he was always up for a dare, in defiance of his age. First had come the costume swapping, with Karla and Felicity challenged to strip off – to the men’s delight – and swap costumes in under sixty seconds. They failed, and accepted the shot with a smile. All harmless fun – although Miranda’s face had said otherwise. Felicity didn’t know what her problem was, they saw more flesh on the beach.
Then the boys had been dared to kiss for six seconds – oh, hadn’t they all thought that was hilarious! Marcus and Alex had seized the challenge – no tongues, mind you – and Jack and Peter had taken their shots.
That was when she’d done it – Erica. That was when she had turned to Peter, looked him square in the eye, and said, ‘I dare you to kiss Felicity. A proper kiss.’
The room had fallen silent, everyone looking between Peter and Mary-Beth, all wondering who would speak first.
‘I’ll do it,’ Alex had joked, putting his hand up.
‘You bloody will not,’ Miranda snapped, ‘and neither will Peter. Don’t be ridiculous, Erica.’
‘It’s fine,’ Mary-Beth had replied, her shrug so nonchalant that Felicity had wondered what was going through her mind. Did she know? ‘It’s just a dare. Go on, Peter, these lot are your witnesses. I said you can play the game.’
Peter had looked at Erica as though he would like to kill her. She knew, as well, then. Did everyone? Not Karla, she would have just asked. That meant Marcus didn’t know, either – they told one another everything.
‘Don’t be stupid,’ Peter had scoffed. ‘My life wouldn’t be worth living when I got home.’
‘I’m serious, Peter.’ Mary-Beth’s voice grew more insistent. ‘It’s fine. Play the game. Be a sport.’
‘No,’ Peter said, more firmly now. ‘Stop it, Mary.’
‘Why won’t you just kiss her, Peter? It’s no big deal.’
The two of them – Mary-Beth and her best friend, Erica – stood shoulder to shoulder now, and Felicity thought everyone in the room must realise that this was a stand-off. Felicity looked desperately at Karla for her to put an end to the awkwardness.
‘Oh, for goodness’ sake,’ Karla snapped. She stepped forward, grabbed Felicity’s face in her hands and pulled her in for a kiss, long enough not to be considered chaste but far from an erotic encounter. Although, if you judged it from the boys’ reactions, it may as well have been a full-on porn film production. Alex, Marcus and Jack erupted into cheers and applause. Peter looked as if he was going to throw up, and Mary-Beth had tears in her eyes. Erica just smirked.
‘Welcome to the family, Fliss,’ Marcus laughed. ‘Although you two could have let me join in.’
Mary-Beth slammed her wine glass down onto the table and stormed from the room. Erica followed.
‘I don’t know what her problem is.’ Alex slapped Peter on the back. ‘Damned if you do, damned if you don’t, by the looks of it, mate.’
Felicity’s cheeks burned at the memory. Not just at the situation Peter had been put in, but at being used as a pawn in Erica’s game. Felicity – the poor, sad singleton who couldn’t get a man of her own – she’d be happy to let another woman’s husband kiss her just to get some action. God, Erica could be a bitch sometimes.
She was so deep in thought, so lost in the remembered humiliation, that she almost didn’t notice that Peter’s car had followed the police car through the gates. This is it, then , she thought, they have found Mary-Beth. Peter will be arrested and I’ll have to take the girls to visit him in prison.
Some father he had turned out to be.
Taking a deep breath, she pushed open the front door and stepped out into the darkness. Peter was getting out of his car, fear etched onto his face.
‘What’s happened?’ Felicity asked, watching the police officer pull up outside number seven.
‘There’s been a missing person report,’ Peter said, his own gaze fixed to where DC Allan was approaching the door. ‘Tristan Patterson.’
Felicity felt relief, then instant guilt. Another person was missing.
‘The lad who lives there?’ she asked. ‘I don’t think I’ve ever met him. I’ve seen him drive past in that yellow car of his, but I don’t think I’ve ever seen his face. You?’
Peter nodded. ‘He used to do some odd jobs for people on the street when he was younger, before he could get a proper job. Cutting grass and that sort of thing. Nice lad. I bet he’s just out with his mates. You know what twenty-year-old boys are like.’
‘Not really,’ Felicity murmured, but Peter didn’t hear her, or he didn’t react if he did. Felicity spotted Karla, Marcus and Brandon coming down the driveway.
‘What is it now?’ Karla asked, nodding at the police car. ‘Something to do with Miranda?’
Peter shook his head. ‘Missing person reported. I think it’s Tristan.’
Karla visibly shuddered. She looked at Brandon. ‘I don’t suppose you know where he might be?’
Brandon scowled. ‘Yeah, I’ve got him locked in my room with—’ He stopped talking when he realised Peter was standing there.
Karla tutted and shook her head. ‘I was only asking, Bran.’
DC Allan emerged from the house. When he saw the group gathered on the street he crossed the road to speak to them.
‘I don’t suppose any of you have seen Tristan recently, have you?’
‘I don’t even know what he looks like,’ Felicity admitted. ‘Although I could accurately describe his baseball cap and the noise his car makes at three a.m.’
>
‘Here . . .’ DC Allan pulled out a photo and handed it to her. ‘Let us know if you remember when you last saw him.’
Felicity looked at the photo and felt her stomach drop. She hadn’t seen Tristan in the last three weeks; the last time she’d seen him he’d been serving her a flat white at Starbucks. In fact, he’d been serving her for the last year. And never once mentioned that he lived only eight doors away.
46
‘Mr and Mrs Patterson, you did the right thing calling us. If it’s okay, I’m going to have to ask you a few questions?’
Janet Patterson nodded, unable to stop the tears from streaming down her cheeks. She sat on the sofa, flanked on either side by her husband, Mike, and the family liaison officer, Tracy Barker. ‘Go on,’ she whispered. ‘Get it over with.’
DS Harvey looked at his notes. ‘We have a list of Tristan’s friends, people who might know where he is or have seen him in the last three weeks. It would be great if you could give us an idea of who to speak to first?’
‘His mate John would be the best,’ Janet sniffed. She gave her husband a sidelong look that DS Harvey couldn’t quite work out.
‘But he lives here, with you?’
Tristan’s mum nodded. ‘Of a fashion. He’ll stay here a few nights, then he’ll stay at John’s, and then we might not see him for a couple of weeks, or he’ll go to a festival and just come in when we’re at work to pick up clothes and raid the fridge. He’s a twenty-year-old lad – he gets annoyed if we ask too many questions.’
‘Mrs Patterson,’ DC Allan sighed. ‘I know this is very hard for you, and we are here to help you, not to cast any judgement on your situation. But can you give us some idea why it’s taken you three weeks to report your son missing?’
Janet looked wide-eyed at her husband, who held up a hand.
‘Look,’ he rubbed his wife’s shoulder, ‘we thought we were doing the right thing. But now I think we made a mistake, perhaps we should have done this weeks ago. It’s just—’ He took a deep breath. ‘We thought Tristan had gone with our neighbour, the one who’s been reported missing.’
‘Mary-Beth King?’ Allan and Harvey looked at one another. It wasn’t that it hadn’t crossed Harvey’s mind that two missing people in the street was a huge coincidence, but no one they had spoken to had given any impression that the straight-laced Mary-Beth was involved with anyone, let alone anything as scandalous as an affair with a much younger man.
‘Yes . . .’ Janet’s voice was quiet and her cheeks were red. ‘He’d been acting quite shifty, going out at odd hours, then staying longer and longer at John’s. Then he quit his job for no reason, and when we asked him about it he got really defensive. He was all over the place. Then Mary-Beth went missing and it made sense. All the sneaking around. Mike saw them hugging once.’
‘At the end of her drive,’ Mike offered. ‘It was getting dark so I couldn’t see her properly but it was definitely her. Her arms were pulled around her chest and I thought they were arguing. She looked like she might be crying, and he hugged her.’
‘When was this?’
‘Just after Erica died. But I’ve seen them together a few times, just stopping to talk in the street, and once he came out of her back garden. He doesn’t do that with anyone else – he avoids our neighbours mostly. Then I found a picture of her in his room.’
‘Okay, so you assumed they had gone together. Why didn’t you tell us?’
‘I didn’t want us getting dragged into their scandals. They have so much drama going on – if it isn’t those bloody Kaplans, it’s this business with Erica and the podcast. We don’t want any part of their drama, and we were a bit annoyed at Tristan for dragging us into it. We thought they would be back in a few days, bored of one another once the clandestine thrill of the affair had worn off.’
‘So what’s changed? Do you still think they are together? Why report him missing now?’
Janet sniffed. ‘John called us. He hasn’t heard from him – none of his friends have. And his phone is always off, we’ve all tried calling constantly. And all these things coming out on this podcast – it’s clear we’re surrounded by violent, deranged people. What if Peter King found out about their affair and hurt them both? It’s been driving me crazy for days now, a week. But making the decision to call you seemed so . . . official, I suppose. He’s a grown man – he doesn’t have to tell any of us where he is, if he doesn’t want us to know.’
Allan supposed he could see it – Patterson was a young, attractive lad and Mary-Beth was a bored, middle-aged housewife. She was only early forties, he’d seen stranger affairs.
‘Okay, so let’s go back to the last time you saw Tristan. When was it?’
‘Sunday the 19th of August. He’d quit his job and we had a bit of a fight. He said he had a lot on, and Mike said he didn’t know the meaning of responsibility and he had to grow up.’
Mike looked pained. Janet ploughed on.
‘I assume he was here Monday morning, because he didn’t have to go to work and his car was still here, but I didn’t actually see him. Then when I got back, his car had gone and there was a note saying he was going to stay at John’s for a while. At first I thought he was annoyed at us, then I found out Mrs King had gone missing and it seemed to add up.’
‘Did you speak to John?’
‘Yes, but he hadn’t heard from Tristan. I said we knew about the affair and he said that he didn’t know what I was talking about and Tristan probably just needed some time and space of his own. It was clear to me that he knew what was going on—’
‘Only he didn’t,’ Mike interrupted. ‘When he called us a couple of days ago he said he hadn’t heard from Tristan since before we called him, and that he had no idea where he was.’
‘Okay, we’ll look into where Tristan might have gone after he left here on either Sunday evening or Monday. My colleague has taken down his registration number, plus the make and colour of the car. We’ll try and locate it as soon as possible. If we could have your permission to access his phone records and bank statements? You can give those details to DC Allan, as well as any social media details you have of his. Have you looked through his room? Anything missing?’
‘God only knows,’ Janet groaned. ‘It’s such a mess. He has so many clothes, he could have taken a year’s worth and I wouldn’t know. Oh! His laptop is gone,’ she remembered. ‘He took that everywhere with him.’
‘Right, we’ll get cracking on this as a matter of urgency.’
‘Will you be speaking to Peter King?’
‘Not yet.’ DS Harvey shook his head. ‘And I’d appreciate it if you kept your suspicions about your son and his wife to yourself. If there is a connection, I’d rather he thought we hadn’t made it yet.’
47
‘Sir, you asked for me?’
DS Harvey took a few steps into the DCI’s office. DCI Barrow looked up and gave an insincere smile. He gestured for Harvey to come all the way in.
‘Close the door, please, DS Harvey. Have a seat, and don’t look so nervous. I can’t reach you from here anyway, the size of this bloody desk.’
Harvey took a seat opposite the man he had once hoped would be his mentor, perhaps even a friend. How stupid and naive he’d been. All he’d ever been was a scapegoat, used to ensure that his DCI’s hands stayed clean.
‘You know I’ve asked you here to find out what’s going on in Severn Oaks.’
No beating around the bush then.
‘Yes, sir. As you know, we have two active missing persons reports; one is Mary-Beth King, which has been ongoing for three weeks.’
‘And we have no concrete leads on that? Seems strange after all this time. Usually we would have some idea of what’s happened by now.’
‘We have a couple of lines of enquiry ongoing.’
Barrow knew all of this. He’d been present at the back of the room during a couple of the morning briefings and Harvey knew that, as much as he pretended not to be showing an individual pre
ference for this case above any others, as soon as he’d heard the name Severn Oaks he’d been watching the developments with particular interest.
‘The husband?’
‘Yes, Peter King is of interest, of course. We’re still trying to find someone who saw him at the training course he was booked on to. There’s evidence he turned up but no one can remember seeing him on the second day at all.’
‘Okay. Any evidence she left of her own accord?’
‘Her bank cards haven’t been used, and we can’t find evidence of her siphoning off any money in the weeks prior to her disappearance. We have a possible sighting we are working to verify.’
‘The taxi driver who says he dropped her off for a holiday at a campsite?’
‘Yes, sir. DC Allan has checked with the owners of the campsite and we’ve knocked on the doors of the caravans and spoken to all the owners. We’d need a search warrant to go through the empty ones and at the moment we have no grounds – the driver says she got into his taxi of her own accord and was alone when she got out. So we have no evidence that anyone is in any harm, to start busting open doors.’
‘And the latest misper?’
‘A twenty-year-old boy, Tristan Patterson. Lives a few doors down from the Kings. The Pattersons keep to themselves for the most part, the other residents don’t know a lot about them, and no one has seen Tristan. Apparently, his car comes and goes late at night so a few of them wouldn’t be sure they knew him even if he passed them in the street.’
‘I thought it was supposed to be a close community?’
‘I get the impression that there are those who participate a lot – group messages on Facebook, street parties, kids at the same school. Those with older children, or no children at all, seem a bit less in the loop. It’s an opt-in situation, and the Pattersons don’t seem to have opted in all that often.’
‘Right. Any leads on that one? He’s not just staying with mates? Twenty-year-olds are rarely at home, in my experience.’
Harvey wondered what that experience might be. Unlike Harvey, whose son had just turned eighteen – and Harvey would have no clue if he was missing or not, half the time – DCI Barrow had no children, to Harvey’s knowledge.
Someone Is Lying Page 16