Martina kept her thoughts to herself.
"And when did you call the police?"
"I went out myself but I couldn't find any sign of him, so I can home and called the police. I told them everything, but I don't think they took it seriously."
"And you told them he was vulnerable? That he wasn't like other twenty-four-year-olds?" Martina couldn't fathom the idea that Marjorie's reporting of her vulnerable, missing son wouldn't have been taken seriously.
“I told them, but they thought I was a helicopter parent. And they were preoccupied with the missing children's case.” She sucked down a shuddering breath. “I think maybe you should go," she said. "I'm not feeling very well, and anything else you need is in the notebook."
Martina climbed to her feet. The heat in the room seemed almost overwhelming now. "I'm sorry for you loss," she said, but before she could say another word Marjorie shook her head.
"Don't. Just find the person responsible."
"I'll do my best," Martina said.
"I hope your best is better than mine was," Marjorie said, as she picked up the smiling photograph of her son. Martina watched as the older woman drew a shaking finger down over his cheek. "I'm sorry." Marjorie's voice was little more than a whisper. Martina crept from the room, leaving the other woman to her grief.
Chapter Thirty-One
Pulling the fur-lined hood of his short puffer jacket up, AJ Wilson leaned back against the school wall. Bending his knee, he propped his foot behind him, ignoring the sound of his Nike Air-Max trainers as they scuffed along the bricks he jammed his hands down into his deep pockets. Out here, with the other lads from the years below him, he was king of the heap. And he'd earned his position at top of the food-chain, the other boys knew it too. The younger ones were all afraid of him. He'd had to break a few noses to gain the respect that he now possessed, and, well, the years ahead of him liked him because of what he could offer them.
His dad getting the job as a supplier for Game-Stop had been a stroke of luck that he had leveraged to his advantage. It didn't hurt that his parents got him whatever he asked for. He'd once overheard his aunt Jackie telling his mum that he was, ‘nowt but a spoilt-brat,’ but mum had given her what-for. Aunt Jackie just had a stick up her arse, probably because she was nothing more than a barren bitch.
From the corner of his eye, AJ spotted Darren hurrying across the open grass. His eyes were red-rimmed, his pale skin blotchy. The news that his best mate Oliver had gone missing was all over the school. The dozy teachers had even offered them all counselling. He'd managed to get out of maths because of it, but the counsellor was just the school's guidance counsellor Mr Andrews and he was nothing more than a creepy bastard who spent his time adjusting his crotch. Barry had once asked Andrews if he was suffering from some kind of crotch rot. It had landed him in detention for a week, but as far as AJ was concerned, that was a small price to pay for being a legend. Part of him had even wished he'd thought of it himself, and he'd been jealous of Barry and the attention he'd garnered.
"I think he got him," Darren said, as soon as he'd drawn level with AJ.
"Who got what?"
"The Owl-Man," Darren said. His blood-shot eyes were like flying saucers, and AJ half expected to see them bulge out of Darren's head any moment.
"Stop chattin' shit, yeah. The Owl-Man is nothing but a story we tell little kids like you lot to scare you."
"He's real," Darren said defiantly. AJ contemplated clipping Darren around the back of his head—just like his dad did to him—but changed his mind. Darren was having it rough, and while AJ was tough, he was fair. "We saw his eyes in the woods."
"You saw nothin'," AJ said, turning away from Darren. From the opposite side of the school Barry was ambling towards them both and AJ pushed away from the wall.
"I'm telling you, AJ, we saw his eyes on Saturday night. He was there, I know he was. And Oliver saw him too."
"Well, if you saw him, then I guess Owl-Man must have taken Oliver." Derision dripped from each one of AJ's words, but the strangled noise that left Darren's lips told AJ that the younger boy didn't know when he was the butt of a joke.
"You really think he took him?"
"Prolly," AJ said. "And if he did, then he ain't coming back, so stop banging on about it all the time, yeah?" Darren sniffed and AJ caught sight of the tears that glistened in the younger boy’s eyes, and for a moment he felt the briefest flicker of guilt.
"It's all my fault," Darren whispered. He scuffed the back of his hand beneath his nose and sniffed loudly.
"You comin'," Barry called from the other side of the marshy lawn.
"Yeah!"
"What am I supposed to do?" Darren asked, but AJ ignored him and started onto the grass.
He immediately regretted his decision as the mud from the lawn squelched up around his pristinely white trainers. AJ’s foot slipped, and he windmilled his arms, barely managing to stay on his feet. "Shit," he swore vehemently as he righted himself.
Barry's laughter drifted across the air, causing heat to mount AJ's cheeks. He watched Barry double over, his already straining buttons on his white school shirt gaping against his rotund belly. The guilt AJ had felt moments before fled as humiliation burned in his chest.
"I don't fucking know, or care, Darren. Why don't you piss off and cry at someone who gives a shit?"
"But you're my friend--" AJ's laughter cut Darren off before he could finish his sentence.
"Who gave you that fucking idea? I'm not your friend. Your only friend is prolly dead. Maybe you should go and join him." With that final parting shot, AJ started off across the grass leaving Darren to sniffle loudly behind him.
Chapter Thirty-Two
"We're going to hold a press-conference," the monk said, his voice carrying over the murmuring in the room. It was enough to bring silence to the conference room, and Drew felt a frisson of tension race down his spine. Press conferences were never a positive sign, he knew it and so did everybody else present.
It would open up Oliver Poole's family to all sorts of responses; both negative and positive. If they weren't suitably emotional, or often if they were too emotional, many people would see red-flags that simply weren't there. Too many armchair detectives believed they could solve a case simply by watching something on the television. It was never so simple. True, there had been a number of high-profile cases that had involved liars who were only too happy to shed their crocodile tears in front of the nation. But more often than not, at least in Drew's experience, those who resorted to the ordeal of a press-conference were simply too desperate and distraught to care about the implications of the public turning against them.
"Are you sure it's a good idea?" Drew asked the question he knew the rest of the team were thinking.
"You know as well as I, that if we could keep the press out of it, we would. But we need to reach a wider audience and the media is the fastest way to do it." From where he sat, Drew could see the strain the case was beginning to take on his DCI. He'd never been a conventionally handsome man, but the toll of the case had seemingly robbed him of what little youth he had left on his side. The monk's usually pallid complexion was washed out under the harsh strip lighting and the dark circles ringing his already too-small eyes caused them to practically disappear beneath his heavy brow.
"We can set up some alerts through social media." A somewhat familiar voice from the back of the room piped up, and Drew turned in his seat and scanned the people who stood against the back wall. He snagged his gaze on the red-haired analyst who had come down with the others from the NCA. She didn't see him, her attention instead riveted on the front of the room. What was her name again? Jamie, Jessie? Jodie. The name popped into his head and Drew was pleased to know his lack of sleep hadn't completely turned his brain to Swiss cheese.
"And what good will that do?" Gregson asked, managing to sound both dismissive and irritated at the same time. "People join places like that to look at videos of cats, not missing kids."
"That's not entirely true," Jodie said. "We've seen some excellent responses through social media to previous investigations. The public like to see their local police forces reaching out through the arenas they're already familiar with. It gives them a greater sense of security. Not to mention people like to think they can make a difference."
"Great, so it's a morale boost," Gregson muttered beneath his breath. "I thought your lot were supposed to help with CCTV and the likes, not turn this into a popularity contest. Oliver Poole needs action, not likes on a post."
As Gregson spoke, colour flooded up into Jodie's face, travelling up her neck until it reached the tips of her ears, turning her a becoming shade of pink.
"Actually, I think Ms Meakin is correct." Harriet's support took Drew by surprise. Not only had he not realised she'd been invited to the meeting, but he hadn't actually seen her arrive. "People are most likely to get their sources of news from social media these days. There have been a number of studies done to reflect this, it's actually one of the reasons we've seen an uptick in false narratives flourishing. People like to think they've discovered something for themselves, and the more unscrupulous among the general population who feed on sowing anarchy and discord are only too happy to use this medium for their own benefit. And it’s because of this base that we’re having a corresponding rise in the 'fake news' rhetoric among populations."
"I don't need to know why people believe the bull-shit spouted on the internet as fact, Dr Quinn. What I need is action. There's a young boy missing and as every hour passes our chances of finding and bringing him home to his parents alive decrease."
"Then social media is one of the best tools to utilise in the search," Jodie said. There was still a slight pink tinge to her cheeks, but she'd mostly managed to recover her composure.
"Just get the word out there," Gregson said irritably. "Dr Quinn, I'd like you to help the parents prepare for the press conference. Everyone else you know what you're supposed to be doing. I expect results."
Drew was on his feet and moving before the DCI had managed to step away from his position at the top of the room. He spotted the monk's attempt to catch his eye but quickly sidestepped his boss as he made after Harriet, who seemed to be in deep conversation with the analyst as they left the space.
He managed to catch up to them in the hall and was a little chagrined to find himself somewhat out of breath; too many bacon stotties, he reasoned. He'd have to do something about the almost constant barrage of junk-food before he turned into the Pillsbury Doughboy's brother.
"Are you all right?" Harriet raised an eyebrow at him.
"I wanted to know if you'd found anything in the old files?"
"Olivia told you I was looking over them?" There was the briefest flicker of accusation in Harriet's voice, which took him somewhat by surprise. It wasn't like her to overreact to something so innocuous as the sharing of information amongst the team.
"She said you were engrossed, I just wanted to know if you'd discovered anything that might help us? Is everything..." He trailed off, suddenly unsure how to finish the sentence.
"Sorry," Harriet said. "I've just not been sleeping too well. The case, and I've got a few things on my mind."
"Lavender is supposed to help with that," Jodie interrupted, reminding Drew that she was there.
"With the case?" Harriet asked, managing to look suitably confused. Drew was used to her being a little scattered but if she wasn't keeping abreast of the conversation enough to know what Jodie was referring to then she really was distracted.
Jodie's smile was indulgent. "No. I meant with your insomnia. Lavender is supposed to help. You can get all sorts of pillow sprays and things nowadays. I can bring you in one if you'd like?" There was an eagerness to Jodie's voice, and Drew found himself in the unusual position of being on the outside looking in, a position Harriet herself was normally placed in.
"I'm not suffering with insomnia," Harriet said, although she didn't sound particularly convincing. "But thanks for the tip."
"It's the least I could do," Jodie said. "At least now I can go full steam ahead with using social media to cast a wider net."
"You really think that's going to help?" Drew asked. He was mostly being polite, but he was a little curious to know the answer.
"Do you have a smartphone?" Jodie's question didn't seem particularly relevant, but he decided to play along.
"Yeah. Although sometimes I wish I didn't."
"And what's the first thing you look at when you wake in the morning?"
Drew opened his mouth to answer, the automatic answer practically tripped off his tongue. But he was forced to bring himself up short as he realised it would be a lie. He shuffled awkwardly, his sudden realisation made him more than uncomfortable. He'd been about to tell them that the first thing he looked at when he woke in the morning was the last picture he'd taken of Freya, but if he was honest he hadn't done that in months. When had it changed?
"I'm sorry," Jodie said. "I didn't mean to put you on the spot like that. My boss is always telling me I need to learn to read the room before I open my mouth."
"No, it's fine," Drew said. "I guess I look at my Facebook app first thing." As he spoke he was acutely aware of Harriet's attention, which was fixated on his face. Her uncanny ability to read his mind wasn't something he particularly wanted right now. But when she didn't say anything, he found himself letting go of some of the building tension in his shoulders.
"You see, that's exactly what most people do. If we can leverage our social media accounts to get the general public's eyeballs where we want them to be, we might begin to uncover some useful information. I can even stream the press-conference live through the accounts, and--"
"Guv!" There was a note of excitement in Maz’s voice that pulled his attention away from the conversation at hand. “Can I have a word?”
Drew stepped away, leaving Harriet and Jodie to continue their conversation. “What is it?”
“It’s Taylor. The hospital phoned. They’re sending him straight over.”
“That’s great news,” Drew said, his mind already beginning to spin with the possibilities. Perhaps this was the break they’d been waiting for all along.
“Get the interview room prepped,” Drew said. “And I want you to keep this quiet. We don’t need the world and his wife knowing we’ve got Taylor in here for questions. Once that press-conference goes out this place will be crawling with people and I don’t want someone getting it in their heads to go after Taylor before we have the chance to give him a thorough going over.”
Maz nodded and was gone before Drew had to say another word.
When he returned to Harriet’s side he discovered Jodie had already left.
“What was that about?” It never ceased to amaze him that Harriet could keep her curiosity so well contained.
"Taylor is coming in the next few minutes to have a chat with us," Drew said, feeling the familiar feeling of excitement bubble in his chest. "The hospital has given him a clean bill of health, aside from a few bruises he's no worse for wear after his suicide attempt yesterday." Drew caught Harriet's eye. "Do you think it was a legit attempt?"
Harriet pursed her lips. "Given that he couldn't have known that you would figure out where he'd escaped to, I have to believe there was at least some sincerity in his actions."
"But?" Drew asked shrewdly. He always seemed to know when she was hedging her bets and now was no exception.
"There is always the possibility that he intended for things to work out as they did. It's possible he heard you coming and in a moment of panic thought taking matters into his own hands would be a preferable scenario. Maybe he was even trying to hide something from you. Anything is possible. I should know more once you've had a chance to speak with him.”
"You're sitting in, right?"
"I'd much rather observe if possible," Harriet said. "The moment I walk in there, Taylor is going to get his back up, and I'd rather we give him the opport
unity to cooperate."
Drew's expression turned thoughtful. "That's a good point. From all accounts he's spent quite a bit of time talking to psychologists."
Harriet nodded. "I read his file. He's not exactly a fan of the people in my profession."
"Well, who do you suggest I take in there with me? Melissa would be the obvious choice of course."
Harriet let her gaze sweep hastily over the squad room. "Perhaps going with someone who might show a little more empathy might be safer," Harriet said.
"You don't think Melissa is empathetic?" Harriet knew the moment she heard the surprise in Drew's voice that she'd plunged straight into the trap he'd set for her. "I take it you're not exactly keen on her then?"
She shook her head. "I'm capable of keeping my personal feelings separate from my professional opinions," Harriet said archly. If there was one thing she disliked, it was being made to feel as though every one of her choices was somehow reliant on her personal thoughts when that couldn't have been further from the truth.
"That's not a no," Drew said, a lazy smile playing around his lips.
"She has a forceful personality," Harriet said, attempting to keep her tone of voice as diplomatic as possible. "And while that is an excellent trait to have for the job she does, it won't serve us well in this situation. Taylor needs to feel as though somebody is on his side and you're not capable of that." Drew's smile faltered, and Harriet knew her words had hit home.
"That's a little harsh."
"You don't keep me around here, Drew, so I can pander to your ego. You keep me here because I can provide insight into situations that you cannot. If both you and DI Appleton go into that room together, you stand zero chance of getting anything useful from Taylor."
"Then who?"
Harriet pursed her lips. "Olivia would be my first choice," she said. "And DC Green would be my second, but Olivia has more experience working with the team. Also, from what I've read of Taylor's file he seems to believe he can appeal to women more easily. You could use that to your advantage in there."
Hunting the Silence: The Yorkshire Murders (DI Haskell & Quinn Crime Thriller Series Book 4) Page 19