The Disappeared

by Ali Harper

  ‘What about Jack?’

  ‘You know. About his family and stuff.’

  ‘Tell us everything, Brownie. We need to know everything.’

  ‘I told her about Jack’s dad.’

  I thought back to Mr Wilkins, the look in his eyes when I’d mentioned his son. ‘What about him?’

  Brownie wiped his eyes on the back of my jacket sleeve. ‘He only ever mentioned it once.’

  ‘Who did?’

  He paused.

  ‘Come on, Brownie. Better out than in.’

  ‘We were both shit-faced.’

  ‘And?’

  ‘Jack told me his dad killed his mum.’

  A feeling ran through my body, like coming up, alarming the hair follicles on my scalp right down through my spine.

  ‘I laughed,’ said Brownie. ‘Thought he was taking the piss, but he wasn’t, he was deadly serious. And I knew, straight up, there was something in it.’

  ‘She died in a car crash,’ I said. I glanced at Jo. ‘That’s what Carly said.’

  Brownie shrugged. ‘Maybe he fixed the brakes.’

  I watched Jo’s reaction, and I knew we were both thinking the same thing. Jack’s dad worked with cars. If anyone knew how to fix the brakes, he did.

  Jo spoke to Brownie. ‘And you told Martha this?’

  ‘Yeah. Jack never said, but it’s obvious. Must be wadded. He got sent to boarding school when he was seven. We had that in common.’

  ‘You didn’t go to boarding school,’ I said, unable to keep the disbelief from my voice.

  ‘Boarding school. Care.’ He shrugged. ‘Same difference.’

  ‘So, Martha blackmailed Jack’s dad for the cash?’ That wasn’t beyond the bounds of plausibility. I chewed it over. It would explain why Mr Wilkins had flipped out when he heard I was looking for Jack.

  ‘Maybe. I told Jack, once, to ask his dad for a lend. Wouldn’t have any of it. I was like, “Jack, they’re going to break our legs”, but he wouldn’t listen. Stubborn sod.’

  ‘But why? Why would he kill her? Martha, I mean. If he’d already paid up?’

  Jo turned to me and pulled a face. ‘To punish her. Men like that need to show who’s boss.’

  ‘Jack idolizes his mum. He’s got this picture of her, carries it everywhere. She’s cracking looking.’ Brownie grinned, and, for a brief, fleeting second, I saw what Martha saw in him.

  ‘Carly said she died when he was 5,’ Jo said.

  ‘It’s possible,’ I said, thinking aloud. ‘Martha blackmails Jack’s dad, gets the cash, but before she can give it to you or to Jack, maybe Jack’s dad comes looking for him. Realizes he’s told the family secret.’ I stared at Jo as a prickle ran down my spine. ‘That must have been his mate following us, the guy with the gun. Must be his bodyguard or something.’

  Jo finished the thought I was trying not to have. ‘You think Nick Wilkins has killed his own son?’

  Chapter Twenty-Seven

  Brownie shot up off the settee. He made for the door. I grabbed his arm and pulled him back. His eyes pleaded with me. ‘I can’t handle this,’ he said.

  ‘You don’t have to, Brownie. Jo and me, we’ll sort it. I promise.’

  He stared at a spot on the green paisley carpet, his skinny shoulders hunched around his ears. ‘I need Jack,’ he said, his voice barely a whisper.

  When you don’t have a family, friends matter. I know this. I met Jo the first week I moved to Leeds – in Freshers’ Week. I was wandering around the stalls, feeling like a fish out of water. She cadged a fag off me, and we realized we were on the same course. Four days after that, I was taken out of a lecture, on the invitation of the welfare state, to be told my mum was dead. I don’t remember much about that day, I mean after. But I know Jo was by my side every minute of it, and I know I wouldn’t have got through without her. I went to touch Brownie’s arm but didn’t quite connect.

  ‘I know you do.’

  ‘Who wants black pudding?’ said Aunt Edie, barrelling through the door. Brownie turned away from her, buried his head in his hands.

  Aunt Edie looked at me.

  ‘Ah. Er, Brownie’s vegan,’ I said. ‘That means—’

  ‘I know what it means. I’m not completely cabbage looking. Right. Bear with me. In fact, you, young man, come and give us a hand. I need someone tall to reach down my big plates.’

  Aunt Edie put up the drop-down leaf on the table in the front room window. The wood on the side panel was a completely different colour to that on the top, a dark rich mahogany compared to bleached yellow. After a rummage through her cupboards, which are stocked in preparation for the next world war, she’d rustled up some kind of vegan hash, made with sweet potato and kidney beans, as well as a full English. She fussed around us while we ate, and I wasn’t surprised to see three empty plates at the end of the meal. Aunt Edie’s bosom swelled but she tried not to show it.

  When we’d all finished, she poured us a cup of tea from the fresh pot and took a seat at the table. ‘So, what trouble are you in this time? And remember, I’m too old for fairy tales.’

  I glanced across at Jo. She licked her fingers first, then nodded at me.

  ‘We’re on our first case,’ I said. ‘And we’ve run into a bit of difficulty.’

  ‘I know your problem, young man.’ Aunt Edie put a hand on Brownie’s arm to take the fierceness from her tone. ‘See it round here all the time.’

  Brownie blinked and tried to move his arm, but Aunt Edie’s grip must have been stronger than I thought.

  ‘Life is hard,’ she said. ‘I know that. But you can’t numb your way out of it. You have to face it down.’

  Brownie looked like he might cry. Aunt Edie patted his arm, and he grabbed her hand in his. Held on to it like a child would. Her voice was softer than I’d ever heard it. ‘Where’s your mother, pet?’

  ‘She’s not well,’ Brownie managed. I felt a lump at the back of my throat and pushed my chair back.

  ‘You’ll feel better after a nap,’ Aunt Edie said. ‘You look shattered, the lot of you.’

  ‘That would be ace, Aunt Edie. Don’t think he’s slept the last two nights.’

  Brownie’s eyelids were thick.

  ‘There’s a bed made up in the spare room,’ said Aunt Edie, holding his hand to pull him out of the chair. ‘Come with me, pet. Let’s get you settled.’

  She was back ten minutes later, telling us he was fast asleep. ‘I read the financial section to him. If that doesn’t put you to sleep, nothing will.’

  ‘We need to keep an eye on him,’ I said, unsure of how much to say.

  ‘Don’t worry, the windows are too small to climb out of and I’ve put a chair under the door handle. He’s not going anywhere.’

  ‘Right.’

  Aunt Edie busied herself collecting the empty plates. ‘So, that’s one of you out of harm’s way for the while. Now, let’s hear about you. How’re you keeping?’

  ‘I’m doing OK.’

  ‘Don’t kid a kidder, kid. You’ve lost half a stone since I saw you last, and it’s not like you had it to spare.’

  ‘I’ve taken up running. I think that keeps me—’

  ‘If you don’t take care of yourself, no one else will.’

  ‘I am taking care.’

  ‘She’s quit drinking, Edie,’ said Jo. ‘And I keep my eye on her. Give me those.’ Jo took the plates and went through to the kitchen. I heard the splash as she put them in the sink.

  ‘And what about the rest?’ Aunt Edie said to me, her voice lowered.

  ‘There wasn’t really a rest,’ I said, feeling the burn in my cheeks spread down to my chest.

  ‘You forget, I sat by your bed in that hospital, four nights, wondering if each breath was going to be your last. As God is my witness. She can vouch for me.’ She nodded at Jo as she came back into the room.

  I helped Aunt Edie pull the leg of the table out so that the drop leaf fell back into place.

  ‘That wasn’t anything. Just �
� anyway, I don’t do that kind of thing anymore.’

  Edie picked up her cup of tea, saucer and all, and lowered herself into the armchair. ‘No one’s saying it’s easy. You’ve had it as worse as anyone. Losing your mum at such a young age and then all that business—’

  ‘I know, Aunt Edie. And honest, I’m dealing with it. It helps if we don’t talk about it.’

  ‘Just like my mother, God keep her soul. That was her motto. “Least said, soonest mended”.’

  I took a seat on the settee. ‘See.’ I liked the sound of Aunt Edie’s mother. Stoical.

  Aunt Edie rapped my knuckles with the teaspoon she was holding. ‘And look what happened to her. She didn’t see 50. Cancer. Eating away her insides. You want to end up like that? Better out than in. You have to talk to people.’

  ‘I do.’

  ‘You don’t,’ said Jo. ‘You beat the shit out of a punchbag, that’s what you do.’

  I glared at Jo. ‘Better than drinking.’

  ‘I know,’ said Jo. ‘But is it as good as talking about it?’

  ‘You’re ganging up on me now?’

  ‘Don’t be daft. We’re on your side.’ Aunt Edie hauled herself up from the armchair and stepped into the hall. ‘We’re your family,’ she called through.

  ‘Traitor,’ I said to Jo.

  ‘And pick up the phone once in a blue moon, would you?’ said Edie, coming back into the room with a carpet sweeper. ‘Then I know not to worry.’

  ‘And you’ll stop with the lecture?’

  ‘Deal,’ said Edie. ‘Now get the telly on while I see to those crumbs. Gordon’s brought last week’s Songs of Praise.’

  I don’t think either Jo or I made it to the end of the first hymn. We both crashed on the sofa, didn’t wake up till lunchtime. When I staggered into the kitchen to get a glass of water I found that Aunt Edie had spent the morning making soups, hundreds of Tupperware boxes covered every inch of worktop.

  ‘You can put them in your freezer.’

  I didn’t have the heart to tell her we didn’t have a freezer. Aunt Edie heated us both up a bowl of French onion, while Jo flinched at the ox’s tailbone poking out of a pan on the stove.

  ‘Now, what’s the plan?’ asked Aunt Edie.

  ‘We have to find Jack,’ I said. Our client might be dead, but Jack was still our missing person. I felt strangely proprietorial considering I’d never met the guy. ‘We have to see it through.’

  ‘Tenner says he’s dead,’ said Jo.

  Aunt Edie flicked her with the tea towel. ‘Don’t say that. That lad up there’ – she pointed towards the ceiling – ‘needs him.’

  ‘How do you know that?’ I asked. I’m always amazed at the way she can pick up on stuff. She can spend five minutes with a complete stranger and come away knowing their entire life story.

  ‘He’s never going to get round this on his own. You have to find Jack, for Brownie’s sake.’

  Chapter Twenty-Eight

  We left Brownie at Aunt Edie’s. He needed someone to keep an eye on him. He needed sleep and feeding up. Music to Aunt Edie’s ears. She even kept the soup.

  We caught a taxi back to Leeds, which was extravagant, but I did have twenty-four grand burning a hole in the belt round my belly, and Jo pointed out we could claim the whole fare as expenses. It dropped us in town so that Jo could buy two new phones for us. I pretended to be pleased with mine, although I couldn’t help noticing I’d been downgraded a model. Once the teenager in the shop had set them up for us, we looped back to the Dark Arches to collect the van. Jo drove us up through the city.

  ‘Home?’

  ‘No, the office,’ I said. ‘I want to put the cash back in the safe.’

  I was just putting my key in the padlock on the front door when a low voice behind me said: ‘We need to talk.’

  Even though it was broad daylight, my first instinct was to shout at Jo to run. I turned, saw a tall man with long hair standing in front of me. I lifted myself up onto the balls of my feet, kept my body light, my fists coiled. I kept my voice level, spoke slow.

  ‘Leave us alone.’

  He reached inside his jacket. One second split into twenty and it took me five of those units to realize there was no decision to be made. I kicked out, first with my knee then with my boot, connected with his gullet. A quick one-two, followed it up with a decent right cross.

  He doubled over.

  ‘Stop,’ he yelled. I saw his hand withdraw. It wasn’t holding a gun, but a wallet. He flicked it open. ‘Police.’

  Jo turned, and we stared at each other. I wasn’t sure whether I felt relieved or more frightened. He clutched his stomach and tried to straighten up.

  ‘You’re going to need to come with me,’ he said.

  I haven’t had the best relationship with the police, but I’m trying to put my prejudices to one side. If I’m fighting for truth and justice, I have to stop seeing the police as the enemy. Not easy when you’ve a soft drugs habit to support.

  ‘Police? What the hell do you want?’

  He glanced around. ‘Not here.’

  ‘Don’t look like a copper,’ said Jo. He had brown hair streaked with grey tied back in a loose ponytail. He wore a silver sleeper in his right ear and his jeans were ripped at the knees.

  ‘Undercover,’ he said. ‘Col.’ He exhaled and rubbed his belly.

  ‘Give me that,’ said Jo. She took the ID wallet off him, examined it closely. She nodded at me before handing it back to him.

  I waited for him to get his cuffs out. Instead, he surprised me by saying: ‘Could I buy you both a drink?’

  ‘We’d rather just hear what you’ve got to say,’ I said. ‘We’re tired, need to get home. Feed the cat.’

  Jo frowned. We don’t have a cat, but I was knackered and ready for this day to end. ‘What’s it about?’ she asked.

  ‘I don’t want to discuss it out here.’ As he said the words a couple of students, one in a dressing gown, sauntered down the middle of the road. ‘Is there somewhere we could go?’

  ‘There’s the Royal Park,’ said Jo. She shrugged her shoulders at me. ‘A quick one,’ she said to Col.

  They started off down the hill together. She was right, he didn’t look the least bit like a policeman. I sighed and followed on behind, running over the events of the last twenty-four hours. What did he want to talk to us about? Did he know I’d been in Martha’s flat? Would forensics be back that quick? Had they traced the phone call I’d made at Dewsbury station? A thousand paranoias ran through my mind as Jo led the way to our local – the Royal Park pub. Another student favourite, a huge red-brick building squashed between the terraced houses. We got inside, and Jo asked Col for a half a pint. I shook my head.

  Jo and I went through the pub and sat outside under the wooden awning at the back, while Col went to the bar. Patio heaters glowed above our heads, but it didn’t make much difference to the actual temperature. Jo lit two cigarettes and passed one to me.

  ‘What’s he want with us?’ I asked.

  ‘Only one way to find out,’ she said.

  He joined us a moment later. Up close I noticed the deep lines round his eyes. He wore a silver ring on the third finger of his left hand and had a small tattoo of a swallow on the back of his right, between the base of his thumb and forefinger.

  As soon as he set the drinks down on the table he rubbed his ribs again and said: ‘That’s a hell of a punch. Where did you learn to fight like that?’

  I felt a flush of pride, despite the circumstances. ‘Thailand. Yuki taught me.’ As soon as I’d said the words my cheeks warmed. For starters he’d have no idea who Yuki was and, secondly, Thailand was something I didn’t want to talk about. Thailand gave us the idea for No Stone Unturned, but that’s another story. One I’m not planning on telling, especially not to undercover police officers.

  I think Jo sensed my discomfort because she wiped the beer froth from her lips with the back of her sleeve and said: ‘What do you want?’

&nbs
p; Col turned his gaze to her. ‘What do you know about Megan Parsons?’

  Of all the questions I was prepped for him asking, that wasn’t one of them. ‘Who?’ I asked as Jo had her glass to her lips.

  ‘You may know her as Martha.’

  Jo swallowed, put down her glass. ‘Mrs Wilkins?’

  ‘Eh?’ he said.

  ‘Martha?’ I said, pressing on Jo’s foot under the table. Technically our client was dead, but my feelings of loyalty were increasing by the minute. Having pocketed her fee, we owed her something, and until this man proved he was a force for good I was proceeding on the basis he was a force for bad. I leaned across the table towards him. ‘What do you know about her?’

  ‘You know she’s dead?’ He watched my face for a reaction. I fought to control any flicker of emotion.

  ‘No,’ said Jo, her voice too loud. The students at the next table glanced across at us.

  Col lowered his voice. ‘So you know … knew her?’

  I shook my head as Jo asked: ‘What happened?’

  ‘She was murdered,’ said Col. He squeezed the flesh at the top of his nose between his thumb and forefinger. ‘Last night.’

  ‘Murdered?’ said Jo. ‘God, that’s dreadful. In Leeds?’

  I worried Jo was in danger of overdoing it. I was so tired it was hard to gauge normal human interaction. ‘Murdered how?’ I asked.

  Jo blew her nose.

  I suspected our undercover friend wasn’t buying any of it. ‘Look,’ he said. ‘We need to level with each other.’

  ‘What’s your name again?’ I asked.

  To give him his due, he did kind of acknowledge my pointed question. He held up his hands. ‘Col.’

  ‘Col what?’

  He didn’t answer, just looked at me like I was vaguely stupid. I crossed my arms and stared back, making sure not to blink. ‘What makes you think we know this woman?’ I asked.

  ‘She told me she’d been to see you.’

  ‘She told you “she’d been to see us”,’ I repeated, because I didn’t really know what else to say. ‘I’ve never heard of Megan Parsons. Who is she?’

  ‘I think you’re in danger,’ he said.