by P. F. Ford
‘Ah, yes. She told me that might happen.’
‘I don’t have a problem working with women.’ The words came far too quickly and his face reddened.
‘It’s alright.’ Darling smiled at him, amused that he was now on the back foot. ‘She told me that as well. She said she’d worked with you when she first arrived here. She gave you a pretty glowing reference, actually.’
‘Oh, did she?’ asked Slater. He managed to look surprised and pleased at the same time. ‘What else did she tell you about me?’
‘She reckons your attitude’s a bit old fashioned at times, but you’re a top guy, and I can learn a lot from you.’
He suddenly seemed to realise they were still standing.
‘Sorry,’ he said, pulling a chair from under the table. ‘Here, sit down.’
She settled in next to him and looked at him expectantly. He looked back at her.
‘Err, you’re the boss,’ she said, after a moment. ‘Where do we start?’
‘Ah, yeah, right. To be honest, it’s all a bit quiet at the moment.’
But then his mobile phone came to the rescue as it started to ring. Saved by the bell indeed, Darling thought.
‘Sorry,’ he said, as he fiddled the phone from his pocket and raised it to his ear. He listened for a few seconds and frowned. ‘Right. We’re on our way,’ he said, as he cut the call and slipped the phone back in his pocket. ‘Looks like you’re going to get to show me how you can drive.’
‘I drive just fine,’ she said. ‘Just show me the car and tell me where we’re going.’
‘This isn’t what I would choose for a starter,’ he told her. ‘In fact it’s one of those jobs I always hope we never have to do.’
‘What’s the problem?’ asked Darling.
‘A girl’s gone missing. She’s just eight years old.’
‘So, why the police?’ asked Slater, once they had grabbed a pool car and were on their way.
‘Why not?’
‘I can make you a list, if you’ve got all day to listen.’
‘Yeah, yeah. I’ve heard all the usual reasons why not, but I’m still here, aren’t I? I suppose I want to try and make some sort of difference.’
‘Right.’ Slater sighed heavily. ‘Of course, that’s what we all think when we start out, when we’re young and keen. But then after a while you realise you’re like the fire brigade trying to control a massive forest fire with a leaky bucket of water. Only you can’t control the fire because every time you put one little part out, it breaks out again in two more places, and the whole fire just keeps getting bigger and bigger, and there’s never enough firemen, or enough buckets, and even if we had the firemen and the buckets, there’s never enough water.’
‘Jesus!’ said Darling, turning her head briefly to stare at him. ‘Is that supposed to inspire me? You’re certainly not Mr Motivator, are you?’
‘I’m just telling it how it is.’
‘Maybe,’ she said, doubtfully, ‘but that’s a crappy outlook on life, don’t you think? Are you sure that’s really how it is? Or, is it just how you see it?’
‘I suppose you’re another one of these positive thinkers, are you? They keep telling me I’m a pessimist, but I think I’m a realist.’
‘How long have you been doing this?’ Darling wondered if changing the subject would make the conversation a bit less depressing.
‘Long enough to know we’re losing the war,’ said Slater, grimly.
Darling gave him a sideways look.
‘Would you like me to pull over and see if I’ve got a razor blade in my bag? You might want to borrow it so you can slit your wrists.’
They drove in silence for another minute or so as Darling tried to equate Slater’s pessimism with Goodnews’ assurance that she was going to learn a lot from him.
‘Are you always this depressing? Or is this a good day?’
Slater sighed again and shifted in his seat.
‘Apparently I have a tendency to lean towards the pessimistic in my unguarded moments,’ he said. ‘It’s something I’m trying to change. Feel free to point it out any time. Everyone else does.’
‘You’re not suffering from depression, are you? Only the boss didn’t say anything about-’
‘Let’s just say life has a habit of lifting me up and then putting me down. And right now I seem to be on a downer.’
‘If you don’t mind me saying, you sound like a stereotypical, head-messed-up, TV detective. I should keep an eye out next time they’re casting for a new series. You’ll be a shoo-in for the job.’
‘Maybe it’s just the case that TV is a pretty good reflection of what’s it’s really like being a detective,’ said Slater.
‘D’you really think that?’ asked Darling. ‘I think TV distills the worst it can out of every character and situation, and then exaggerates it by a factor of about ten.’
‘And you think I’m that bad, do you?’
Darling didn’t quite know what to say, and before she could think of an answer he spoke again.
‘Well, thank you for your concern regarding the state of my mind,’ he said, sounding thoroughly pissed off, ‘but it’s not actually up for discussion, and you don’t need to worry about it. It doesn’t stop me doing my job, and it won’t put you in any sort of danger.’
‘I’m just saying you don’t sound as if you’re going to be bundle of fun to be around.’
‘This isn’t supposed to be a comedy club, and it’s not my job to keep you entertained.’
Darling was more than ready to take the matter further, but then she thought better of it. She had only just met Slater. Winding him up probably wouldn’t be the best way to start a working relationship.
‘Okay, fair enough,’ she said. ‘You’re the boss. But if ever you want to talk, I’m a pretty good listener, and I can keep a confidence.’
‘Why, thank you, I’ll bear that in mind next time I’m feeling suicidal,’ he said, sarcastically, ‘but I’m sure you’ll understand I tend to confide in older people, if you see what I mean.’
‘Oh, right,’ she said, testily. ‘You mean someone my age couldn’t possibly know what it’s like?’
‘Something like that.’
‘And you’re quite sure you don’t have a problem working with a woman, are you?’
There was a pause, and a quick glance out of the corner of her eye told Darling that Slater was having a bit of a sulk.
‘For your information,’ she said, making quite sure he knew she was now the one who was pissed off, ‘I wasn’t suggesting I’m some sort of life advisor who can solve all your problems. You have to work out your own solutions to your own problems. I was just offering to listen. Sometimes the answer comes to us when we talk about it.’
They drove on in stony silence, apart from his directions.
By the time Slater and Darling reached the school, the whole area was crawling with uniformed police officers. Darling followed Slater as he made a beeline for a youngish man in a suit who looked like he was coordinating the situation.
‘Any news?’ Slater asked, completely ignoring Darling.
‘Not so far,’ said the younger man. ‘We’re just trying to get list of all the parents who might have been here, before the mother arrived. Poor girl was twenty minutes late, so all of the other parents had already left with their kids.’
‘How is she?’
‘In bits. She was going frantic and getting in the way here, so I’ve had a family liaison officer escort her home and arranged for a doctor to get over there.’
‘How long has the girl been missing?’ asked Darling, fed up of being a spectator.
‘This is my new partner,’ said Slater, in an off-hand fashion. ‘DC Darling, meet DC Biddeford.’
‘Oh, right,’ said Biddeford, dismissively. He hadn’t even bothered to look at her yet.
Darling refused to let him make her feel uncomfortable. She stuck her hand out and he glanced down, surprised, and then back up at her. H
e seemed suddenly to realise she was a woman, and he grasped her hand and shook and then beamed at her. Darling suppressed a groan.
‘Mum turned up at 3.50pm and there was no sign of Chrissy,’ he said, and he turned to Darling to include her. ‘School finishes at 3.30pm, and it’s now coming up to 5pm, so she’s been gone an hour and a half.’
Slater frowned.
‘So what do you think? Is this the real deal?’
‘Hard to say,’ said Biddeford. ‘Could just be that the kid got fed up waiting for her mum and wandered off. With any luck she’s walking home and she’ll turn up a bit later.’
‘She got fed up waiting? After twenty minutes?’ asked Slater doubtfully. ‘That’s one very impatient little girl.’
‘I’m just trying to look on the bright side.’ Biddeford looked at Darling, as if he was hoping she would back him up. She ignored him.
‘Yeah, I know, Steve,’ said Slater.
‘How far away is home?’ asked Darling.
‘Less than a mile,’ said Biddeford.
‘Shit,’ said Slater, gloomily. ‘An hour and a half to walk less than a mile home. It’s not sounding good, is it?’
‘I’ve got people heading to the house on-foot from here, and others coming in the opposite direction, and the headmistress is phoning all Chrissy’s friends just in case she’s at someone’s house.’
‘Have the teams out on the street got photos?’
‘I got the headmistress to do copies from the school photographs for us,’ said Biddeford. ‘I thought it would be quickest.’
‘Good thinking,’ said Slater, nodding at Biddeford. ‘You seem to have it all under control here. We’ll go and talk to mum. Perhaps Chrissy will have made it home by the time we get there.’
‘Who is that guy?’ asked Darling as they walked back towards their car.
‘DC Steve Biddeford. He’s been here for a couple of years.’
‘Hashtag nobhead.’
‘I’m sorry?’ Slater sounded puzzled.
‘It’s a social media thing,’ she said. ‘If I was telling my friends about him, I would add a hashtag: at the end. It saves having to explain that I think the guy’s an idiot. If I just put the hashtag followed by the word “nobhead”, the whole world knows exactly what I mean.’
‘You do that a lot? Social media?’
‘I’m on Facebook,’ she said, ‘but I’ve never got round to Twitter. You?’
‘Never got started. It seems to me it would be an easy place for someone to target you as a police officer. I think you’re asking for trouble.’
‘It’s never been a problem so far, and it’s a good way of keeping in touch with my mates.’
‘I’m not saying it necessarily will be a problem, but it could be.’
‘Okay,’ she said. ‘Point taken.’
‘Go on, say it,’ he said.
‘Say what?’
‘What you’re thinking.’
She looked innocent.
‘Alright,’ Slater said. ‘I’ll say it for you – hashtag negative thinker. Am I right?’
She smiled at him.
‘You said that, not me.’
Chapter Three
To say Slater had been disappointed when they got to Janet Morrison’s house would be an understatement. By the time they arrived, the doctor had already been out to her, and she was now sleeping soundly under the influence of a rather heavy duty sedative. So all they had to go on was the meagre information Steve Biddeford had managed to get from her earlier at the school.
But it wasn’t all bad news. At least the family liaison officer had been possessed of sufficient foresight to anticipate what would happen once the doctor arrived and saw the frazzled state of his unfortunate patient. She hadn’t had much time, but at least she’d had long enough to gather some information, which she had passed on to Slater and Darling.
‘Right. Let’s go through what we know,’ said Slater, as Darling drove them back to the police station.
‘The parents are separated,’ said Darling. ‘Which, as usual, means it’s all down to mum to raise the daughter on her own. As a result, she has to meet her from school at half three every day, despite the fact she’s also trying to hold down a job. She has to work because the girl’s father has abandoned his responsibilities and buggered off with someone else.’
Slater looked across at Darling as she drove. She stared resolutely ahead.
‘It’s not our job to speculate as to the rights and wrongs of the parents’ marital situation,’ he said.
‘I’m just saying, it’s the same old situation all over again.’
‘And you think it’s not right?’
Now she did look across at him.
‘What? Are you saying it is right?’
‘Of course not.’ Slater turned back to face the front. ‘I’m just suggesting you should keep your personal views out of this investigation. We’re supposed to be objective. You seem to have judged the father already. We haven’t even met the man yet. Don’t forget there are two sides to every story.’
‘That is such a man’s point of view,’ said Darling, shaking her head.
‘No, it’s an objective point of view. When you start to let your personal views control your thinking, you create the situation where you could miss vital clues. Trust me, I know what I’m talking about.’
‘Right, Sir. Point taken.’
‘So what else do we know?’ he asked.
‘On the rare occasions the father does see Chrissy, he spoils her something rotten,’ said Darling. ‘Consequently the kid thinks he’s amazing and she makes her mum suffer because daddy’s left home. I wouldn’t mind betting he’s told her it’s all her mum’s fault he’s gone.’
Slater sighed and turned to look at her again.
‘Is there something you want to share?’
‘Like what?’ she asked, innocently.
‘Well, like maybe you’ve met the father somewhere along the line. Only you seem to have him completely sussed out already.’
‘Well, you heard what the liaison officer said. She said the girl turns into a right little shit every time she comes back from spending time with her dad, playing her mother up and running away. That sounds to me like he’s winding her up whenever she’s with him.’
Slater turned back to face the front and sat up a little straighter in his seat.
‘Let me just remind you,’ he said, gravely, ‘that the “right little shit”, as you describe her, is an eight-year-old trying to come to terms with her parents splitting up. She’s also been missing for the last three hours. I hope I don’t need to start quoting statistics to illustrate the gravity of this situation.’
It was getting dark outside, so it was almost impossible to see the colour rising to Darling’s face, but Slater could see the hint of red on her cheeks and knew he’d made his point.
‘I’m sorry,’ she said, contritely. ‘I didn’t mean it the way it sounded. I was just sort of illustrating how her behaviour would seem to her mother.’
‘You seem to know a lot about this.’ Slater waited to see if she revealed anything, but her lips were a tight line as she stared at the road ahead. ‘I’ll admit that what you say about the father winding Chrissy up is a possibility,’ he said after a minute or two, not wishing to prolong the atmosphere any longer. ‘But it could just as easily be the case that the kid just doesn’t understand why her parents aren’t together anymore. She misses her dad, and she just can’t cope with the situation. Seeing him would just make that worse for her whether he wound her up or not. Don’t you think?’
‘I suppose. But I bet I’m right. For a start, why isn’t he there helping her mother cope? He might not like his wife anymore, but surely, if he’s such a great dad, he would want to know what had happened to his daughter, wouldn’t he?’
Slater had been wondering about that himself. Clive Morrison had been told his daughter was missing, but apparently he had been too busy to leave work. In fact, the liaison o
fficer had told them, he hadn’t even sounded particularly concerned when she had told him.
‘Just turn around this corner and find number 22 and we can ask him, can’t we?’ he said. ‘But I think it might be better if I take the lead.’
‘You’re going to have to work on developing a poker face,’ said Slater an hour later, as they were driving away from Clive Morrison’s house.
‘What’s that supposed to mean?’ asked Darling. ‘I can do blank face as good as anyone.’
Slater guffawed loudly.
‘You have to be kidding me. I could read you like a book in there, and I’m sure they could, too. At one point I thought you were going to throw up all over their carpet!’
‘Well, really. Don’t tell me you weren’t looking for a sick bag when she started all that lovey-dovey, simpering like a half-wit stuff.’ She put on a child-like voice. ‘Ooh Clivey, what are they saying? Poor Clivey. Don’t let them talk to you like that, Clivey.’ Then it was back to her normal voice. ‘Hashtag: pass the sickbag.’
Slater turned away from her and looked out of the side window.
‘I mean, come on,’ she said. ‘Clivey! You wouldn’t call a five-year-old Clivey, and he’s old enough to be her bloody father. No wonder his daughter’s confused. She probably thinks he’s traded in her and her mum for an older sister.’
Slater waited for his grin to subside before he turned to face the front again.
‘Well, I suppose we can see why he left his wife.’
‘All tits, no-knickers, and no bloody sense, that’s how my mum would describe her,’ said Darling, continuing her rant. ‘There must be, what, twenty years, or maybe even more, between them? That’s not going to last, is it? Dozy cow. Surely she must know he’s only interested in her body. And as for him, well, he should know she won’t stick with him for long. He won’t be able to stand the pace for a start. It’s not as if his wife’s over the hill, is it? I know which one I would prefer.’