“Well, Harry, this is the canteen, they sell stuff called food here, 25% of which is definitely edible and the rest debatable,” said Crane.
Wollers smiled at the older man’s cynicism. That’s what twenty years of police work did to a guy, thought Harry. He’d probably be the same himself one day.
“I meant in the case” said Harry, running a hand through his hair and sipping his coffee.
“Two girls dead, two girls missing, one suspect who was in a cinema and playing footy when the murders took place; and now one local thug gone walkabouts...” said Crane bluntly.
“Do you think that Hansen’s got anything to do with it?”
“My instinct says maybe, but common sense says no. He’s got no links to either girl, or to Maggie Dickens, as far as we know. OK the lad’s a drunk, and can be violent, but he hasn’t got a motive for murder.”
“But the timing’s funny, isn’t it, I mean, why does he go and disappear now?”
“Mmmm...” nodded Crane, “you want a doughnut with that?”
“Nah, I’m good thanks”
“I’m getting one” said Crane, standing up and walking back to the counter.
Harry Wollers drank some more of his rank machine-coffee and looked up at one of the TV monitors in the police station canteen. The local news was playing, and unsurprisingly it was all focused on Tarnsey.
He watched the silent report and saw Millie Blunden’s parents Terry and Sharon appear on the screen. Harry recognised this as a clip from the press conference the couple had given yesterday. He’d been there himself, and it had been pretty harrowing stuff:
Terry Blunden had held his wife’s hand as she sobbed into the camera and begged for Millie to get in touch with them. Her black kohl was running down her face and her bottom lip was quivering as the press cameras flashed in her face; it was pathetic, and uncomfortable to watch. Then Terry had taken over, making the same appeal but with a little more masculine reserve.
The next face to appear on screen was Nick Crane: the DS asking anyone who knew anything about Millie’s whereabouts to get in touch with the police force, giving out the phone number and website address.
Terry and Sharon had been talking directly to Millie, whereas Nick Crane had addressed the perpetrator and potential witnesses. Harry knew full well who was being the more realistic. It was Wednesday. Millie had been missing for five days now; and Harry knew from bitter experience and comparable cases from around the country that she was far more likely to be dead than alive.
Harry pulled out his notebook and began to scrawl some notes onto it, just little things he knew about the case:
- Maggie D and Callie C dead, Millie B probably – all were friends.
- Ricky James dated MD and MB – suspect: acts weird and unemotional, but has an alibi
- Sarah Dee – bullied by Maggie – suspect; but missing for two years, probably dead from suicide
- Dylan Hansen – no link to girls, but missing – criminal record, reports of unstable behaviour lately.
- Trey – pizza delivery man, visited MB’s house, but back at restaurant quickly, not suspect
- Mystery pizza collection man – possibly last to see Millie alive, wanted urgently by police
- Callie’s shoes still missing.
As Harry saw it, the man who paid for the pizza was the obvious suspect now: and he had a sneaking feeling it had been Dylan Hansen under that hood. But still nothing linked him to Millie and the other girls. If they could just find some connection it would confirm his suspicion. Callie’s shoes – along with a murder weapon – were still seen as key bits of evidence. If either were to turn up and could be traced to Dylan, then they would have him.
Harry Wollers decided that a search of Dylan’s flat, family home, workplace, car; in fact anywhere he was known to go, would be the next step for the police.
He would share his thoughts with Crane when he arrived back with his doughnut.
He turned back towards the TV screen and saw a big group of people poking around the fields and woods that surrounded Tarnsey. These were friends and family of Millie Blunden, along with local volunteers, who had been out in force for the last few days searching for the missing girl.
Harry sadly reflected that they were probably all wasting their time.
Forty
(Anna)
It was Wednesday morning, and I was on my way to Helen’s house again. I’d decided that her current situation was a sign that I ought to have taken more care of our friendship: and I felt guilty when I thought of her alone in her room; pregnant and hurting with no friends to talk to, while I was away at college pursuing a career as a doctor.
It struck me that I really had only been thinking of myself for the past year: concerned only with my future; my studies; my improving appearance and growing confidence. It had all been going so well that I had been fully prepared to discard my past like an old faded top that was still comfortable but long since slipped out of fashion. But Helen was a part of my past, and it was clear she needed my help.
Anyway, aren’t doctors supposed to be caring people?
As I turned into her little cul-de-sac with its boxy terraced houses I thought about Adam, busy at work. I’d seen him again last night, and things had gone really well. I was worried that on the second meeting some kind of sober awkwardness would have wiped away the magic of our last meeting, and at first it had seemed that way. We had gone for an Indian meal, and after a few drinks the conversation had started to flow and our smiles had met again in that strange space between our eyes.
We kissed again at the bus-stop outside my house, and the sensation felt just as glorious as it had the first time, only with the added bonus that last night I had been less drunk and more able to appreciate it. I was overjoyed to learn that the spell had yet to be broken.
Adam’s bus had arrived annoyingly promptly and he’d hopped onto it, smiling at me as it drove away. In a way I wish he’d ignored it; stayed with me longer and walked home, or even asked me to go back to his with him. I knew I should be taking things slowly, but time wasn’t on my side: in a matter of weeks I’d be moving to Brighton, and - while only days earlier I couldn’t wait until September - it now seemed to loom on the horizon like a big ominous raincloud waiting to ruin the perfect summer I’d somehow stumbled into.
How quickly things could change.
I knocked on Helen’s door, clutching in my hands the bag of baby items that my Mum had got from somewhere. I was sure Helen had enough already, but the news of Helen’s condition had brought out the mother-hen in her.
You can never have too much for a newborn, she’d said, stuffing another bonnet into the bag, whilst muttering something about the poor, silly girl.
Helen and I exchanged careful hugs with her bump in the middle, and then I waited in her living room whilst she went to make me a tea. I picked up the copy of the Tarnsey Star that was lying on the coffee table and looked at the headline:
New Missing Person Adds to Tarnsey Murder Riddle: special report pages 4-5.
This was one of the things Adam had been talking about last night, I suddenly recalled. He’d been asked to write a special report summing up all the recent events in Tarnsey, including the recent disappearance of Dylan, whose baby I knew Helen was carrying. (I decided not to pass on this particular nugget of information, as Helen had asked me not to)
Adam had seemed really enthusiastic about the article, and had said there might be a chance it would be picked up by the national media. He had apparently spent all of Tuesday working on it. I turned to page 4 and started to read:
Tarnsey, a place usually regarded as a sleepy and non-eventful coastal town, has recently found itself the centre of a deepening puzzle involving dead schoolgirls and missing youngsters.
The mystery grew deeper last night, with the sudden disappearance of a local man. Dylan Hansen (22) of Cook Court was reported missing after failing to turn up for work at a local estate agency on Monday. He was last
seen drinking in the Tardown Head pub late on Sunday evening. The missing man is widely known locally for his footballing prowess, having been a member of the Selchester Athletic first team until recently losing his place in the side following twin convictions for assault and drunk-driving. A local pub landlord, who did not wish to be named, told the Star that Hansen had been drinking heavily in his bar on several occasions recently, and occasionally had to be forcibly removed by bouncers.
A local since birth, Hansen’s criminal record and recent wayward behaviour certainly marks him out as a potential suspect in the spate of crimes which has afflicted the town of late, but police maintain they are keeping an open mind where possible perpetrators are concerned.
Hansen’s disappearance comes only a few days after Millie Blunden was also reported missing. The 18 year-old hairdresser was last seen on Friday. Police revealed that a takeaway pizza was ordered from Millie’s address on Friday night and was collected and paid for by a man, who detectives are keen to speak to. The man was described as around six feet tall, aged between 17 and 25, clean shaven and with a local accent. He wore a black hooded jumper and black trousers.
‘Great description’, I remember thinking, before carrying on reading.
The two disappearances follow the suspected murder of another 18 year-old, Caroline Cox, whose body was discovered at the foot of Tardown Head last week by a dog walker. As previously reported, police believe Cox was pushed from the cliffs following a sustained assault with a hammer, and both of her shoes were found to be missing along with the murder weapon.
Local police are refusing to link the recent events in the town with the brutal murder of Margaret Dickens, who was beaten to death in her bedroom two years ago. Police at the time were keen to speak to another schoolgirl in connection with the murder: Sarah Jane Dee, a classmate of Dickens, was alleged to have been a victim of bullying, and went missing soon after her murder. She has never been found, and police have stated in the past that they believe her to be dead, possibly as a result of suicide.
The plot grows thicker when we consider the recent arrest of teenager Richard James in connection with the murder of Miss Cox: James was the boyfriend of Dickens, and was also questioned about her murder, but on both occasions he was released without charge. The carpenter is also believed to be the current boyfriend of the missing Millie Blunden. When approached by the Tarnsey Star James gave no comment, but his father responded with language unrepeatable in a family newspaper.
Visitors to Tarnsey this August will not only have the usual genteel attractions such as the pier, the fishing boats at the harbour and the views from Tardown Head to occupy them, but also the sight of hundreds of volunteers picking through the town searching for clues as to Millie Blunden’s whereabouts, along with the buzzing of police helicopters hovering overhead, desperately trying to locate the girl.
Millie’s distraught parents gave a press conference earlier this week alongside senior investigating officer DS Nick Crane, but sources at the local police station concede that officers are no closer to piecing together the fragments of this mystery, and it may be some time before the young people of Tarnsey can once again walk the streets of the town without fear.
Adam Jacks – Tarnsey Star Newsdesk
It seemed weird to see Adam’s name and words in print. The tone of voice he used didn’t seem to match the one of the boy I knew, but I guessed he had to write in a standard, clear way for the paper. I finished reading as Helen entered the room with a mug of tea for me and a glass of water for herself.
“Not having a cuppa?” I said.
“No, trying to avoid caffeine for the little one’s sake” she said, patting her bump.
“Are you tempted to find out what it is?” I said.
“No... not really” replied Helen. “My mum said the element of surprise is the only thing that keeps you going towards the end. But I sort of hope it’s a girl. I don’t want it to turn out like its father.”
“That’s not going to happen” I said, sympathetically; “its nurture, not nature that’s important. If you bring a child up with love and teach it respect it will grow up to be a good person.” (I didn’t actually know if this was true, but I hoped it was, and Helen seemed cheered by it)
“Thanks” she smiled, “that’s what I’ve always thought too,”
Helen paused for a second, then spoke again, this time with a hint of emotion in her voice:
“Thanks for being a good friend Anna. I’m glad you’re back.”
I smiled, and felt a bit teary; both at the kindness of Helen’s words, and the guilty knowledge that I wouldn’t be around for long.
“You haven’t heard from Dylan then?”
“No” said Helen in a harder voice; “not at all, and I don’t want to either. I don’t care where he is, and I’ll be glad if I never see him again.”
Forty-one
Bloody journalists!
Harry Wollers looked at the name at the bottom of the article: Adam Jacks. Wollers knew roughly who that was: some jumped-up eighteen year-old kid who thought he knew everything, but clearly knew nothing. His article was just speculation: a token jaunt through the facts surrounding the case, including a paragraph on Dylan Hansen’s criminal history that was bound to prejudice any future trial. In Harry’s opinion it shouldn’t have been published.
Wollers chucked the paper onto his desk and had yet another sip of coffee. It was almost ten at night, and he’d been at work for nearly twelve hours now. He slumped back in his chair.
One line in the article really hacked Wollers off. It was the one about sources at the police station conceding that officers are no closer to piecing together the fragments of this mystery.
What sources was he on about? The kid had probably just made it up!
What really annoyed Harry was that the line was actually pretty accurate. Neither him nor Nick Crane - nor any of their junior colleagues also assigned to the case - had any strong leads or solid evidence to roll with. But Wollers definitely had his suspicions; and they were increasingly focused on Mr Hansen.
Unfortunately, the thorough search he’d organised of Dylan Hansen’s flat, car, parents’ house and even his desk at White-Moore’s estate agency had failed to yield either a murder weapon or a missing red Converse trainer.
Both items were still out there somewhere.
As Wollers racked his tired little brain he was aware of Clare Cleary approaching his desk. The young officer caught his eye and he sat up straight.
“Hi Clare” he said.
“Inspector Wollers” she said: we’ve had reports of someone causing a disturbance at the railway crossing over at Farnbourne: some bloke drunk and yelling stuff apparently. Description sounds a bit like Dylan Hansen (she read from a piece of note paper):
“Mid twenties, longish blond hair... six foot tall...”
“Right” said Wollers, standing up, “I’m going over there straight away, get a patrol car sent to back me up.”
“OK sir” said Clare, but Harry was already halfway out of the door, his keys in his hand and his desk chair still spinning around.
*
Minutes later Harry was at the wheel of his unmarked BMW and driving quickly out of town. He was normally careful not to break the speed limit, but tonight he desperately needed to catch Dylan Hansen; if this guy at the railway crossing definitely was him.
Farnbourne railway crossing was located at the end of a country road and took pedestrians over the railway tracks towards the big out-of-town supermarket located on the other side. It was the kind of crossing where the pedestrians have to open the gates themselves, and are warned of oncoming trains by a wailing siren and flashing red light. The crossing had been featured in the Tarnsey Star recently due to concerns about its safety, and particularly about the worryingly short space of time that elapsed between the siren starting its cry and the trains’ wheels thundering past at eighty miles an hour.
Harry was heading towards the crossing now. D
arkness was staring to fall and the country road was quickly becoming cloaked in gloom. Harry noticed a group of people standing around the gates to the crossing. He pulled the BMW to one side of the road and got out. The people looked at him with mild suspicion. It would have been better if he was in a uniform and driving a marked police car, thought Harry. He hoped the back-up car wouldn’t be long.
“Police” said Harry, flashing his badge at the small group of people, and their demeanour immediately changed.
“Oh good!” said one of the group, “he’s actually out on the tracks now, but he’s stopped shouting...”
“You’ve got to move him, a train could come at any time” said an elderly woman.
Harry nodded and walked past them to the gate, looking across the darkening railway line. Right in the middle of the tracks was Dylan Hansen: sitting cross legged, with a nearly-empty bottle of scotch in his hand. He was staring up at the sky as if overtaken by some trance.
“Dylan, can you hear me? It’s Inspector Wollers, Tarnsey and Selchester CID. I need you to get up and come over here, OK?”
Dylan looked over at him, his eyes seemingly struggling to find any focus. He looked awful: his clothes dirty; his hair greasy and wayward and his skin blackened with dirt.
“What’s the fucking point?” he yelled, slurring his words.
“You stay there and you’re going to get killed, that’s the point” said Wollers.
“Good!” said Dylan, his head nodding to one side.
“You don’t mean that” said Harry, “just come over here and we’ll discuss it.”
“I do mean it” Dylan continued to slur: “they, they shay I owes ‘em money and if I don’t pay they’ll... they’ll kill me anyway, and I can’t afford to pay it, can’t afford a fucking penny.”
Sarah Dee Was Here Page 9