He's Gone

by Alex Clare

  ‘But everyone–’

  Robyn kept talking. ‘Unless you’ve been complaining about me, in which case, I can’t say I’ve got any sympathy.’ Merciful silence from the other end. ‘I don’t think we have anything to talk about, Julie.’

  ‘You’re not a fit father for Becky, you never were. I’ll stop you seeing her.’

  Robyn was gripping the phone, trying to contain her fear. ‘Becky’s an adult and can make her own decisions. It’s up to her.’ She tried to sound confident.

  ‘Well I’ve spoken to her and she’s disgusted with you. You sicken her, you–’

  After she’d put down the phone, Robyn unplugged it.

  WEDNESDAY 20 JULY

  19

  A drunken brawl inside the Quiksilva nightclub, involving Meresbourne Town’s expensive, newly-signed striker was top story on the local radio as Robyn drove into work, trying to clear Julie’s accusations from her mind. Wednesday was the Home feature in the Gazette and the billboards advertised Ways to keep your child safe. It made her wonder whether she did deserve any kind of relationship with Becky.

  The incident room’s purposeful hum was a relief. In half an hour, she’d be briefing journalists with the E-FIT and began scribbling notes. A quiet tap made her glance up. Janice was on the phone; Ravi engrossed in watching CCTV. Lorraine and Graham were debating whether or not the Dearmans would ever co-operate with the police. Thinking she had imagined the noise, Robyn returned to her notes.

  A moment later, there were two thumps as if someone was trying to break down the door with a blunt instrument. After a second where everyone stopped what they were doing, Ravi rose and opened the door. His head dropped: the person in the doorway didn’t even reach his shoulder. Graham craned his neck. ‘Morning, Chloe. So you’re the new resource are you?’

  Chloe took small steps into the room. ‘Morning. I’m joining the investigation.’ She stood, her feet pointing together. ‘Hope that’s OK.’

  Robyn walked over. ‘Welcome, Chloe. Good to have you on the team.’ They shook hands. ‘Everyone, Chloe organised the first response at the shopping centre, even though she was off duty.’ Robyn paused to make sure this had been noted.

  Chloe gave a shy smile. Her hair was flat today, her tiny frame lost in a boxy jacket, like a child in a new school uniform.

  ‘I’ll let the team introduce themselves. Ravi, can you brief Chloe on everything so far?’

  The portable air-conditioner whirred into life then died a few seconds later. In the sudden quiet, Chloe’s voice just reached her. ‘But what do I call DI Bailley?’

  Lorraine swung her bag to her shoulder, just missing Chloe’s head. ‘I’m off to the lawyers, Guv, to get the staff and client lists. When I spoke to the HR woman there yesterday, she came over all legal and went to check with Rutherford. I’d rather go down there and make sure they deliver.’

  ‘OK. Can you also chase up the details on this housing case led by Ms Chivers?’ Robyn sat back at her desk, the multiple strands of her bracelet rattling on her wrist. Every time she used the mouse, they got in the way. The matching necklace tickled and the clasp rubbed at her over-shaved skin. She’d chosen her brightest set of jewellery for this morning to give her confidence to face the press. Glancing at her watch, she had time to nip to the loo before the briefing. Stepping into the corridor, Robyn turned at the sound of her name. Khalid was hurrying towards her.

  ‘Robyn, I’m glad I caught you. We’ve decided to issue the E-FIT without a briefing.’ The handkerchief in his breast pocket was crooked, not its usual perfect triangle.

  ‘Why? I thought your strategy was always to get in front of the press when we could?’

  A crease darkened between Khalid’s precise eyebrows. ‘Have you seen the Journal this morning?’ He rubbed his forehead, as if trying to erase the lines.

  ‘No. You mean that journalist from yesterday?’

  ‘Coming through –’scuse.’ Two men in paint-stained overalls were pushing a trolley covered with tins and ladders. Robyn and Khalid flattened themselves against the wall.

  ‘Come on, we’ll talk in the canteen.’

  Robyn realised something was missing. ‘You’ll have to buy the teas, I haven’t got my bag.’

  They sat in one corner, Khalid scrutinised the table top, scrubbing a couple of areas with a napkin, before passing over a copy of the Daily Journal. Robin scanned the front page, which screamed about deaths from the heatwave. Khalid tapped the banner headline at the top of the page: Latest barmy police fad.

  Robyn spread out the paper. Opposite an ad for anti-wrinkle cream, a picture of Liz Trew in a leather cat suit and heels ran the full height of the page, a speech bubble coming from her scarlet mouth: Trew’s Truth: Daring to say what everyone’s thinking. The picture must have been taken some years ago, Robyn decided; the woman at the briefing wouldn’t have fitted into the outfit. She didn’t bother to read the article: certain phrases had been picked out in pink, italicised text between the main paragraphs, for those who liked their outrage in bite-sized chunks. Diversity gone mad; Investigation going nowhere; Dressing-up more important than finding a child.

  There was a waft of chamomile as Khalid fished out his teabag. A drip hit the newspaper.

  Robyn made an effort to relax her shoulders, to sound calm. ‘OK, she’s done a hatchet job. Why cancel the briefing?’

  Khalid took a sip of tea. ‘Because you’re becoming the story. Everything you do on this case will be judged by what you’re wearing.’

  Robyn focused on where the blouse rubbed around her armpit; something real, keeping her grounded. ‘So are you …’ she stressed the word, ‘… telling me Fell …’ again the emphasis, ‘… has taken me off the case?’

  ‘Off the case? No, of course not. Did you think … oh. No.’ Khalid put both hands flat on the table. ‘All I meant was we change the approach to the media.’

  ‘So no more “Open Policing Strategy”?’ Robyn failed to keep the sarcasm from her voice.

  Khalid made an unnecessary fuss of stirring his tea.

  She couldn’t afford to add Khalid to the list of people she’d managed to upset. ‘I’m sorry for making your job harder. All I want to do is get on with things. It seems the more we try with the press, the less they help us.’

  Khalid made a clicking noise in his teeth and began refolding the newspaper. ‘They will help us, they are helping us but people can get facts anywhere so columnists like Trew and their opinions are what sells papers now.’

  They both drank. A party of searchers, who must have been out since first light, crowded the counter ordering coffee and bacon sandwiches. The talk was of the football transfer market, which meant they’d found nothing.

  ‘I’m sure Ben’s alive.’ Robyn searched for the right words. ‘Unfortunately, I don’t know where he is.’

  ‘We can’t put a hunch in a press release.’ Khalid pushed back his chair, causing a wail from the lino. ‘I’ll do what I can, of course I will.’ He shrugged. ‘Just find Ben. If you do, no-one’s going to care what you dress like.’ Without waiting for an answer, he walked out.

  Whether she was listening to herself more now or something about her really had changed, Robyn wondered whether she’d always sounded so weak and vague. She walked towards the exit, dropping her cup into a bin.

  A bellow of laughter rose from the searchers. ‘And so after she’d got herself covered up, she only went and complained it was our fault because Willingdon doesn’t get enough regular patrols.’ Robyn glanced towards the group: a young constable with red hair was telling the story. She remembered him: an applicant for the fast-track who hadn’t impressed her so she’d given the vacant place in the CID team to Ravi. Jeremy, his name was Jeremy. As Robyn reached the door, her name was just distinguishable in the racket of more laughter.

  20

  Robyn trudged back to the incident room, at a loss for what to do next. She’d spent a long time thinking about how to manage the press briefing and no time on pl
anning what to say to Fell. Whatever else happened, she mustn’t allow her nerves to infect the team. She stared into the artificial eyes of the E-FIT in the centre of the board. It was an unremarkable face, an everywoman no one would look twice at. Derby and Rutherford had put up a reward for information leading to Ben’s safe return. The phones rang and rang.

  The team were taking calls as fast as they could. Ravi read one out: I saw her in the supermarket yesterday – she was buying cherry tomatoes. He laughed. No one else raised their head.

  Chloe was hanging back until Robyn beckoned her forward. ‘I thought this one was worth checking but now …’

  This one at least had a name: I know it’s Miss Fletcher at school – she teaches History but she does PE too and she stares at us when we’re changing for gym. ‘OK, Chloe. What do you think?’

  ‘I thought it sounded bad but now I’m thinking if someone was interested in teenage girls, they wouldn’t snatch a male toddler.’ Chloe blinked a couple of times, toes turning inwards.

  ‘Good.’ Robyn nodded, then held up her hand as Chloe began crumpling the paper. ‘When all of this has finished, then follow it up. Trust your judgement.’ Chloe nodded and scurried back to her desk.

  A new map had been put up to show the calls. Green pins for those worth following up, white for potentials, chosen because they were the remaining colours left in the pot. Two names had come up twice. One, a known shoplifter, had been pictured in the local paper the week before. The woman was banned from the shopping centre, her photo up in the staff room so even though there was a passing resemblance to the E-FIT, it seemed unlikely no one had recognised her. The other was more interesting. Anonymous callers named the same woman who lived in Willingdon village. One noticed shopping being delivered for the first time, including what she thought were nappies, even though there were no children in the house. The other had heard strange cries in the night.

  Robyn put the notes in front of Janice. ‘Can you follow this one up? Of all the villages, I guess Willingdon is the best place to hide someone because it’s isolated. These callers must be neighbours because they know the person’s habits.’ She dropped her voice. ‘Are you OK, Janice? I haven’t even asked whether you got anything from London.’

  ‘Oh, Robyn, it was horrible. Ms Chivers’ sister is living with her mother because she broke up with her latest boyfriend.’ Janice shook her head. ‘Three children, all by different fathers and no man in the place, all the kids running around with no control or attention, unless they break something.’

  ‘Don’t say you’re starting to have some sympathy for what Ms Chivers was trying to do for Ben?’

  ‘They haven’t seen Ms Chivers for years – weren’t interested.’ Janice’s voice was thoughtful. ‘When I told them she had a child, they laughed and were amazed Little Miss Perfect would ever let a man touch her.’

  ‘Sounds like a dead end.’

  ‘Not quite. I showed them a photo of Ben and they weren’t surprised Ms Chivers had got herself a white baby, saw it as another way of showing she thought herself better than them. It did come out she’s a carrier of sickle-cell anaemia so picking a white partner was a good way to make certain it wouldn’t be passed on to her child.’

  ‘Sounds plausible. What did you pick up on the volunteering?’

  Ravi leant across Janice, slapping a printed picture down. ‘Here, Guv. I’ve watched the footage from the traffic cameras and found this car making an illegal turn out of the centre’s loading bay at eight forty-four. We can see the driver’s sunglasses and there’s a shape in the back which could be Ben.’

  ‘Good work, Ravi. Can you see the number plate?’

  ‘Too blurred, Guv. I’ve tried everything.’ Ravi produced another picture, a mass of pixelated squares. ‘The car’s so dirty, this is all I can get. We’re looking for a new shape Fiat, in white, cream or silver. I’ve been through all of the CCTV again and there’s one more sighting, at the next roundabout where they must have turned onto the residential roads with no cameras.’

  Janice inspected the picture. ‘Are you sure about this? Ben was wearing red which would show dark in black-and-white, not light.’

  Ravi’s voice flattened. ‘It looks like a child in a car seat.’

  Janice shook her head. ‘It could be or it could be a big bag. Or it could even be a jacket hung up. Did you spot the St Oswald’s van?’

  ‘The van passed the station at eight twenty-five. I couldn’t find anything else until eight forty-eight when the van appears on the inner ring road again. It takes the Pickley road, then I lose them.’ Ravi kicked his filing cabinet.

  The door banged open as Lorraine bowled in, bag swinging from one hand, coffee cup in the other with a large iced bun wedged into her mouth. Dropping the bag, she cleared her desk with a sweep, sending papers to the floor, then deposited the cup and bun with rather more care.

  ‘You were a while. I hope you got something.’

  Lorraine was chewing and pointed to her mouth.

  Robyn turned back to Ravi. ‘OK, track down the owners of similar cars in a twenty mile radius and visit all of them and I need a progress report before I see Fell this afternoon. And where are we with that warrant?’

  Ravi grimaced. ‘I’ll chase them up, Guv.’ He sidled back to his desk.

  Lorraine finished chewing and swallowed. ‘Sorry, Guv, I’m starving. I got the stuff from Derby and Rutherford, after a lot of grumbling. Then as I was leaving their offices, I met Cathy, the receptionist, taking documents to the Post Office and offered her a lift.’ Lorraine took a deep breath. ‘She likes a chat does Cathy.’

  ‘So what else did you get?’

  Lorraine took another bite and made an attempt to wipe her fingers before getting her notebook out of her bag. ‘She opened up a bit, once she was out of the office. There are a whole load of things Rutherford didn’t talk about. For a start, they haven’t got a lot of work on and Cathy has noticed people coming in who might not be up to the usual client standard.’ She saw Robyn’s mouth opening and continued. ‘I did ask her about the Dearmans. She didn’t recognise the name, though she says more and more meetings are happening out of the office, which is new. Mark Rutherford also runs the firm like his personal toy-box. She told me staff have left because the firm gets them to do ridiculous things.’

  ‘Like what?’

  ‘Well, aside from Rutherford wanting too many one-to-ones, girls have been told to dress up and drape themselves over potential clients.’

  Robyn’s attention was wandering despite Lorraine’s excitement. ‘What’s this got to do with Ben?’

  ‘I’m getting there, Guv. Seems as soon as Chivers was made a partner, she became a bit of a diva too. Apparently, she started demanding people bring things to her house and …’ Lorraine paused for effect ‘… she once insisted a receptionist cleaned her office, shifting files and boxes, even though the girl was pregnant.’ Lorraine crammed the last of the bun into her mouth and carried on, still chewing. ‘The next week, the girl lost the baby – what better motive can there be for wanting to snatch Melissa’s child?’

  ‘When did this happen?’ Robyn asked, the pencil flicking around her fingers.

  ‘November last year. I’ve got the girl’s details. We’re talking about the receptionist before the current one.’

  ‘She may find the reality of looking after a child harder than she thought.’ Janice sounded anxious.

  Ravi’s forehead was wrinkled in concentration. ‘But …’ Faces turned to him. ‘But the description the cleaner gave us said an older woman, perhaps Ben’s grandmother?’

  ‘Did anyone recognise the E-FIT?’

  Lorraine snorted. ‘No but all I know is it’s a damn good motive and it’s the first link to a woman we’ve had.’ She folded her arms.

  ‘Apart from Maggie Gorton.’ Ravi stood up.

  Robyn cut across the raised voices. ‘We can’t miss any leads. Ben’s been gone over forty-eight hours now. Are there any more clues to Ben’s
father?’

  Lorraine fished in her bag. ‘I’ve got the list of employees here on the payroll records. When I asked for as close to Christmas as possible, there was a choice of the tenth of December because they ran payroll early or the twenty-eighth of January. I got both and a list of the main projects Chivers was working on. The client records seem a bit of a shambles, which is interesting.’

  Lorraine laid the sheets out and Robyn craned forward, Chloe squeezing in beside her. The staff list for December was annotated with ticks and crosses. Lorraine dabbed at the crumbs left on the desk. ‘I got Cathy’s opinion on likely men.’ She pointed at the marks. ‘Crosses are those men Cathy thought stood no chance – too old, ugly or stupid.’

  Janice shook her head, face screwed up in disgust.

  ‘Leaving two, including Rutherford.’ Lorraine laughed. ‘I think Cathy dislikes him so much, she believes the worst of him.’

  ‘Who’s this other one, James Kinnister?’ Robyn pointed. ‘Does he still work there?’

  Lorraine reached again into her bag and pulled out a company brochure, corner folded down on a page of pictures. She tapped a photo of a handsome dark-haired man. ‘He was poached by another firm so he only appears on the December sheet as he had to do gardening leave.’

  ‘So if this man no longer worked there – Ms Chivers said the father didn’t know about Ben!’ Faces turned to Chloe and she subsided.

  Robyn smiled encouragement. ‘It certainly sounds plausible. OK, Chloe, find Kinnister. Good work, Lorraine.’ She was about to tell Lorraine she had a spot of white icing on her cheek, when the door opened.

  The tall figure of Dr Shepherd appeared, casual in a polo shirt and long beige shorts showing toned calves. ‘Hey. I was passing and thought I’d drop off the initial pathology report and see where you guys hang out.’ With two long strides, he was at Lorraine’s desk. ‘Can I use your computer?’ Digging into his pocket, he produced a memory stick and leaned on the edge of the desk, one ankle resting on the other knee.