He's Gone

by Alex Clare

  Robyn drove into the police station car park. ‘Well, keep doing what you’re doing. And don’t be afraid to say what you think.’ She paused to let a car pull out, her mind pulling together strands. She should park in the free space and go and see Matthew and let him know what a poor job Phil had made of the search on Monday. Or, she could accept she was no longer up to the job and go home, get into bed and hope the world would go away. Robyn drove past the empty space and up to the base of the steps.

  ‘Good work, Chloe. Can you let everyone know I’m going to see Gillian Green again? I want to talk to her about tomorrow.’

  ‘Oh. Right, OK, Guv.’ Chloe got out, turning at the top of the steps with a brief wave, before walking into the station.

  Robyn let the engine idle as she dialled Gillian’s number. There was no answer at her flat or from her mobile, meaning she was probably at Ms Chivers’ house. Seeing her there would mean going against Fell’s direct order but there was a void of information there that needed to be filled. And she wanted to see Ms Chivers’ reaction when she heard about the sweatshirt, perhaps as a test of Janice’s theory. Robyn turned her car towards Upper Town.

  24

  Upper Town was quiet apart from an occasional dog walker. Each lamppost had a yellow ribbon or a picture of Ben. Robyn rang Ms Chivers’ doorbell, a single, sharp sound. She thought a shadow moved behind the Venetian blinds. After a few seconds, she rang again. This time there were steps and the door opened.

  ‘Hello, Mrs Green. I understand your precautions. May I come in?’ The scented air in the hallway was immediately oppressive.

  Gillian stepped back to let Robyn pass. ‘Ms Chivers isn’t here. She’s still at work.’

  Robyn tried to avoid smiling. ‘I wanted to see you, Mrs Green, to make sure you were prepared for the reconstruction tomorrow.’

  They stood in the hallway, until Robyn gestured towards the kitchen. ‘Perhaps we could sit down?’

  Gillian led the way, immediately picking up a tea towel. The kitchen was sombre, spotlights off, the garden in deep shadow. Robyn attempted to perch on one of the white stools, then stopped, one leg crooked, struggling to keep her face neutral as she realised she’d pulled away a corner of the tape around her groin. She slid off, leaving the seat spinning.

  Fortunately, Gillian was hanging a glass on a rack. Robyn decided to stand. ‘Mrs Green, have my colleagues taken you through what we are asking you to do tomorrow?’

  ‘I must be at the shopping centre for seven-thirty and then will have to do everything I did on Monday.’ Gillian sniffed. ‘As if I had Benjamin with me.’

  ‘Yes. Did my colleague mention we would like you to wear the same clothes?’

  ‘They were very insistent about it. I suppose there will be another little boy?’ Gillian reached for the next glass.

  ‘Yes, we are trying to make everything as similar as possible to prompt people’s recollections. Can you recall anything else that might be relevant?’

  Gillian put the glass away and reached for a long-bladed knife.

  When it became clear that Gillian had no intention of answering, Robyn tried another tack. ‘I’m glad to see you’re still working for Ms Chivers.’

  Gillian was stroking the blade through the tea towel, down, turn, up. ‘I do a lot of things for her.’

  Robyn shifted her weight to lean on the counter. ‘We’re still no closer to identifying Ben’s father, or even whether he’s alive or dead. Is there anything else you can tell me?’

  Gillian slid the knife into a block and reached again to the draining rack. ‘I don’t know.’ She turned to face Robyn. ‘I really don’t. She’s so certain about everything and with her faith, she just doesn’t seem to need anyone else.’ Each item was wiped twice before she reached for the next. ‘I sometimes see other kids with their fathers and wonder what’s going to happen to Ben when he gets bigger.’

  There was a click of locks, the solid sound of the front door shutting, then brisk heels along the tiles. Melissa Chivers appeared in the kitchen, switching on the lights, then freezing for a second when she saw Robyn. ‘What are you doing here? I gave instructions.’

  Robyn blinked in the brightness. ‘Good evening, Ms Chivers. I came to speak to Mrs Green to finalise details before the reconstruction tomorrow and to let you know about a recent development in the investigation.’ Melissa frowned at the misaligned stool, turning the seat back to face the counter, before putting down her briefcase and handbag. ‘Have you found him?’

  ‘Not yet, I’m sorry.’ Against the white stool, Robyn could see the red, picked skin down the edge of Melissa’s fingernails. Robyn took half a step forward. Melissa retreated around the corner of the breakfast bar, pausing, before covering the movement by picking up a glass, reaching into the fridge for mineral water. She stopped, inspected the glass and put it on the draining board with a thump.

  ‘This glass is dirty. Check the others.’

  Gillian’s eyes shut for a second, before she filled a fresh glass and gave it to Melissa who glared at her before transferring the look to Robyn. ‘Whatever it is, get on with it. I have a contract to read this evening.’

  ‘Thank you. I wanted to let you know we’ve found the sweatshirt Benjamin was wearing when he was taken.’

  Gillian gasped. Apart from a slight tensing of her jaw, Melissa remained still.

  Robyn kept her eyes fixed on Ms Chivers. ‘The sweatshirt was in the shopping centre’s loading bay. Our scientific teams are looking at it now.’

  Melissa banged the glass down onto the counter. ‘What chance is there of finding my son when you missed something so obvious?’

  Gillian hurried forward and placed a coaster under the glass.

  Robyn rolled back on her heels. ‘I appreciate you’re upset Ms Chivers, which is why I thought it was important to tell you in person. You also gave new information about Ben’s father during the appeal.’

  ‘If you believe a woman took Benjamin, why are you so concerned about his father?’

  Biting back her urge to swear, Robyn kept her face as bland as possible. ‘Stranger-abduction is, thankfully, rare. The family is always the first place we check in these cases. The woman could be someone connected with the father.’

  ‘Why would Benjamin go to a stranger?’ In the corner, Gillian seemed to be talking to herself.

  There were definite shadows under Melissa’s eyes but her lips were pressed hard together. Robyn could almost pity her for wanting to keep up the strong façade.

  ‘One other area I wanted to ask you about, Ms Chivers. You led a successful case against a landlord, a Mrs McManus …’

  ‘I got rid of her.’ Melissa blinked. ‘I got her struck off from the National Landlords Association. She went to Spain.’

  ‘Unfortunately, it appears she didn’t stay gone. Has she made contact with you?’

  Melissa blinked a couple of times, then crossed the kitchen and slid onto one of the bar stools, dipping her head. She clasped her hands together and her lips moved without sound. Clicking her teeth, Gillian went back to drying-up. The cutlery was finished before Melissa raised her head.

  ‘Why are you still here?’

  ‘Ms Chivers, your refusal to answer questions is making it much harder for me to find your son.’

  Melissa’s hands balled into fists. ‘Don’t you understand? I don’t want you to find him. God is taking care of him, wherever he is but I don’t want him polluted by you.’

  Robyn took a deep breath, to make sure her voice was even. It was amazing how little the woman was disturbing her now. She’d complained to Fell, there was nothing else she could do. She would find Ben, regardless.

  ‘Very well, Ms Chivers. Goodnight, Mrs Green, see you tomorrow.’

  In the car, Robyn scrolled through the radio stations until she got something loud, turning up the volume until her thoughts were swamped. Back at the station, she pulled in next to the decorator’s van.

  Climbing the stairs to the incident room, she
ran through the loose ends she needed to follow up. When she opened the door, the usual hum was missing. She headed to her desk then changed her mind, moving to the evidence board and giving it a couple of sharp raps to get everyone’s attention. ‘Right, there are things I need to know.’ Heads went up. ‘Who was following up the ex-receptionist?’

  ‘Janice.’ Chloe swung her chair round. ‘She visited the address from the company’s files but the girl’s gone so I’m trying to track her. Janice is following up the Willingdon lead from the E-FIT now.’

  ‘OK, what about Ben’s teachers?’

  Graham held up a bundle of statements. ‘We’ve interviewed all of them and they’re all the same, earnest, keen to help, with no motive for taking Ben and alibis for Monday morning.’

  Robyn swore. ‘What are we missing here? What about Kinnister?’

  ‘Er, sorry, Guv.’ Chloe looked up through her fringe. ‘I haven’t been able to get hold of him yet but I’m keeping trying.’

  Robyn banged her desk. ‘We are getting nowhere. There is a toddler out there. Where’s Gorton? Go back over everything, what about other landlords? We have missed something.’ She pulled over the file of the shop-to-shop interviews and started to review them. Each time the phone rang, she flinched, expecting a summons upstairs. One by one, the team left for home. With the room quiet, Robyn jumped when the door banged open.

  The young cleaner smiled as she put down a bin bag. ‘Thank you for alarm. Understand now. Make me safe.’

  ‘You’re welcome. It’s important women look after themselves.’

  The girl cocked her head to one side. ‘You a woman?’

  Robyn made a half-hearted attempt to push the papers together. ‘Yes. I’m a woman.’ Whatever she’d been searching for in the statements, she hadn’t found it.

  ‘But you is real woman?’ The girl was still smiling but her expression was puzzled.

  Robyn tapped her head. ‘Up here I’m a real woman. The rest, I’m trying. Good night.’

  On the way out, Robyn tried to pin down what was wrong with the case and what was wrong with her. The car park was almost empty now, just the late shift. She frowned. Where she’d parked, at the end of a row, there was now a white car. Getting nearer, she could see it wasn’t all white, there were streaks and patches of blue. Someone had poured a can of white paint over her Mondeo. On the driver’s door there was a scrawled word: ‘Tranny’.

  Robyn choked back a sob and forced herself to think like a police officer. First question: when had the crime occurred? She dipped a finger in the paint: tacky which meant it had been applied not long after she got back. The paint must have been grabbed from the decorator’s van. Although most likely that the person came from the station, they could have sneaked through the barrier when it was open. That seemed a better option than one of her colleagues hating her that much.

  She notified the desk and managed to get hold of a pool car. On the way home, Robyn stopped at a convenience store, picked up a four-pack of beer and a bottle of brandy. At the counter, the young assistant scanned the items.

  ‘Have you got some ID for me?’

  Robyn began paying attention. ‘Sorry?’

  ‘I need some ID because you’re buying alcohol.’

  ‘I’m forty-four.’

  The assistant pointed to a sign behind the till – No ID = no alcohol & no tobacco. There was a picture of a policeman making a stop sign.

  Robyn sighed and opened her bag. A queue was forming. She had her warrant card and a driving licence, both still with Roger’s name. The assistant was waiting, face neutral. The prospect of being called out on the names was too depressing. ‘I’ll leave it.’

  ‘Whatever.’ The assistant grunted, shoving the bottles to one side. ‘Next.’

  Robyn drove straight home. In the back of the dresser she found half a bottle of cooking sherry, probably decades old and drank it to the dregs. She went to bed. There was nothing else to do. Lying in the darkness, she rolled into a ball, squeezing her knees against her flat chest. She’d lain like this before in the dark hours, wondering what to do. Then it had seemed enough to be brave once, make the change and everything would fall into place. Tears began to run onto the pillow. A twinge of cramp flared in her calf. Stretching, she turned and reached for the phone on the bedside table. She guessed her voice wouldn’t hold out so tried to get the feelings across in a text.

  Becky, please talk to me. I knew this would be hard but if you’re not there, it’s impossible and there’s no point to anything. Dad.

  THURSDAY 21 JULY

  25

  At seven-fifteen in the morning, Robyn and Graham paced Whitecourt Shopping Centre looking for anything not matching the photos from Monday. Commuters on their way to the station tutted as they dodged the official filming team with their piles of gear and freelance photographers jostling for the best spots. Outside shops, staff chatted in their last moments of freedom, as shutters rattled up. The centre’s manager picked her way about the floor in a tight black suit and platform heels.

  ‘One thing’s not right – the place is a lot cleaner today. Reckon the manager wanted it to look its best for the cameras.’ Graham pointed to a figure pulling litter out of a flower feature. ‘There’s Jaime, Guv.’

  ‘Good. Can you make sure he’s positioned where he was on Monday?’ Robyn kept moving, looking for Melissa Chivers. The pharmacist bustled out of his shop: Robyn had a nasty suspicion he wouldn’t want to stick to what he was supposed to do. On one of the stone benches, Gillian sat hunched in olive and brown. Next to her, Donna – the PC from the road block – stood out, wearing a garish, flowered dress instead of her uniform, a lad that must have been her son on her lap.

  Robyn laid a hand on her shoulder. ‘Thanks for doing this.’ The dress looked a size too small: Donna’s muscular shape wouldn’t match the image.

  ‘No problem, ma’am.’ Donna grinned. ‘Saves another shift on traffic and a morning’s nursery fees.’

  ‘Robyn.’ Khalid beckoned her over to talk to a man wearing a battered leather jacket. ‘Morning. This is DI Bailley who’s leading the investigation, as I’ve told you.’ The glance between the two men was just momentary before Khalid continued. ‘Robyn, this is Connor Grayson, director for Crimewatch.’

  They shook hands, Connor glancing at Robyn’s outfit; plain blouse with a high neckline, slim silver chain, discreet make-up. He nodded with what Robyn hoped was acceptance.

  Khalid was gesturing towards the crew. ‘For the appeal, they want a bit more background and to shoot some scenes of the lead-up to the snatch. We’ll be starting with your plea for information.’ He seemed to enjoy Robyn’s surprised stare and continued. ‘Fell’s orders. To hell with Liz Trew and the Journal.’ Connor turned back to his team and began issuing directions. Khalid dropped his voice. ‘Once this is over, we could do with sorting out the burglaries.’ He unfolded the Meresbourne and North Kent Gazette from his folder. Dominating the front page was a picture of an elderly woman swathed in bandages, under a headline New Burglary Horror by Ady Clarke. ‘I thought you knew this guy?’

  Robyn was saved from answering by a wail cutting across the chatter. Donna’s son was refusing to put on Ben’s red sweatshirt. Across the aisle, the stage-school kids playing the teenagers were loitering in a very convincing way, even though filming hadn’t started yet.

  ‘Guv – two minutes.’ Chloe held the clipboard up for Gillian, who nodded once and took the bags Chloe gave her.

  Connor raised his voice. ‘Places people. We start with the kidnapper sighting the boy.’

  The manager was swaying on her heels. ‘We must have this finished as soon as possible. We’re losing trade.’ She stopped, realising she was being filmed. ‘You can’t film me. This is private property.’ Her face was pinched into angry creases. Robyn took the opportunity to slide away.

  From somewhere, there was a sound of singing, rising above the piped pop music. A procession of people in white robes, walked two by two from Nor
thbank. The man at their head wore a purple sash around his waist and clasped a book. His bass voice could be felt as a vibration in the air. Robyn recognised Reverend Lewis from the TV interview. Beside him, carrying a lily, was Melissa.

  The procession halted, the song continuing for a few more seconds, notes chasing each other to the roof. Somewhere, in the scrum of camera men, someone began to applaud, hushed by his neighbour.

  Robyn weaved through the crowd. ‘Ms Chivers, thank you for joining us. I’ll ask one of my officers to accompany you, in case you have any questions.’

  Reverend Lewis laid his hand on Melissa’s shoulder, holding up his bible. ‘She has no need of you; the Lord is with her.’

  Robyn thought of Ben and swallowed a number of responses. ‘Very well, Ms Chivers, whatever you feel most comfortable with.’

  Connor arrived beside her. ‘This is the mother?’

  Robyn nodded.

  ‘Hi, I’m the director. The choir’s an interesting set up – we can make a good sequence and segue it into the interview with you. Should get great coverage.’ Connor consulted his clipboard. ‘We have the makeup team here …’

  ‘We sing for the Lord, not for television. And she won’t be speaking to you.’ Reverend Lewis emphasised the point by jabbing the bible into Connor’s chest.

  ‘In which case could I ask you to stand to the side as we are about to start filming?’ Connor turned. ‘This way, DI Bailley.’

  As Robyn followed, Reverend Lewis’s velvet voice carried above the crowd. ‘You see, my brothers and sisters? When the unclean shall walk among us, we are truly in the end of days.’ A low ripple of agreement passed through the group.

  Cutting across the whispers, Robyn heard Graham’s voice ‘Ms Chivers – we’ve been in contact with Mr James Kinnister.’ Melissa’s reply was inaudible.

  Someone touched Robyn’s arm.