To Catch a Rabbit

by Helen Cadbury

  ‘Excuse me, I’d like to report a missing person.’

  The female officer didn’t look up. ‘Take a seat.’

  The officer pressed a buzzer and spoke into a microphone, without lifting her eyes from her paperwork. ‘Sean, can you get me a P879. Ta. He’ll be with you in a minute. Can I just take your name?’

  ‘Friedman, Karen Friedman.’

  ‘Can you spell that?’

  Karen reached in her purse for a business card. ‘Here.’

  The vinyl-covered bench hadn’t been cleaned in a while so she decided to remain standing. The heating seemed to be on full blast and there was a stench of sick mixed with bleach. She wished she hadn’t eaten so much or at least could have cleaned her teeth. The smell wasn’t mixing well with the lingering taste of bacon and sausage. She read the health and safety poster to keep her mind off it, then the Phone Frank poster and the Neighbourhood Watch leaflet, and was just starting on a leaflet about safe sex, when a young male officer appeared through a door to the side of the front desk.

  ‘Hi. My name’s Sean, I’m a Community Support Officer. You wish to report a missing person?’ He had a gentle smile which made it hard not to smile back.

  ‘Yes, please.’ It sounded so ridiculous, like saying please for an ice cream when you were a kid.

  ‘I’ll just ask you to fill out the form. Then one of my colleagues will book it on. Okay?’

  She nodded.

  ‘Do you need any help with the form at all?’

  His pitch gave the impression of the kind of customer-service training those girls in call centres go through, the ones that kept offering her a new mobile phone when she was trying to cook the dinner. He warned her to stick to the facts. Dates, name of person who last saw him, avoid guesswork. She guessed it was Johnny who saw him last, but it could have been anyone. She knew the date was the fifth of November. While she was watching the school firework display with Ben and Sophie, Phil had been… what? Getting on a plane to Florida with a woman he loved? Or something else.

  ‘I’m sorry Sean, I don’t know very much. But I’ve done physical description, the date and my contact details.’

  ‘Are you the next of kin?’ She should have said no, but she said yes. She felt shabby, as if she was cheating on Stacey. ‘Just tick the box and we’ll let you know if anything comes up.’

  ‘I’ve got a picture.’

  She opened her handbag and carefully took out a photo of Phil, taken in her father’s garden. Her brother was standing next to a miniature weeping cherry tree, which Reg had planted when Phil was born. He used to take the same picture every year, showing how much faster Phil had grown than the tree. This one was taken nearly two years ago. Reg had sent it to Karen with a note to say the tree was finally catching up.

  ‘You’ll have to blow it up, make the face a bit clearer,’ she said.

  ‘We’ll see what we can do. The Missing Person’s Unit might do a poster. If not I’ll get something up around the station, make sure everyone’s keeping an eye out.’

  He took the photograph and was checking through the form when an overweight, red-faced man burst through the door behind them.

  ‘Ah, Percy. You’ll do. Can’t find a constable for love nor money.’

  The desk officer mumbled something and nodded in Karen’s direction. She showed him the business card.

  ‘Migrants’ advice? This to do with that Chinese girl?’ He didn’t wait for an answer. ‘It’ll have to wait. Bit short staffed up here, so now I have to come in on a Sunday to sort out the mess.’

  There was an awkward silence, which was broken by the community support officer. ‘If you’ll excuse me, Mrs Friedman, I’ll ask my colleague to book this on. We’ll be in touch…’

  ‘That can wait, Percy,’ the fat man said.

  ‘It’s Denton, sir. Sean Denton.’

  ‘I know. You come with me. The farmer who owns the land behind the lay-by just phoned back, finally. He’s been in Doncaster Infirmary for the past six weeks, hip replacement gone nasty. It’s on your manor, so you can navigate. I’ll pick you up round the front in two minutes, with the scene-of-crime report, if that’s not too much bother.’

  ‘Right!’ The poor lad jumped up so fast that he dropped his clipboard and Phil’s picture slid away across the floor. ‘Sorry, I’m so sorry.’ Panic stricken, he gathered everything together, then turned to Karen. ‘Sorry about Burger, he’s a bit…’

  ‘Of an arse?’ That cheered him up. The soft smile was back. ‘Why Burger? Except the obvious.’

  ‘King. DCI Barry King.’

  ‘What did he mean about a Chinese girl?’

  ‘Oh.’ He seemed to be blushing. ‘It’s just we found…I found…a body. I sort of thought, when you said missing person, that you might have been looking for her.’

  ‘I see. And your boss, Burger? Why did he think I was looking for her?’

  ‘Just trying to put two and two together I suppose, and you do look sort of official. For round here anyway.’

  ‘I’ll take that as a compliment, I think.’

  Sean looked relieved.

  ‘I just can’t believe no-one’s missing her.’ He said sadly and then seemed to gather himself. ‘We’ll be in touch. Or, call us, you know, if you need anything, or if he turns up, obviously.’

  Karen didn’t want him to go. She touched his arm.

  ‘Look, your Chinese girl, maybe I can help? I could make some enquiries. The guy I work for helps young women who’ve been trafficked into the UK. Do you think she could have been?’

  ‘It’s possible.’ The young man spoke quickly, as if the fat detective might suddenly reappear and shout at him. ‘She was a prostitute.’ He looked towards the door and it seemed for a moment as if he was going to tell her something else, but a car horn sounded in the street and he was gone.

  Chapter Nine

  Burger was telling Sean he was doing well. Could do better if he signed up as proper police. Too good for the plastics in his opinion. Sean didn’t know what to make of it, thought maybe the boss had been out on the lash last night and wasn’t quite sober. Through the scent of Extra Strong Mints he was getting an occasional whiff of stale brandy and Burger was showing an unhealthy disregard of speed limits. Then Sean saw the gate.

  ‘Here!’ he shouted.

  Burger nearly sent them both through the windscreen as he slammed on the brakes. They’d just passed a pair of wrought iron gates, at least fifteen foot at their highest point, with the words Lower Brook Farm twisted into the pattern of black rods. The entrance was at odds with the neat fences of the new-build homes on this side of the ring road. Burger backed up at speed, narrowly missing a hooded youth on a tiny BMX bike. He opened the window and made a gesture that Sean could only guess at.

  Sean got out and pressed the buzzer on the intercom. A reedy voice answered and finally the gates swung open.

  ‘It’s a bit Addams family.’ He started to hum the tune, tapping it out on the glove box. Burger sighed and Sean went quiet.

  The drive snaked behind the houses and their postage-stamp gardens until suddenly they were passing open fields. Sean counted at least three security company brand names, alerting intruders to CCTV, dogs and the certainty of prosecution if they trespassed. After a quarter of a mile, they turned on to a wide sweep of gravel in front of a large modern house with a white-pillared porch.

  ‘Right, my turn,’ said Burger. ‘Name this tune. Tah-tah, na-na-na-na-na-naah! Ta-da! Remember that? No? Too bloody young.’ Sean shrugged. ‘Dynasty, you fool! Bugger me, no culture, the young. Let’s see if Joan Collins is waiting for us in the bathtub.’

  As they got out of the car, a frail old man appeared on the porch leaning on an aluminium walking stick. A crumpled remembrance poppy was stuck at a skewed angle on his lapel. Inside
the house a frantic dog was barking.

  ‘Come in. I’ll get the kettle on. You lads look like you need a cup of tea.’

  Inside, Sean caught his breath. The stench of urine, possibly human, mingled with cigarette smoke and wet animal. A line of yellowing newspaper led across the carpet from the hall to the kitchen. The dog continued to bark.

  ‘Christ Almighty,’ Burger muttered. ‘I’m going to need my inhaler if we stay too long in here.’

  ‘I think I’ll give the tea a miss,’ Sean whispered back.

  It wasn’t that easy. Mr Mayhew insisted on being the perfect host and Sean found himself stirring a cracked mug of milky brown liquid, trying to break down the buttery lumps floating on the surface. Burger asked about the snack bar trailer but Mr Mayhew had launched into his life story, which included the amazing good fortune of being offered what he called ‘silly money’ to sell half his land for housing.

  ‘Sold all the cows, no money in milk, I saw it coming. Gave up on pigs. I lease a couple of chicken sheds out to a fellow from Epworth. So long as he pays on time, that’s all right by me. Knocked the old farmhouse down and built this. Then the wife died. My son keeps telling me I should move out, but he’s just after the money, so he can bugger off.’

  ‘The field, Mr Mayhew, up by the ring-road.’ Burger took his time, as if he was speaking to a child. ‘Remember? We left a couple of messages while you were in hospital.’

  ‘Meant to be a straightforward hip replacement, but then I got pneumonia and that MRSA.’ He broke into a cough.

  ‘There was a trailer up there. A sort of van, someone was living in it.’ Burger said, as soon as the farmer had caught his breath.

  ‘Potatoes. Don’t bother myself with them. It’s leased out.’

  ‘To the man from Epworth?’

  ‘No, he’s chickens. It’s the other fellow. Never see him. When we built this house, we cut another road through. The old farm track comes out by the quarry. Didn’t want a load of muck past the new house. Had enough of it all me life.’

  Sean could hear Burger’s breath getting shorter. ‘You all right, sir?’

  He nodded. ‘Need a bit of fresh air. Get a name, a number if you can. Excuse me.’ He got to his feet and stumbled back through the hall to the front door.

  ‘He all right?’ The old man seemed unfazed by DCI King’s departure.

  ‘Bit of asthma.’

  A huge ball of black and white fur was settled on a pile of newspapers on the kitchen surface. It opened its eyes and stared at him.

  ‘Mr Mayhew,’ Sean pulled his gaze away before the animal hypnotised him, ‘there was a snack bar van, with red writing. The model was called a Motorchef, it was on your land.’

  ‘Yes, with a dead girl, one of your fellers said so on the phone. Bit odd that. I’ve never had anyone pay rent on that field for a snack bar van. I’ve got a little caravan, of course, for the ones that do the picking. The wife and I bought it for holidays. Had lovely orange curtains, she made them herself. We keep it out the back.’ He sighed. ‘Used to be gypsies, now it’s all foreigners. Don’t have their own accommodation, that’s the drawback, so we have to lay it on. Motorchef did you say?’

  ‘Yes sir, does that ring any bells?’

  ‘No. Sounds like a place you’d get on the motorway, not on the Chasebridge bypass.’

  Sean asked if he could have a look outside. Mr Mayhew walked painfully to the back door to unlock it, but it was stuck in the frame. As Sean tugged it free, cobwebs broke apart and a spider ran for cover. He took a few steps on to the overgrown lawn and looked out at the remains of the farm. The wind seemed to blow straight at him, carrying the smell of chicken shit from a low shed beyond a derelict barn. There was no caravan.

  ‘Funny,’ Mr Mayhew said from the doorway. ‘Some bugger’s nicked it.’

  ‘When did you last see it?’

  ‘Well, it was here when I was took in to hospital, I’m sure of that.’

  He started to cough. Sean helped him back to his seat in the kitchen. He could feel the rattle of the old man’s lungs vibrating through his bony arm.

  ‘Can you tell me the name of the person who rents the far field? They might know something about the trailer.’

  ‘Someone living in it, your boss said.’

  ‘Yes.’ Sean wasn’t sure how much Mr Mayhew had been told and how much he could take.

  ‘Forsyth. He rents that field.’

  ‘Have you got a number?’

  ‘On the wall by the phone.’

  Sean followed where Mayhew pointed his stick. The large cat was eyeing him impassively. Only when he was close enough to read the numbers did it begin to growl, its ears flat and its tail fluffed out.

  ‘Pay no attention to Tiddles. She’s expecting.’

  Sean found an old envelope and jotted the number down on it. He needed to be out of there. Burger was tooting his horn on the driveway and the smell inside the house was going to make him vomit soon, if the cat didn’t get him first.

  As he made his way to the door Mr Mayhew called after him.

  ‘Will you make sure it’s reported, my caravan from out the back? See if you can sort out who’s nicked it. There’s a good lad.’

  Carly Jayson had a huge laugh. It bounced off the Formica tables of the staff canteen as Sean did his impression of Burger wheezing his way out of the reeking farmhouse. He liked Carly, she had a good attitude. The other person at the table was Sandy Schofield, a civilian who worked in admin. She and Carly were a couple. Partners in crime, Sandy liked to say. Sandy liked to mother him and Carly treated him like a mate. She could also beat him hands down at snooker, which she never failed to remind him.

  ‘And then there was this massive cat.’ Sean was enjoying having an audience. ‘You should have seen it!’

  ‘Burger’s long lost brother?’ Carly said.

  The three of them were still laughing when Lizzie Morrison put her tray down on the edge of the table.

  ‘Mind if I join you?’

  After so much noise the silence was horrible. Sean broke it. ‘No problem.’ But as he spoke, Carly was already standing up.

  ‘Got to be off.’

  ‘Me too.’ Sandy tidied their empty sandwich packets on to her tray. ‘I need to type up some handover notes.’

  Sean fingered the label on his water bottle. He’d finished eating but he had time.

  ‘Catch you later, ladies.’ When they’d gone he looked at Lizzie. She was jabbing a fork into a heap of lettuce leaves. ‘You all right?’

  ‘Mmm. Fine.’

  ‘Really? You don’t sound fine?’ He could see the muscle in her cheek pulsing as she chewed on her salad. ‘Don’t mind Carly, she’s just like that.’

  ‘Rude?’

  ‘Just a bit of a tough nut.’

  ‘One of the lads?’ She gulped down her water. ‘And I’m not.’

  ‘You’re Scene of Crime. It’s different, I mean it’s not personal. It’s just a bit us and them in this place.’

  ‘Well I’m not ‘them’ either. The officers in CID don’t speak to me because I’m not police and the old time SOCOs hate me too. It’s the graduate-training thing. Posh totty, that’s what they think of me.’

  Sean didn’t know what to say. He wasn’t expecting this from Lizzie Morrison. The self-assured, intelligent, my-Dad’s-on-the-board-of-Doncaster-Rovers-Miss-Morrison. She blew her nose and took a deep breath.

  ‘Forget it. Just had a bad morning, that’s all. What were you all laughing about anyway?’

  ‘Not you, just…a colleague.’ She didn’t look as if she believed him. ‘DCI King, if you must know.’

  ‘That idiot? I wish I’d known, I could have joined in.’

  Sean tried to re-tell the trip to Lower Brook Farm. He
wanted to make Lizzie laugh, but he couldn’t get the timing quite right and she took it all too seriously.

  ‘And you gave the number to Burger?’

  ‘Yes. Why?’

  ‘Did you keep a copy?’

  ‘No. I…just wrote it on a bit of paper I found by the phone, an old envelope.’

  ‘Why didn’t you use your notebook?’

  ‘I didn’t think. Sorry.’

  ‘Never mind.’ She went back to spearing her lettuce. ‘It’s just that he should have passed it on to me. If we need to go over the crime scene again. I mean, if we ever find the bloody crime scene. Why would anyone move a catering trailer which is behind a cordon?’

  ‘Someone who doesn’t want it found.’

  ‘Is that Burger’s line of enquiry?’ she said.

  ‘Burger’s not bothered about Su-Mai…I mean, the victim.’

  ‘Because he doesn’t think she is a victim. Just a nuisance. Like the second girl. The lab results are back. It’s the same batch of heroin.’ She met his eyes. ‘You said Su-Mai.’

  Sean picked at the label on the water bottle. ‘Just a name I made up. Can’t keep calling her that Chinese girl.’

  ‘I had an email from a detective I know in The Human Trafficking Service. Said there might be a connection with something they’re doing. Interesting?’

  ‘What does Burger say?’

  ‘Nothing. I haven’t told him. Let’s keep it between the two of us.’

  The two of us. He liked the sound of that. He went up to the counter to get them both a cup of coffee. When he got back she talking was on the phone.

  ‘Okay. Yeah. Okay. And can you call Donald too?’ She wrote something in her notebook, her quick fingers gripped so tight round the pen he thought she would snap it. ‘Okay, I’ll be right there.’