A Private Investigation

by Peter Grainger

  ‘OK, Chris. I’ll let DI Terek know,’ and then Smith ended the call. He took a few moments to make sure that everything on the screen in front of him was saved, and then he said to Murray, ‘John, we might be needing some family liaison. See if Ann Crisp is about, will you?’

  ‘You’ve already sent a family liaison officer?’

  Terek was giving Smith the full, over-the-spectacles stare.

  ‘Yes – Ann Crisp. She’s very good.’

  ‘I’m sure she is but… We’ve not had this report an hour yet. That might be premature, sending family liaison.’

  Smith said, ‘I realise that. It’s a judgement call.’

  John Murray was also standing beside Smith’s desk, watching and waiting; he could see that the detective inspector was more perturbed that Smith had made the judgement call than by the actual decision.

  Terek said irritably, ‘I realise that but – where was Chris Waters when you spoke to him?’

  ‘He was outside the Johnson family home, in the car, I think. Why, sir?’

  ‘Well, because we ought to have spoken to Serena as well, she’s the more experienced of the two of them. She might-’

  ‘I have, just now.’

  The skin on the side of Terek’s neck could go a little blotchy sometimes – it was doing so now. After a deeper than usual breath, Terek said, ‘I see. You didn’t mention that.’

  ‘No. Well, we’re only now having this conversation, aren’t we? I had to start somewhere.’

  ‘And what did she have to say?’

  Smith summarised what Serena had told him; the mother, Penny Johnson, is borderline hysterical, there are three other younger children in the house, all refusing to go to school and adding to the confusion, there is a woman from next door who is also hysterical because she was supposed to have been looking after the children last night while Mrs Johnson was out.

  Terek said, ‘Supposed to have been looking after them? What does that mean?’

  Smith said, in the same level, factual tone that he had used throughout the conversation with the detective inspector, ‘That’s something we need to establish but Serena’s guess is that Mrs Johnson left the children in the house after telling them to go and see the next-door neighbour if there was a problem.’

  ‘Left them? And the oldest was fourteen? That is neglect – we’ll need to involve social services.’

  ‘Yes, sir, it’s on my list.’

  Terek stared down at the piece of A4 paper on Smith’s desk; at least a dozen lines had something written on them, but before he could ask, Smith went on, ‘But we oughtn’t to call social services this morning other than to see if there’s a family history with them. We should certainly do that. but the last thing we need is social workers in the house investigating neglect while we’re there trying to find the missing girl. If you see what I mean, sir.’

  Terek looked at Murray and said, ‘John, we’re obviously going to need someone else on this. It’s come at just the wrong time, what with everything else. Can you be ready to go?’

  Murray nodded and returned to his desk – he guessed that’s what the DI wanted.

  To Smith, Terek said, ‘Waters is on his way in, you said. What about Serena?’

  ‘She’s staying at the Johnsons’ until Ann Crisp arrives which should be any time now. I thought it was better to have Serena available to us than tied up at the house all morning. We’ll just need to go and pick her up when she’s ready. There’s a uniform car still in the street, so we can use that.’

  Smith waited then, watching Terek and thinking about his last words to Murray – just at the wrong time, what with everything else… When we’re not so busy, sir, you’ll have to tell us the right time for one of these. There are entire training courses on prioritisation methodologies for ranking officers these days, but what does it take to knock a missing child off the top spot?

  Terek said, ‘Well, we’d better contact the school and make sure the girl hasn’t just turned up there. We need the names of her friends, and the details of her phone.’

  Smith was looking down at the piece of paper, and Terek knew that the sergeant was mentally ticking things off the things that were already present. Terek stopped himself, and then said, ‘I’ll let DCI Reeve know what’s happening.’

  Chapter Five

  It seems to be customary these days, the provocatively pouted lips, the crazily staring eyes, the leering into the lens – nobody wants to be just nice in a photo anymore. Smith studied the one Waters had sent from Penny Johnson’s phone to his own iPad, and said, ‘Let me guess – this is Zoe.’

  One of the girls was a little larger and rounder with curly hair that she would never be able to do anything with, ever. The other had a thin but pretty face in a frame of glossy, straight, dark hair – big eyes made bigger by the application of eye shadow and mascara. Smith pointed at her and Waters nodded.

  ‘Oh dear.’

  Waters said, ‘The photo’s only a few weeks old. The other girl is Jaimee, who mum said is the best friend. Zoe said she had arranged to go round to Jaimee’s last night, and there was an argument because mum was going out and she wanted Zoe to babysit. She guessed that Zoe might go out once she’d left, so she, Mrs Johnson, asked the neighbour to keep an eye out or an ear open or something.’

  Smith was making notes again, already on to a second page. While he waited, Waters said to Murray, ‘Serena reckons that’s neglect. The children were left on their own. The two youngest are twin girls, seven years old.’

  Murray said, ‘Don’t worry, DI Terek’s already onto it,’ and then Waters saw the little shake of Smith’s head as he finished writing.

  ‘Right – continue.’

  ‘Mrs Johnson went to Jaimee’s house this morning as soon as she realised Zoe hadn’t been home. Jaim-’

  ‘Hold on. Why didn’t Mrs Johnson realise that last night when she got back?’

  Waters hesitated as if he was embarrassed even to say it.

  ‘She thought Zoe was in her room. She could hear the television.’

  ‘God give me strength. What did this Jaimee have to say this morning?’

  ‘Mrs Johnson managed to catch her before she left for school, it’s only a couple of minutes up the road. Jaimee said they hadn’t arranged to meet, and she didn’t hear from Zoe all evening.’

  As he wrote a little more, Smith said, ‘The most significant thing so far is that you just said “Jaimee said” instead of just “They hadn’t arranged to meet”, because in my admittedly limited experience of them, most teenaged girls can’t lie straight in bed when it comes to telling us about their secret social lives, not first time around. We’re not taking Mrs Johnson’s word for what Jaimee said, are we?’

  Waters shook his head about as emphatically as he ever did anything.

  ‘No, quite right. Did Jaimee go to school this morning? I’m assuming you have her surname, by the way?’

  He did, thankfully – this was Smith going into intelligence-gathering overdrive.

  ‘Jaimee Pokora. Mrs Johnson said she has gone to school. It’s Lake Community College, before you ask.’

  ‘Right, someone needs to get in there this morning and see the head of year or the form tutor or both, and then speak to Jaimee with one of those people present. They should also be able to give us the names of other friends. Has Zoe been in trouble with any teachers? What level is her schoolwork at? Attitude in class…’

  Smith was thinking aloud and writing at the same time. He didn’t see Terek and Reeve enter the room and make straight for his desk, but Murray did and he let Waters know with a look that they were approaching.

  Terek said as he arrived, ‘Ah, Chris, you’re back. Nobody let me know…’

  The detective inspector looked around at the three of them but no-one seemed willing to take responsibility for this oversight. Alison Reeve came and stood behind Smith’s chair, glancing at the notes he had made before saying, “What have we got?’

  Waters’ iPad h
ad gone to sleep. Smith woke it up with an experimental prod, and the picture was still there. He said, ‘This is Zoe Johnson and her friend Jaimee, a recent picture. Zoe said she was going to Jaimee’s last night – Jaimee says Zoe never showed up. Mum has been trying Zoe’s phone, obviously?’

  This was a question to Waters, who nodded and said, ‘Yes. I have the number. I’ve tried it myself. It seems to be dead.’

  Reeve was taking a long look at the photograph and then her eyes met Smith’s; he knew she would see what he had seen. As DCI, she would automatically take charge of this if she felt a search for the girl was an urgent matter. She said to Waters, ‘How far is it from one girl’s house to the other?’

  ‘We haven’t checked the route yet – Mrs Johnson said two or three minutes’ walk.’

  ‘And do we know what time Zoe left home?’

  ‘’Mrs Johnson says her son Jack thinks it was about eight, around half an hour after Mrs Johnson went out herself.’

  Reeve was silent for a moment. In her few months as Detective Chief Inspector, she had learned a lot, including exactly how much an hour of police time actually costs. The unenlightened among us imagine it is the salaries of the officers involved along with something added for buildings and resources, but if you take the total monthly budget of a force and divide it by the number of hours officially worked, the figure runs into the thousands of pounds.

  Simon Terek said eventually, ‘We’re relying too much on what Mrs Johnson has told us, ma’am.’

  Smith seemed relieved that someone else had pointed this out.

  He said, ‘Yes, we are. She’s far too involved to be objective. Also, she must be aware that if she has left the children in those circumstances, she’s going to be in bother herself. This might be colouring what she’s telling us. We need to be checking things out for ourselves.’

  Before he could answer, Terek’s mobile began to ring – as he answered it, he took a few steps away from the group around Smith’s desk. Reeve said to the rest of them, ‘This is a dysfunctional family, isn’t it?’

  Waters said, ‘I think so, ma’am. I got that feeling this morning.’

  ‘So it’s ten to one that it’s a mother-and-daughter fight, and this is mum’s punishment or the daughter’s revenge. Where should the girl, Zoe, be at this moment? On a normal day, if they have such a thing? School, yes?’

  Waters nodded, Smith and Murray waited.

  ‘OK, let’s at least make sure she isn’t there, having spent the night with another friend, or boyfriend, or someone. Someone goes in person and speaks to a teacher about her, too…’

  From the corner of her eye, Reeve saw Smith make a small neat tick by the second or third item on his list.

  Terek returned and said, ‘That was John Wilson. One of the shoplifters’ vehicles has been seen in the town, one of the vans. At least half a dozen got out and disappeared into the Ferndale Shopping Centre. John says they could do with more pairs of eyes if we have them, ma’am.’

  Thousands of pounds an hour – a figure which can also be divided by others such as the number of arrests made each month and the number of successful prosecutions. Reeve knew, of course, that Smith had been here himself, years ago and with different numbers, but the calculations would have been more or less the same – limited resources and unlimited demands upon them. Still, she didn’t need his help to figure it out anymore.

  She said to Terek, ‘Tell Wilson we can send him John this morning – he’ll make contact when he’s on the ground at the Ferndale.’

  Murray already had his coat in his hand before she had finished speaking; when she nodded, he headed for the door without a backward glance. Then she said to Terek, ‘Chris can go to the school and speak to them about Zoe. If she’s there and you’ve seen her for yourself, Chris, leave her be and we’ll deal with the mother. Ring us from the school.’ After another moment’s thought, she added, ‘Maybe send Ann Crisp?’

  Terek said, ‘I think she will be at the Johnson home already, ma’am.’

  ‘Really? That was quick work. Well done. That leaves Serena. When she’s back, let’s see what she can add, and we’ll take it from there. Do we have arrest support vehicles on standby near the town centre? It sounds as if we might need more than one.’

  The two senior detectives went away to Terek’s desk where the conversation continued out of Smith’s hearing. Waters left, with another reminder to call as soon as he knew anything, and then Smith was alone with his list. He crossed off two more items but the one at the bottom was bothering him. He had meant to suggest that as they had a number of officers out on the streets this morning, it might be worth sending to them the picture of Zoe Johnson. But it needed a bit of wizardry to remove the other girl from it, and Smith had no idea how that could be done. It didn’t matter anyway, because Waters had just disappeared with it. A small opportunity had been missed, though.

  The thought was inevitable – just a matter of time before it came to him. Of all things – a missing girl in his last couple of weeks. Thirteen years ago, Juliet Richardson and Nicola Ellingham had been murdered by Marco Andretti before Smith had been involved in the inquiry. The third girl, Annabelle Lewis, had been found in the dunes, just four days after he had been recalled from his time on loan to the Met and put in charge of it, and no one could reasonably suggest then that it was time to change the senior investigating officer again. But it was almost three months before Megan Griffiths was found, not half a mile from where Annabelle had been, and in that time Smith had not caught him. Eighty detectives, a team of software specialists from Oxford building a new kind of database, long, trans-Atlantic telephone conversations with a psychological profiler from Quantico, Virginia, posters, photofits, officers going into schools and colleges to warn every teenaged girl of the dangers, even an appearance on television, and Smith had not caught him before he could kill again.

  One is supposed to say ‘they had not caught him’, naturally, but it’s personal once you have sat with the weeping mothers and fathers, when you have interviewed sisters, brothers and friends, trying to find the thing that links the victims in some way, the thing that brought them to the attention of the creature that has emerged from its own inner darkness and which now dwells among us…

  Smith found himself staring at nothing. The office was empty. Alison Reeve and Simon Terek had gone, maybe together, maybe not. In the grand scheme of things, they were right not to disrupt an ongoing investigation until more facts had been established about a schoolgirl’s brief disappearance. Almost invariably they turn up within twenty-four hours, or there is a phone call from a relative saying there’s someone in their kitchen they didn’t expect to see. Or Waters might call soon, saying she’s in her French lesson.

  The Rolex never lost or gained a second, and it told him that fourteen of those hours had passed now; twenty-four would be at eight o’clock this evening. The night staffing is skeletal these days, and so nothing much would then be done until tomorrow morning, and that would be thirty-six hours. He thought about the image of Zoe Johnson, fourteen, a pretty girl from a dysfunctional family – if it was, he had not seen for himself, of course – a girl who wanted to look older than she was, and who had not – again, so he had been told – met up with her best friend last night. Plenty of adolescent boys are loners but not many girls. Zoe had met up with someone else.

  Then he was able to take a step back and compare his memories of the Andretti girls with what he was looking at now. Quite different. Juliet, Nicola, Annabelle and Megan were all attractive young women, the youngest sixteen and the eldest nineteen. Smith didn’t pretend or even particularly want to understand the minutiae of the psychologists’ and psychiatrists’ reports; too often these contained odd notes of justification, as if in some bizarre way, in Andretti’s twilight mind, there was a logic to his choice of victim. That would never do for Smith. He had sat across a desk from the man for too many hours and had come to a number of conclusions about him – not the least of whic
h was that Marco Andretti wasn’t mentally ill. He was simply evil.

  No, the disappearance of Zoe Johnson wasn’t ringing that sort of alarm bell, not yet. It was just ironic that it should happen now, with fourteen days and seven hours to go, before he was done. Just one of those annoying little… He looked around, checking that the office was still empty and that no one would hear him say the word, and even then he only muttered it under his breath: ‘Coincidences’

  ‘Where is everybody else?’

  Serena Butler looked about the office as if they might be hiding under the desks.

  ‘Catching shoplifters, as far as I know. I’ve been on my tod for the past ten minutes. You should probably find DI Terek, though – he’s being quite masterful this morning.’

  She took off her coat and threw it over the back of her usual chair.

  ‘So you don’t want to know what else I came up with while we were waiting for Ann Crisp?’

  ‘I didn’t say that.’

  She was standing with her hands on her hips, taking another look around the office, and frowning. Quite right, too.

  Smith said, ‘So what else did you come up with while you were waiting for Ann Crisp?’

  There’s a new boyfriend on the scene, Serena said. Roy Green. Not living in as yet, but he’s around a lot of the time and Mrs Johnson is still at the stage of being besotted. Smith complimented her on the choice of word, and asked whether she had been reading ‘Gone With The Wind’ again. Serena ignored him and continued – and Smith noticed that he didn’t need to ask a single question because Detective Constable Butler had fully understood the importance of this situation. The arrival of a new male presence in a household is never straightforward when teenage girls are present, and sometimes – too often, in fact – the girls turn out to be part of the attraction in the first place. Sad and unpleasant but true, as the statistics clearly show.

  When Serena paused, Smith said, ‘Mr Green’s relationship with Zoe? Did Mrs Johnson say anything about that?’