From the files Terry knew Mr Jones, Kieran Jones, owned a successful software program and split his time between the Silicon Valley and Manchester. His wife, Felicity Jones, was a stay-at-home mother. She was also heavily pregnant, a few weeks from giving birth.
Terry found her warm, yet slightly distant. She was slender with a heavily distorted stomach. She was wearing a long black maxi-dress, probably for comfort. The powerfully transformative make-up she was wearing was definitely a mask. She projected a quietness to her character, but Terry knew she was quaking underneath.
She sat at the glass dining table, gesturing for Terry to take the nearest seat. She swept back her long brown hair and cocked her head. It struck Terry as slightly flirtatious and he was uncertain how to take that. Was it a defence mechanism? People dealt with grief in a multitude of different ways.
“He’s fucking someone else… You need to tell her that…”
Terry realised that they weren’t alone, he glanced and saw a spirit storm into the room. She was short, square and dressed like a little European old lady. A pleated skirt, a mucky anorak and a head-scarf. She was strikingly out of place.
“So you’re with the Police? A consultant?” Felicity prompted.
“Yeah, I-”
“-Enough of that you little faggot, you need to tell her the bastard is cheating on her!”
Terry stalled, caught off guard by the venom pouring out of the little old dear.
It wasn’t very often he met a rude spirit, this one seemed to be making up for it.
“Excuse me, do not talk to me that way!” He hissed mentally.
“Oh ruffled your feathers have I,” she leered. She was like a little poison dwarf. He glared at her.
“Do you want me to get rid of you?” he threatened.
“You can’t do that, I know my ghostly rights…”
Terry cleared his throat, he felt riled up by this rude spook.
“Don’t push me you little gnarly old woman,” his stare darkened.
“Who’s here?” It was Felicity. Terry snapped out of it. He suddenly became aware that he had completely zoned out of the conversation and begun staring at the pocket of air.
“Sorry?”
“Oops, how you gonna backpedal now? You little shitstabber,” the little crone cackled.
“You zoned out…” Felicity glanced once more at the pocket of space, little did she know she was looking directly at the old woman. “…You’re a psychic aren’t you,”
Terry’s face contorted in uncertainty. Dammit, he had dropped himself in quite the predicament now. He cleared his throat, how the hell was he going to proceed.
The crone was cackling like a witch, she genuinely thought it was funny.
“…That’s why you call yourself a consultant, but really you’re a psychic,” Felicity whispered. Suddenly her steely disposition softened. “Do you even work for the police?”
“Yes, I work for the police, consulting on a case-by-case basis. My partner is one of the detectives on the case,”
“Partner? Why didn’t you tell her you’re married to a man?!”
He couldn’t believe her. She had volleyed two rounds of homophobic abuse at him and now she was chastising him on not publicly disclosing his sexuality to Felicity.
“It’s my mother isn’t it…” Felicity whispered.
Terry snapped back to her.
“A little old woman, probably with a head scarf. Really rude…” she whispered bowing slightly. Quite why Felicity thought her dead mother wouldn’t be able to hear her Terry didn’t know. He slowly nodded.
“Mother, treat him with some respect,” she commanded forcefully to the room.
The crone made a face and then shuffled towards the pair of them.
“Sorry if she was rude, she was pretty rude while she was alive,” with an uncanny coincidence she turned this chastisement on the exact pocket of air her dead mother inhabited.
“I’m sorry…” She crossed her arms and huffed.
“Thanks, she apologised,” Terry said aloud giving the dead woman a sideways glare.
“Does she know where Jackie is?”
Terry slowly turned his attention to the spirit. The look of sorrow that washed the old ladies features told Terry all he needed to know.
“Anything? Do you know anything?” He asked the spirit.
The woman shook her head.
“She doesn’t… I’m sorry,”
Felicity brought her fist to her mouth and suddenly fought against a flood of tears that threatened to erupt.
“Please… Tell her about the other woman…”
The mention of her missing grandchild had definitely took the wind out of the woman’s sails.
“I don’t think that’s appropriate right now. What good will come of it?” Terry argued. He wasn’t one for hiding the truth but what would he inflict but pain by relaying that message. She was heavily pregnant, her daughter was missing and the fact her husband was having an affair was probably going to crush her.
“She needs to know…” The woman stressed.
“Can I ask you something…?” Felicity whispered distractedly.
“What’s that?” Terry was curious.
“I’ve asked my mother, a question-”
“-She asks me if Kieran is having an affair…”
“-If Kieran is… erm…”
“Having an affair?” Terry finished for her. Slowly Felicity’s gaze drew in.
She slowly nodded.
Well, no way to avoid it now. Goddamit life had a way of revealing the truth didn’t it.
“Yes… She says yes,” Terry answered her.
“I fucking knew it!” She pulled a face that looked like a contorted laugh of disbelief. She then wiped her eyes with her thumbs and inadvertently smeared mascara in long lines across her face.
“Might wanna tell her about the makeup…” the woman nudged Terry.
“Really? Do you think now is the time?” he turned to the spirit in disbelief.
“What? I thought you gay folk cared about that shit…?” the woman shrugged as if she felt almost offended.
Terry just blinked at her, he was speechless.
“Is it Jenny? Or Grace?” Felicity’s voice wavered over breaking.
The older woman grimaced and faltered.
“Well, who?” Terry pushed for the older woman to answer.
“Bianca…”
Terry relayed the name.
Felicity guffawed. “His cousin?”
Terry suddenly felt uncomfortable, it was like being in a supernatural version of Jeremy Kyle.
“Dirty sonofabitch,” Felicity violently slammed her palm on the coffee table. Terry jumped and felt the urge to disappear take him.
“What else does my mother have to say…?”
Terry turned to the spirit who was hovering around Felicity. She shrugged indifferently.
He had never met a character like her.
“She shrugged, whatever that means…” Terry answered her.
“Oh that’s my mum alright…” Felicity laughed a little and wiped her eyes again, “So you want to take a look around? Have a look in Jackie’s room? See if you can… feel anything…?”
Terry nodded, “if that’s okay?” Anything to get out of this situation!
“Sure, I’ll let my dead mother point you in the right direction…”
Terry stood up and gave the old woman a look that said she had to follow that command. The woman reluctantly came over.
“Will you tell her I love her, and I knew she’s been visiting us…”
Terry stalled and smiled warmly. “No need to, she heard it,”
“…And tell her to leave my fucking curtains alone,”
The old woman suddenly looked a little sheepish but Felicity had a half-smile on her face. She wiped the tears away as Terry exited the dining room.
---------------------------------------
The Kettles were friendly but Terry definitely felt l
ike he’d intruded. He felt grossly uncomfortable as he took a seat in their lounge. It was cluttered, heavily cluttered. Give it a few years and the duo would be on those TV shows about hoarders. There was a distinct smell of weed too and as Mr Kettle sat down opposite Terry guessed cannabis wasn’t the only drug being consumed in the house.
The red scratches down his neck, from manic itching, suggested there was much stronger drugs in his system. He was a little lean, dark haired and dressed in old sportswear. His fashion sense was one of practicality, not pride. Obliviously Daniel Kettle readjusted his groin right in full view of Terry. His other half appeared from the kitchen bearing three hot drinks. They were being served in actual pot noodle tubs. As Susan Kettle placed the black tea on a nearby stack of magazines, she paid no heed to the clutter swamping the room.
She was skeletal, her features were angular and sharp. Her hair was pulled tightly back into a gold scrunchie. Her blue eyes were milky and distant and as she sat next to Daniel she idly fidgeted with her bulbous stud pierced through her lip. She was dressed in a tracksuit and she had chewed one cuff till it had frayed.
Susan was on drugs too.
He sniffed, trying to adjust to the sour cocktail of smells he was being assaulted with. He glanced at his hot drink and was sure he spied something bob on the surface briefly. It was enough to tell him that he wasn’t going to be drinking the drink.
“Thank you for the drink,” he smiled politely.
The two of them slowly zoned back in on him.
“So, what’s this about like? Haven’t you coppers got enough from us…?” Daniel challenged. Straight to the offensive.
“I’m not a copper. I’m a consultant…” he explained. His sentence drew no reaction from either of them. Susan simply chewed her sleeve and stared into space.
“Our social worker said we wouldn’t have to do this anymore…”
Social worker. Terry couldn’t remember reading about a social worker in the file. It saddened him that this family needed one at all. He looked at the two of them, they were definitely addicts.
“What I wanna know right, is why the fuck you guys haven’t figured it out yet! Cos like, my little girl is fucking missing! And you fucking haven’t figured it out! Like you got time to go on the fucking tele, but not find my fucking daughter!” Susan exploded in a desperate volley of words, she shut up abruptly and dissolved into a vacant stare filled with tears.
“Yeah…” Daniel added as if he felt the need to contribute but had nothing to actually say.
“I assure you the police are working on it…” Terry consciously avoided referring to Matt. They probably wouldn’t appreciate his husband was the one they’d seen on TV.
“Can fucking bang him up can’t they! But can’t find a little girl…” Susan jabbed a finger angrily at Daniel. Terry had no idea what she was referring to but decided it was probably not a topic he wanted to broach anyway. He didn’t even argue that the police was made up of numerous departments and whatever Daniel was arrested for had absolutely nothing to do with the department investigating Courtney’s disappearance.
“May I use the bathroom?” Terry enquired gently.
The pair of them didn’t respond. He waited a moment, before he realised they had zoned out. “Thanks,” he awkwardly said as he got to his feet.
He weaved through the junk and clutter. A quick glance back told him neither Daniel or Susan had noticed he’d moved. He slipped into the hall and recoiled at the pungent smell that hit him. It smelt a little like burnt rubber.
He tried the first door and found a bedroom, or a faint impression of a bedroom. A partially disassembled bicycle stood in the furthest corner, several black bin bags lined the other walls and the bed was nothing but an uncovered mattress. As he closed the door he spotted a glass pipe and other crack cocaine paraphernalia.
He found the next door, groping through the gloom.
It was the bathroom, one look at the toilet told Terry it would be cleaner to just pee himself. It was originally white, it was definitely not white anymore. The dirt, junk and grime in the bathroom made Terry wonder if they even used it. The next door in this single floor flat was decorated gaudily, Terry could just make out the word “Courtney” written in a rainbow font. He entered.
The room was pristine, a startling haven from the rest of the flat. It was decorated with an intense dedication to fairies, purple and pink everywhere he looked.
The little white bed in the corner of the room, its sheets left pulled open, hit Terry hard in the chest. He recognised it as the same bed Christine had.
It truly hit home, the invasive horror that had happened in this room. He couldn’t help but picture Christine laying in the bed, asleep and unsuspecting as some psychopath stole into the room and stole her. He had to shut his eyes but it didn’t halt the sequence of thoughts.
He had tears in his eyes as he surveyed the rest of the room. There was plenty of toys spilling out of cute little boxes, this child was not unloved. The parents may be addicts but it was obvious that the little girl was looked after. Terry suspected, even hoped, that the parents had once been clean. Maybe clean for their daughter, a happy family. Their spiralling descent back into addiction was probably caused by their daughter’s abduction.
It broke his heart.
He could feel nothing in this room. Like the other three bedrooms he felt nothing. He felt frustration rise through his chest. He turned, swiftly leaving the room. He couldn’t bear to stand in it a moment longer.
He barrelled straight through the clutter and exited the flat.
He ran straight across the road, climbed into his car and suddenly broke into tears.
He wasn’t sure why he was crying.
Was it because there was children missing and he had not a single shred of anything to go on?
Or was it because he could see Christine and that scared him?
Or was it just because he suddenly knew more sadness than he had ever known in his entire life.
It was a good ten minutes before he felt able enough to drive home.
-----------------------------------
“Goddamn pie!” Terry cursed as for the second time the pie fell out of the freezer. It was the pie that Denise had bought, he’d decided to stick it in the freezer as the opportunity to eat hadn’t presented itself yet. He’d thought that maybe he would cook it tomorrow but Denise had left a voicemail saying she wasn’t going to be available as Cheryl was having a dress-shaped disaster. That meant Terry would have to pick the kids up.
“Do you need help?” Bridget appeared. She hovered hesitantly. Terry placed the pie back on the top shelf, wedging it just that little deeper. He swore if it fell out again he would bin the goddamn thing.
“No I’m cool, thank you for the offer though Bridget,” he replied righting himself with the bag of frozen peas in one hand.
She hesitated, uncertain whether his slightly sharpened tone was her fault.
“Go watch TV or something…” he gestured for her to disappear. He was trying his best to remain neutral but he was aware that he wasn’t particularly succeeding at it. He sounded pissed off and he felt guilty because of it.
He emptied the peas into the pan and then filled it with tap water.
In the lounge he heard Chris and Bridget bickering.
He really didn’t need that.
He put the peas on the stove, put the kievs in the oven and slammed the door with a little too much force. The girls hushed quickly and he felt even guiltier.
Why was he angry? He was angry because he felt frustrated, he’d spent the last two days knee-deep in the lives of victims and learnt nothing. He was no closer to figuring out the identity of this psychopath than the rest of the world. It was so unprecedented, this complete lack of a psychic trail. It made Terry feel powerless.
He was kicking his own ass and he knew it, he knew it was also a completely pointless exercise. It was futile. It wasn’t his fault there was nothing to go on, yet he felt re
sponsible. He wanted so hard to help Matt, to help all the hollowed out parents he’d met.
The days events had worn him down and now he was taking it out on the kids.
Which was wrong, yet he couldn’t help it.
Terry took a seat at the table and buried his face in his palms.
“Are you okay?” It was Bridget, she was hovering nearby.
“Yeah… I’ve just had a really bad day,” Terry answered not looking up.
“I love you,” Bridget was suddenly draping herself on him.
He could’ve cried. He felt like shit.
“Go on, go watch TV,” he lifted his head. His eyes were full of tears but they hadn’t leaked yet. He fixed her a somewhat convincing smile and squeezed her cheek. She hesitated but complied. She glanced back as she disappeared into the lounge.
The two girls had a muffled conversation that he couldn’t make out.
He really ought to cut some chips but his legs didn’t move.
It was hardly healthy cuisine but after the day he’d had, it was good going. It could’ve been worse, it could’ve been beans on toast.
His phone began to ring. He knew it was Matt before he even reached for it.
“Hello,” he answered. His tone was neutral, slightly clipped.
“Hey baby, I’m not going to be home till late tonight. Me and Raven are following a lead out in Leeds…”
“Right,” Terry answered in that same flat voice.
“You okay?”
“No, I’ve had a shit day…”
“Why? What’s happened?”
“I went and visited the Kettles and the Jones’”
“And?” Matt sounded warily hopeful.
“Nothing… Nothing Matt. Not a fucking thing,” Terry managed to restrain the vitriol that rose to his tongue. He was so angry, so frustrated and taking it out on Matt would not be a good idea.
“Shit…” Matt trailed away.
“Well don’t forget I need you home tomorrow night,”
“Tomorrow night?”
“Yes, I have that big booking. The party…” Terry reminded. He tried his best to adopt a more positive tone but it sounded insincere.
Ten Missing Children Page 7