by Simon Mason
‘Is there any trace of her? Her credit card?’
‘There’s been no activity on her card.’
There was a longer pause.
‘She took Rex, didn’t she? She took him because she was frightened.’
Singh hesitated. ‘There is that possibility.’
‘Is she in danger?’
Singh said carefully, ‘We must avoid jumping to conclusions. But of course we must also consider all the possibilities.’ He hesitated. ‘There have been further developments since I last spoke to you, in fact.’
‘What developments?’ she said quickly.
‘Concerning Rex.’ He described what they had found.
She got to her feet and began to pace up and down in agitation. ‘I don’t understand. You think that someone’s killed him?’
‘I’m afraid it’s possible.’
‘In other words’ – her voice quavered – ‘it’s also possible that someone has attacked Amy.’
He said nothing.
She sat down and stood up again.
‘I told you how irresponsible she is,’ she said. ‘Now you tell me this. She’s vulnerable. She’s only sixteen!’
Singh said nothing. He saw how agitated she was becoming.
She faced him. ‘I assume you now have more resources. Do you?’
He began to explain, and she interrupted him.
‘So what’s being done?’
He told her about the partial sweep of the woods carried out by volunteers. ‘And we have been following other leads,’ he said.
‘What leads?’
Singh took a breath. As carefully as he could, he began to explain about the white van, and the man described by Sophie.
‘A stalker?’ Dr Roecastle cried.
‘It’s not yet clear.’
‘The man who attacked her?’
‘We can’t yet be certain that she has been attacked.’
‘The same man in the garden tonight.’
Singh reluctantly acknowledged the possibility.
She looked dazed, sickened. ‘A man has attacked my daughter,’ she said hesitatingly, as if gingerly trying out this new reality. ‘Perhaps taken her somewhere in his van. Is keeping her. A man has attacked and abducted my daughter and is keeping her somewhere, using her.’ She put her knuckles in her mouth while Singh watched her anxiously. ‘Who is he?’ she asked suddenly.
‘We don’t yet know.’
‘Surely you can trace him through the sightings of his van?’
Singh began to explain about the notorious unreliability of witness descriptions. The type, size, make and even colour of the van were still unclear.
She interrupted him. ‘I assume you have databases you can search through. Surely you’ve been doing that.’ Her voice was shrill.
‘We have not yet completed the research.’
‘Why not?’
‘It takes time.’
She became emotional. ‘This stalker, this attacker, this man from east city or wherever. He’s not going to wait for you to find out who he is. What else are you doing?’
Singh told her that a suspicious vehicle alert had been posted on various sites, and that he had already checked many of the local van owners, but Dr Roecastle was not impressed. She was incredulous.
‘Your plan is to wait until he comes forward to help you with your enquiries? Suspicious vehicle notice! My sixteen-year-old daughter has been abducted, and your response is to sit back and—’
The rising tide of her voice stopped at once when Singh’s phone rang. She looked at him in sudden fear.
‘Excuse me,’ he said. Getting up, he went out into the hallway. Dr Roecastle heard only, ‘When did this happen?’ and then, ‘Where is he now?’ and after that only a general murmuring. Soon he returned to the living room.
‘I’m afraid I must leave you,’ he said.
Dr Roecastle’s mouth bent slowly. ‘Why?’ she said. ‘What’s happened?’
Singh hesitated. ‘One of our officers has apprehended a young man. He is the owner of a white van, and he says he has something to tell us about Amy.’
He said no more, but left her sitting upright, rigid, on her seat, and went out to his car and headed back to the city.
14
On his way through the monitoring station for Interview Room 2, Singh paused to look at the bank of screens in the wall. From nine different fixed angles they patiently showed the room beyond, a regular windowless space whitewashed into anonymity, empty apart from a grey metal table and two metal chairs. On one of the chairs, sitting at an awkward angle to the table, was a young man, good-looking, wiry, wearing a maroon hooded top and red baseball cap. His face was lean, his brows overhanging, his hair dark. Altogether, his features were a striking match to those in the police artist’s picture.
He was obviously nervous, full of sinewy, irritable energy. As he sat there he rocked from side to side, bobbing his head and rubbing his face with his hand. He kept picking up and putting down again a packet of tobacco. He seemed to be talking to himself. Singh glanced at his watch: 23:00. He watched the young man for a while longer, then composed himself, tucking a cardboard folder under his arm, and moved off towards a door at the end with a red light above it.
Location: Interview Room 2, Cornwallis Police Centre, East Wing.
Aspect of interviewer: neat, careful, calm.
Aspect of interviewee: unkempt, flaky, ill-looking.
DI SINGH: Would you confirm your name for me please?
DAMON WALSH: Damon Ryan Walsh.
DI SINGH: And you are twenty-four years old, and you live at 47 Beeston Place, Brickfields.
DAMON WALSH: That’s it.
DI SINGH: I’m afraid this is a no-smoking area, Damon.
DAMON WALSH: [putting away tobacco]
DI SINGH: Thank you. [reading file] Now, you were stopped this evening at the junction of Wyedale Road and Town Road. Erratic driving.
DAMON WALSH: Yeah, it’s a crap corner, innit, you can’t see the lights, they’re sort of hidden, and I wasn’t doing nothing, ’cept—
DI SINGH: And the traffic officer of course noticed your van, and asked if you’d seen the suspicious vehicle notice, and also mentioned the missing teenager Amy Roecastle; and it says here that you appeared to be, quote, agitated and evasive, unquote, so he asked you to accompany him here—
DAMON WALSH: Yeah, well, first thing is. Didn’t see no notice. Wasn’t looking for it. Bazza told me. Down O’Malley’s, early doors. He said you been up there, ain’t you, Froggett way, in the van and that, and I said yeah but not like suspicious or nothing, and he said they pull you in now, mate, you won’t even get to sit on your own arse at the hearing they’ll have you inside before you can piss yourself, know what I mean?
DI SINGH: [reading from the file] I … think so. Yes, it says here you just finished your licence period, and you’re worried, I take it, about another enquiry so soon.
DAMON WALSH: My problem, right, it’s always the same, my problem is, no one listens. People get the wrong idea. I get mixed up in stuff I don’t have nothing to do with, and it’s me who gets the blame. Just ’cause it’s me, and they see my record, and—
DI SINGH: I understand, Damon. I mean only that you are naturally anxious to avoid misunderstandings. Now. Before we start. You mention your record. You’ve volunteered in your statement here that when you were fifteen you were placed on a Young Offender programme.
DAMON WALSH: Never hid it.
DI SINGH: And, more recently, our records show you served a three-month custodial sentence for possession of cannabis.
DAMON WALSH: What am I meant to say? It was bad inside. You don’t know. No one knows till they done it. I done my stretch and got good behaviour and everything, and I done my three months under licence. I’m never going back. I done all the talking and listening and that. I know what people think. I got issues, right. I know that. One day at a time, that’s what they say to me. I believe it. I want to get a job, and�
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DI SINGH: OK. Now, Damon, back to this evening. We think you might be able to help us in our enquiries because you have a van that matches the description in our notice, and you’ve been driving it up at Froggett, and you say you have something to tell us about Amy Roecastle.
DAMON WALSH: That’s it. I been up there, in the van. Though to be fair, sometimes I think it’s not going to make it, up that hill. There’s something wrong with it, I think. Bought it off a mate. Not finished paying for it yet, and that’s not my fault either, but I got the money for it upfront, so it’s all legit. If it helps me get a job—
DI SINGH: I take it you brought the papers for it, by the way.
DAMON WALSH: No one said nothing about bringing papers. No one said—
DI SINGH: It’s OK, Damon. But before you go tonight you must arrange with the duty officer to bring them in tomorrow. Now, to come back to what you were saying. You’ve been driving your van up at Froggett.
DAMON WALSH: Yeah.
DI SINGH: Why?
DAMON WALSH: What do you mean?
DI SINGH: I mean, why up at Froggett?
DAMON WALSH: ’Cause of Amy, course.
DI SINGH: Amy Roecastle?
DAMON WALSH: Yeah.
DI SINGH: And how do you know Amy Roecastle?
DAMON WALSH: What do you mean? She’s my babe.
DI SINGH: [long pause] You’re telling me you’re in a relationship with Amy Roecastle?
DAMON WALSH: Yeah. Course.
DI SINGH: So far as I am aware she is not in any relationship.
DAMON WALSH: We have to keep it quiet ’cause her mother’s a bit mental.
DI SINGH: Amy’s friend Sophie Brighouse knows nothing about this relationship either.
DAMON WALSH: The blonde chick? Amy didn’t want her to find out. Bit of a blabbermouth.
DI SINGH: Damon, I have to tell you, I find it hard to believe this.
DAMON WALSH: Yeah, figures. ’Cause it’s me, innit? Same old, same old. Gets on my tits.
DI SINGH: Let me put it this way. How can I corroborate what you’re saying?
DAMON WALSH: What d’you mean?
DI SINGH: Can you prove it to me?
DAMON WALSH: Yeah, course.
[silence]
DI SINGH: Tell me something about her room, for instance.
DAMON WALSH: Never been in the house.
DI SINGH: What does she wear when you meet her?
DAMON WALSH: I’m not good at noticing stuff like that.
DI SINGH: What do you know about her? Tell me something. How many brothers and sisters does she have? What school does she go to? What does she like?
DAMON WALSH: Stop it, you’re doing my head in.
DI SINGH: I’m sorry. This won’t do.
DAMON WALSH: I gave her flowers. She liked them.
DI SINGH: [pause] What?
DAMON WALSH: The other day. Don’t know nothing about flowers, got them out of a garden, to be honest. But Amy liked them. Said she was going to put them in a vase and that.
DI SINGH: OK. I’ve seen those flowers. They are in a vase. Tell me more about Amy then.
DAMON WALSH: Well, usually there’s quite a bit of hanging about waiting for her. Sitting in the van and that. Hanging about in those woods. She wants me to keep out of sight till the coast’s clear. Fucking pain, to be honest, ’scuse me.
DI SINGH: Damon, how long have you been in this relationship with Amy?
DAMON WALSH: Don’t remember. Must have been May sometime.
DI SINGH: And how did you meet?
DAMON WALSH: At O’Malley’s, I think it was. Yeah. Seen her standing there giving me the eye. After that, I don’t know, she’s calling me up and stuff. Saw her at a gig in town one time. Anyway, we got it together. And that’s why I’m telling you all this, through no fault of my own. Do my bit for my babe.
DI SINGH: I see. How often do you see Amy?
DAMON WALSH: Two, three times a week maybe.
DI SINGH: Where do you meet her?
DAMON WALSH: Wherever I’ve parked the van. Or outside her house. On the path at the back, sometimes.
DI SINGH: And what do you and Amy do?
DAMON WALSH: Well. It’s not all what you think. There’s quite a bit of that, of course. Might go a for a ride. Go into town. She loves those places down The Wicker. I haven’t got money for that, though, usually. Might just sit and talk in the van. She likes to talk. You know, save the world and that. Yeah. And other stuff. [hastily] Don’t matter about that, though.
DI SINGH: What other stuff?
DAMON WALSH: Forget I said it.
DI SINGH: What other stuff, Damon?
DAMON WALSH: [pause] She helps me.
DI SINGH: What do you mean?
DAMON WALSH: [silence]
DI SINGH: Damon!
DAMON WALSH: [shouting] I’m not very good with books! [silence] All right? Just not my thing.
DI SINGH: [pause] She’s teaching you to read?
DAMON WALSH: I told you, I want to get a job.
DI SINGH: OK. Two weeks ago, your van was seen by a neighbour parked outside the gates of Amy’s house, rocking violently from side to side.
DAMON WALSH: Yeah? Well, there wasn’t nothing violent about it. We were just getting it on, I expect. Listen, I know what you think about me, same as everyone. I know I got issues. But I didn’t even have any idea about her going off till Bazza told me. That’s the truth.
DI SINGH: Did you meet her on the night of Wednesday the 8th of August? The night she went missing.
DAMON WALSH: [scratching head] What time?
DI SINGH: Between midnight and two o’clock in the morning. In the woods at the back of her house.
DAMON WALSH: Course not. What would she be doing out there? It was pissing it down.
DI SINGH: Did you meet her that evening somewhere else, at some other time?
DAMON WALSH: No.
DI SINGH: Are you sure?
DAMON WALSH: Course.
DI SINGH: [pause] Do you know why she’s gone missing, Damon?
DAMON WALSH: No.
DI SINGH: When did you hear that she had gone missing?
DAMON WALSH: Yesterday. They were talking about it in O’Malley’s. Bazza said … well, it don’t matter what Bazza said. Couldn’t believe it. She’ll be all right, though. I know Amy. She’s my babe.
DI SINGH: Do you know where she might be?
DAMON WALSH: No idea. It’s a weird one, innit? California?
DI SINGH: Why do you say that? To visit her father?
DAMON WALSH: Don’t know anything about him. Just remember her talking about it one time. I love to hear her talk.
DI SINGH: OK, Damon. So you didn’t see her on Wednesday night.
DAMON WALSH: No.
DI SINGH: What were you doing on Wednesday?
DAMON WALSH: Why do you want to know that?
DI SINGH: That’s when Amy went missing.
DAMON WALSH: Yeah, but I told you, I don’t know nothing about it.
DI SINGH: Just tell me what you did.
DAMON WALSH: Wednesday? I got to think. I don’t remember things too well. Oh yeah, I was down there by the station in town.
DI SINGH: What were you doing?
DAMON WALSH: Nothing. Just with a friend.
DI SINGH: Were you there all evening?
DAMON WALSH: Yeah.
DI SINGH: So you must have been aware of the riot in Market Square.
DAMON WALSH: No. Well, not really.
DI SINGH: You’d left already?
DAMON WALSH: Well, I hadn’t left. I mean, I saw what was going on, and I left afterwards.
DI SINGH: Were you at the rave?
DAMON WALSH: No. No way. Saw what was happening and went home. I didn’t hang about or anything.
DI SINGH: You didn’t see Amy or her friend Sophie?
DAMON WALSH: No.
DI SINGH: [pause]
DAMON WALSH: That it then? Can I go now?
DAMON WALSH: I want it written down.
DI SINGH: What?
DAMON WALSH: Not my fault. All this you’ve been saying, me driving up there, and hanging about, and Amy being my babe. Whatever’s happened, it’s not my fault. I want it written down proper, what I’m saying, that it’s not, see?
DI SINGH: OK. Noted. I’ll take you to the duty officer now. And if we need to talk again we can get in touch with you on the contacts you’ve already given, yes?
DAMON WALSH: No problem, mate. Thing is, I just want to help. That’s why I come in. Cheers.
It was another half an hour before Singh left the Police Centre. Nearly midnight. Under a dark, smooth sky, he drove slowly out to the ring road, and eastwards towards Dandelion Hill, where he lived.
He was thinking about Damon Walsh, about all young people lost to their karma. In truth, Damon wasn’t so much younger than he was. And there had been times in his life when he too had been lost; he thought of his boyhood in Lahore fifteen years earlier. Some people go missing, like Amy Roecastle, because they disappear suddenly and strangely. Some, like Garvie Smith, just seem to lose their way. Others, like Damon, live with a disturbed karma, lost to themselves; perhaps they are the least fortunate. But how will they all be found again?
How will I be found? he thought suddenly.
He brought his thoughts back to Amy Roecastle spending her third night away from home. If Damon had told the truth, she was a girl of surprises and secrets. But he didn’t know if Damon was telling the truth. Not once had he expressed anxiety about Amy’s whereabouts. Singh would have to see him again, the next day.
The night sky was dark blue haze as he drove slowly into Dandelion Hill, thinking these things.
It was midnight on Friday the 10th of August, the second day after Amy’s disappearance, and she’d been missing for just under forty-eight hours.
15
Friday nights at Eastwick Gardens were usually family affairs. Not this Friday. Garvie’s mother was going out. She disappeared into her room at seven o’clock to get ready, leaving Garvie with Uncle Len, who had called round to pick up Aunt Maxie’s handbag, left there the night before.