by Vicky Jones
“Hmm?” Jenny muttered back. She looked up at the woman.
“Are you OK?” the woman asked.
“What? Yes. Right. Let’s get started.” Jenny threw her phone back down onto her gym bag and motioned for the woman to rejoin the front row. Seconds later, she paused. “Sophie, can you just start the warm-up?” she said to the dark-haired woman, her face turning grey. “I’ll be back in a minute.” She strode over to the ladies’ toilets, then ran as the acid caught in her throat. She reached the cubicle just in time, before a plume of vomit erupted out of her and crashed against the inside of the toilet bowl.
“Well, I think we’ve done enough work for one day,” Rachel said to the bleary-eyed group beavering away at the paper and coffee cup-laden briefing table in the corner of her office. Sighs of relief rippled around the room. “Thanks for today, everyone.” She stood up, removed her reading glasses and pinched the bridge of her nose.
“What’s say we all go to the Baltic Market? First round’s on me. Boss?” Mags packed her pens away and looked up at Rachel.
Rachel smiled and shook her head. “No, I can’t. I’m going to stay here for a bit. Got things to do. But thanks. You all go and relax. You’ve earned it after today.”
“Blimey, you’re keen,” Mags chuckled as she slid on her beige trench coat and tied the belt in a bow.
“I’m on a timer, aren’t I?” Rachel riposted with a grin.
“OK, well, enjoy. Johnny, Chloe, let’s go.” Mags rounded them up and headed towards the door.
Bradley grabbed his coat from the hook and slung an arm around Mags. “So I guess if you’re getting the bevvies in, I’m on crisp duty again?”
“Yep. You know it.” Mags grinned. “But no pork scratchings again. They played havoc with my bowels last time.” Bradley grimaced at the image and then laughed as they walked out together.
Rachel piled up the folders from the table, not noticing one person was left in her office until she stood up straight. “You not going with them, Sharp?”
Chloe half smiled. “No. Not really feeling it tonight. Well, the Baltic, that is. I could stay and help you out here, if you like?”
Rachel laughed. “Haven’t you got better things to go home to? You don’t want to be stuck here all night with me and these things.” She waved the folders in the air.
“No. Nothing better to go home to. I’d like to help crack on with these cases,” Chloe replied. She swept a strand of blonde hair from her brow.
“OK then. We can start on this one.” Rachel passed her a folder from the top of her pile. “The statement from Callum Davies’ girlfriend regarding the night he disappeared. I’m seeing her tomorrow so I need to get my facts straight.” She walked over to her desk and fished into the pocket of her jacket which was wrapped around the chair. “Here, why don’t we order in? It could be a long one.” She took a credit card out of her purse and handed it to Chloe.
“Sure. What’s your favourite?”
“Chinese. Sweet and sour chicken.”
“Same,” Chloe said in a quiet voice as Rachel sat back down at the table to spread the files out again.
“And get some chips, too. I’m starving.”
Jenny sat on her living room couch nursing a tepid bowl of chicken and rice. She was still wearing her yoga clothes and her blonde hair was messy from her class. She stirred her fork around the bowl while staring into space, her blue eyes vacant.
“Is it not very nice?” her boyfriend asked. He gazed at her with soft brown eyes, concern etched on his handsome features.
“Hmm? No, it’s lovely. Thank you. I’m just not that hungry.” Jenny replied, refocusing her eyes on the TV programme they were watching. She lifted a forkful of chicken to her mouth and chewed slowly.
“Oh, that reminds me,” Sam said through a mouthful of rice. “Your sister tried calling me twice today. I was driving the cab so I couldn’t answer, but she left me a voicemail.” He reached over to the black glass-topped coffee table in front of them and picked up his phone.
Jenny stopped chewing. “What did it say?”
“I’ll play it for you now.”
The message blared out. ‘Hi Sam, it’s Katie. I was wondering if you could pass on a message. Um…could you please ask Jenny to call me urgently? It’s important.’
“She sounds in a right state. What’s going on?” Sam asked when the message ended.
“Nothing. Don’t worry about it.” She pointed her bowl at him. “This is lovely, by the way. Thank you.”
Rachel returned home at the end of what had felt like an extraordinarily long day. She closed her front door and dropped her keys in a small wooden bowl on the hall table. Stacked along the length of the narrow hallway were different sized brown cardboard boxes, yet to be unpacked. Even though she’d only been there a matter of weeks, Rachel didn’t feel quite at home there yet, and hadn’t decided where things should go. Even boxes with ‘kitchen’ labelled on them hadn’t quite found their way in there yet.
She walked over and laid a hand on one box in particular and sighed as she read the label, ‘Adam’s stuff’. As she took her coat off and reached up to the hooks on the wall near the door, she felt a faint buzz from her mobile phone in her pocket. She took it out and read the message.
Really enjoyed our power hour this evening. I’ll type up our notes from the statements we went through first thing in the morning ready for your visit to Callum’s girlfriend. And thank you for the Chinese. Such a nice change from eating alone at home. See you in the morning, boss. Chloe x
Rachel closed her eyes after reading the message, wishing it had been from Adam. Quickly she tapped a few words of a response to Chloe and pressed send. Walking into the living room, she collapsed exhausted on the sofa and smiled. It felt nice to have at least one friend in this new city, even if it was someone a couple of ranks below her, and not the ‘done thing’ to fraternise with the underlings. But Chloe Sharp had an aura about her, one of excitement and spirit for the job and the chase of solving mysteries. Rachel remembered having that feeling once, many years ago. But now it was all about getting the job done, even if that meant that spirit had waned a bit over the last few years. Chloe Sharp could be the breath of fresh air she needed to start to enjoy the job again.
Chapter 9
“Ready to go?” Rachel said as she walked up to Mags’ work desk.
“All set.” Mags logged off her computer and stood up to put on her beige trench coat. She picked up her car keys and slipped her black spiral bound notebook into her pocket. “She was devastated when Callum disappeared, poor love. That baby will be almost seven months old by now. Shall I drive?”
The house they arrived at fifteen minutes later was a yellow-bricked mid-terraced house on a quiet street just off Smithdown Road, three miles from the city centre. Cars were parked on both sides of the narrow street, leaving just enough of a gap for Mags to manoeuvre her Audi along the grey, patchwork tarmac and park in a space in front of the house. Around the front window on the right side of the door was a halo of red-painted bricks and a black cable ran down from an old satellite dish fixed just above it. At the kerb of the cracked concreted path in front of the door there was a white plastic bin bag full of broken baby toys next to a row of six purple wheelie bins. Rachel stepped past them and approached the white PVC front door. She lifted the brass knocker and tapped on the door.
“Hello?” came a thin voice behind the door.
“Hi, is that Courtney? Courtney Wallace?” Rachel said.
“Who is it?”
“I’m Detective Inspector Rachel Morrison.” Rachel fished into her pocket for her warrant card. “Can you open the door, please?”
The door opened a crack and a pale, tired face appeared. “I’ve just got the baby down. Is this about Callum? Have you found him?”
Rachel’s face softened into a sympathetic smile. “Can we come in? I promise we’ll be quiet.”
Courtney glanced down at the warrant card Rachel was holdi
ng in her direction. She closed the door and removed the chain. “Come in,” she said, opening the door. She was wearing an oversized white Beatles t-shirt and blue faded skinny jeans. Her long dark brown hair was tangled and flat on one side. She leaned down to move a bag of rubbish from behind the door to let them pass. “I’m sorry about the mess. I’m still working things out, you know?”
“Oh, don’t worry about that, love. You should see my desk at work,” Mags said with a motherly smile.
“Courtney, this is Detective Constable Chapman,” Rachel said. “We haven’t found Callum yet, but we are looking into his case right now. We just need to establish a few facts about the night Callum disappeared.” She put her warrant card away and took out her notebook.
Courtney nodded and led them into a small living room to the right of the long hallway. It was sparsely furnished, with only a brown leather three-piece suite which looked like it had seen its fair share of charity shops, a pine sideboard and a matching coffee table. A small flat screen TV sat in the corner on a brown faux leather dining chair. Next to the larger of the couches was a cheap white-painted wooden crib with a baby asleep in it. Courtney wandered over to the crib and checked on the baby, tucking his arm back under his blanket.
“Can I get you both a tea?” Courtney asked.
Mags, catching a faint nod from Rachel, turned to Courtney and smiled. “Ooh, that’d be lovely. I’ll give you a hand, shall I?” She followed Courtney out of the living room. Rachel put her notebook back in her jacket pocket and took the opportunity to have a look around the room. Nothing looked out of place or suspicious in any way. The simple home of a young twenty-something mother, complete with bag of dirty nappies at the side of the crib in the corner—the only part of the room Rachel had yet to inspect. She bit her lip and took a few steps closer to the crib, looking down into it. The baby was lying on his back wearing a white sleep suit with an elephant on it. He had sandy blond hair and features which reminded Rachel strongly of Callum’s photograph on his case notes. After a few minutes of watching him in silence, Rachel reached a tentative hand down to the baby’s pudgy little fist. Once her finger had slipped inside it, the baby gripped it. Rachel felt something inside her pang. She watched as the baby began to stir, then moments later he began to grizzle. “Shhh, there, there, little guy, it’s OK. Shhh.” The baby wriggled and began to cry. “Courtney? Your baby is waking up. Courtney?” But no one appeared at the living room door. With no other option as the baby’s cries grew into heaving sobs, Rachel leaned down and picked him up, holding him almost at arm’s length. “Shhhh. Come on, mate, it’s OK. Shhhh.” Rachel rocked him from side to side, her frustration and anguish growing as the baby continued to wriggle in her grasp. Mags appeared at the living room doorway and rushed over.
“Here, let me.” She lifted the baby out of Rachel’s arms and held him close to her chest. “Ooh, there, there, little man. What’s all the fuss about, eh? Shhhh.” As if by magic, the baby stopped crying and sniffed. He looked up at Mags through large inquisitive blue eyes.
“Is he alright?” Courtney said, appearing at the living room doorway with a mug-laden tray. She rushed over to Mags and the baby.
“He’s fine, love. Here, let me take that tray and you take the boy.”
Seconds later, he was falling back to sleep in his mother’s arms. Mags put the tray down on the coffee table.
“What’s his name?” Rachel asked, wiping a strand of hair from her eyes.
“Tommy. He’ll be seven months next week. He’s just started teething so he’s not sleeping that well.” Courtney lowered Tommy back into the crib and stroked his face with her finger.
“Courtney, can you tell us about the night Callum disappeared?” Rachel asked.
“He’d been off with me for a few weeks before. Never said why.”
“How did he feel about becoming a father?”
Courtney sat down on the couch. “He was dead excited when I told him. Couldn’t wait. He found this place for us as soon as his universal credit came through. But then, about a week before he disappeared, he seemed really distracted. He’d been to see his dad a few nights earlier. We had tea on the night he disappeared but he hardly ate a thing. Then he put his trainers on and went out. It was about nine o’clock. I waited up all night but he never came home. I called the police later that day. No one got back to me. I didn’t really know what to do. My parents pretty much disowned me when I got with Cal. So here we are. Me and Tommy. Just waiting. Waiting for Daddy to come home to us, aren’t we, lad?” She looked into the crib at Tommy who was now sleeping soundly again.
“And he didn’t say anything that would help us to understand why he left, or where he went that night?” Mags asked.
“No. Nothing.” Courtney looked up at Rachel, her eyes moist. “Please find him. We need him home. Tommy needs his daddy. He’d be a great dad. And he has the most amazing son. Help us be a family. Please.”
Rachel smiled with as much hope as she could muster. “We’ll do our best. Thank you for your time, Courtney. We’ll see ourselves out.” She turned back at the living room doorway and gazed at the crib. “You take care of yourself. And that little one.”
Chapter 10
Rachel walked into her office on Monday morning and looked around it, feeling clearer headed after taking the time before the weekend to tidy and arrange it properly. On the desk her pens were all standing proudly in newly bought pen pots next to the computer, and her blue case folders were now labelled and stacked in date order from left to right on the shelves. Satisfied with the order she’d made of chaos, she sank down into her office chair and took a huge swig from her bottle of orange juice.
“You’ll turn into that stuff if you’re not careful,” Mags said with a cheery grin as she pushed open the door and placed a folder on Rachel’s desk.
“Vitamin C, Mags. Keeps the colds away,” Rachel replied, smacking her lips and reaching for the file.
“Really? I’m always getting the sniffles, even in summer. I should take a leaf out of your book. So, did you do anything nice over the weekend?” Mags said, lingering by the door.
“Not really. Just got my house sorted finally. You?” Rachel pored over the folder without looking up.
“Oh yes. Me and Chip, that’s my husband, went to The London Carriage Works for dinner Saturday night. The rib-eye steak and truffle mash is to die for.”
Rachel’s head snapped upwards. “The London Carriage Works? On a copper’s wage?” She laughed.
“Chip paid, not me. I know. I’m a lucky girl. He knows how to keep me happy, does old Chip,” Mags said with a wink. “He earns way more than me, and I am very much milking the hell out of that fact. He knows which side his bread’s buttered anyway.” Mags stroked her eyebrow with her little finger and gave Rachel a mock snooty look.
Rachel inwardly stifled a yawn. “I’m sure he does. Anyway, how are you getting on with those statements? Found any new leads?”
Mags held her hands up. “It’s on my to-do list for today.”
“Right,” Rachel replied, fighting the urge to ask Mags in the most professional way she could why they hadn’t already been done, over a week since she’d asked for them to be on her desk. “OK then. By the end of the day, though, OK?” She flashed Mags a pointed look.
“You have my word, boss,” Mags replied, turning around and heading back out of the office to her cluttered desk. Rachel got up a few seconds later to look through the blinds at her. Sure enough, exactly as she expected, Mags sat down at her desk, ignored the files and had begun scrolling through her phone.
Looks like I’m going to have to put a rocket up your arse, DC Chapman, Rachel thought.
Tom slipped his key in the door and opened it, dropping his bag down by the shoe rack. With the sun outside setting, he switched on the hall light and recoiled, seeing Katie sat in silence staring up at him from her seated position at the bottom of the stairs.
“Christ, babe, you almost gave me a heart attack. W
hat are you doing sitting down there?”
“I’m going up north, Tom. I’m going to visit the place in Liverpool where I grew up. I need to find out what the hell is going on.”
Rachel looked up at the clock on the wall in her office. After promising herself she wouldn’t stay late that night, she sighed inwardly as the time read 7:30. Not ever staying a minute after 5:30, Mags had gone home, and in the large space outside Rachel’s office, all cubicles appeared vacant. She looked back down at the folder she was reading through.
“Bloody social media,” a deep, booming voice echoed through the incident room. Supt. Jenkins’ tall, wiry frame appeared at Rachel’s open door. “Everyone wants to know the ins and outs of a duck’s arse these days. Can’t let the police get on with their job. They’ve always got some smart-arse comment to post about the one thing in a million we’re not doing.”
Rachel looked up and slipped her reading glasses off her face. “Sir?”
“Oh, nothing. Just some smart-arse journalist on Twitter criticising us as usual.” He flashed a toothy smile at Rachel, who flicked her head down at the open folder. “Anyway, a couple more months and I won’t have to deal with imbeciles anymore. Peace and bloody quiet down at the caravan in Wales. That’s what I’m looking forward to.”
“I don’t blame you, sir.”
Jenkins smiled and tapped the edge of her desk. “Don’t you be staying too late either. I need fresh soldiers,” He turned and left Rachel to it.
“Night, sir,” Rachel called after him. She pinched the bridge of her nose and, realising Jenkins was right, closed the folder and decided to go home. After clicking off her light and pulling her office door shut, she noticed, with it now being darker in the incident room, that a blue screen light was the only patch of illumination the room. Curious, she walked over.
