She Is Gone

by Ben Cheetham

  “If I ever get my hands on the fucker who shot you, I’ll tear his heart out and feed it to him,” Karl said with such vehemence that Butterfly gave him a reassessing, almost sympathetic look.

  “You really did love me, didn’t you?” she said.

  “I do love you,” corrected Karl.

  “No you don’t,” she stated. “The woman you loved is dead.”

  “No, you’re wrong. Io’s still in there. I can see her in your–”

  “Stop,” cut in Butterfly, pressing a hand to her head. Charlie let out a distressed mewl at the sharpness of her voice. She stroked his back, shushing him into silence. “You have to stop this,” she said to Karl in a tone that was part demanding, part pleading. “If you do still love me, you’ll accept that whatever there was between us died with my memories.”

  Karl was silent for a moment, his lips compressed into a tight line. Very slowly, as if unsure he was doing the right thing, he placed the necklace on the table. “I wouldn’t give this to you when I was in prison because I didn’t want you to go up to The Lakes alone and get yourself hurt. But it didn’t make any difference. You went up there anyway. You always did exactly what you wanted to do.”

  Butterfly picked up the necklace. As if it was a sacred artefact, she reverently traced a finger around the jigsaw piece’s outline.

  “Your parents gave you that necklace,” said Karl, dabbing his bloodshot eye with a tissue. “Your sister Charlie had one too. You and she were very different, but your mum and dad wanted you to know that you were pieces of the same puzzle. You fitted together. The same as you and me. We fit together. We–”

  Karl fell silent at a warning glance from Butterfly. “How were Charlie and I different?”

  “She was a normal teenage girl. She was into boys, pop stars all that bollocks. You were into…” Karl chuckled, “other things.”

  “What other things?”

  Butterfly’s forehead furrowed as he replied, “You used to read to me from the papers every day. Stabbings, shootings, serial killers, jihadis. You couldn’t get enough of that shit.”

  An uneasy smile crept up Butterfly’s face. “I got off on that stuff, did I?”

  “Nah, you were just keeping yourself on your toes. Staring the world straight in the face.” Karl dabbed his eye again, wincing. “This fucking eye.”

  “What’s wrong with it?”

  “I think it’s infected.”

  “You should see a doctor.”

  Karl gave a dismissive flick of his hand. “I’ve got a sore eye, you’re walking around with a bullet in your head.” He shook his head in awe. “You always were the toughest bitch in the entire universe.”

  “Yeah well it doesn’t matter how tough I am. This bullet moves one millimetre in the wrong direction and that’ll be the end of me.”

  “Nah, there’s no way you’re going out like that. You’ll be kicking the shit out of the world long after I’m dead and buried.” Karl motioned to Charlie. “Especially now you’ve got this little man to keep you on your toes.”

  As if on cue, Charlie threw back his head and let out a little wail. “Are you hungry?” asked Butterfly, reaching for a packet of rusks. He eagerly accepted the biscuit and jammed it into his mouth.

  Karl chuckled. “I can see he’s gonna be a handful.”

  Butterfly’s gaze returned to the ‘Little Sis’ pendant. “Thank you for giving me this.” She smiled at Karl for the first time.

  He pressed a hand to his chest as if her smile had hit him there. “I just hope it helps you find the fuckers that killed them.”

  “I hope so too.” Butterfly glanced pointedly at a clock on the wall. “Listen, I’ve got things to do. So…” Her gaze moved to the front door.

  Karl continued to look at Butterfly as if he couldn’t take his eyes off her. “When can I see you again?”

  She shifted uneasily under his intense gaze. “I don’t think we should do this again.”

  “But there’s still so much I haven’t told you. About you. About us. About who killed your parents and sister.”

  “What else do you know about their deaths?” Butterfly asked with piqued interest.

  “You collected boxes of stuff about the murders. Newspaper clippings, files you put together on everyone the police spoke to.”

  “Have you still got it all?”

  “Yeah. It’s with Mick.”

  “Mick?”

  “Mick Kelly. He’s a good mate of ours. But we don’t need all that stuff.” Karl prodded a finger at his temple. “It’s all in there. Names, addresses, the lot. I’ve got one of them what d’you call it, photographic memories.” His eyes lit up as if he’d had an idea. “Hey, I know, why don’t we take a trip up to The Lakes? You, me and Charlie boy. We’ll pay some of those names a surprise visit.”

  Just for a second, as if she was considering the proposal, Butterfly hesitated to reply. Then she shook her head. “No.”

  “Why not? We always used to talk about doing it.”

  “Because I’m not well enough to go up there. And because… Well, because if I do go up there, it won’t be with you. Do you understand?” There was a softness in Butterfly’s voice that hadn’t been there earlier, but also a finality that dampened down the light in Karl’s eyes.

  His gaze dropped away from hers. He pressed the tissue to a fresh welling of moisture from his injured eye. His shoulders slumped like a defeated boxer’s, he turned and took several slow steps towards the front door. With a quiet breath of relief, Butterfly returned Charlie to his highchair and followed Karl. He stopped suddenly, his face knotted as if wrestling with an internal debate. The knot smoothed out as he shook his head.

  “You know what?” he said as much to himself as Butterfly. “I can’t accept it.” His hand slid into his jacket pocket. It emerged gripping a pistol with the distinctive square barrel of a Glock.

  “What are you doing?” gasped Butterfly, her eyes like saucers.

  “I didn’t want to do this, but you’ve given me no choice.” Karl’s voice swayed between anger and apology. He flicked his wrist. “Backup.”

  Butterfly retreated into the kitchen, darting a panicky glance at Charlie who was obliviously sucking on his rusk. She backed up against the work surface. She didn’t want the gun pointing anywhere near Charlie. “Please don’t hurt him.”

  “What the fuck do you think I am?” retorted Karl as if insulted by the suggestion that he would do such a thing.

  Butterfly’s hand groped across the drainer behind her back. Her fingers closed around the handle of a knife. She let go of it as Karl sidestepped towards the highchair and scooped up Charlie.

  “Don’t,” exclaimed Butterfly, holding her hands out pleadingly.

  “Don’t what? I told you, I’m not going to hurt him.” Karl playfully nuzzled Charlie with his black beard. Charlie laughed as the bristles tickled his cheek. “See, he likes me. We’re gonna be great mates. Aren’t we Charlie?”

  “I’m begging you. Put him down and I’ll do anything you want. We can go to The Lakes.”

  “Oh we’re going to The Lakes. All three of us.” Karl motioned to the baby paraphernalia cluttering the table and work surfaces. “Pack what you need.”

  As suddenly as a switch being flipped, the fear left Butterfly’s eyes. “No.” Her tone was flat and hard. She took a step towards Karl. “You won’t hurt me. Now put Charlie down and get out of my house.”

  A smile crawled over Karl’s lips. “Is that you Io?”

  “Do as I say. Walk out of here now and I’ll forget this ever happened. You can get on with your life and I’ll get on with mine.”

  Pain twisted Karl’s smile out of shape. “You are my life. If I can’t have you then–”

  “Then what?” cut in Butterfly, taking another step towards him. “You won’t hurt me,” she repeated. “Not if you love me.”

  “That’s why I will hurt you.” Karl took aim at Butterfly’s head. “I’ll put another bullet in your brain, then
I’ll put one in my own. I don’t want to do it, but I swear to fucking god I will if you make me.”

  The desperate, agonised sincerity in Karl’s voice stopped Butterfly in her tracks. He motioned towards the baby paraphernalia again. This time, she reluctantly set about packing bottles, formula milk, rusks, bibs, nappies, teethers and all the rest of it into a cloth bag.

  When she was done, Karl backed into the hallway with Charlie in the crook of his arm. Slinging the bag over her shoulder, Butterfly followed him. She pointed to the under-stairs cupboard. “I need Charlie’s pushchair.”

  Karl gestured for her to go ahead. She dragged the box of case files from the cupboard before lifting out the pushchair. She closed the cupboard, leaving the box in the middle of the hallway. Karl jerked his chin at a bunch of keys dangling from a hook. “Are those your car keys?” When Butterfly nodded, he added, “Bring them and leave your mobile phone.”

  Butterfly placed her phone on the hallway sideboard.

  Karl stepped outside, glancing around as if to make sure no one was about. He slid the gun into his pocket, but kept hold of it. “Put the buggy in the boot.” As Butterfly opened the people carrier’s boot, Karl lowered Charlie into the baby seat. “Strap him in.”

  Butterfly slung the rest of Charlie’s clobber onto the backseat and secured the straps across him. Her hands lingered on him, her forehead puckering with indecision.

  “Don’t try anything stupid,” warned Karl.

  Butterfly straightened, giving him a What now? look.

  “Keys,” he said, holding out his hand.

  Tension quivered through Butterfly as she made to place the keys in his palm. This was her chance. If she stabbed a key into Karl’s good eye, she might be able to overpower him. As if reading her mind, he said, “Think about Charlie.”

  She exhaled resignedly, knowing he was right. She couldn’t risk a stray bullet hitting Charlie. She released the keys. “Get in the front passenger seat,” said Karl.

  “Can I sit in the back with Charlie?”

  Karl smiled thinly. “What and then the pair of you make a run for it at the first set of traffic lights? I don’t think so, sweetheart.”

  Thud, thud! The drum reverberated through Butterfly’s brain. “I’m not your fucking sweetheart,” she scowled, a savage light flaring in her eyes. For an instant, it was all she could do not to swing for Karl regardless of the consequences.

  He retreated a step, his smile broadening. “Oh I can see this is going to be a fun trip.”

  Keep it together! Think about Charlie, Butterfly commanded herself, turning down the drum’s volume with a seven-eleven breath. She headed around to the front passenger door and ducked into the car. Karl got behind the steering wheel. He took out the Glock, wedged it under his right thigh and started the engine. “OK,” he said with an excited look at Butterfly. “Here we go! Our first family holiday.”

  Chapter 13

  On the way home, Jack phoned the office. Detective Chief Inspector Paul Gunn picked up the phone. “What’s this I’m hearing about you and DI Platts using police resources to locate an ex-boyfriend of Butterfly’s?” he asked in a disapproving tone.

  “Karl Robinson isn’t just any old ex.”

  “I know. I’ve read his rap sheet. Butterfly used to keep dubious company to say the least.”

  Jack held in a sigh. He didn’t want to get into a discussion about Butterfly’s past. He already knew the DCI’s views on such things. The private lives of Paul’s detectives were their own business, unless they had the potential to reflect badly on the Serious Crime Division. The division had a spotless reputation under Paul’s watch. He intended to keep it that way. If anyone but Jack had been caught using the PNC for personal reasons, Paul would have had them up on a misconduct charge. But Jack and Paul went way back. Jack knew Paul was far from the white knight he projected himself to be. The two men had enough dirt on each other to derail their respective careers. The result was an uneasy understanding – you stay out of my business and I’ll stay out of yours. “I’m sorry, Paul, I should have come to you about Robinson.”

  “You’re damn right you should of. We could have done this the right way – taken out a restraining order against him. But it’s too late for that now. I’ve got an officer in the hospital and a suspect at large. What the hell did you do to this man that made him retaliate like that?”

  “We put him on a train to London and told him not to show his face around here again.”

  “For Christ’s sake, Jack.” Paul sounded annoyed but not surprised. “What if Robinson goes to the press? This isn’t the Wild West. We don’t run criminals out of town.”

  “He’s not going to the press. And even if he did, it would be the word of a career criminal against two DIs. Who do you think they would believe?”

  “That’s not the point. I shouldn’t be put in a position where I might have to lie to cover for my detectives.” Paul’s voice grew heavy with regret. “Look, Jack, I realise what I did can never be made right, but things can’t keep going on like this. At some point, I have to say enough is enough.”

  “You’re dead-on, Paul, what you did can never be made right.” The old resentment found its way into Jack’s tone as he thought about how Paul and Rebecca – his onetime closest friend and the woman he’d worshipped – had been meeting up for sex. The feeling faded as fast as it had arisen. He barely ever thought about Paul and Rebecca’s betrayal these days. Not since getting together with Butterfly. The more he fell in love with Butterfly, the less it hurt to see the photo of Rebecca that Naomi kept on her bedside table.

  A momentary silence filled the phone line. His voice impersonal once again, Jack said, “I’m not asking you to lie for me, Paul. If it comes to it, I’m willing to take full responsibility for my actions.” More than willing, he added to himself. In some ways it would be a relief. There had been a time when he’d allowed the job to define him. He’d lost sight of what truly mattered and it had almost cost him everything. He would never make that mistake again. “I called to let you know I won’t be coming in today. I’d also appreciate it if you could let me know if we pick up Robinson or if Forensics come up with any prints.”

  “Of course I will. I know you don’t trust me, Jack, but I’m your DCI. As far as I’m concerned, if someone’s threatening you, they’re threatening me. So if there’s anything else I can do to help…” Paul left the offer hanging.

  Jack hesitated before saying, “Thanks.” It was only the space of a breath, but it was enough to let Paul know his offer wouldn’t be taken up unless there was no other choice. A rueful smile crossed Jack’s face. If love was a healer, then pride was a motherfucker.

  He got off the phone and dialled Butterfly. Once again, his call went through to voicemail. He put his foot down. His expression grew more troubled when he arrived at the semi-detached house. He’d been hoping to see Butterfly’s car, but the driveway was empty. He parked up and hurried into the house, calling out, “Butterfly.”

  No response.

  His gaze came to land on the box of case files. What was it doing in the middle of the hallway? Butterfly knew better than to leave it out. The box contained crime scene photos of corpses with their faces shredded by shotgun pellets. He would have been devastated if Naomi saw them. He dodged around the box into the kitchen. The breakfast pots were still on the table. Charlie’s highchair was splotched with mushed banana and biscuit crumbs. That wasn’t unusual. There generally wasn’t time to clean up before taking Naomi to school. And on the way back from the school run, Butterfly would often stop off at the supermarket. Doubtless that’s where she was now. They’d been running low on baby wipes.

  Jack cleared the table, washed and dried the pots and began to put them away. He paused, his eyes narrowing pensively. The shelf where they stored the baby bottles and formula milk was empty. Butterfly always took one or more pre-prepared bottles with her when she went out with Charlie, depending on how long they would be gone for. But why woul
d she need all the bottles? Jack looked in the drawer where they kept Charlie’s bibs, dummies, teething powders, nappy rash cream and Calpol. Empty.

  He gave a baffled shake of his head. Butterfly had packed as if she would be gone for days. His gaze returned to the box of case files as a worrying thought occurred to him – might Butterfly have gone up to The Lakes? She’d assured him she wouldn’t, but she hadn’t exactly been in her right mind. Perhaps she was scared that if she didn’t go to The Lakes now, she would become too ill to do so. He moved to open the box and leaf through the folders. None appeared to be missing, including those that contained Phil Beech and Dale Sutton’s home addresses. He went up to their bedroom and looked in the wardrobe and drawers. Butterfly didn’t appear to have taken any of her clothes. The bag she used whenever they went away overnight was still under the bed. Somewhat reassured that he was wrong about The Lakes, he returned downstairs.

  He caught sight of something on the sideboard that momentarily stopped him in his tracks. He hastened to pick up the object. Butterfly’s phone. Why would she have left her phone behind? Even if she had gone to The Lakes, surely she would have taken it with her. Had she simply forgotten it? Another more disturbing possibility occurred to him. What if she’d been forced to leave it behind by someone who wanted to prevent her whereabouts from being tracked? Had Karl been here?

  Carefully, as if afraid of contaminating potential evidence, he made his way around the house. There was no sign of forced entrance on any of the windows or doors. Nor were there any signs of struggle. The only things out of place were the box and the missing baby gear. Neither thing was necessarily sinister, yet his instincts yelled that something was amiss.

  He phoned Naomi’s school and told the receptionist he needed to speak to his daughter. After a wait of several minutes, Naomi came on the phone. “Hi Dad. What is it?” She sounded worried.

  “How did Butterfly seem to you this morning?”

  “She seemed OK. A bit tired. Why?”

  “Did she take any bags with her when you left the house?”