Gone

by Leona Deakin

  ‘Just a lowly researcher, you said.’

  This woman was hot, intelligent, loved cycling and was more than a match for his wit. Could it get any better? For the first time in his life, he was in real danger of falling in love.

  Bloom was back in her hometown of Harrogate, where the stresses of living and working in London simply ebbed away. She ran faster here, breathing in the fresh Yorkshire air and feeling younger and freer than she had in months.

  The sensation was short-lived.

  Her music was interrupted by her phone.

  ‘It’s me,’ said Jameson. ‘Are you still in Yorkshire visiting your mum?’

  ‘I am,’ said Bloom, wiping the sweat from her face with her sleeve.

  ‘Claire’s received a message from Jane. She’s locked in an attic somewhere near Leeds. I’m on my way to King’s Cross now. I arrive in Leeds at two thirty. Can you meet me?’

  ‘Jump on a train to Harrogate from Leeds. I’ll meet you at the station. There’s plenty of room at the house.’

  ‘Are you sure? I’m happy in a hotel.’

  ‘I’m rattling around this place. It’ll be good to have the company and we can set up a proper base.’

  Bloom jogged back to the house. It was a five-bedroom detached building in an upmarket part of Harrogate. Her father had been a lawyer and her mother a cardiac surgeon, and both had been totally obsessed with their work. They never travelled, they never ate out. The only thing they spent time or money on was their home.

  Jameson would be surprised at the invite. He’d never been asked to her home in London, but this place was different. For a start, it wasn’t hers. Well, not yet, anyway. Not with Mummy still alive. And she was different here, too. Her work made her paranoid and obsessive about privacy. She’d seen too many cases of people placing their trust in the goodness of others and paying the price. She recalled the stalker who’d gleefully explained to her how a running app made it so much easier to track the women he preyed on. ‘I just need to run around an area for a few days and I can see all the women who run there and where they live. Most accounts include real names and a picture, too.’ He would turn up at their home and claim to be an old work or school friend. And so it would begin. Bloom had switched off all location services on her phone and avoided social media. Big Brother was watching through cleverly designed surveillance tools that people opted in to.

  She unlocked the front door, then removed her trainers before stepping on to the parquet floor. Her mother didn’t allow shoes in the house. After a quick shower, she organized a hire car and called up an old friend from the West Yorkshire Police. Caroline would help. She had been there all those years ago when Bloom made her first mistake and the world came crashing down. She’d want to help.

  44

  Jameson walked out of Harrogate station and into an unexpectedly pretty town. Blossoming trees lined the pavements in all directions and an impressive building stood opposite, a crescent of caramel stone surrounding a large concourse and dotted with raised flower beds.

  ‘Marcus?’ Bloom walked towards him in a white cotton shirt and navy jeans. He’d never seen her in jeans before. On her, even denim looked pretty smart. ‘We can walk back to the house,’ she said. ‘It isn’t far.’

  ‘Lead on,’ he said and followed her down a street lined with smart boutiques and high-end chains. ‘So this is where you grew up?’

  ‘Yes. I had a bit of a rough start,’ she said.

  ‘Another joke, Augusta? This is starting to get a bit old.’

  The road opened out on to a large junction. To the left, a wide grass verge fronted a long line of impressive Victorian buildings, and ahead, a needle-shaped cenotaph rose from the centre of a square roundabout swathed in spring flowers. Jameson spotted an expensive-looking cafe as they crossed the road towards a large green.

  ‘Betty’s,’ he said. ‘Have I heard of that?’

  ‘Probably,’ she replied. ‘It’s famous around here. Tourists queue for hours for a table.’

  ‘Is it worth it?’

  ‘My mother used to say, “It’s only bloody tea,” but it is actually very good.’

  Bloom was more relaxed here. In London she rarely talked about her mother, except when mentioning an impending visit. Maybe he’d learn a bit more about her. He did respect her privacy – he knew it was important to her – but he was also dying to know what made a woman like Augusta Bloom.

  Jameson whistled as they approached Bloom’s family home. Set in its own grounds and surrounded by a low wall topped with a neatly manicured privet hedge was a stone building with large bay windows either side of the front door and actual turrets on the roof. ‘I can see why your mum would want to stay here.’

  Bloom unlocked the front door. ‘She’s in a home now.’

  ‘Sorry. I didn’t realize.’

  ‘Dementia. You can pop your bag in the first room to the left at the top of the stairs. I’ll get the kettle on and show you what I’ve found so far.’

  Jameson nearly whistled again when he opened the door to his room. Decorated from floor to ceiling in floral fabrics and wallpaper, it had two large windows, one overlooking the green and the other with views across the driveway. He placed his bag on the mahogany sleigh bed and checked out the en-suite. It was like being in a country-house hotel.

  Downstairs, Bloom had laid out a china teapot and matching cups on the oak kitchen table. Next to them was an open Ordnance Survey map with a large red circle drawn in the centre.

  ‘Thirty minutes in all directions. That’s from Knaresborough, near here, to Tadcaster and Sherburn in Elmet at three o’clock, Darton and Holmfirth at six o’clock, through to Hebden Bridge and Howarth at nine o’clock. And everywhere in between. It’s huge.’ She passed him his tea.

  ‘Any have an All Saints Church and a Majestic Wine?’

  ‘There are All Saints churches in Bradford, Kirkby Overblow, Ilkley, Sherburn, Batley and Bingley.’

  ‘Majestic Wine?’

  ‘Five stores in West Yorkshire: Leeds, Huddersfield, Wakefield, Harrogate and Ilkley.’

  ‘So Jane’s in Ilkley.’ Jameson’s phone vibrated once.

  ‘Jane’s in Ilkley,’ agreed Bloom.

  ‘In a house with no known number, in a road with no known name. How big is Ilkley?’

  ‘Too big. We’re going to need help. I’ve a contact in the West Yorkshire Police and she’s arranged for the Ilkley officers to make some enquiries. I’ve sent them pictures of Jane and Lana.’

  ‘You’ve been very busy.’ Jameson fished his phone out of his pocket. ‘Thanks, Augusta. If I have to knock on every door in that place, I will.’

  ‘Shall we drive over?’

  ‘Yes, let’s.’ Jameson looked at his message. It was a traffic alert from Google. More spam.

  Bloom drove and Jameson called Claire. She’d wanted to come along, but he’d managed to talk her out of it.

  She answered after the first ring, sounding more than a little frantic. She kept telling him to hurry up and find Jane – as though he wasn’t doing everything he could. He managed to keep a lid on his irritation. He knew she felt helpless.

  ‘Is there a tourist information centre in Ilkley?’ Jameson placed his phone beside Bloom’s in the tray behind the gear stick.

  ‘I haven’t visited for a while, but I think there’s one opposite the station.’

  ‘Let’s head there first. If they have a town map, we can split it into quadrants, then search section by section.’ They stopped at traffic lights near a BMW dealership. ‘Do you know where the police are making enquiries?’

  Bloom pulled on the handbrake and looked his way. ‘Caroline said they’d check with the train and bus stations first, then the taxi rank, then some of the banks and the supermarkets.’

  ‘So they’re not going door to door?’

  The lights changed. ‘I don’t expect so. I left a message for Barker asking him to contact Caroline’s boss and stress the importance of our search, but I’ve no
t heard back yet from him.’

  ‘He knows what’s going on here. He needs to stop poncing around in the world of police politics and pull his bloody finger out.’

  At the roundabout, Bloom turned right on to a road that curved through fields and quaint villages. As they passed a pub next to a farm shop, her phone buzzed. ‘It might be Caroline with an update. Check it.’

  Jameson picked up Bloom’s iPhone and entered her PIN as she said it. ‘That’s weird,’ he said, on reading the message in full.

  ‘What?’

  ‘That traffic alert on my phone. It had the shortest route to a place I’d never heard of. I figured it was junk. But you’ve just got a message from Trainline mentioning the same place.’

  ‘What place?’

  ‘South Milford. Do you know it?’

  Bloom slammed on the brakes so hard Jameson’s seatbelt locked, yanking him back into his seat. She swerved through the smallest gap in the oncoming traffic and into a petrol station.

  ‘Let me see.’ She took her phone. She looked strange, pale but with flushed cheeks.

  ‘Augusta?’

  She looked up at him, her mouth slightly open, her eyes panicked.

  ‘Talk to me,’ he said.

  She tapped at the screen and then held the phone to her ear.

  After a few seconds, she cursed under her breath and then said, ‘Caroline, it’s Augusta. I think we have a situation at South Milford station.’ She checked her watch. ‘It’s three thirty-five. Call me as soon as you can.’ She ended the call and handed the phone to Jameson. ‘Go on to the Trainline website. I need to know when the next express train from Leeds to Hull passes through South Milford.’ She put the car in gear and pulled out on to the road again.

  Jameson did as instructed. ‘Augusta? What’s going on? Where’s this South Milford?’

  Were there tears in Bloom’s eyes? He’d never seen that before.

  ‘Augusta?’

  ‘It’s the place where my life fell apart.’

  45

  Jameson had questions – of course he did – but he knew better than to quiz Bloom now. Her demeanour told him that this was serious. He typed ‘Leeds to Hull’ into the journey planner and then looked through the calling points for each service until he found South Milford. ‘We have a 15.52 train leaving Leeds and calling at South Milford at 16.15.’

  Bloom shook her head. ‘Not the trains that stop there. We need the express trains that go straight through.’

  Jameson looked up. ‘You mean …?’

  Bloom checked her mirrors and pulled out to overtake the transit van in front. ‘I mean a train you can jump in front of.’

  ‘Shit. What do you …? Who …?’ He didn’t need to finish that question. ‘Lana,’ he said under his breath. ‘Right, there’s a train that left Leeds at 15.38 and gets to Selby at 15.58 with only one stop.’

  ‘South Milford is just under ten minutes from Selby.’

  Jameson looked at his watch: 15.42. ‘That’s six minutes.’

  Bloom nodded once. ‘Call 999.’

  He did as requested. Bloom stopped in front of a gate to a field and took the phone from him.

  ‘This is Dr Augusta Bloom. I’m a psychologist and have it on good authority that someone is going to jump in front of a train at South Milford station this afternoon. The next express travels through in five or six minutes.’ Bloom listened. ‘A sixteen-year-old girl called Jane Reid and her mother Lana Reid.’ She listened again. ‘Maybe just one of them, maybe both. I don’t know. And no, I don’t know which train. I simply received a message that leads me to believe that is their intention. I’m twenty minutes away.’ Bloom listened once more, then gave her contact details. ‘If you speak to Inspector Caroline Watkins at Weetwood station, she’s aware of the situation.’ Bloom thanked the operator and hung up. ‘She’s dispatched a car to South Milford.’

  ‘Will they make it before the train?’

  Bloom pulled out on to the road. ‘She seemed to think so.’

  Jameson watched the clock on the dashboard. It clicked from 15.46 to 15.47. The car shunted him left then right then left again as Bloom threw them around the country bends. Would Lana really hurt Jane? He had no idea. But Bloom was driving as if her life depended on it. And Bloom knew psychopaths. The clock clicked to 15.48. The train would pass through South Milford any minute now. He watched Bloom’s phone. It didn’t ring. The clock clicked on to 15.50.

  ‘Should I call back?’ he said.

  They jumped at the sound of Bloom’s ringtone. Jameson grabbed it. ‘Dr Bloom’s phone.’

  ‘Is she there? It’s Caroline.’

  ‘She’s driving. Hold on, I’m putting you on speaker.’

  ‘Caroline,’ said Bloom. ‘Can you hear me? I’m in a rental car so no hands-free.’

  ‘I can hear you. There’s a patrol heading to South Milford for a jumper. Are you OK?’

  Caroline’s tone softened for the last question. Caroline clearly knew something.

  ‘Fine,’ said Bloom, in a manner that indicated quite the opposite. ‘Is there any news?’

  ‘The site is clear. No one there except our officers.’

  ‘Keep them there … please.’

  ‘The express trains to and from Hull have been through and it’s an hour until the next one. We’ll go back at four thirty.’

  ‘OK. We’ll be there soon.’

  ‘Is that wise, Augusta?’

  ‘It’s a station, Caroline. I’ll cope. It’s not like I was there last time, is it?’

  ‘I know, but …’

  The line fell quiet and Jameson glanced at Bloom. Her jaw was locked and her eyes fixed on the road.

  ‘I’ve a meeting this afternoon,’ said Caroline, ‘but I can get out of it if you want me there too.’

  ‘That won’t be necessary.’

  ‘I’ll see what I can do,’ said Caroline and then hung up.

  ‘She’s protective of you.’ Jameson placed Bloom’s phone beside his. Bloom said nothing. ‘Who jumped?’

  Bloom kept her eyes on the road and her hands tight on the steering wheel. ‘Someone very important to me … Someone I cared about. I was supposed to …’ She came to a junction and turned left. ‘I let them down and I’ll never forgive myself.’

  ‘When?’

  ‘Fifteen years ago.’

  Jameson did the maths. She’d have been in her late twenties. Had she had a lover? Had she broken someone’s heart? He looked at Bloom. Was this why she was so resolutely single? It would make sense.

  46

  South Milford contained nothing more than a petrol station and a couple of pubs. Bloom parked the rented Seat in the station’s small car park. There were only four other cars there. The station had two platforms and was deserted. Jameson checked the four cars: all were empty.

  ‘So what now?’ he said.

  ‘Let’s walk down to the main street in case they’ve parked there.’

  But there were only more empty cars and more empty streets. They walked back to the station as a police car pulled in. A female officer climbed out of the passenger seat and walked towards them. She introduced herself as PC Fisher. She explained that two express trains passed every hour and within a few minutes of each other. She suggested that Bloom stay on the eastbound platform with her male colleague, and that Jameson accompany her to the opposite side.

  ‘Who is it you think might jump?’ asked PC Fisher as they walked through the underpass to the westbound platform. She clearly thought they were wasting her time.

  Jameson was tempted to use an old Secret Service line about those in the know, but instead said, ‘A young girl and her mother. The mother, Lana, is unstable.’

  ‘Dispatch said you’re her psychologist?’

  ‘Dr Bloom’s a psychologist,’ Jameson said. He heard the grumble of the first train approaching. He looked to his right and saw the train in the distance. If it were him, and he really wanted to do this, and he thought someone would be trying to sto
p him, he would hide until the train was closer and then make a run for it. He scanned the platform again. The train was closer now, louder. The car park was clear. The path behind him was clear. The train rumbled louder and louder and then it blew its horn. He looked back. Jesus, it was coming fast. He stepped away from the platform edge as the train flew past. Each carriage sent a blast of air towards him, pushing the hair from his forehead and rippling the fabric of his sleeves.

  He watched it speed away and finally exhaled. His eyes met Bloom’s across the train tracks and her face reflected his own sense of relief. And then, before there was time to appreciate that feeling, he heard the second train approaching.

  Jameson saw the lights of the Hull-bound express in the distance. He scanned the car park and the fields either side of the platforms. If Lana was here, wouldn’t she have jumped in front of the first train? Or was she watching to see what they and their police companions would do? It would make sense. She’d have seen him walking down the platform, scanning, ready, and she’d have seen the police officers standing at their chosen midway points. They would not stop someone who was running at speed. They weren’t here to perform heroics. And how about Augusta? If she tried to intercept Lana, would she be strong enough or would she just get dragged along too?

  If Lana was watching and calculating, she would head for the far end of the other platform. As far as possible from the person most likely to intervene. He looked back at the train speeding along the opposite tracks. He didn’t have time to run to that side. The only way to the other platform was across the tracks and that would be stupid. There was no real reason to suspect that Lana and Jane were here.

  And then he saw it. A flash of something at the far end of the opposite platform, exactly where he would jump from in Lana’s shoes. He began running, shouting to Bloom and the male officer, pointing to where the movement had been. Bloom ran, but the officer didn’t.

  She can only stop one, Jameson thought.