‘I guess you’re Michael?’ she said. He nodded. He had a gorgeous face, innocent and alive, but the eyes were pleading; they said, ‘I’m scared and I don’t know what to do.’ Adults had enough experience to draw on when faced with shock, but kids hadn’t a clue; they floundered around and sank quickly unless someone stepped in and showed them how to cope. Kelly made a note to talk to the team about him. He should be with relatives or friends. He really shouldn’t be subjected to the parents’ emotional roller coaster.
She turned back to Maggie and Colin Shaw.
‘I know you were expecting me. I wanted to come and introduce myself, and Rob here. It’s important you have faces to put to names. I need to find out everything you can tell me about your daughter: her routine, her friends, her hobbies. I need to figure out a way of piecing together where she’s gone.’
‘I know she’s not coming back. I know it!’ Mrs Shaw broke down and sobbed. ‘We were talking about strangers last night.’ Her head went into her hands and she buried it in her lap. Mr Shaw looked panicked and went to help his wife, but clearly he had no idea what to do. This was the bit that got out of hand very quickly if not handled properly.
‘I’ll give you a moment,’ Kelly said. She nodded to the liaison officer in charge and indicated that she wanted to talk. They went into the hallway and closed the door behind them.
‘Why’s the boy still here?’
‘He insisted. He seems a savvy lad. Blames himself partly, because Faith was so stressed out about him causing a fuss and going off on his own. He reckons she’d be all right if he hadn’t upset her.’
‘Is this standard for the mother?’ Kelly referred to Maggie Shaw’s mini breakdown. In under five minutes, she had sussed out Faith’s immediate family, and she was quickly realising that Michael might be the one to rely on. Youth still held onto a sense of hope in the direst of moments, she thought. Only moments ago, she’d assumed Michael to be cocooned in fear, but underneath Michael’s self-imposed duty to stand by his parents, she could see that he had a core of steel, which could come in very handy indeed.
‘Yes. She’s handling it very badly; pretty standard stuff for a mum, really.’
‘What about Dad?’
‘He blames himself, and her mates.’
‘Interesting. Why?’
‘They’re lowlifes, allegedly.’
‘In his opinion?’
‘Michael agrees.’
‘Really? Tell me more.’
As they stood in the corridor whispering, they could still hear Mrs Shaw sobbing and the low tones of the other liaison officer trying to soothe her.
‘The family only moved here five years ago, and Faith’s life was hell for a while. She was bullied by the gang that she now calls friends. Supposed to be water under the bridge, but neither Mum nor brother trusts them.’
‘Bullied?’
‘That’s what the parents said.’
Kelly’s brow knitted. ‘Sadie Rawlinson included?’
The officer nodded.
‘The brother’s a smart cookie. Can I talk to him?’ Kelly asked.
‘Sure, I’ll go and get him.’
They went back in. The officer told Michael that the detective would like a word, and suggested going upstairs for some peace and quiet. ‘Maybe you could show her Faith’s bedroom?’
Kelly shot Rob a look: he understood that he was expected to stay and smooth the edges, as well as taking notes.
Michael looked up and nodded. ‘Sure.’ He headed for the stairs; Kelly followed, accompanied by the liaison officer.
‘You’re being very brave, Michael. You seem older than twelve. I gather you’re off school at the moment.’ She eased in.
‘I’m going in tomorrow,’ he said.
‘Really?’
Michael nodded. ‘I can’t stand all the crying. No one’s going to find Faith by sitting around.’
Kelly nodded. ‘You’re right.’
He led her to Faith’s room, with the other officer as a chaperone; it was standard procedure when dealing with a minor. The room was what she envisaged for any teenage girl, and she thought of Johnny’s daughter, who was the same age. Josie demanded twinkly lights and accessories worthy of Pinterest, and changed her mind monthly. Faith’s room was a mixture of greys and creams, with fluffy cushions, the obligatory fairy lights, and framed photos of friends and family. Kelly asked Michael to tell her about the photos and the people in them. He named them all, adding a little background each time, a detail that touched Kelly immensely.
‘Did you fall out, Michael?’ She smiled warmly, indicating that it was all right to admit negative things about somebody who was missing. He nodded.
‘Not really, I got into a fight and she was angry with me until I told her it wasn’t my fault. I hate being treated like a baby. She was with Luke Miles when they found me; he’s friends with Justin, who looked after me.’
‘How did he look after you?’
‘He stayed with me until Luke and Faith came, with Sadie, and the four of them went off together.’
‘Can you remember the time?’
‘I guess it was nearly time for Dad to collect us, so about 9 o’clock.’
‘Do you mind if I write these names down? My memory isn’t that great.’ Kelly found a pad and pencil and Michael nodded.
‘But you’re a detective. You have to have a good memory, don’t you?’
‘You’re absolutely right, Michael, and my memory is spot on for faces and what happens when, but when it comes to loads and loads of names, I need to write them down.’
‘Hmm, I would too. I’m good at history dates. I think it’s like being a detective because we had to work out if Guy Fawkes was guilty or not. Test me.’
‘OK … What year was the Gunpowder Plot?’
‘Sixteen oh five.’
‘Impressive. I have no idea if you’re right, but I’ll take your word for it. And do you think Guy Fawkes was fairly treated?’
Michael thought. ‘He shouldn’t have tried to kill the politicians, but I can understand why he did it. The Catholics were tortured and executed, so it’s no wonder really, is it?’
‘Well that’s admirable, but detectives don’t work out if a crime is moral; just if one has occurred and who did it. To decide what’s right and what’s wrong, you’d need to be a judge.’
‘But I don’t like their wigs.’
‘That’s a dilemma.’
‘Doesn’t it mean anything, then, if you understand why someone has done something, even if it’s illegal?’ he asked.
‘Do you know someone who has?’
‘No.’ It was said quickly.
Kelly sat on Faith’s bed. Michael continued to tell her about his sister and the fact that she didn’t like being told what to do; about how their dad had told her not to wear the short top, but when he saw her at the fair, she had it on. She reckoned he would make a good detective indeed.
‘That’s tricky,’ she said. ‘Do you think Faith had had enough and ran away?’
‘No. She hates being cold, and she didn’t take much make-up. She’s also got a thing for Luke Miles.’
Chapter 17
Johnny led the third large-scale search for Danny Stanton in two days. The Coledale Horseshoe had been mapped and separated into grids. The route was popular with hikers all year round, and took in the stunning peak of Grisedale Pike, one of Johnny’s favourites. It was something to do with the severe ascent, along the spine, through the forest and up and up, as if on a stairway of heather and rock, until finally the view was revealed at the top, over Derwent Water and beyond.
The route could take in as few as four Wainwrights, but some people did eight, or even ten; it was all dependent upon the climber. Facebook hadn’t hinted at which option Danny was attempting; his sister had just said that he’d mentioned a horseshoe, and that was what he’d been searching on his computer. His car had been found by a copper from Kendal, and his tent was missing, along with basic suppli
es and personal items, so it looked likely that he’d gone out and failed to return. There was a possibility that he was taking his time, perhaps bagging one peak per day, but there had been no Facebook posts since the one on Sunday, and that didn’t sound right for a guy who loved social media. Johnny and his colleagues had racked their brains for possible remote areas where he could have got into difficulty, or simply be camping on his merry own without phone signal.
The other nightmare was that half the fells were covered in snow. Given the amount of white stuff that had been dumped since Sunday, anyone falling down a gully or crag could be completely covered and undiscovered until a thaw. The chopper had heat-seeking equipment, but it had to be low to the ground, and they didn’t really have a starting point; it would be like trying to find a shell at the bottom of Wastwater. Infrared thermal cameras had been used in the Alps to detect avalanche victims, but the kit was bloody expensive, and they were all volunteers working for a charity. The ultimate would be a drone fitted with a thermal-imaging camera, but that was a long way off. Besides, they’d need a part of the body to be poking out of the snow for it to work. For now, good old-fashioned shouting, blowing whistles and banging metal objects would have to do.
Should Danny Stanton have visited the mountain rescue website, he might have read the section where they advised not to climb alone, and also the part that suggested that if you ignored such advice, you should buy and use a transceiver – and remember to bring spare batteries. It didn’t take long to work out that the young man was too busy on Facebook to check any safety concerns. Just because the Cumbrian peaks were thousands of feet lower than the likes of Mont Blanc and the Matterhorn, people thought them benign. Johnny had seen proof otherwise.
They settled on the area around Crag Hill and Grasmoor, two peaks both bigger than Grisedale Pike. Though not taxing for a beginner – and a young, healthy one at that – they were still buggers if the weather came in. Johnny knew of several places where the path went off in different directions and could confuse a visitor. It was the type of hike he and Kelly would do in spring or autumn. He didn’t mind the snow, but there were other places he preferred when facing icy patches and drifts. Crag Hill, especially, had three sections of scrambling, with drop-offs.
They wrapped up warm and checked their supplies. There was no point calling in a chopper; the best way was to drive through Whinlatter Forest over the pass then turn south onto the road to Crummock Water, parking on the road. They were all used to speedy climbs; that was their bread and butter. They weren’t sightseeing today. Whinlatter Pass was open, but the gritters couldn’t get that high, so the searchers relied on the four-wheel power of their two Land Rovers. Voices carried slowly on heavy, snow-laden air, and the mood was low. They’d agreed a grid pattern, and they were to spread out and meet back at the vehicles in the next hour and a half. They checked their radios, as well as mobile phones, as signal was intermittent, and set off in pairs.
Johnny concentrated on the patch of snow before him, looking for anything out of the ordinary: drag marks, kit, clothing or tracks. People who were severely dehydrated had been known to strip even in extreme cold because their brains told them they were hot. An injured person, alone and scared, might also make rash decisions and stupid mistakes, getting lost and wandering off a sharp edge. Enquiries had turned up no answer as to whether Danny had ice attachments on his boots, or an axe.
There was no one about and the sky was dark, despite it being just past midday. Johnny heard a dog bark and squinted in the direction the noise came from. He made out a lone walker and raised his hand. They were about six hundred metres up; only a local would be up here walking the dog in weather like this. The canine bounded towards him and he bent to stroke it. Its owner beamed broadly, and Johnny recognised him as one of the local farmers, a regular at certain watering holes in Pooley Bridge. These old-timers could sink six pints and be up on the fells for dawn without batting an eyelid, and they all lived till gone ninety.
They shook hands. ‘What you doing up here?’ the farmer asked.
‘Young guy got himself lost,’ Johnny said.
The man shook his head and scratched his beard.
‘Bloody bad do is that. Hope you find him, lad.’
Johnny thanked the farmer and ploughed on, shouting at intervals with his partner. They heard nothing.
They walked for the full hour and a half, taking in two more fells, but turned up nothing: no equipment, no tracks, no noises and no clues. They hoped their colleagues might have fared better, but by the time they all returned to the vehicles, nobody had heard or seen any signs of life, though they’d all seen the farmer strolling around as if he was on a shopping trip in the Arndale Centre.
Another search was over. If Danny Stanton was in the confines of the Lake District National Park, his time was running out.
Chapter 18
‘Morning, all. We’re splitting into two today. I want half on Tony Blackman and half on Faith Shaw. Two days is too long for a fifteen-year-old to be missing, and HQ is breathing down my neck. By the way, for reasons that will become clear, I’m giving the Blackman case to the girls: Kate and Emma, it’s yours. I’m sure you’ll figure it out.’
Kelly had a habit of being cryptic when it merited it, and today was one such occasion. Kate and Emma shrugged. Everybody knew that Rob hadn’t done a bad job; there must be more to it, and they’d find out soon enough.
‘First, though, before we discuss Mr Blackman, Kate has some information I think you should all hear.’
‘Morning, everyone. You all know that my girls go to the Derwent Academy. I’ve made some inquiries and have had it confirmed that in the last four years there have been two suicides of students at the school, both drug-related, and one of them was a missing person for three days before she was found.’
Glances were exchanged. The suicide of Jenna Fraser was still palpably fresh in their minds. Kids killing themselves was not something that should pop up week on week.
‘Neither came to the attention of the serious crime unit; they were ruled straightforward suicides and investigations weren’t necessary,’ Kate continued.
‘I know what you’re thinking. I’m thinking it too,’ Kelly said.
‘Were they suicides?’ Rob asked.
‘Exactly. Physically and legally, yes, there’s no dispute; the coroner ruled suicide on both. However, I think I want to know more about why healthy teenagers are killing themselves and it’s not considered criminal.’ The details popped up on a screen behind Kelly, and she swung round to point at the photos of the two children: Laura Briggs and Jake Trent. Seeing them alive made them real, and the room was silent.
‘What about those hideous games that are sweeping the internet now? The ones where a kid gets involved in a game of dare, and the activities become more and more dangerous until finally the last one is suicide?’ Will looked at Kate, who nodded.
‘I’ve heard of games like that; they involve a highly encrypted Snapchat or Instagram account, which can close and reopen. They’re more prevalent in places like Canada and Australia than here.’
‘Jesus.’ Kelly folded her arms. ‘Would your kids fall for that shit, Kate?’
‘It’s not a case of stupidity; the software is manipulative and clever. We’re talking raised stakes set against self-esteem and face-saving. Adolescents classically lack the natural fear that would put them off, and at the same time need to prove something more than at any other time in their lives. The accounts are also so well encrypted that agencies find them almost impossible to crack.’
‘It sounds like we’ll be spending some time at the school. I want all this looked into, but subtly. There’s been no crime here; it’s all background on a culture that could have impacted Faith Shaw’s mental state. I spoke to the head; she’s been there for sixteen years, an old sweat. Her take on it is that kids commit suicide and they go to school, and it’s pure coincidence. Both cases were to do with issues outside of the school gates.’
‘But the school is the common denominator.’
‘Exactly. She’s happy for us to dig around. Right, on to the Blackman case. Rob?’
‘It seemed like an open-and-shut case: girl reports teacher for attempted sexual assault, and upon further investigation we find disturbing child porn on his hard drive. He’s been charged and the wheels are in motion with the CPS.’
‘But?’ Kelly interrupted.
‘It’s a big but. They’re serious charges – indecent images of children along with the attempted assault – and the CPS did think it was good to go. However, now there are question marks over the main witness, who’s frankly a liability. I certainly don’t feel comfortable, given the charges, being potentially left alone with her.’
‘Hence why Emma and I are taking over?’ Kate asked.
Rob nodded. ‘I’ve no doubt whatsoever that if the images hadn’t been found on his computer, the CPS wouldn’t touch the assault case.’
‘So what have we got so far? The images were graded by the Child Abuse Image Database?’
‘Yep, that saves a potential jury from having to look at them.’
‘OK. So forensically, it’s his computer? Has he admitted to owning it?’
‘Yes, but he’ll plead innocent to possession of the images.’
‘Can we somehow find out when they were downloaded?’
‘It’s still with the expert in Manchester.’
‘The one who sits in a dark room like a mole and examines hard drives for a living?’
‘Yes. As I mentioned, there are certain firewalls in place that he’s never come across before. I’m on his case daily, sometimes twice a day, and he very patiently updates me if he’s found anything, which so far has been little help. These things can’t be rushed.’
‘What about the technical savviness of Mr Blackman?’
‘He swears he’s computer illiterate, but it’s a difficult one to prove. It all depends on what a potential jury makes of him. He comes across as a nice guy.’
Bitter Edge Page 8
