When she considered the way Johnny lived his life, she saw that he did stuff his own way and she never judged him for it. Refusing to give up his dream of the Lakeland 100 was a good example. He was also still planning to buy a boat to moor on Ullswater. Kelly tried to follow his advice and started by distancing herself occasionally from her mother’s hospital treatment. She had a tendency to take over and treat everything like a project to be managed, a case, something that was helpful in her job but not in her personal life. Wendy was a case. Nikki had become a case. Josie was a case. It was an unhealthy pursuit. She had to drop it. Buying two bottles of red wine with no one to drink them with was not a good start, but Kelly didn’t know what else to do. She could go for a run, but it was bloody freezing. It was too dark to do the stuff that kept her sane in summer, such as kayaking, hiking and swimming. She looked at the bottles; she didn’t even really want them.
She knew what she did want, and she sighed heavily. She’d been avoiding it for too long. She wanted to go and see her mother.
As she drove, she went over and over in her head what she might ask. They hadn’t discussed her lineage at length since Wendy had dropped the bombshell; or rather, since Kelly had worked it out. For days, she’d sat with piles of old photographs of her family, trawling through them, spotting differences in her jawline, in her hair, in her eyes, in the slope of her shoulders. It was a strange feeling. Her memories of John Porter hadn’t been diminished, but she felt a deep sorrow that he’d been a victim of such duplicity. She questioned what Wendy had told her about him never knowing, and how plausible it was. She searched her bank of stored data – images, stories and memories in full Technicolor – and couldn’t find any clue that John Porter had not truly believed her to be his own. Poor bloke.
She’d asked Johnny how he thought it might feel. He’d said he wanted to be as honest as he could, and it had sounded like a warning. He couldn’t speak for all men, but to him, it would be a pretty fundamental betrayal. They’d had a discussion about infidelity. Johnny admitted to cheating on Carrie, his ex-wife, a few times. Suddenly it didn’t seem so unusual. But she needed to ask Wendy if it had been a fling or something more serious. If it was the latter, it would put into doubt her whole working relationship with Ted Wallis: she simply couldn’t do it.
She parked outside and took one of the bottles with her. She knocked and waited, half of her hoping that Wendy was already fast asleep in bed.
The door opened.
‘Hi, love!’ It was a pleasingly normal greeting, and Kelly kissed her mother with genuine affection. She held up the wine and walked through to the back kitchen.
‘Are you all set for Christmas?’ Wendy asked. It was something that people asked each other every year, as if Christmas was some kind of lockdown, when the world changed completely. Shelves were emptied, cupboards were stuffed, miles of tinsel was hung, and plastic wrapping consumption was higher in one two-week period than the rest of the year combined. It was all kind of crazy.
‘I think so. You remember I’m on call?’
‘Yes, but it’s usually quiet, isn’t it?’
‘Usually, but we’re still looking for that girl.’
‘Her poor mother.’
‘I know,’ Kelly agreed.
Wendy closed the front door and followed her daughter into the kitchen. The house smelled of Kelly’s childhood, and she caught her breath.
‘I didn’t really come to talk about Christmas, Mum.’
‘No, I don’t suppose you did. I’m surprised it’s taken you so long.’ Wendy took the wine and opened it, reaching up to get two glasses.
‘Are you allowed?’ Kelly asked. Her mother’s cancer treatment had dragged on for months, but at the moment, she was relatively healthy. She was still considered terminal, and that would only change if they discovered a new treatment, but she was in good hands. Dr Yanni was world-renowned in the field and had a soft spot for her. He was always on the lookout for new drugs, but Kelly wasn’t sure that was necessarily a good thing. Her mother looked exhausted.
‘It might take another minute off my life, or even a day,’ Wendy said drily. Her stoicism had developed over time, it hadn’t come naturally. ‘Are you driving?’
‘Yes, but I can have a small glass.’
The noise of the wine swirling into the glasses filled the room.
‘Come on, let’s sit down.’
Kelly followed her mother into the small lounge. The hospital bed had gone, as Wendy was now able to manage the stairs with a cane. That, like everything else about a long-term illness, had become normal. It was amazing how they’d all adapted, Wendy most of all.
‘Have you seen him?’ Kelly asked. She couldn’t say his name for some reason, but she didn’t have to.
‘Yes.’
‘Did you tell him?’
‘No.’
‘How long did you two, er … have, er …’ Kelly struggled with the words and hated herself for it. She felt ten years old again, and awkward. She was asking her mother about her sexual habits, and it was excruciatingly embarrassing.
Wendy sipped her drink and watched her daughter.
‘We used to meet up occasionally, when we could, and it lasted about five months.’
‘What did you do with Nikki?’ Her sister had been a toddler.
‘Babysitter. Friends.’
Kelly nodded. ‘How did you convince Dad I was his?’
Wendy raised her eyebrows and a curve developed either side of her mouth. Kelly looked away.
‘God, sorry, Mum. I can guess that one. Are you sure? I mean, dead sure?’
‘Yes.’
‘Why didn’t you tell me sooner? Like after Dad died?’
‘I never thought it necessary until you started soul-searching and questioning everything.’
‘I know, I do that a lot.’
‘You need a baby.’
‘No, I don’t, Mum, but thanks for the advice.’
‘I’m serious. You’re not getting any younger; time is running out. How are things with Johnny?’
‘Surely I don’t need a steady relationship to get knocked up.’ It was a stinging delivery. ‘Sorry.’
‘You’re saying sorry a lot lately too. It’s worrying.’
‘Thanks.’
Wendy chuckled to herself.
‘I just can’t imagine you sneaking around, keeping all of this secret. I’m struggling to picture it,’ Kelly said, playing with her hair.
‘Please don’t try and conjure an image. Goodness, all that huffing and puffing. I liked him.’
‘What was wrong with you and Dad?’
‘I don’t know really. Truthfully, there wasn’t one event or even an argument; it was a slow burner, and then I realised that I was unhappy, and he didn’t want to discuss it. He thought having another baby would cure me of my malaise.’
‘Christ, you were young enough to leave him, Mum. Why didn’t you?’
‘Oh Kelly, people didn’t get divorced back then, well, not that I knew of. Women couldn’t survive without the man’s wage. There was no maternity pay like now. I was a housewife, I never worked. I couldn’t have supported you.’
‘What about Ted?’
‘He was married with his own children.’
‘And you never told him.’
‘And I never told him.’
‘Cheers.’ Kelly raised her glass and Wendy clinked hers against it.
‘I need to tell him, Mum.’
‘I knew you would. But perhaps I should warn him first.’
Chapter 22
Egremont police paid Bobby Bailey a visit at St Bees. He had his head stuck under a low loader when they turned up. At first, his heart did a small flip, thinking they were onto him about his recent activities, or that they wanted to question him about the little girl in Dalton-in-Furness again. But it wasn’t either of those. They wanted to know about the missing girl from Keswick.
While he was still on his back, they showed him a photograph of her.
He recognised her instantly. He wouldn’t forget that face in a hurry: her full lips and that distinctive sway, indicating her cocksureness, or else the fact that she’d been drinking. Sweet one, she was. He’d never seen her before and certainly couldn’t recall selling her any of his finest little sweeties. He knew he would have remembered that.
‘They all look the same.’ It was true; they all dressed like boys, and covered up their figures. It was a crying shame.
‘Can I get up?’ he asked. The coppers stood aside.
He slid out from under the vehicle. He was one of the few who could always be relied upon to fix it quickly. He wiped his hands on a cloth that was stuck in his back pocket, then cupped them and blew into them. The snow had reached St Bees, and the seaside town was covered in a thick layer. Even the beach was white, and the fair had set up close to it, on a patch of corporation land that in the past was used for access to the lighthouse.
Bobby stamped his feet and gave the two coppers his attention. They asked the same stupid questions that the last lot did, except this time it was about a different piece of candy. They showed him another photo, and it was Luke, but he shook his head again. They asked him about his movements on the night of the Keswick fair, and he lied, saying he was working the generators. They asked him who else he saw; he lied again and named a few pals who’d moved on. They asked him what time he went to bed, what he did after work, who he talked to and if he fantasised about little girls.
‘She wasn’t little; she was fifteen, you said.’
The coppers looked at one another.
‘It’s underage, Bobby.’
‘Didn’t look it,’ he muttered under his breath.
‘What did you just say?’
‘Nothing. On her photo; she looks older.’
‘Was she behaving as though she were older?’
‘Course she was, they all do.’ Shit. He’d just put his foot right in it.
‘So you do remember her?’ The coppers looked smug.
‘Well, it could have been someone like her; they all look the same, don’t they?’
‘No, I don’t think they do. Did you see her or not?’
‘Maybe. I think she might have been drunk.’
‘What makes you say that?’
‘Well, when she got in the car, she had to be helped.’ Shit.
‘What car?’
‘Dunno, it was dark.’ He’d said enough, he had no desire to get dragged into this one. He was an idiot.
‘Who helped her into the car?’
‘I dunno. There was a group of them.’
Each time they pushed him, he let slip more information. He was growing anxious.
‘Fucking leave me alone. I know my rights. I’ll get a lawyer.’
The uniforms nodded. ‘All right, Bobby, calm down. It’s just a few questions. Who pays your wages?’
‘Maria.’ The pieces began to fall into place in his head: they were threatening to go to his boss. ‘Are you arresting me?’ He jutted his chin out.
‘No, Bobby, we’re not. We’ll leave it for now, but you might want to contact your lawyer.’
The police officers walked away and Bobby stared after them. He tried to stay calm, but he couldn’t help thinking that it wasn’t the last time he’d be seeing the coppers. He thought about the news reports he’d seen on TV in the pub about the missing girl. No one had mentioned a car, and that meant one thing: the police were either withholding the information, or they didn’t know. And if they didn’t know, then it wouldn’t be long before they came back and pushed him for more details.
He was so angry with himself for letting such a vital detail slip that he kicked the side of the thirty-ton lorry, and then jumped up and down because it hurt like hell. He swore loudly and decided to walk to the pub. The axle was fixed, he wasn’t needed until tonight, and he needed to think.
He smiled as he headed off along the seafront. The coppers thought him a lowlife; travellers, fairground workers, vagrants, gypsies – call them what you wanted, none of them were loved up with the rozzers. That said, it could work to his advantage, in that it would be assumed he was an unreliable witness, and so he could change his story and say he’d made a mistake.
Yep, that was what he would do.
The air was freezing and the beach looked like it was covered in salt; it was weird, and something you didn’t see every day. He stopped to take a picture on his phone, and then remembered that he’d done the same on the night of the Keswick fair, when the girl had got into the car. As he walked, he scrolled through his photos. He went too far and there was a picture of the little girl in Dalton: nice. He went forward again and found the most recent ones from Keswick. There she was. She was made for a bit of action, she was. Her tits barely stayed in her top and the boys around her couldn’t take their eyes off them. Another photo showed her from behind. He had been sorely tempted to follow them, but he’d had work to do. His contact from Manchester to meet. Nedzad had been good to him, giving him generous cuts, and it was always wise to stay on the right side of someone who looked like a mean motherfucker.
He’d managed to source some little blue angels from the Bosnian that were worth a fortune if he could shift them to the kiddies. Roxies. It wasn’t often he came across them, but when he did, they sold like candyfloss. Crushed and snorted, or, by the serious smackheads, dissolved and injected, they offered highs like the purest heroin. The comedown was vicious, but he didn’t give a fuck about that. Shifting them had distracted him for a while, until that posh twat had called him, terrified, not knowing what to do. It was down to Bobby to clear up again, and the good-looking ballsack dripping in Mummy and Daddy’s money owed him big-time. The idiot was always on the lookout for packets of K2. Fuck that. He had no idea how heavy the pigs had got on that stuff. It’d killed a couple of kids in the USA, and now every drug squad in the UK had taken it upon themselves to wipe it off the streets. It was easier to source Xanax or Vicodin.
If the coppers found out the girl had been spiced, it could change everything.
Chapter 23
Luke Miles reminded Kelly of an all-American jock. He was tall, tanned, square-jawed and muscular, with a wicked smile. He lived with his parents in an enormous pad on the shore of Derwent Water, just outside Keswick, tucked away from the road; Kelly reckoned it must be worth a couple of million quid. He was cocky and confident, clearly comfortable in his own surroundings. It was what she had expected. In an interview room, things would be different, but she first had to determine if that was necessary. Interviewing a minor under caution could be tricky. She needed to be sure.
She and DS Will Phillips had been taken into a spacious lounge and offered hot drinks and biscuits. Mrs Miles was present; the father was at work. She sat next to Luke and leaned towards him in a protective manner. There was no history of trouble connected to the family.
First impressions showed an only child who’d been mollycoddled since birth. But when Kelly looked closer, it was a different story. She couldn’t put her finger on exactly what bothered her; just that his eyes looked as though they belonged in a much older face. His statement, given on the night of Faith’s disappearance in the Shaw living room, mirrored Sadie’s almost to the word. From the snippets of information they’d picked up so far, however, Kelly suspected there was more to the story.
‘How well do you know Faith?’ she asked.
‘I met her at a party. I didn’t know her very well.’
Immediately, the boy’s use of the past tense made Kelly bristle. She wrote it on her pad and circled it.
‘So why were you hanging out with her at the fair?’
He ran his hands through his hair. ‘I said all of this in my statement.’
‘I know, Luke, but a few things bother me and I’m sure you’re only too happy to help.’ The mother nodded and glanced at her son, who looked irritated. Kelly reckoned the boy had worked out that the detectives weren’t here to make friends. He looked worried, too, and that was the poi
nt.
‘If you didn’t know her very well, why were you happy to help her search for her brother?’ Kelly continued.
‘He’s a little kid. Of course I was gonna help.’
His mother beamed at him.
‘Aren’t you concerned that you and Sadie were the last people to see Faith? That would really bother me. I’d have to go out looking. Have you tried to find her yourself?’
Luke’s mother looked at him, waiting for him to answer. He didn’t.
‘Was she supplied drugs on the night of the fair?’
‘How would I know?’ Luke had become the sum of his real age, and his swagger had departed.
‘Did you know Jenna Fraser?’
‘No. She was a loner.’
Mrs Miles’s head swung from Kelly to her son and back again.
‘What was Faith’s mood like on Sunday night?’
‘She was mad at her brother.’
‘What was she wearing?’
Kelly darted around the subject, trying to force an inconsistency out of the boy, but he stuck to his story, until she mentioned what Bobby Bailey had told Egremont police.
‘So this guy Bobby, who works for the fair …’
Straight away, Luke’s demeanour changed, and he sat up and coughed into his hand. It was an epic body cue. Kelly knew that she had something. She paused, holding his gaze until he looked away.
‘You know Bobby Bailey, right?’
Luke coughed again. ‘Er, kind of, he hangs about, you know. He’s a sort of regular feature. I don’t know much about him, but some people say he deals.’
That was quite a lot of information they’d just been given. It was clear that Luke Miles was a talker, something that might come in handy in future interviews. She hadn’t expected it to be so easy to coerce him into admitting that he knew Bobby. She could tell that he was panicking about the extent of her knowledge. The atmosphere in the room had turned sour, and she ploughed on.
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