Deity didb-3

by Steven Dunne

  ‘A gay lover.’ Noble nodded. ‘But why hide it from his mum? It’s not illegal.’

  ‘Neither is masturbation but it’s not something you would want your parents to know about, John. Especially if Alice knew who it was.’

  ‘Somebody who’d groomed Kyle for a few years, you mean. A paedo neighbour maybe?’

  Brook sighed but didn’t rise to the bait. ‘Possible. Check the SO Register tomorrow. See if it throws up a local name. Adele Watson and Becky Blake have passports, you said?’

  ‘Their parents said so.’

  ‘Check when they applied for them. If it was the same time as Kyle, we may be able to put this thing to bed.’

  Brook gazed out into the blackness. The back of the Kennedy house overlooked fields attached to one of Derby College’s small suburban sites. Like many such under-used facilities, part of the land had been sold to build new houses, and Brook could see the twinkling lights of new homes half a mile away. Another path passed the bottom of the garden and stretched out into the dark.

  ‘Got it,’ panted Noble, clutching a black bin bag.

  ‘Where does that path behind the house go?’

  ‘It leads up to the back of the college and then round to the new housing estate.’

  ‘You’ve had uniform take a look, I assume?’

  ‘Not the full monty, but yes. Why?’

  ‘And the fields?’

  ‘They’re shared by Murray Park School and the college,’ said Noble. ‘It’s a big area.’

  ‘It’s also dark and empty, John. They all lived close and walked to the party so, if Kyle and his friends wanted to disappear and no one saw them leave the house at the front, maybe they just walked away across the fields.’

  ‘Charlton’s going to love us finger-tipping that space,’ said Noble, nodding at the darkness.

  ‘We’re not at that stage yet. We do the canvass, bins and grates, and see where we are.’

  Twelve

  ‘Mr Stevenson, I’m DI Brook, this is DS Noble. We’ve come from next door.’

  The man opened the door wider but turned round when he heard whispering behind him. ‘Bed, you two,’ he said firmly to the two curious infants poking their heads round the inner door. They scurried up the stairs, giggling.

  Stevenson stepped outside and closed the front door behind him. ‘How’s Alice holding up? It must be awful. Any news?’

  ‘We’re still making enquiries and we were wondering if you noticed anything unusual last Friday night.’

  ‘Honestly, no. Alice mentioned Kyle might be having a party but we forgot all about it, it was so quiet.’

  ‘So you didn’t see any guests arriving, for instance?’ asked Noble.

  ‘I saw one of the girls arrive. She had dark, mid-length hair and dark eyes. Very pretty. About half eight that would have been.’

  ‘Walking?’ Stevenson nodded. ‘How was she dressed?’

  ‘Jeans and a hoodie. Trainers, I think. Oh, and she had a small rucksack.’

  ‘Not exactly party clothes,’ observed Brook.

  ‘I suppose not.’

  Noble finished making a note. ‘No one else?’

  ‘No one.’

  ‘What about leaving?’

  ‘No. We’d be in bed by then, I guess, but we didn’t hear a commotion or anything.’

  ‘No cars or taxis idling outside the house?’

  ‘Not that I heard.’

  ‘No loud conversations?’ Again Stevenson shook his head. Brook turned to leave. ‘Thanks.’

  Mr Stevenson raised a finger. ‘There was one thing a bit odd. It may be nothing.’

  ‘Go on.’

  ‘It was around half nine. I thought I saw another of Kyle’s friends arriving for the party, but I’m not sure — a young lad.’

  ‘Can you describe him?’

  ‘Tall, well-built and good-looking. I don’t know him but I’ve seen him around.’

  ‘You got a good look then.’

  ‘Well, it was hard not to. He stood outside under the streetlamp for a good five minutes, maybe more.’

  ‘Doing what?’

  ‘Nothing,’ said Mr Stevenson. ‘I got the impression he was deciding.’

  ‘Deciding what?’

  ‘Whether to go into the party.’

  ‘Did you see him go in?’

  ‘Well no, that was the odd thing. I saw him disappear, presumably to go into the house. But a few minutes later, I saw him walking away.’

  ‘Maybe he was just calling in?’ said Brook.

  ‘Maybe.’ Stevenson shrugged. ‘But the odd thing was, he had a present in his hand, wrapped up. I saw it quite clearly.’

  ‘Not unusual for a birthday party,’ observed Noble. ‘He could’ve been dropping it off.’

  ‘That’s just it. He still had it when he was walking away.’

  Brook and Noble stared down at the mattress. The pink mobile phone and the leaflet sat in the middle of the fluffy pink duvet. The phone was switched off.

  ‘That’s how it was,’ said Mrs Blake from the bedroom doorway. ‘We haven’t touched a thing.’

  Brook and Noble dropped the phone and the Deity leaflet into evidence bags and finished their cursory examination of the room.

  ‘Did you check her calls?’ asked Noble, brandishing the bag.

  ‘We didn’t touch the phone,’ said Fred Blake, making the effort to speak.

  ‘No point anyway. Madam wouldn’t tell us the SIM code,’ explained Mrs Blake with a hint of resentment.

  ‘What about her laptop?’

  ‘It’s in the case at the side of the bureau.’

  ‘Have you tried checking her emails?’ Brook asked. ‘Okay — you don’t know the password.’

  ‘Please take the laptop if it’ll help,’ Fred said.

  ‘We will.’

  Brook glanced at the make-up bureau with its halo of naked light bulbs. ‘Any clothes or luggage missing?’

  ‘I wouldn’t know about that. It’s hard to keep up with madam’s wardrobe.’ Mrs Blake looked to her stricken husband who simply stared, ashen-faced, into the distance. ‘Fred? Anything missing?’

  Fred Blake continued to stare until he became aware that his attention was needed, then he processed the question and looked up at Brook. ‘She had a small leather Louis Vuitton rucksack that she took everywhere. There may be a couple of T-shirts missing from her drawers. Some underwear too.’

  ‘What about her passport?’

  ‘Her passport?’

  ‘You told us before she had a passport,’ said Noble.

  Fred nodded. ‘Becky wanted to go to Miami last year.’

  ‘So that’s where we went,’ put in Mrs Blake. Her husband shot her a spiteful glance.

  ‘So she’d had it a while,’ Brook said.

  ‘Over a year.’

  ‘Is it still here?’

  ‘She keeps it in there.’ Fred pointed to a drawer of her make-up bureau which Noble searched. The passport was missing. Fred was suddenly excited. ‘That’s good, isn’t it? She may have been planning to go abroad.’

  ‘She might,’ agreed Brook.

  ‘When was the last time you both saw Becky?’ asked Noble.

  ‘Last Friday,’ said Blake hesitantly. He looked at his wife who was putting a cigarette in her mouth. ‘Christy?’

  ‘Sounds about right,’ she replied with a shrug, rummaging for a lighter. ‘Before she went to the party at the gay boy’s house.’

  ‘His name’s Kyle,’ put in Blake, a pained expression on his face. ‘He’s a nice lad.’

  ‘How did she seem?’ asked Brook.

  Fred Blake frowned at his wife as she lit up. ‘You shouldn’t smoke in here. You know how Becky hates it.’ Fred looked away as Christy exhaled, long and slow, into the bedroom.

  ‘Quiet, now you mention it,’ she said. ‘For her.’

  ‘And did she say anything which struck you as odd?’

  ‘Not to me.’ Christy turned to Fred, who shook his head.

&
nbsp; ‘What about money?’ asked Brook. ‘Did she have her own bank account?’

  ‘No need,’ said Christy.

  ‘Chris-ty,’ muttered Fred.

  ‘She was strictly a cash only girl, and with an ATM for a father she always had more than she needed. Didn’t she, darling?’ Her husband narrowed his eyes at her.

  ‘Did she ask for any money that Friday?’

  ‘Ask and ye shall receive,’ sneered Christy. ‘Whatever she wanted.’

  ‘For God’s sake, woman!’ spat Fred. ‘Becky could be hurt or even. .’ His head disappeared into a massaging hand. ‘She didn’t ask for money on Friday. She had enough for a taxi home but it’s not like she was going to a bar in town.’

  ‘What was she wearing?’ asked Brook.

  ‘Yeah, that was a bit weird, come to think of it,’ said Christy. ‘She went out in jeans and a sweatshirt.’

  ‘Colours?’

  ‘Black jeans and purple sweatshirt,’ said Fred.

  ‘And why was that weird?’ asked Brook.

  ‘Most weekends she went out looking like a prostitute,’ said Christy. Fred turned away, his fists and teeth clenching. ‘Short skirt. Tits you could see from space.’

  Fred Blake wheeled round, a sudden inspiration brightening his countenance. ‘Maybe she was dressed practical. For a journey, like.’

  Brook nodded. ‘It’s possible. Had she talked about wanting to get away?’

  ‘No. Like we told the other officer, she was happy,’ said Fred softly. ‘She’s never gone off before. Not without ringing us. Why would she leave her phone?’

  ‘It’s unusual,’ agreed Brook.

  ‘It’s unheard of.’ Christy laughed bitterly. ‘The fuss she kicked up to get it.’

  ‘Did she leave on foot?’

  Fred nodded this time. ‘She often walked. It was good for her muscle tone.’

  ‘It’s Wednesday now,’ observed Brook. ‘You last saw her on Friday, but only reported her missing yesterday morning.’

  ‘When we found out Kyle Kennedy was missing. It was his party.’

  ‘They were good friends?’

  ‘I didn’t think so,’ said Fred. ‘Kyle was. .’

  ‘A homo,’ snorted Christy. ‘But girls these days don’t mind that, do they?’ She smiled at Brook. ‘They’re not a threat.’

  ‘I don’t think she was looking forward to going,’ continued Fred. ‘But her mate Fern was away.’

  ‘Mate, my arse.’ Christy laughed. ‘That dopey cow is just another one of her worshippers. Like you, fawning all over her night and day.’

  Fred Blake spun round on his wife. ‘Becky’s missing, for God’s sake, woman! Give it a rest.’

  ‘Is she fuck. She’s swanning off somewhere on our hardearned cash.’

  ‘My hard-earned cash.’

  ‘Is that why you didn’t report her missing until yesterday?’ interrupted Brook.

  The warring parents fell silent. Finally Fred said reluctantly, ‘Christy may be right.’

  ‘Halle-fucking-lujah.’

  ‘We thought she might have gone away. She’s eighteen, very mature, very certain of herself. She’s got a key and comes and goes as she pleases.’

  ‘So you thought she was staying with friends,’ said Noble.

  Fred shrugged. ‘We’d still think that, if it wasn’t for the phone. She was never off it. Texting every minute of the day.’

  ‘To a boyfriend maybe?’

  ‘Sometimes.’

  ‘Anyone special?’

  ‘No chance. She was the special one. They were queuing round the block for her. Not that my Becky is going to get bogged down with one of the local deadbeats and start churning out benefit bums. She has big plans.’

  ‘Such as?’

  ‘She’s going to be famous.’ He grinned suddenly, deflected from his loss. ‘A Supermodel. That’s why she didn’t mess around with drink and drugs. It was bad for her skin. Always telling you off for smoking round the house, wasn’t she?’ he said to his wife, who deliberately blew cigarette smoke in his face.

  ‘So she had nothing she needed to run away from.’

  ‘Absolutely not.’ Fred rummaged in his pocket and unfolded a piece of paper. ‘Here. She got this letter last week from Models Select.’

  ‘Haven’t you framed it yet?’ jeered Christy.

  Brook took the letter and examined it. The heading was basic, the text brief and to the point.

  Dear Becky,

  I am pleased to tell you that we are able to offer you a place at our modelling agency, and would be grateful if you could contact us to arrange a meeting as soon as possible.

  Yours sincerly

  There was an illegible signature but no name typed. Brook looked at the top of the page. The address was 222 Kings Road, London. There was no email address, just a contact telephone number. Brook pulled out his mobile and keyed in the number before handing the letter to Noble.

  ‘See? She’s known since she was ten that she was special. And she was right. When she’s got her A-levels, she’s out of here and on her way to fame and fortune. She even took her portfolio off the walls to take to London.’ He turned to Brook. ‘Here, you think she might have already gone to London? Decided to pack in her studies?’

  Brook glanced at his watch. ‘We’ll certainly check. If you could go downstairs and finish that list of contact numbers for her friends and sort out a recent photograph? We just need to finish off in here.’

  To leave two men in their daughter’s bedroom left the Blakes looking momentarily ill at ease, but eventually they padded off towards the stairs. As soon as they turned away, Brook flicked the call button on his phone.

  ‘That letter’s a fake,’ said Noble. ‘No proper address. No email.’

  ‘And a spelling mistake,’ agreed Brook, holding the phone to his ear. ‘It looks more like amateur DTP than a company document.’

  ‘How come her father didn’t spot it?’

  ‘Too much stardust in his eyes.’ Brook rang off. ‘The phone number doesn’t exist.’ He got to his knees and started searching under the mattress.

  Noble started removing all the drawers from the cabinets, looking for documents taped to the underside. ‘But his wife isn’t so star-struck.’

  ‘I’m guessing she’s not even seen it. She’s not interested.’ Brook planted his face on the carpet and scanned the floor. He pulled a wad of glossy photographs from under the bed.

  ‘Becky’s portfolio is under here.’ The photographs were in a heap and partially stuck together by the Blu-tack still adhering to the corners of the prints and the wall. Brook prised them apart and arranged them on the mattress. The teenager posed at them in a variety of moods and outfits.

  ‘I wonder why she took them down?’ asked Noble.

  Brook knelt back down to be sure he’d missed nothing. He slipped a latex finger into the small gap between the make-up bureau and the carpet, and slid out a piece of folded paper. He opened it gingerly. This time the letterhead was a more professional affair, with all the usual contact information. Brook read the text quickly and passed it to Noble.

  Dear Miss Blake,

  Thank you for recently sending us your portfolio. It is with regret that I have to inform you that we don’t feel you have the look that we are currently seeking. This is a subjective judgement and other modelling agencies may well feel differently. .

  ‘She wrote the other letter to herself after receiving this,’ said Brook sombrely. ‘So her parents wouldn’t think she was a failure.’ He smiled sadly down at the photographs. ‘And then she couldn’t face looking at herself.’

  ‘And bolted because she couldn’t handle it?’

  ‘Could be — this is our second missing kid in personal turmoil.’

  ‘It would only be temporary.’

  ‘Sure, it’s just a failed job application to us but it’s a shattered dream to Becky Blake. This is probably the first time anyone’s said no to her, John. When you glide through your youth without a
care in the world, that first reality check is the hardest. And the bigger the dream, the bigger the shock finding out life isn’t lived on your terms. Unhappiness is not a product they sell on TV. Some don’t know how to cope with it.’

  ‘You’ve got a TV now, have you?’

  Brook smiled. ‘It’s just for research. I haven’t joined the human race. Yet.’ He selected one of the photographs of Becky for use in the inquiry. ‘We’d better make a move.’

  ‘Live Forever,’ read Noble from the leaflet. ‘Young, Beautiful, Immortal. What the hell are they up to?’

  ‘I’m not sure. But at least we now know they’re acting in concert. This was planned. These kids weren’t abducted. They left of their own volition.’

  ‘Is that good?’ asked Noble.

  ‘For now.’

  ‘You’re sure the phone and the leaflet weren’t on the bed?’ said Noble, looking at the two artefacts on a chest of drawers beside the bed.

  ‘I didn’t find them,’ replied Adele Watson’s mother. She was a shrivelled, prune-faced woman with a leathery complexion and prematurely grey hair which she wore in long knotted strands. Despite the Family Liaison Officer informing her to expect a visit from CID, she was in her nightclothes and a large hooded dressing-gown that completely engulfed her. The contrast with the hard tanned body of her good-looking husband, a builder by trade, was stark.

  ‘Mr Watson?’ asked Noble.

  Brook glanced up at James Watson from his examination of a large wardrobe. He seemed to be in a daydream, like Fred Blake, just staring, saucer-eyed, at the crumpled duvet of his daughter’s bed. With a twenty-year-old daughter of his own, he wasn’t surprised by Watson and Blake’s reaction. Brook had given it a lot of thought — too much. Mothers were important to young girls, but fathers and daughters shared something unfathomable — a dark and mysterious bond that was always delicately balanced and easily contaminated.

  ‘Jim,’ prompted his wife.

  Adele’s father snapped out of his reverie and looked at Brook. ‘That’s how it was.’

  ‘On the chest of drawers?’

  ‘I just told you.’

  ‘And the bed was dishevelled?’