by Vicky Jones
“It’s all we’ve got at the moment to go on. Why the fuck didn’t she tell me that earlier? It would have got Hargreaves off our arses if we had a decent lead to follow up.” Rachel ran her hand through her hair and took a huge swig of her coffee.
“She’s going through a lot. Worry will do that to your memory. Want me to get over there, check this guy out?” Michelle offered.
“Yes, please, Michelle. Let’s see what he has to say on the matter. But as far as anyone else is concerned, we’re only at this point investigating a missing person. Just establish his timeline for now.”
“Boss,” Michelle replied, grabbing her police jacket. As she headed through the exit door, in through it came another police officer. Rachel frowned as he sidled over to her.
“Alright Rach. How’s the investigation going?” DI James Cooper drawled. He was just under six feet, greasy looking and built like a garden rake. The head of proactive crime was a slimy so and so, and the only thing he was truly proactive at was finding ways of avoiding anything that didn’t include sitting at his desk pushing paper around.
“Good, thanks. You looking to help? I could do with some more boots on the ground,” Rachel replied, knowing full well she was wasting her time.
“Too busy, sorry. Loads to catch up on. Missed the boxing last night, but there’s a great video of it on YouTube,” he said. “But you and your little teacher’s pet, Barlow, crack on. Nothing I like better than watching women work.” He sniggered, then sloped off back to his crisp packet-strewn desk.
“Prick,” Rachel muttered under her breath.
“Here you go, DI Morrison, one toasted cheese bagel and a flat white. No, on the house,” the middle-aged owner of the high street café said with a toothy grin, tapping away Rachel’s five pound note.
“Cheers, George.”
“You any closer to figuring out what’s going on with all these people vanishing, especially that Diana woman?”
Rachel sighed as she peeled off the lid of her coffee and emptied two sachets of sugar into it. “Nope, not yet. What are the jungle drums saying around here?”
“That the police are shit,” George replied with a straight face.
Rachel nodded. “Figures. Always the police’s fault, never the people who could come forward with something that might bloody well help us.” She smiled at George, thanked him for the coffee and turned to leave the shop.
“If I hear of anything I’ll ring you,” George called after her.
“Thanks, George.”
“If you ask me there’s something fishy going on with that Walker case. Something doesn’t add up,” George shouted after her.
“Damn right,” Rachel whispered.
“I’m gonna be the size of a whale if you keep bringing takeaways round, Pops,” Amanda moaned as she opened the front door to her friend for the second evening in a row.
“You need to eat. And your cooking’s shocking,” Poppy replied, pushing past her and into the hallway. “Any news?”
“Nope. I’ve told them everything I can remember, but they don’t seem to be taking it seriously.” Amanda looked down at the bag of white boxes Poppy was holding. “You know, I could always come round to yours instead sometime? I hate being in this house now. Staring at all Mum’s stuff.”
“Oh. Well…” Poppy floundered. “You know how Mum and Dad can be sometimes. They don’t understand why we’re even friends, me being such a nerd and all that.” She pushed her glasses back on her nose and lowered her eyes.
“You’re the best friend I’ve got, Pops,” Amanda replied, her tone flat. She walked on ahead, Poppy following her into the large, square shaped kitchen. It was just as stylishly decorated as the living room was, with white marble countertops all around the perimeter, and a white marble topped centre island. The only exception to the stainless steel integrated appliances was the cream and white coloured toaster, kettle and top-of-the-range coffee machine. Hanging from the centre of the ceiling was a gold chandelier, identical to the one in the living room, and underneath their feet was a light grey, wide slatted, hardwood floor. Above the counter that housed the butler sink was a large bay window overlooking the perfectly pruned rosebushes which bordered the huge back garden. To the far end of the kitchen was a sturdy-looking white back door.
“What about that nice detective, Morrison? She seems like she wants to help?” Poppy said as she set about laying the boxes out in front of them on the counter. Amanda didn’t reply. She just sat on a white leather-topped stool at the centre island staring at her laptop screen. “What you looking at?” Poppy asked, noticing Amanda’s concentrated face crease into a frown. “Someone said something online about your mum?” She walked behind her.
Amanda shut the screen with a thud. “Nothing,” she snapped. Relenting, and then apologising, she reopened her laptop. “It’s just…don’t laugh, but I’m thinking of trying to solve it myself. I know something bad has happened to Mum. I’ve just got this feeling. Somebody out there knows something. The police are doing fuck all. They’re not even prioritising speaking to people I’ve told them could be key witnesses. I’m looking up if any dodgy arseholes have been released recently from prison. There are these websites you can go on. You know, the dark web. I have to start somewhere.”
“That sounds dangerous, Mand. Are you sure about getting yourself involved like this?”
“Poppy, you find using a steak knife with your dinner dangerous.”
Poppy placed a hand on her shoulder. “I think you should leave it to the police. They are trained to deal with this type of thing.” She watched Amanda as she spooned out Chinese food onto two clean white plates.
Chapter 5
“Morning, boss,” Michelle piped up from her desk as Rachel walked in.
“How was Diana’s brother when you spoke to him on the phone?” Rachel asked as she put her bag and bike helmet on the floor by her desk.
Michelle screwed her nose up. “Bit of an arrogant sod, actually. You can tell he got the shitty end of the stick. Very jealous of his sister, so it would seem. He thinks something has happened to her too. Says it’s not like her to just disappear – that she’s way too organised for all that. Doesn’t like anyone doing things for her, so she wouldn’t just leave town for someone else to mop up after her. Something was off, though. He didn’t seem all that concerned about her welfare, just how it was going to reflect on him in the papers. He wants to keep his name out of it.”
“Think he’s involved? What’s your gut saying?”
“I think we should make him a person of interest, definitely. Once we get the timeline straightened out, we can do some more digging on him. I didn’t like him, anyway.”
“And the mechanic? How was he when you called him?” Rachel asked, taking a sip of her coffee.
“Very angry. Told me to do one when I told him we were very concerned about the welfare of Mrs. Walker. Slammed the phone down on me, the bastard,” Michelle said as she was straightening some papers.
“Really?” Rachel’s eyebrows arched.
“Yep. It was just as Amanda said. I rung straight back and spoke to his boss. Apparently, Diana had caused a shitstorm for the mechanic down at the garage, making a complaint against him personally for some damage done to her car when it went in for a service. Massive key scratch down one side. Diana accused him of doing it as she said she didn’t notice it before. His boss had put him on a final warning for his response. He said the mechanic had left for work at a normal time on the day of the complaint, and apart from being wound up there was nothing out of the ordinary to report. Although the boss did let one thing slip,” Michelle said, a glint in her eye.
“Go on.”
“The mechanic has a record. Did eighteen months for assault. He’s out on license at the moment. One more slip-up and he’s back inside. Then Diana Walker goes and makes her complaint and, well, that would be a motive for revenge, maybe?”
“It’s the best lead we’ve got. I’ll pay him a visit, I th
ink. But first, I’m gonna call the delightful Eddie Green. Get some more intel on him.” Rachel picked up the phone and dialled the number Michelle passed to her. “Hello, is that Mr. Eddie Green? My name is Detective Inspector Rachel Morrison. I’m investigating the disappearance of your—.”
Rachel paused, her eyes wide as she pulled the phone away from her ear, then put it back after he’d finished his tirade.
“I understand your frustration, Mr. Green, but I can assure you we are doing everything we can to figure out what’s happened to your sister. At the moment, we’re struggling. There’s been no phone calls made from her mobile, no texts, no use on any of her bank cards. Can you think of anywhere she might go, or any reason why she wouldn’t want to be contacted?” There was a pause, the shouting on the line now hushed. “I see. When you say she didn’t seem herself when you spoke to her the other week, what do you mean? OK, well, thank you for that, Mr. Green. I’ll be in touch. Goodbye.”
“Least I know his attitude problem towards me wasn’t personal,” Michelle remarked.
“He’s just concerned. I’d be more suspicious if he wasn’t.”
Rachel’s mobile vibrated on the desk. Glancing down at it, Rachel flicked it to silent.
“That your mum again?” Michelle asked.
“What makes you ask?”
“She rang while you were out. Twice,” Michelle replied, sucking on a mint.
“Oh. I’ll ring her later.”
“Everything going OK with you two now? I remember you saying a while back you’d had a bit of a fall out? We wear a different uniform at work, but I’m your mate, remember. You can talk to me.”
Rachel smiled at Michelle. She was right. Michelle had been the first PC that greeted her on her first day in the job. They’d been firm friends ever since, sharing different snippets of their very different days whilst down at the Crown for after work drinks. Her row with her mother wasn’t something Rachel had told anyone about, but the day after it had happened, Michelle had noticed a change in Rachel’s demeanour and had asked what was wrong.
Rachel stared down at the phone as the voicemail icon flashed. “Yeah. Mum just wants to help me talk about what happened. With Adam. And the—.” Rachel swallowed and looked away so that the passing group of PCs didn’t see the tear in her eye.
“You OK, Rach?” Michelle asked in a quiet voice.
“Yeah, course,” Rachel replied. She dropped her phone in her jacket pocket and felt it vibrate again. “We’ll talk later, OK? I’d better go and speak to our friendly local mechanic.”
“Ma’am, there’s a man on line 1, says he’s the local MP?”
Superintendent Hargreaves sighed and flicked a hand to dismiss the young PC who’d interrupted her morning coffee. Picking up her office phone, she punched in the button. “Hargreaves speaking.”
“Ah, yes. Superintendent Hargreaves, finally we get a chance to speak. My name is John Stretton, MP for Kynance Cove South. One of my constituents, Diana Walker, has been missing for a good week now and as yet there’s no clear picture of what kind of investigation you are leading. Now, I can’t speak for the other missing persons, I’m sure they all had families too, but Mrs. Walker is from my neck of the woods, and is quite well-known as a fine, upstanding member of the community. The press conference last week alluded to her being a missing person, and I know you have a detective inspector on the case?”
“Mr. Stretton, I can assure you I have my best officer on the case. We don’t want to worry the public, which is why we aren’t making too much of a fuss. We’re just conducting routine enquiries and going by the book on it. We are aiming to get to the bottom of what has been going on in this town. But, as I’m sure you’ll appreciate, we are severely depleted in numbers here. Recent government cuts haven’t helped the situation,” Hargreaves said. “If I was to be given a bigger budget, I could deploy more officers onto this case…”
There was a pause on the line before Stretton replied. “We have all been affected by the cuts, Superintendent. If I may respectfully request you keep me informed of the progress of this investigation, then I can keep the rest of my constituents abreast of what’s happening also. As I’m sure you can appreciate, people don’t know if they are living among some kind of serial kidnapper, or, well, they don’t know what to think.”
“You can assure your constituents, Mr. Stretton, that we are doing all we can. Good day.”
Hargreaves put the phone down as gently as her rapidly growing temper would allow her to. “Fuck’s sake,” she muttered to herself, just as another knock rattled the blinds on her door. “What?” she barked.
“Sorry, ma’am,” PC Barlow said as she opened the door a crack.
“Well, come in then, don’t loiter.” Hargreaves waved her hand.
“Just to keep you updated, we had a call earlier from a customer who witnessed the altercation between Diana Walker and the mechanic in town. Says it was on the day Mrs. Walker went missing.”
“Where’s DI Morrison?” Hargreaves replied.
“On her way to speak to the mechanic now.”
“Good. Tell her to report back to me when she gets in.”
“Detective Inspector Rachel Morrison. I’d like to speak with Toby Anderson, please?” Rachel announced to the floppy-haired teenage mechanic who was changing a tyre on the forecourt of the town’s local garage.
“Out the back. Through there,” he said, pointing towards the open gate to the side of the garage.
“Thanks,” Rachel replied, putting her warrant card back in her jacket pocket. “And you are?”
“Nathan,” the boy replied, wiping his nose on the back of his oily hand.
“Well, Nathan. Could you go into the office and ask the boss to come out? I need to speak with him after, OK?”
“OK.” Nathan got up and walked over to the main office. “Dad? Copper wants a word,” he said, his voice trailing off into the stiff Cornish breeze.
Pushing past the long tendrils of the overgrown ferns at the side of the garage and walking through the splintery wooden gate, Rachel saw a tall young man, around twenty-five years old, wearing blue overalls splattered with grease. His messy blond hair was wiped out of his eyes by an oily hand as he turned to face her.
“Yeah? Who are you?”
Rachel took out her warrant card again. “Can we go somewhere for a little chat?”
“Look, if this is about that old bag who tried to get me the sack, then I’ve got nothing to say,” Anderson said as he eyeballed the police badge.
“You know she’s gone missing, don’t you, Mr. Anderson?” Rachel said.
“Yeah. And I couldn’t give a fuck,” Anderson said, folding his arms.
“What exactly did she accuse you of doing?” Rachel asked, taking a step closer to him.
“She came in here just over a week ago. I serviced her car, treated her like any other customer. She drove the car away, that’s it. Then the next day she came back. Said when she’d got out of the car, she’d noticed a massive scratch down one side. Started having a right pop at me, saying I’d keyed her precious BMW. Why the fuck would I do that?”
“No idea, but it’s a good question. Your boss around?” Rachel asked as she looked up from making notes.
“Yeah, the cow spoke to him to get me the sack.” Anderson nodded towards his boss who was on his way to Rachel, wiping his hands with a rag.
“And you will get it if you don’t change your tone, Toby,” came a booming voice behind them. “Bob Dixon. I own this place. Can I help you?” Dixon, a short, rounded figure in his early forties, with a shock of black hair, strode over to them and fixed his piercing blue-eyed stare on Rachel.
“Detective Inspector Rachel Morrison,” Rachel replied, showing him her warrant card, then putting it back in her pocket. “I was just asking Mr. Anderson here about his altercation with Mrs. Walker. Do you remember her coming in, Mr. Dixon?”
“Of course I do. Made a right song and dance about her car. Though it didn�
��t help when Toby here threatened to push her off that cliff over there.” Dixon let out a mirthless laugh into the wind. “Said she was gonna tell you lot about him. She took to Facebook to complain about Toby. Didn’t do the business too much good, I can tell ya. If you saw how many comments that kind of thing whips up.” He glared at Anderson, who sucked in his cheeks.
“Well, she can’t go around trying to get people the sack. How’s that fair?” Anderson appealed, his hands animated.
“So you, Toby,” Rachel interrupted, “made a threat and she said she was going to the police to report you. Then she goes missing. Can you see what I am getting at here?”
Anderson’s face went grey. “Hang on a moment. I had nothing to do with her going missing. It was bad enough she got me suspended for two days. I got a pregnant girlfriend at home. I’m not about to go get myself in more shit now, am I?”
“Well, you’ve got form. Haven’t you, Mr. Anderson?”
Anderson took a step closer to Rachel, who stood her ground. “Look, love, I’ve done my time. I paid for what I did.”
Dixon put a hand across Anderson’s chest. “Back off there, Tobe. The inspector’s just doing her job.” Facing Rachel, he smiled. “Now, was there anything else?”
Rachel looked around the yard and the side of the garage. “I’d like a copy of the CCTV footage from the day Diana Walker brought her car in, and when she came back regarding the damage. If that wouldn’t be too much trouble for you, Mr. Dixon?” Rachel smiled and put her notebook away.
Anderson looked sideways at Dixon. After a moment, Dixon nodded. “No problem. I am sure he’s got nothing to do with all this. I’ll get it ready if you wanna pop by tomorrow?”
“That’s OK, I have a pen drive here. Only take five minutes to download what I need. You’ve no objections, right?”
Anderson licked his dry lips and was about to speak when Dixon stepped forward and cut him off. “Sure. We’ve got nothing to hide. Follow me.” Dixon led Rachel back towards the garage office, with Anderson trailing behind, wringing the oily rag in his clenched fist.
