by Rob Roughley
Jansen backed off, hands raised. ‘No, you misunderstand me...’
‘No, Mr Jansen, I don’t. Now the longer you stand here asking inane questions the longer it’ll take to get this sorted.’
‘Of course, I...’
‘Tell me, do you have any form of security on these prom nights?’
‘Security?’ Jansen looked nonplussed.
‘Yes, do you have people in to keep an eye on the proceedings?’
‘Well no, not as such. I mean, obviously we have staff on duty at all times but they’re normally waiters and waitresses and of course we have the in-house caterers.’
‘So you have no one to sort things if they get a bit rowdy?’
Jansen pulled off his glasses and gave them a quick wipe before sliding them back on. ‘These are schoolchildren, Inspector, and normally there are a number of teachers on site to keep control of the students.’
‘And where were you last night?’
Jansen looked taken aback by the question. ‘I was here until nine, working in my office on the wedding plans and then I went home.’
Bannister smiled tightly. ‘Right well, thanks for that, now if you’ll excuse me I have wheels to put in motion, but rest assured you’ll be the first to know when we have the all clear.’
Jansen smiled weakly and spun on his heels, striding across the room as if searching for a minion to take his frustration out on.
Bannister turned back to the window; he could see the uniforms searching through a thicket of trees, slashing at the dense undergrowth with white sticks, the blind leading the blind. When Lasser’s Audi pulled onto the gravel drive, he sighed heavily and headed for the door.
6
Rachael Sinclair had her Jimmy Choo’s planted firmly in the shag pile rug, feet splayed, knees together. She was still wearing last night’s lampblack eye shadow, strands of colourful thread woven into her thick auburn hair.
The house was a large three-storey affair, the living room panelled with beech wood, the floor covered in light oak, in the hearth a wood burner pumped out pulsating waves of heat.
‘Mr Williams says it was either you or Zoe Metcalf, who told him Kelly had already left for home.’
Rachael looked at Bannister and then up at the man who stood leaning over the back of the sofa both hands resting lightly on her shoulders. ‘I’m sorry, I can’t remember,’ she replied.
Paul Sinclair smiled down at her benignly. ‘That’s OK sweetheart, I understand.’
Bannister frowned. ‘Yes well, I’m afraid I don’t.’
Rachael chewed at her bottom lip, her face a picture of innocence. ‘I know I shouldn’t have, but I had a bit to drink last night and to be honest the party’s a bit of a blur.’
Sinclair shook his head as if to say ‘who’s been a naughty girl,’ his smile growing wider. ‘I’m sorry people but if she can’t remember then I don’t see the point in pressurising her any further.’
Lasser looked at Sinclair who met his gaze without flinching. It was no surprise to find the man made his living as a lawyer, the smile remained fixed in place but the eyes held a warning.
‘I wasn’t aware we were pressurising your daughter, Mr Sinclair.’
Sinclair’s face twisted slightly, one eyebrow rose in a perfectly plucked arch. ‘Well, I can appreciate you have enquiries to make but she’s told you all she can. If she says she doesn’t remember then as far as I am concerned that’s the end of the matter.’
Lasser could feel his natural dislike for the legal profession rising to the surface, but before he could comment, Bannister jumped in. ‘So can you tell me why Mr Williams would simply drive away and leave one of you behind?’
Sinclair frowned. ‘I’m sorry but Rachael cannot be held responsible for that man’s actions. Perhaps he just got tired of waiting and decided enough was enough...’
‘So he decides to drive off and your daughter doesn’t tell him to wait. Doesn’t question the fact that one of her best friends had been left behind?’
Lasser glanced at his boss, Bannister looked furious.
Rachael eased back in the chair and crossed her long legs; it was hard to fathom that she had just left school. I think I must have fallen asleep, to be honest I don’t even remember the drive home.’
‘There you see, a simple explanation for everything.’ Sinclair gave her shoulder a squeeze as if to say well done poppet. ‘Now, I suggest you pay this Mr Williams another visit and ask him to clarify the situation, because this conversation is over.’
Lasser ignored him, through the huge French windows he could see someone flying a kite in the park that backed onto the sprawling house. ‘Can you tell me, Rachael, when you got back to the van, was Zoe already there?’
‘I haven’t a clue, like I said, I was a bit tipsy.’
‘And you have no recollection of talking with Mr Williams and you can’t remember if Zoe Metcalf was already in the van?’
She flashed him a toothpaste ad smile. ‘That’s right.’
Bannister looked as if he were about to self-combust; he opened his mouth and then snapped it closed before storming from the room.
Paul Sinclair slid onto the sofa, his white polo neck blending in perfectly with the soft cream leather, crossing his legs he draped an arm across his daughter’s shoulder. Rachael flicked a smile at her father, clever daddy.
‘What an excitable man.’ Paul Sinclair said.
‘We’ll be in touch,’ Lasser made his way to the door.
Outside, the daffodils by the roadside were in full bloom, swaying back and forth in the warm breeze.
Bannister was standing by his car, the door wide open, his face ashen with rage. ‘She’s a bloody liar!’
A man flashed by on a mountain bike, decked out in Lycra his feet thrashing at the peddles.
‘I don’t doubt it.’
‘She’s hiding something,’ he jabbed a finger toward the house.
Lasser thought for a moment. ‘Perhaps they’d had an argument.’
Bannister blinked and shoved the key in the ignition. ‘Explain.’
‘Well, considering they’re so-called best friends she hardly seems concerned that Kelly is missing and Williams has no reason to lie,’ he paused, ‘so, maybe Rachael spun him some bullshit to get back at Kelly, you know, leave her stranded in the middle of nowhere.’
Bannister nodded, the gleam in his eyes darkening. ‘Find out, Sergeant.’
‘That’s not going to be easy with her private brief standing guard.’
Bannister slid behind the wheel. ‘Well make some enquires, you’re meant to be a detective for God’s sake!’
With that, he slammed the door and drove away, the spinning wheels throwing up a cloud of dust from the gutter.
Lasser wafted a hand in front of his face, dragged out his cigarettes and lit up. Statistics said that if you didn’t find someone within twenty four hours then chances are you wouldn’t find them at all, at least not alive. According to Bannister, Kelly Ramsey had last been seen at eleven, and it was now, he checked his watch, two o’clock, which meant the girl had been missing for fifteen hours and whichever way you looked at it, that couldn’t be good.
7
Jonathan Ramsey dragged a quivering hand across his eyes and turned left at the mini roundabout. When he spotted the white van parked in one of the passing places, he thought nothing of it; his brain was in turmoil whilst his mind was slowly closing down like an obsolete power plant. However, the second one got his attention with the words ‘Orbital Television’ wrapped around an image of the earth and plastered onto the back doors. His feeling of unease turned to dread as he spotted the group of reporters standing by the gates. They turned en masse as if they had some inbuilt antennae attuned to distress. Jonathan scrambled to open the glove box, pulled out the key fob and began to jab at the button. Cameras were raised, flash lights sparkled off the windscreen, he kept hitting the button like a game show contestant who knows the answer to the thousand-pound question,
but the gates remained shut.
‘Mr Ramsey, do you have any idea what’s happened to your daughter?’ Someone shouted, the voice muffled by the glass.
‘Have the police said anything?’
‘Does Kelly have a boyfriend?’
Someone yanked at the door handle, thankfully the central locking was engaged. Jonathan revved the engine but they didn’t budge an inch. In fact, it only served to make them angrier. Hands beat on the windows; faces ballooned forward and then retreated, replaced by others.
‘Was Kelly pregnant?’ someone bellowed as Jonathan inched the car forward, a sudden feeling of anger splashing through his besieged brain, the urge to drive forward and splatter them against the gates flashed into his head, could he, dare he?
The sound of a blaring car horn snapped him back to reality, Ramsey swivelled in his seat, Bannister had parked directly behind. He was standing by the side of his car leaning on the horn his face livid.
A moment later, he stormed towards the throng of reporters. ‘Right, you lot, out of here now!’
‘Can you tell us if the police are looking for anyone else in connection...?’
‘I can tell you that if you don’t remove yourself in the next ten seconds then I’ll have you arrested for obstruction.’
Someone laughed sarcastically; Bannister spun and jabbed out a finger. ‘You think this is funny do you?’
A man in a brown leather jacket and stonewashed jeans shrugged. ‘I have every right to be here...’
‘What’s your name and who do you work for?’ Bannister snapped.
‘I’m not telling you that.’
Jonathan sat rigid behind the wheel, his mind numb as if he had been brainwashed into thinking that this was somehow normal.
Bannister scanned the faces then moved forward until he was standing in front of a woman in her late twenties, black hair tied back in a practical ponytail. ‘Susan, do you know this man?’
‘Mike Brewster, Orbital television,’ she replied instantly.
The smile slid from Brewster’s face as he glared at the woman. ‘You bitch...’
Susan shrugged and wiggled her fingers in a bye-bye motion; Brewster turned and pushed his way through the crowd, enraged.
‘Thank you, Susan, now will you all please step back. We’ll be making a statement in due course but until then I would ask that you give these people some privacy.’
The reporters drifted to the side of the road and at last the gates began to swing open. As he drove through Jonathan looked at the woman who had grassed her colleague and for some unfathomable reason he smiled at her.
Checking his mirror, he could see Bannister following close behind, the gates swinging shut; a flimsy barrier against the outside world. He had always thought this place was the perfect home, five minutes from the motorway network and yet secluded, and most importantly, Kelly loved it here. He felt a tear slide from his eye and wiped it away, his mind fractured.
When the tap came on the window, he snapped his head to the side, panic flaring. Bannister looked in at him, his face grim; Jonathan heaved a sigh and pushed the door open.
‘Thanks for that,’ he mumbled.
‘How are you, Jonathan?’
Ramsey gave a weary shrug. ‘I think the correct term is, as well as can be expected, given the circumstances.’
‘Is Suzanne at home?’ Bannister asked.
Jonathan looked warily at the reporters who stood by the gates, hands locked on the bars as if they intended shaking them from the hinges. ‘No, I spoke to her earlier; she’s gone up to the school. She wants to see if anyone remembers anything about last night.’
Bannister ran a hand across his flattop. ‘I’ve arranged to go there myself in a couple of hours; the head said she’d gather the relevant students together in the hall so we can question them.’
‘I tried to explain that to Suzanne but you know what she’s like.’
‘She wants to keep busy?’
‘Something like that.’
Bannister cleared his throat. ‘Listen, I know this is hard but I asked Suzanne earlier about any boys that Kelly might have been seeing and she couldn’t really help us, I was wondering if you knew of anyone?’
‘I haven’t a clue. I mean, you know what kids are like. I’ve always thought we had a good open relationship. But I suppose everyone has their secrets.’ He smiled half-heartedly and then looked up at the trees. ‘All we wanted was to make sure she had the tools to cope, you know what I mean?’
Bannister shuffled his feet. ‘I understand.’
Ramsey suddenly shook himself and straightened his shoulders. ‘Are you coming in for a drink?’
‘Sorry, too much to sort out but I’ll call back later if that’s OK?’
‘Fine, and thanks again for keeping the wolves at bay.’
Ramsey headed up the drive and, without turning, pointed the car key over his shoulder and beeped on the alarm.
8
When he sees the image of the girl on the front page, he thinks his eyes are playing tricks; it wouldn’t be the first time. When he becomes besotted, he begins to see them everywhere. He’ll find himself following a girl down the street convinced that she is the one, even though their hair is a different shade or they’re taller or shorter, it doesn’t matter, he has to know, has to be certain.
The man blinks rapidly and leans in closer; he has the paper spread out on the table, coffee cup by his right hand, cream doughnut on the left. Late afternoon and as usual the cafe is empty. Apart from an elderly woman sitting by the window, he is alone.
Although the image is grainy, he has no doubt it is the same slender neck, the same dark unruly hair. Pulling out his glasses, he studies the picture, checking and rechecking just to be sure. Satisfied, he begins to read, the index finger of his right hand following the print in much the same way a child will when first learning to read. When he reaches the word ‘missing ’ the finger stops. The man looks up, his eyes travelling around the room in distress; the coffee percolator behind the counter lets out a whoosh of steam. Lowering his head he continues, words seem to spring up at him, ‘last seen’ and ‘devastated’ become branded in his mind.
Someone has taken her; some animal has plucked her from this world and transported her to somewhere he can never follow. The thought that he may never see her again, never watch as she combs her beautiful hair, is devastating.
He chews at his bottom lip with yellowing teeth, what kind of person could take something so wondrous and ruin it? His mind jitters and clicks through the images in his brain and the name, her name, matches the face so well. He rarely gives them names; to him the girls were too precious to be summed up by a single word, yet somehow hers seems perfect.
Folding the paper, he stands up as he fights down the rising sensation of despair. He needs to go home and pull out the albums, just to reaffirm that the girl wasn’t a figment of his imagination, that she actually existed.
A minute later he leaves the cafe, the elderly woman hobbles across the room, looks around, and plucks the doughnut from the table, ‘waste-not-want-not.’
9
Lasser looked at the prefabricated council house and frowned.
Pushing open the gate, he heads along the narrow path; the garden littered with weeds, the paint peeling from the front door. If he had the right place then Zoe Metcalf’s parents definitely weren’t part of the professional elite. Looking at the rusting Ford Escort pushed up against the unruly privet hedge, Lasser thought maybe a scrap metal dealer or part time mechanic.
‘Can I help you?’
He looked up in surprise; the girl was leaning out of the bedroom window, blonde hair falling down Rapunzel style.
‘I’m looking for Zoe Metcalf?’
‘Is it about Kelly?’
‘Yes it is.’
‘Give me a sec,’ she disappeared from view, a moment later he could see her figure distorted by the glass as she hurried down the stairs, the door swung open and she looked at him
uncertainly. ‘Are you a policeman?’
Lasser slid out his warrant card, ‘Detective Sergeant Lasser.’
‘That’s an odd name.’
‘Not as odd as my first one.’
She smiled at him shyly and held the door open. ‘You’d better come in.’
Despite the state of the garden, the house itself was clean and tidy, laminate floors with bright floral paper on the walls. Zoe led him into the living room and sat down on the sofa, chewing a fingernail in agitation. ‘Have you found her yet?’ she asked nervously.
‘I’m afraid not.’ Sunlight splashed in through the front window, Lasser turned slightly to avoid the glare. ‘In fact, I was hoping you could tell me about what went on at the prom?’
Zoe nodded. ‘Yeah, of course, I mean, I want to help if I can.’
‘I was talking to Rachael Sinclair and she seemed a little confused about what happened at the end of the night.’
A couple of frown lines appeared on her brow. ‘How do you mean, confused?’
‘Well, the driver of the van is convinced that either you or Rachael told him that Kelly had made alternative arrangements about getting home.’
‘Well yeah, that’s what Rachael said.’
‘You see Rachael says she doesn’t remember saying anything about Kelly, in fact, she says as soon as she got in the van she fell asleep.’
‘Lying bitch,’ Zoe shook her head, her eyes flashing daggers.
‘So you’re sure you heard her tell the driver...’
‘Oh she said it all right, but that’s just typical of her.’
Lasser felt like rubbing his hands together. ‘I’m sorry, Zoe, I don’t follow?’
Zoe pushed a hand through her hair. ‘Look, I don’t want to sound like a bitch but Rachael’s always being snide.’
‘I thought you two were friends?’
‘God no, Kelly’s my mate, I can’t stand Rachael.’
‘So why did you all go to the prom together. I mean, if you go to the same school...’
