Gardner stood. ‘I’ll be in touch,’ he said and left Ray sitting amongst his tins of old photographs.
Gardner scraped the leftovers into the bin. He was starting to wonder why he bothered at all when nothing was good enough any more – too salty, too garlicky, too whatever. She was like Goldilocks. They should’ve got a takeaway every night, at least then it’d be someone else’s fault. Usually she still managed to eat it, or enough to make him wonder if she just wanted to complain for the sake of it. But tonight she’d barely touched it. She’d lost weight. She was going to the gym more and more.
He walked into the living room with a bottle of red. There was never anything wrong with the red. He expected her to be sitting staring at the blaring TV, feet tucked up beneath her, but the room was quiet. She was standing by the window, arms around herself. He saw her jaw clench. So much for chilling out. She had something to say. He tried running through his day. What could possibly be the problem now?
They never had real arguments – no fireworks – just a few carefully chosen words and ominous silences.
She stood staring at him as if he was supposed to know what was wrong.
‘What’s up, Annie?’ he said and put the bottle down on the table without finding a coaster. She didn’t even blink. Now that was strange. He sat down, sinking into the worn leather settee. He couldn’t be arsed with whatever it was. It had been a long day.
She stayed standing. He could see tears starting to well. Oh fuck, he thought. Someone’s dead.
Gardner leaned forward, reaching for her hand, but she pulled away. Turned to the window.
‘Annie?’
‘I’m seeing someone,’ she said, almost whispering.
Seeing someone? Gardner tried to work out what she was talking about, whether he was supposed to know. Had she mentioned this before? ‘A therapist? Why?’ he said.
A sound came from her, part laugh, part sob, and she covered her mouth, real tears coming now. She turned back to him and looked at him pleadingly, head tilted as if she were talking to a three-year-old.
‘Michael,’ she said.
‘What are you talking about?’ he said, shaking his head. ‘You’re seeing someone?’
She nodded, barely perceptibly. Suddenly things were falling into place – a kid’s toy with slots for shapes – all glaringly obvious to everyone but the stupid kid trying to force a cube into a circular hole. He didn’t want to acknowledge it, didn’t want to make it real. But he could feel it. He could feel it running through his veins, zigzagging its way through his body until every last cell was aware of what was happening.
‘Who is it?’ he asked.
Gardner stepped closer, stood looming over her. She stepped back and he wondered for a second if she thought he might hit her. If she thought that’s who he was.
‘Who?’ he said.
‘Just sit down. I’m not talking to you like this.’
‘I’m not going to fucking sit down,’ he said and felt a lump in his throat. He squeezed his eyes shut. Please don’t throw up, not now. ‘Just tell me who.’ Annie started to walk out of the room. Gardner caught her by the elbow. ‘Tell me.’
‘Stuart Wallace,’ she said and pulled away from him. She started running up the stairs.
‘Stuart fucking Wallace?’ He couldn’t move. Wanted to follow her but couldn’t. ‘Stuart Wallace is a fat, fucking prick,’ he shouted after her.
He heard the bathroom door slam and the sound of his own breathing filled the spinning room.
Stuart Wallace. He’d introduced Annie to him. He’d been forced to go to a Christmas party at his shitty nouveau-riche house. They’d laughed at his decor.
He knew where he lived.
Gardner grabbed his keys from the table. He started to walk out, first stopping to pick up the bottle of red from the table. He smashed it against the wall that held the shabby chic photo frames she’d insisted on and threw what remained of the shattered bottle against the opposite wall.
‘There’s a red wine stain on your fucking carpet,’ he shouted up the stairs and then slammed the front door.
Chapter 6
13 December 2010
Freeman sat and looked at the door to the house. The small garden was overgrown and strewn with litter. She wondered if the toll of eleven years of not knowing where his daughter was had done that to Ray Thorley – robbed him of all desire to live his life, to take care of himself, to do his garden – but as she got out of the car and walked towards the house she noticed that most of the other gardens on the street were in a similar state. The place was hardly a candidate for Britain in Bloom. Freeman brushed away the crumbs from a hastily eaten ham and cheese sandwich and knocked on the door.
Ray Thorley answered and a look of confusion morphed slowly into recognition. Freeman had thought last time she’d spoken to him that perhaps he was a little senile. He seemed to take a while to recall certain words and when he had offered her a drink he’d disappeared into the kitchen for fifteen minutes and then returned empty-handed. Freeman wasn’t immune to the occasional blank when writing reports or remembering her shopping list but there was something about Ray’s behaviour that reminded her of her granddad. Perhaps that was why she had liked him so much.
Ray stepped back and showed her into the warm house, muttering something about it being all go. Bloody reporters. They hadn’t even positively ID’d Emma yet and already they were hassling Ray. If she got her hands on the little shit who’d leaked it to the press, she’d cut his balls off.
As she walked through into the living room she unwrapped her scarf and shoved it into her pocket. Ray was right behind her.
‘Have you heard anything, Miss Freeman?’ he said.
Usually she bristled at being called Miss and would correct whoever had spoken, usually some macho guy who didn’t take kindly to a woman in a position of power, telling them, ‘It’s Detective Sergeant.’ But with Ray somehow she didn’t mind. It seemed kind of sweet.
‘Not yet, I’m afraid,’ she said. ‘The post-mortem did show a broken arm – the left arm. I was wondering if Emma—’
‘Never had a broken bone,’ Ray said and smiled. ‘I remember her crying one day, telling me all her friends at school had had a cast except her. Thought it was very unfair.’
That didn’t necessarily mean anything but she let it go. Freeman wondered why he wasn’t making more fuss. Why he wasn’t shouting at her to do more. She wondered if he’d always been this kind, this understanding, or if all the years had just beaten the fight out of him.
‘Mr Thorley, I’m trying to retrace Emma’s steps before she disappeared. Did you know any of Emma’s friends? Anyone she used to hang around with before she disappeared?’
Ray shook his head. ‘She was always a shy girl. She never played with other kids very much. Not really. There were a few girls from school but by the time she was, well, when she was having the trouble she stopped seeing them. She kept to herself.’
Freeman nodded. She’d bet Emma hadn’t kept completely to herself. If she was doing drugs she wasn’t doing them alone. And of course there was Lucas Yates keeping her company. ‘What about boyfriends? She ever tell you about anyone in particular?’
She noticed Ray’s face darken a little but he shook his head. ‘She wouldn’t talk to me about those things.’
Freeman nodded again. ‘But there was someone when she started . . . when the trouble started?’ Freeman had noticed that Ray never used the words ‘taking drugs’.
Ray looked anxious again. ‘There was some boy. She went off with him the first time, the silly girl. I knew he’d hurt her,’ he said and twisted his hands on his lap. ‘She came back and was so upset but she wouldn’t tell me what happened. I was just glad she was back so I didn’t push it.’
‘Did she get back together with him?’
Ray shook his head. ‘No. She wouldn’t have done that. He was no good. I knew that much. He used to come here sometimes. I remember she stopped going out for a whil
e. She’d look out the window. Up and down she’d be. Checking outside. I asked her if she was waiting for someone.’ Ray turned towards the window. The net curtain had yellowed from the sun. ‘I saw him hanging about one day. Across the road. I said I was going to call the police but she told me they wouldn’t do anything. I went to go outside myself, to tell him to bugger off, but she wouldn’t let me. Said it didn’t matter. When I looked out later he’d gone.’ Ray stood and picked up a photo of Emma from the mantelpiece. ‘She left again shortly after that.’
‘And that was in April. Was this when the man from the clinic came to see you?’ She searched through her notes, recalling what she’d read from the original investigation. ‘Ben Swales, right?’ Ray nodded. ‘But he never came when she disappeared the last time?’
Freeman saw his hands shaking as he put the photo back. ‘No. He never came again.’
‘Was there anyone else who might’ve seen Emma before she disappeared? Any other friends you can think of?’
Ray sat down again. ‘There was a girl she was at school with.’ He shook his head. ‘It’ll come back to me. They’d been friends since primary school. I know they stopped seeing each other so much but she might know something. Emma could’ve told her something about the boy.’ He shook his head again as if trying to dislodge his memories. ‘Diane. That’s it. Diane Royle. I’m sure your lot spoke to her last time.’
‘Great,’ Freeman said. ‘I’ll check.’ She pulled her scarf out of her pocket and made a move to go. ‘If you think of anything else, could you give me a call?’ She got to the front door when Ray appeared in the doorway of the living room.
‘I’m sorry I couldn’t help.’
‘You’ve been very helpful,’ she said. ‘Thanks.’ She opened the door and winced at the cold wind. At least it had stopped raining.
‘Maybe that boy could help,’ Ray said and Freeman turned around.
‘What boy?’ she asked.
‘He came this morning. He was a friend of Emma’s, he came to offer condolences. He was very nice.’
Freeman felt a jolt of excitement. Finally someone who might be able to offer some insight.
‘What was his name?’ she asked.
‘His name?’ Ray frowned again and Freeman felt a stab of guilt as she wished he’d answer faster. ‘Oh, I . . .’ Ray closed his eyes and shook his head. ‘I don’t know. I don’t know if he said. I’m sure he must’ve but I don’t remember.’
‘What did he look like?’
Ray closed his eyes for a little too long. ‘He was a nice boy, well dressed. Dark hair, I think.’ He opened his eyes. ‘I’m sorry, Miss Freeman. I can’t remember.’
Freeman let out a sigh and smiled at Ray. ‘That’s okay,’ she said. ‘But if you remember or if he comes again, will you call me?’
Ray nodded and looked like the whole world was on his shoulders, like he’d let his daughter down. Freeman smiled again, hating herself for making him feel that way.
Chapter 7
13 December 2010
DCI Routledge leaned back in his chair and yawned. Freeman assumed she wasn’t boring him, but instead chose to believe he’d had a late night. And judging from the state of him, that wouldn’t be an unreasonable assumption. Apparently Christmas had started early for some.
‘Anyway,’ she continued, ‘I spoke to DI Gardner in Middlesbrough—’
‘DI?’ Routledge said and pulled a face. Freeman wanted to ask what it was about this Gardner that got people’s backs up, but doubted Routledge would spill. He still had some professional discretion.
‘Anyway,’ she started again, ‘it was pretty much a waste of time. He couldn’t tell me anything that wasn’t in the reports. There’d only been two real people of interest at the time. One was a drug counsellor, Ben Swales, who apparently helped Emma and had acted as a go-between for Emma and her father the second time she went missing. Gardner interviewed him and ruled him out.’
‘Well, I suggest you speak to him yourself,’ Routledge said and Freeman thought, no shit.
‘The other was Lucas Yates – Emma’s ex-boyfriend and from what I read, a real charmer. Gardner spoke to Yates but nothing came of it and as far as I can tell, he was convinced the pair had run off together, despite what Ray Thorley thought.’
‘Which was?’
‘That she wouldn’t go anywhere near Yates. And I have to say I agree with her dad.’
‘Why? She disappeared with him the first time, didn’t she? She was a smackhead, wasn’t she?’
Freeman counted to five. She didn’t have time for ten. And she didn’t have time to stand there explaining things to Routledge. She hated the way half of her colleagues seemed to see addicts as second-class citizens. It seemed that no one gave a shit about Emma Thorley – then or now.
‘Despite Emma’s problems with drugs, she was never actually in trouble with the police. The only records we have are her missing person reports. Whereas Yates is a scumbag. He’s a known dealer. Been arrested dozens of times. Drugs, assault, burglary, sexual assault, stealing cars, driving without a licence, without insurance—’
‘I get it. He’s quite the Renaissance man.’
‘He finally went to prison in 2000, seven years. But there’s been nothing on him since he was released.’
‘Maybe he found Jesus,’ Routledge said.
‘Maybe,’ replied Freeman. ‘But either way I really want to speak to him.’
‘Fine. But as we don’t even know if it is this Thorley girl yet, just tread lightly.’
‘I always do,’ Freeman said and closed the door before he could respond.
Chapter 8
9 February 1999
Emma listened as Jenny and the others shouted at a couple of pensioners across the street. The woman kept her head down but the man shook his walking stick in their direction, telling them they should be ashamed of themselves. Emma turned her face away but it only egged the others on. All except Lucas. Lucas was quiet. Watching. Watching her. She could feel his eyes on her, heavy and possessive. It made her feel safe.
She hated the rest of them, hated that the only reason they seemed to have for getting up in the morning – or more likely, lunchtime – was to make other people’s lives hell. That was all they did. That and the drugs. She hadn’t tried anything yet, despite their taunts. Despite Lucas’s offers to make her feel good, to help her forget all the other shit. She’d been tempted but that was all. She had more willpower than to just give in to it.
She sometimes wondered what she was doing there, with them. The kind of people she would’ve crossed the street to avoid before. People she would’ve looked down on. But that was before. And was it really better to be sitting at home, watching her dad weep? Sitting in school, trying to ignore the pitying stares? Sitting alone in her room, wondering why her mam had left her alone.
‘Catch.’ Someone threw a can at Lucas. He opened it and took a swig before offering it to her. The sour smell of cheap, warm lager made her stomach turn. She shook her head and Lucas shrugged, downing the rest of the can before crushing it and throwing it over the wall they were leaning against.
Emma looked across the road and saw someone staring. Her face reddened as she realised it was Diane. She’d been ignoring her calls. Couldn’t bear to talk to her any more. She still had a mother, she didn’t understand.
‘What’s up?’ Lucas said, turning her to look at him.
‘Nothing,’ she said and looked into his eyes. Sometimes she couldn’t believe he’d chosen her. He could’ve had anyone but he wanted her. He made her feel special. If only the rest of them didn’t come as part of the package, she could be happy. If it were just the two of them she knew that she could be happy again.
‘Tell me,’ he said.
She shrugged and looked at the ground. ‘I’m just sick of it.’
‘Of what?’
‘All of it. My life. Dad’s so . . . One minute he’s treating me like a five-year-old, checking I’m okay every five minutes.
And then he goes all distant as if I don’t exist any more. And I hate school. Everyone thinks they know how I feel but they don’t. None of them do. And I hate being in that house. It smells of her and I hate it . . .’ She realised she was crying and felt ashamed. He’d think she was a baby. She rubbed her face with her sleeve and noticed Diane was still standing there. Why didn’t she just go away? Leave her alone.
‘You could come and live with me,’ Lucas said. ‘Fuck the rest of them.’
Emma looked up, tried to work out if he was taking the piss. But his eyes flashed with something more serious. The same look he’d had when he’d said he wanted to touch her. When she’d let him.
‘Lucas,’ Jenny shouted, breaking the spell Emma was under. They both turned and saw Jenny mooning another group of unsuspecting pensioners. Jenny cackled as the little old ladies blushed and Emma couldn’t help but notice that Jenny’s arse was now aimed in Lucas’s direction. She was pathetic.
Lucas looked at Jenny with revulsion and turned his attention back to Emma. He moved himself closer to her, pushing her against the wall. ‘What do you think?’ Lucas said, his hand on her hip, fingers dipping beneath the waist of her jeans. ‘It’d be just you and me.’ His hand pushed further down and Emma’s heart raced. Someone was going to see.
‘Lucas,’ she whispered. ‘Not here.’ She pulled away from him, her face burning despite the bitterness of the wind.
Lucas’s hand wrapped around her arm and pulled her towards him, before slamming her into the wall. She felt the pain reverberate down her arm. He stared at her for a few moments, his eyes flashing again, and then he dropped his gaze and her arm and walked towards his mates for another can.
Emma told herself not to cry. Not now, anyway. She took the can Lucas offered her and then looked across the street and saw Diane walking away.
Chapter 9
Gone Page 3
