13 December 2010
Yates’ probation officer had given Freeman the address of the bedsit where he was currently residing. She’d been there before. It was quite the place. Full of delightful young men and run, if she remembered correctly, by a little old woman who was more frightening than the residents.
She pulled over across the street. Three storeys of faded period-glamour. Much of the street had managed to retain respectability but Yates’ home was verging on an eyesore – the gate was hanging off its hinges, the front door dented, no doubt from when one of the residents had forgotten their key, lager cans littered the windowsills and the one, solitary, dead-or-dying bush at the front. The run-down pub and takeaway less than a minute away only added to the value of the place. If she had to live there she’d probably be out robbing the nearest bank so she could escape it. Sometimes she wondered how anybody could move on and become a good person when they were forced to live like this. But then she’d talk to them and start to think they deserved it.
She spent a lot of time thinking about that. About punishment, about rehabilitation, about why she’d become a copper in the first place. That all these scumbags were someone’s son, someone’s brother. But in the end there were no answers so she just got on with it. The criminals did their jobs and she did hers. The world keeps turning.
She’d wondered whether she was doing the right thing by hauling Lucas Yates in so soon. It was hard to pin a murder on someone without a positive ID on the body. But she needed to speak to him, needed to see his face when she asked him about Emma. True, she couldn’t hold him. Not unless he confessed, which was unlikely. But she needed to do it. She wanted him to know he wasn’t going to get away with it. Everything she’d read about Yates convinced her that if the girl was Emma then he would be the one who had killed her. One of the first things you learn as a detective is never to assume anything, but this, this was more than an assumption. Besides, who else would want to hurt Emma?
Freeman watched as a couple down the street argued. The woman shoved the man against a low wall and stomped off as best she could in the platform heels she was balancing on. The man gave her the finger and walked off in the other direction. She was forming uncomplimentary judgements when she recalled the night she’d told Brian to piss off for the last time. It had probably looked a lot like this. Without the heels.
She turned back to Yates’ bedsit and saw someone walking towards it. Between the grim grey of the architecture and the battered cars, the man looked out of place. A decently fitted black suit and blue tie stuck out like a sore thumb. She started to turn away, thinking he must be a solicitor. But at the last minute she glanced back at him and realised who she was staring at. Apparently Lucas Yates was not your usual tracksuited scumbag. She got out of the car and started to cross the street.
‘Mr Yates,’ she said and he turned around. ‘DS Freeman.’ She showed him her ID and for a split second she thought she saw fear. But he quickly composed himself and reached into his pocket for a pack of cigarettes.
Freeman stopped in front of him and felt, not for the first time in her life, like a small child. The picture of Yates she’d seen didn’t quite match, nor do justice, to the man in front of her. Seemed like he’d taken up weights while he was in prison. Though maybe only five-ten at most, he was imposing. But to her, everyone was tall. She’d had to ask ten-year-olds to reach for things in supermarkets before today.
‘Can I help you with something, officer?’ Lucas said, and lit his cigarette.
‘I was just wondering if you’d mind coming down to the station with me, to answer a few questions.’
‘About what?’ he said.
‘Emma Thorley.’
Freeman detected the faintest hint of a smile. He took another drag and then flicked the cigarette towards the door of his bedsit.
‘If you like.’
Freeman led the way towards her car. She could feel him walking too close to her. She moved to the side and fell back to walk beside him.
‘Nice suit,’ she said and opened the car door for him. ‘Court date?’
‘Job interview,’ he said and slid into the passenger seat.
‘Can I get you anything?’ Freeman asked as Lucas sat down on the hard plastic chair in the interview room. Her boss had warned her again to tread carefully. She promised she was only going to ask him the same things she’d ask any of Emma’s old acquaintances. When did you last see her, what was she wearing, who was she with? Nothing wrong with that.
Lucas looked around as if he’d never seen a police interview room before. ‘A cup of tea would be nice,’ he said, smiling at her.
Freeman ducked out of the room and waited a few seconds before going back inside. ‘Someone will bring one in for you,’ she said and pulled up a chair across from him. ‘So. I’m assuming you’ve heard about the body being found,’ she said and Lucas nodded. ‘You read the papers?’
‘Only the broadsheets,’ he said.
Freeman smiled. ‘Well, some of those papers have suggested it was Emma Thorley.’ He nodded again. ‘I bet that must’ve come as a shock.’
‘I don’t always believe what I read in the papers.’
Freeman waited. She wanted to knock the smug look off his face.
‘So it is her, then?’ Lucas said.
Freeman took a moment, looking him in the eye. There was something he was trying to hide. Guilt, maybe. Panic. She chose to continue. Do what she’d promised the boss. ‘When was the last time you saw Emma Thorley?’
Lucas stared at her for too long. His blue-green eyes made Freeman feel uncomfortable but she refused to look away first. He knew something and she wanted to know what it was.
Lucas shrugged. ‘Can’t remember. It was donkey’s years ago.’
‘You must have a vague idea. You were together, weren’t you?’
‘In a manner of speaking,’ he said.
‘What does that mean? You either were or you weren’t.’
‘We went out for a bit. Then we broke up. We weren’t exactly compatible.’
‘How so?’ Freeman asked.
Lucas shrugged again. ‘We were just kids. Kids always break up.’
‘You weren’t a kid. You were . . . what, six, seven years older than Emma?’
‘Are you accusing me of being a kiddy-fiddler, Detective Freeman?’ he said, leaning forward, the smile fading. ‘Because I might be many things, but that isn’t one of them.’
Freeman raised an eyebrow. ‘So if I can just go over a couple of things with you to try and establish a time frame. Emma ran away from home and stayed with you for a month when she was . . .’ Freeman paused and looked up, pretending to think. ‘Fifteen, right?’
Lucas never took his eyes off her but the smile had gone.
‘And then she went home again. Is that because you broke up?’ Lucas just nodded. His foot tapped beneath the desk. ‘And then she went missing again in April that same year. Do you know where she went then?’
Lucas made a face, the muscles in his jaw flexed. Finally he shook his head. ‘No idea,’ he said and looked away.
‘She came back again after that in May, according to her dad. Did you see her between then and the last time she disappeared? In July 1999?’
‘Maybe. Can’t really remember.’
‘Did you get back together?’
‘No,’ he said. ‘I was done with her by then.’
‘But you saw her?’
‘I can’t remember. It was years ago.’
‘Can you remember seeing her after July 1999?’
‘No.’
‘You’re sure about that? Even though you can’t remember other stuff from back then? You’re absolutely sure you never saw her after her dad reported her missing again in July?’
‘If she was missing, I wouldn’t have seen her, would I?’ Lucas said. Freeman waited. He was getting agitated. ‘And anyway, I moved around then so I couldn’t have seen her.’
This time Freeman sat forward. �
�Where to?’
Lucas sniffed. ‘London. For a bit.’
‘What for?’
‘I got some work there.’
‘Where? Doing what?’
Lucas looked up at the clock on the wall behind Freeman’s head. ‘I can’t remember,’ he said.
Freeman smiled. ‘Well, it was donkey’s years ago.’ Lucas looked down at her and folded his arms across his chest. ‘So you left shortly after Emma disappeared for the last time. Was it because life was too hard to bear without her? Must’ve been a hard break-up.’
‘Is that when she died? July?’
Freeman stared into his eyes, ignoring his question. He knew better than her when it’d happened. She could imagine a young girl like Emma falling for his charm, for his eyes. She could also imagine how he could change in a split second and how afraid she must’ve been. Lucas Yates put Emma into the ground. She knew it. He was just playing games.
They both waited out the silence. He broke it first with, ‘Where’s that cup of tea you promised?’
Freeman ignored him again. ‘You recognise this?’ she asked and slid a photo of the necklace towards him. Lucas stared at it, his fingers resting on the image.
‘It’s Emma’s,’ he said. ‘She wore it all the time. Was obsessed with it.’
Freeman took the picture back. Ray had already identified it as being Emma’s, given to her by her mum. She’d also shown him a photo of the tracksuit top. He’d paled at the sight of it. Not surprising as it was covered in blood. He’d been unsure if it belonged to his daughter, but then how many dads could identify their teenage daughter’s clothes?
‘What about this?’ she said and passed the picture of the tracksuit.
Lucas stared at her as she slid the photo towards him, a grin barely below the surface. But then he looked at the picture and something changed. Freeman sat forward as Lucas’s jaw clenched and he swallowed, moving his hand away. She hadn’t expected him to be squeamish.
‘You recognise it,’ she said. Not a question this time. Lucas ignored her, just looked into the photo. ‘Is it Emma’s?’
Lucas shoved the picture away. ‘Don’t know.’ His eyes flicked back down. ‘Could be.’
He was panicking. Maybe he thought the top wouldn’t have lasted this long, thought the worms would’ve eaten it. But here it was, covered in Emma’s blood. She was still waiting on the lab to confirm that was all there was on it.
Freeman took the picture back and slid a notepad towards him. ‘I think that’ll do for now,’ she said. ‘If you could just give me a contact number in case I think of anything else.’
She watched as he scribbled something down. Left-handed. Who’d have thought? She took the notebook back and checked there were enough digits. It was a landline. ‘No mobile?’ she asked.
‘Nope,’ he said and stood up. ‘You can get me at the bedsit. Speak to Mrs Heaney. Lovely woman.’
Freeman nodded and pocketed the piece of paper.
‘Well, thanks for your hospitality, Detective Freeman. Let’s do it again sometime.’ He pushed past her to the door.
As he walked away Freeman muttered, ‘Wanker,’ under her breath. She was now more certain than ever that Yates had killed Emma. She just prayed there was something solid to prove it after all this time. She went back up to her office and picked up the phone. She listened to the ringing and waited for the answer-phone to kick in. Again. She’d already left two messages.
‘Mr Swales, it’s DS Nicola Freeman again. Please could you call me back as soon as you get this message.’ She hung up. She’d already left all the information he needed.
It was probably a waste of time, but even if Ben Swales knew nothing about Emma’s death, maybe he could shed some more light on Lucas Yates.
Chapter 10
13 December 2010
Gardner was on his way out to find something slightly more edible than the canteen sandwiches when Lawton found him. He’d been avoiding her all day. He’d already heard several members of the team discussing a drink on Friday night to celebrate her birthday. It didn’t seem like Lawton’s sort of thing. But apparently her invite for a quiet drink had turned into a full-blown thing, thanks to Harrington.
To be honest he wouldn’t mind a quiet drink with Lawton. He liked her. He’d have no problem buying her a drink or two and then getting home in time to watch one of the many DVDs he had piled up. He kept telling himself he was going to finally watch the Three Colours trilogy but in reality he knew he’d end up watching The Dark Knight. But now that the quiet drink was a thing, he couldn’t be arsed. He’d only ever been to four work things in the whole time he’d been in Middlesbrough. Two retirement parties he’d felt obliged to attend. One Christmas party, which had been the worst night of his life that didn’t involve a dead body. And the surprise fortieth birthday party his team had thrown him for which he’d never forgiven them.
Lawton stopped in front of him, her hands shoved into her pockets, fringe falling over her eyes. Gardner thought about feigning some kind of emergency but he couldn’t do it.
‘I don’t know if you’ve heard,’ she said, her eyes on the dirty carpet, ‘but a few of us are going to go for a drink on Friday for my birthday if you want to come.’ She glanced at him and then looked past him. ‘No big deal. Just let me know if you fancy it.’
‘Let me get back to you,’ Gardner said. Lawton walked away and Gardner felt like he’d just kicked a puppy. If he wasn’t going to go, he was going to have to come up with a pretty good excuse.
As he made his way downstairs he wondered if perhaps he should go. Ease himself back into a social life. A few drinks with his colleagues. Talking shop ’til the drink took effect. How hard could it be?
He kept wondering about DS Freeman. If she knew about him; his past. She’d seemed fairly polite on the phone.
He knew it was completely irrational. He was never going to speak to her again. What did it matter what she thought of him? And anyway, what’d happened was in the past. It was history. Everyone had moved on. It was possible most of the officers he’d known weren’t even there any more. Freeman was new. Maybe no one had told her.
It’d been eleven years since it happened. Eleven years since he’d left the place and tried to move on. And most of the time he managed it. He knew deep down what he’d done was right. He knew that he hadn’t forced Wallace to behave the way he did, to do what he did. None of that was Gardner’s fault. He knew that. He believed that. But he knew what other people thought, he knew that whatever their opinions on Wallace, they all felt the same about Gardner. You did it for revenge. You got what you wanted.
Gardner knew that wasn’t true. He was just doing his job. His personal feelings for Wallace had had nothing to do with it. He’d been saying that to himself for a decade. But sometimes, usually at night when he couldn’t sleep, he wondered. A little nagging voice asking if he actually believed it. If there hadn’t been an element of revenge in his actions. Usually he ignored it because, if he was being honest, he didn’t want to think about the answer.
True, it had started with Annie’s affair with Stuart Wallace, but would he have done what he did if the affair hadn’t happened? Would his colleagues have reacted in the same way if the affair hadn’t happened? It was impossible to say.
In the end the affair had happened and then Wallace was dead.
Chapter 11
14 July 1999
Gardner walked in and almost tripped over a suitcase in the hallway, the cerise one he’d been embarrassed carrying around on their honeymoon.
He could hear her moving around upstairs. Drawers slamming, the wardrobe door banging against the wall, no doubt making even more of a dent in the paintwork. She didn’t even know he was there and she was still slamming things. She was all about the drama.
He knew he should go up and face the music but instead he walked through into the kitchen and poured himself a glass of water. There was a bottle of vodka on the worktop, holding a lot less than it had tw
o days ago, but he ignored it.
There were dishes in the sink. Looked like she’d got her appetite back. And nice of her to leave him the washing-up.
‘Michael.’
He hadn’t heard her come down the stairs. Hadn’t had time to put his game face on. Hadn’t had time to work out what his game face was.
‘I was worried about you,’ she said, leaning against the door frame, her red hair falling in front of her eyes. ‘Where’ve you been?’
Gardner ignored her. He didn’t want her to know he’d been staying in a crappy B&B. The thought of knocking on someone’s door and asking for refuge on their sofa-bed was too depressing. A single bed in a damp room was far more appealing.
‘You’re going, then?’ he said. Annie crossed her arms and sighed. ‘You’re not even going to bother talking about it? You don’t even care what I’ve got to say?’
‘I assumed you didn’t have anything to say, Michael. You ran away from it. I haven’t seen or heard from you for two days. What was I supposed to think?’
‘Oh, I don’t know, maybe that you told me you were cheating on me and I needed to let it sink in?’
‘You could’ve at least called me and told me that,’ Annie said and turned to walk away.
‘Wait a minute. I’m not the one in the wrong here. You’re the one fucking someone else.’
Annie shoved the cerise suitcase out of the way and stomped back upstairs. Gardner followed, dodging the luggage.
‘And if we’re talking about people running away from things, how about you announcing you’re seeing that prick and that’s it. End of conversation. No explanation or anything.’
Annie spun around, halfway up the stairs. ‘What do you need me to explain? I’d say it was pretty self-explanatory.’
‘Oh, sure. Fucking someone else needs no explanation at all. It was bound to happen about now. I must’ve forgotten to check the calendar.’
‘Fuck off, Michael,’ she said and ran up the rest of the stairs and into the bedroom.
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