Gardner knocked again and squinted through the sleet into the living room window. There was no one in.
He turned to leave and then pulled out his notebook. He scrawled his name and number and a note for Jenny to call him. The ink ran as soon as it hit the paper, making his name illegible. He screwed the note up. He didn’t want Jenny calling him anyway. It wasn’t his case. He found Freeman’s number in his phone, scribbled it down and then stopped, wondering what he’d want Freeman to do if their roles were reversed. Who knew what Taylor had to do with all this? Freeman had mentioned she was a junkie, had been in trouble with the police more than once. Maybe a note would make her skittish.
‘Fuck it,’ Gardner muttered as he ran back to the car, the sleet biting down on his face.
Lawton looked at him but said nothing, as always. Always trusting, never questioning him.
He’d had no doubt at the time that Emma Thorley would show up sooner or later like she always had done. But she hadn’t. And there had obviously been a good reason for it.
What if he’d tried harder? He’d spent five years searching for Abby Henshaw’s daughter. Why hadn’t he done the same for Emma? What if he’d found her back then and saved her father years of heartache? He knew he’d failed her, knew it was too late to make it right. All he could do was make sure it never happened again.
He found the slightly soggy note with Freeman’s number on and ran back out to the door, sliding the note through the letterbox. Freeman wanted him to find Jenny, get her to contact her. That’s what he’d done. If she could help find Emma’s killer, he’d done his part.
But now he needed to stop thinking about Blyth. About the past. He’d had the dream again the night before. He hadn’t had it in years. But there she was. Heather Wallace, with her red hair and freckles, asking why he’d killed her dad. Gardner blinked away the image of her face. What had become of her? Was she another lost girl?
‘What time on Friday?’ he said to Lawton, the words falling from his mouth before his brain changed its mind.
A smile spread across Lawton’s face before she caught herself and regained some professional impassivity. ‘About eight, sir,’ she said.
‘All right, excellent,’ Gardner said and Lawton smiled again.
Gardner started the car and opened the window a fraction, needing some fresh air. He had a feeling he’d live to regret this.
Chapter 37
30 April 1999
Emma sat on the narrow single bed in the tiny, magnolia-walled room. This had been her home for a week but it felt like a prison cell. She’d barely spoken to anyone since she’d arrived, since Ben had dropped her off and promised that Jasmine would take good care of her. But that was fine. Not many people in there were big on conversation. There were a lot of secrets under that roof. And now hers was one of them.
She’d gone to Ben when it finally became too much to deal with by herself. She knew that if she didn’t do something soon, that if Lucas kept hanging around, her secret would get out. So she’d gone to Ben and he’d found somewhere for her to go. A friend of his ran a women’s shelter and would let her stay for a while, as long as there was room. She also helped Emma organise an abortion. Went with her to doctor’s appointments, listened while Emma talked about how badly she needed to go through with it even though she felt terrible. Jasmine had heard it all before.
But it was Ben who went with her that morning. Ben whose hand she held as she went into the hospital. And Ben who’d brought her back again, promising her it’d be okay.
He’d already done so much for her. He’d been to see her dad, convinced him that she was okay, that she’d be back soon. She didn’t know how she’d ever repay him. Just another thing to feel guilty about.
Emma rolled onto her side and brought her knees up to her chest. The doctor had said this would probably happen. There’d be cramps and bleeding. She guessed that was her punishment. It didn’t seem that severe, considering.
Outside her room she could hear a muted conversation: two voices, one muffled by tears. The woman was scared for her son, scared in case her husband found them. Emma closed her eyes. She didn’t need to talk to the other women there to understand them. They were all the same in the end. They were frightened of someone they’d loved. Maybe still loved.
She knew that she couldn’t stay there forever. That someone would come and take her place and she’d have to go home. But as she lay there on the lumpy mattress, in the room chilled by ghosts, she wished she could stay there forever.
Chapter 38
15 December 2010
Freeman knocked at the door for the third time before walking back to the car, phone already ringing in her hand. She yawned as it continued to ring on the other end. She was tired even though she’d slept like the dead for a change. She hung up and wondered if she should be concerned about Ben Swales. His car wasn’t there but she was trying to be optimistic.
She’d been searching for anything on Ben, anything that’d suggest he was somehow involved in Emma’s death, but had found nothing. The man was a saint. Though that was as suspicious as anything. He had no criminal record. He’d never been questioned – other than after Emma disappeared. Not even so much as a parking fine, a speeding ticket. Nothing.
Freeman tried Ben once more and gave up, wondering if she could get local police to keep an eye on him. She couldn’t hang around Alnwick all day.
She called Alnwick police station and asked to be put through to DS Janet Williams. They’d worked together a few years back and got on well. Maybe she’d be open to doing a favour. After being on hold for a few minutes, Williams finally answered.
‘Well, well, well, if it isn’t Strawberry Shortcake,’ Williams said, and cackled down the phone.
All of a sudden Freeman wished she hadn’t bothered. She’d forgotten how annoying Williams could be. The woman came up with nicknames for everyone she met, usually based on the person’s appearance. Unfortunately at the time they’d worked together, Freeman’d had a bad dye job, red gone wrong. Mix this with her height, or lack thereof, and Williams was onto a winner.
‘Hi, Janet,’ she said. ‘How’s things?’
After Williams had covered all aspects of her life since the last time they’d seen each other, Freeman got to the point. She told her colleague about her case and how Ben Swales fitted in.
‘So, you think you could organise some eyes on him?’ Freeman asked.
Williams sighed. ‘We’re a little stretched. I could maybe swing by in a while. Check if he’s still around. I can try and get one of our newbies to watch the place, but I doubt it.’
‘Whatever you can do. Thanks, Janet.’
Freeman hung up and hoped that she wasn’t too late. That Swales hadn’t disappeared. Maybe she should stop being so bothered about him and think about herself. She’d been sick again this morning. She knew she had to do something but it was easier to just ignore it and hope it went away.
Freeman pulled out and headed back, hoping Gardner had had more luck with Jenny Taylor. Everywhere she went, Jenny Taylor kept coming up. She knew Emma, Lucas and Ben. And her gut was telling her that maybe this girl was the key.
Freeman stuffed the last piece of Mars Bar into her mouth and brushed the stray bits of chocolate off the file in front of her. It was well known in the station that if a report had some kind of food stain on it then it had probably been in her hands at some point. But right now she didn’t care.
There’d been no answer at Jenny Taylor’s house in Middlesbrough but she’d got Lloyd to work his magic and found an address for Jenny’s parents. Maybe they had a number.
Jenny’s parents lived in Morpeth – less than half an hour away. Freeman pulled up to their house and wondered if she should’ve just called. But it was too late. She’d come now. And the longer she was out doing this, the less she’d be sitting still, thinking.
The door opened and a woman answered. She was dressed in an unbelievably short skirt and vest top despite the weat
her. At first Freeman wondered if it was Jenny. But closer inspection revealed the woman was much older.
‘Yeah?’ the woman said.
‘I’m DS Freeman,’ she said, showing her ID. ‘Are you Angela Taylor?’
‘Angie,’ she said and stepped forward, arms wrapped around herself. Freeman couldn’t decide whether it was a defensive gesture or just that she was, understandably, freezing. ‘Why?’
‘It’s about your daughter, Jenny.’ Freeman saw Angie stiffen. From behind her a man appeared, hunched over slightly.
‘This is my husband, Malcolm,’ Angie said. ‘She’s here about Jenny,’ she said over her shoulder to her husband.
‘Oh God,’ Malcolm moaned.
‘Don’t worry, nothing’s happened. I was just wondering if you had a number for her. I need to speak to her regarding Emma Thorley, someone she used to know in Blyth.’
‘Blyth?’ Angie said.
‘Yes,’ Freeman replied, wishing they’d invite her in. ‘It’s going back a bit. About eleven years.’
‘Well, we wouldn’t know anything about that. Haven’t seen her since she was sixteen.’
Chapter 39
15 December 2010
Angie walked through into the living room and Freeman followed as Malcolm shuffled between them. As he got close she saw that he wasn’t much older than his wife, maybe mid-fifties, but whatever condition he was suffering from made him appear frail. Mrs Taylor, on the other hand, was fighting the ageing process with spades of make-up and inappropriate clothes.
Malcolm made it to a seat next to Angie and Freeman sat down opposite them.
‘So you haven’t seen Jenny for . . . twelve years?’ Freeman said, trying to recall how old Jenny was.
‘Almost thirteen,’ Malcolm said.
‘Can I ask what happened?’
Angie Taylor cleared her throat and looked at her husband. He sat with his head down.
‘She just buggered off one day. Never came back,’ Angie said and lit a cigarette. Freeman didn’t want to say anything but thought she might puke all over their shag pile carpet.
‘She was always a bit of a troublemaker,’ Angie went on, and Malcolm let out a breath that made Freeman turn her attention to him. ‘She was, Mal. You know she was. Always in trouble right from when she was a little girl.’
‘That’s our daughter you’re talking about. It’s no bloody wonder she left,’ Malcolm said.
Angie pursed her lips and looked back at Freeman. ‘She was expelled from school twice. She got into fights with other kids. Girls and boys. She never did well at school, she wasn’t the brightest kid—’
‘For God’s sake, Angie,’ Malcolm said.
‘Anyway,’ Angie said, looking pointedly at Malcolm, ‘she’d run away a few times before, always for a few days and then she’d be back. She’d make promises that she’d be good but she just couldn’t do it. It wasn’t in her nature. She started doing drugs when she was thirteen.’ Angie sat forward and stared at Freeman. ‘Thirteen. Can you imagine?’
Freeman said nothing. But she could imagine. She could imagine far worse because she’d seen it for herself. Darren had been younger when he started drinking.
‘She started lying. I mean she always told lies, but not like this. She stole from us. Her own parents. She took my credit card, ran it right up to the limit buying God knows what and then sold it all for drugs. She was shoplifting, sleeping with anyone who’d have her—’
‘Angie!’ Malcolm shouted and his wife looked at him, eyes wide as if he’d dare raise his voice to her.
Freeman took a breath and put her hands up to try and placate them. ‘I’m sorry,’ she said, ‘but when was her disappearance reported?’
Malcolm let out a bitter laugh that turned into a cough. Angie reached over and rubbed her husband’s back until he calmed down. When he was composed again he looked up at Freeman. ‘That’s the thing,’ he said. ‘We never reported her missing.’
Freeman’s eyebrows rose. She couldn’t help it. ‘You never reported your daughter missing?’
Malcolm looked at the floor again and Angie sucked in her cheeks and stared at the wall above Freeman’s head.
‘And when did she disappear?’
‘1997. May. We tried to help her, time and time again,’ Angie said. ‘We did. But she didn’t want help. All she wanted was money and drugs.’ Finally she looked Freeman in the eye. ‘Before she went for the last time she did something.’ Angie pulled a tissue from her handbag and wiped her nose. ‘I was at home one day. I’d come home from work with flu. I was in bed and I heard the door and then all these voices. Three or four of them, another one sat out in the car, waiting for them. I went downstairs and she was there with three boys. Or three men, I suppose. They were taking everything. The TV, the stereo, everything.
‘We didn’t have a lot. I don’t even know that they would’ve got much money for it but they were taking it anyway. I screamed at her to stop but she wouldn’t. Two of the boys pushed past me, carrying the TV out to a car. I knew one of them, his dad lived round the corner. Little bastard he was. Chris something.’
‘Christian Morton?’ Freeman asked.
‘Yeah. That’s him. His dad was a right one as well. Anyway, I told them I was calling the police and went into the kitchen to the phone. I could hear the other boy shouting, telling her to hurry up but she came in the kitchen after me. I picked up the phone and was about to dial when she had this knife in my face. My own daughter standing there, threatening me with a knife.’ Angie shook her head and Malcolm put his hand over hers.
‘I put the phone down. I was shaking so much but I begged her to put the knife down and go. I said she could have the TV, have whatever she wanted. And she just looked at me with such hatred. I’ve never seen anything like that before. The boy came back in and told her they were leaving so she stepped back and I thought that was it. But as the boy walked out she came forward again and pressed the knife into my face.’ Angie swept her hair back and turned towards Freeman. An inch long scar ran along Angie’s face, parallel to her ear. ‘She did this to me.’ Angie sat back and sucked in her cheeks again. ‘I didn’t want her back.’
Freeman frowned. ‘You didn’t report it to the police?’
Angie shook her head. ‘No. I thought it’d make things worse. And when she didn’t come back after a week I knew she was gone for good.’ Angie shrugged. ‘Maybe she thought I’d called the police and thought better of coming back. Or maybe she’d already decided to go and that was her final fuck you, Mother.’
Freeman cringed, thinking about the difficult relationship she had with her own mother. In the aftermath of Darren’s arrest, she’d barely spoken to her. Blamed her for everything that’d happened. And in some ways she was to blame. Freeman was the one who’d told the police where they could find him. But she hadn’t forced him to do what he did. And after a couple of years inside even her mum had to admit that maybe Freeman had done what was best for Darren. Got him the help he needed. It was only once he got out and things turned to shit again that her relationship with her mum soured once more. At the memorial service they held for him, her mum didn’t even look at her, never mind speak. But that was five years ago and in the intervening years Lorraine Freeman had softened slightly. Was willing to admit it wasn’t all her daughter’s fault.
‘We did look for her, eventually.’
Freeman glanced at Angie and from her expression she guessed that the search had been her husband’s idea. ‘Three years ago I was diagnosed with cancer,’ he said. ‘It was a difficult decision but I wanted to make amends, wanted to see her again. We hired this private detective. We figured it was a bit late to file a missing persons report with the police so we got this private eye type. He looked for a while but he didn’t find her. We thought she probably didn’t want to be found. We gave up after that.’
Chapter 40
20 May 1999
Emma watched as Ben drove away, leaving her on the doorstep, scared to go
inside her own home. He’d asked if she wanted him to go in with her but she’d said no. He’d done enough for her. She was on her own now.
Jasmine had told her the night before that she was really sorry but they needed the bed. A woman with a three-month-old baby was coming in. Emma had begged her to let her stay but it was no good. So sorry, Jasmine said. So she’d called Ben and he promised to pick her up in the morning. She’d cried all the way home, begged him to let her stay with him, or to find somewhere else to go. Hell, she would’ve settled for a lift to the bus station. Anything but go home.
But here she was. Home.
Someone told Ben he’d seen Lucas around with another girl. Maybe it meant Lucas had moved on. That he’d got bored of torturing her and had found another plaything. She felt bad for the girl, whoever she was. But she had to think of herself. As long as Lucas was out of her life, maybe things really would be okay.
Emma took a deep breath and opened the door. Her dad looked over his shoulder from his seat in the living room as if he were expecting someone to come home any time. She wondered if he was still expecting her mam to come in. She wondered if she was a disappointment.
‘Em?’ He jumped up and grabbed her, pulling her towards him. ‘You’re back.’
‘Hi, Dad,’ she said.
He stepped back and looked her over, a smile spreading across his face as if she’d just come back from a jolly holiday instead of disappearing again. ‘I wish you’d told me you were coming. I’d have got something in for tea.’
‘I didn’t know until last night,’ she said and stood there listening to the clock ticking. ‘I’m sorry, Dad.’
He just shook his head. ‘Don’t be silly. You’re back now. That’s all that matters.’ He walked out to the kitchen and started making two cups of tea. ‘Did Ben bring you? He’s a nice chap. I’m so glad you got him to come. I would’ve been so worried otherwise.’ He turned to her as the kettle boiled, suddenly sad. ‘You are going to stay this time, aren’t you?’
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