by Kit Tinsley
Anger flashed in Pearce’s dark eyes.
‘It’s my job to do the thinking, Constable,’ he said sharply. ‘It’s your job to do as I say, and if you want to keep that job you better start listening to me.’
Ben, watching from the sidelines, could see that Walton wanted to try and argue his point further, but he could see from the look on Pearce’s face that it would be a terrible idea. Walton nodded. Pearce turned to Booth, who was looking at him in disbelief.
‘Something on your mind, Booth?’ Pearce asked.
‘Yes, sir,’ she said. It was clear that she had far less fear of him than Walton. ‘You know that there is more to this than that.’
‘Do I?’ Pearce said. ‘It seems like a perfectly logical explanation to me.’
Booth shook her head in exasperation, pointing at the car door at Pearce’s side.
‘I can see that the car has been attacked from here,’ she said. ‘Look at all the dents and scratches on the door. That is not from a collision.’
‘Forensics will tell us for sure when they get a look at the car. There is no use us speculating, is there?’ Pearce said.
‘The missing man could be in trouble, sir.’
‘When he’s been missing for more than twenty-four hours we can start looking for him, or have you forgotten procedure completely, Detective Booth?’
Booth looked at him.
‘You can’t keep sweeping things under the carpet you know, sir?’
Pearce flushed with anger again, he turned and walked over to Booth. He took her arm and led her back towards the dark blue Audi. He looked over his shoulder to make sure that the uniformed men were out of earshot. What he didn’t know, though, was that one of Ben Selby’s many useful skills was that he was very competent at lip reading.
‘Listen carefully, Detective,’ Pearce said to Booth. ‘If I am trying to do anything, then it is damage limitation. You may not believe this, but I care about this town. If I’m playing my cards close to my chest I assure you it is for the safety of the people around here. Do I make myself clear?’
Booth looked resigned to the fact that it was an argument she could not win.
‘Yes, sir,’ she said.
Pearce smiled.
‘Good. Now go and get the car started.’
Booth nodded and headed over to the car. Pearce turned to the two officers and waved them over to him. Ben now had to get closer than he wanted to Pearce.
‘Keep up the good work, lads,’ Pearce said. ‘Get this car out of here A.S.A.P., then get the report on my desk as soon as you can.’
They nodded, and with that Pearce walked over and got into the now running car. Ben and Walton watched as the Audi drove off down the lane. When it was out of site, Walton turned to Ben shaking his head.
‘I can’t believe that he doesn’t want us to search the field,’ Walton said.
Ben shrugged.
‘It doesn’t surprise me, to be honest,’ Ben said. ‘I’m sure he’s up to something.’
Ben looked at his watch and then pulled out his mobile phone.
‘Look, I have to make a quick call, do you mind taking the rest of the photographs?’ he asked Walton.
‘No,’ Walton said. ‘I’m nearly done now anyway.’
Ben smiled at him and then wandered a little further up the road. He scrolled through the contacts in his phone until he found who he was looking for, Jason Flynn, and he dialed the number. He got Flynn’s voice mail.
‘Hi, Jason, It’s Ben. Call me back as soon as you can. I have some info for you. Your old pal Pearce is up to something again.’
Ben slipped the phone back into his pocket and walked back to his colleague.
Karl packed as fast as he could. It was not that difficult to do; his entry level position at the firm didn’t pay all that well, and his single room home in the countries capital sucked most of his monthly income nearly dry. He owned three suits, which he rotated every three days at work. Once a month he would have all three dry cleaned, when he could no longer get away with spraying them with aftershave.
His casual clothes were limited to a few pairs of jeans and week’s worth of T-shirts. He had no idea how long he was going to be away. His mother had sounded desperate when she called him back. She had not needed to call the police; they had contacted her. Phil’s car had been found abandoned. There was no sign of his brother. Karl guessed that Phil would turn up sometime that evening, full of embarrassment at the situation he had created, and that would be that.
Karl packed enough underwear for a week, just in case, and enough clean clothes for a couple of days. His mother would wash them if he needed to stay longer. He doubted he would; he figured he would probably be on the first train back the following day. After all, rural Lincolnshire was not the kind of place where people just disappeared, unless they wanted to, of course, but Phil had no reason he could think of to want to vanish off the face of the Earth. He was too damn considerate for that.
He locked up his room and headed for the tube that would get him from Wapping to King’s Cross. Mr Poole had not been impressed when he told him he had to leave urgently and that he was unsure when he would return. He hoped he would have a job to come back to.
‘This is a very busy time for us,’ Mr Poole had said, looking down his nose at Karl. ‘A lot of departments are counting on the work you do.’
‘I appreciate that,’ Karl had responded. ‘Surely you can see the position I’m in, though.’
‘Of course, your family must always come first,’ Mr Pool said, ‘but is it really that serious?’
Karl’s temper began to flare. He had always found Mr Poole to be quite an obnoxious human being, but had always managed to suppress his feelings for the sake of his career. Now, though, he was being tested to the limit.
‘My brother is missing,’ he said, his tone firm but trying to hide the anger. ‘My mother is going to pieces, and I need to go home.’
Mr Poole regarded him with some disdain. Poole was typical upper middle class. He had no particular talent in marketing that Karl had ever seen. However, he had attended the right public school to get him a well-paid job managing a department full of people who were much better at the job than he was. Poole did not like it that a country bumpkin, as he undoubtedly saw Karl, was speaking to him in such a manner. Karl would normally have backed down at this point, let the pathetic little man have his power trip, but not this time.
‘To be honest with you, Mr Poole,’ Karl said, ‘I’m going whether you like it or not. I just thought it would be polite to let you know.’
Poole had continued to stare at him for a long time, his face unchanging, but his eyes revealing what he was thinking. At first they had flashed with anger at the way Karl had spoken to him; Karl thought for a second that he would be dismissed on the spot. Then the anger gave way to something else, contemplation and concern. He was thinking that Karl would probably try and sue for wrongful dismissal and that he would probably win. Then the final emotion came into Poole’s eyes: defeat.
‘Alright,’ he said, dropping his gaze from Karl. ‘Keep me informed of when you’ll be back.’
That had been the end of the meeting, and the end of Karl’s working day. Now he was on his way, his meagre possessions in a duffle bag over his shoulder. He headed east on Cinnamon Street, and then crossed the road and headed south on Wapping Dock Street;. This brought him to the high street directly opposite Wapping tube station. As always the city was awash with life. People from all walks of life swarmed the streets, each of the wrapped up in their own existence. Not one of them was interested in Karl, they didn’t even notice him. As the street lights flickered into life, and the heavens opened, Karl felt like little more than a ghost in the city.
When he eventually got to King’s Cross, soaking wet, he caught a GNER train heading to Peterborough; from there he would get a train to Darton. As the train pulled out of King’s Cross, the rain had stopped and evening had started to descend. The sky had darke
ned to a royal blue, and the bright lights of London had begun to shine. Karl looked at his own reflection in the window of the train; he looked superimposed over the cityscape. He knew that after four years in this place, he still did not belong there, but as the train headed north towards his home town, he knew he didn’t belong there either.
The offices of The Darton Chronicle were compact to say the least, actually small was a better description. They did not need much room, the paper only had four full time employees, the editor, two reporters and a receptionist. None of the printing was done in house. It was all sent to a firm in Lincoln who actually produced the papers for them. They had several part time reporters and a couple of freelance photographers, but none of these needed desk space; they worked mainly from home. The small room at the front contained copies of the paper, leaflets about local places of interest and events, and a desk for the receptionist, Linda Blake.
The room behind was small and had three desks, one for each of the full time reporters, and one for overflow. Then right at the back was the editor’s office, though it was so small that most of them believed it had been a broom cupboard when the office had been a shop.
CHAPTER FOUR
Jason Flynn sat at his desk staring at a mass of papers strewn across his desk in no particular order. He was the senior of the two reporters. He stretched in his chair, arching his back and yawning. He was tired; he was overworked. Bob Weston, the editor, had been off sick for the past three weeks, and in his absence Jason had been doing all of the editorial duties as well as his own job. That week, though, had been Hell on Earth; his fellow reporter, Laura Mayburn, had also gone off sick. Now Jason was stuck writing and editing the whole paper pretty much on his own.
Linda walked in from the front. She was a short, plump woman in her early forties. She gave off an air of friendliness that meant people would often open up to her.
‘I’m going to head off home now,’ she said from the doorway.
Jason jumped at the sound of her voice, he had not noticed her standing there. He smiled at her wearily.
‘Okay,’ he said. ‘Thanks, Linda. I’ll lock up when I’m done.’
She looked at him with concern.
‘You look so tired lately,’ she said.
‘Well, doing my job, the editor’s and now Laura’s is like having three full time jobs. There just aren’t enough hours in the day.’
‘You expect too much of yourself,’ she said. ‘No one would blame you for taking a day off. We only publish once a week.’
Jason shook his head, he knew if he stopped he would probably never start again. He took a sip from the mug on his desk and grimaced as the coffee entered his mouth.
‘Cold?’ Linda asked, smiling.
Jason nodded, spitting it back into the mug.
‘I’m not surprised. I did make it for you two hours ago,’ she said shaking her head.
Jason laughed a little
‘Sorry, I forgot about it,’ he said. ‘I’m still working on this story of Altman’s.’
Linda frowned at him. She loved him like a little brother, but hated the way that he got these ideas stuck in his head. It had been the same when he had gone after Pearce. He had been warned off by so many people, but he just kept chasing until he found what he was looking for. Yes, he’d been right that time, but it had nearly caused him a nervous breakdown trying to prove it. She didn’t want to see him in that state again, especially not with how stressed he was from all the extra work. How could someone as intelligent and down to Earth as Jason believe a nut job like Altman anyway?
‘You know that man is a few sandwiches short of a picnic, don’t you?’ she said. ‘His theory is nothing more than a fairytale.’
‘Maybe,’ Jason said shrugging. ‘That’s certainly what I thought at first, but just lately...’ He trailed off, either not knowing how to or not wanting to finish his sentence.
‘You’re not actually starting to believe him are you?’ Linda asked, the concern evident in her voice.
‘Perhaps,’ Jason replied. ‘I mean there are so many cases all over the country, and there is definitely something going on around here. Pearce is hiding something, I’m sure of that.’
Linda rolled her eyes. There it was, the reason this whole thing had become his new obsession, it was another way to go after Pearce. She didn’t understand what Jason’s vendetta against the policeman was all about, especially with their personal connection, but she suspected it went way back.
‘Be careful with Inspector Pearce,’ she said. ‘You’ve crossed him before, and he hasn’t forgiven you for that.’
‘Don’t worry about me, Linda,’ he said. ‘I can handle Jon Pearce.’
They exchanged a knowing smile. They both laughed. It felt good to Jason to laugh. That was why he adored Linda so much, no matter how stressed he was, or how down, she could always manage to raise a smile out of him.
‘Do you want me to make you a fresh coffee before I go?’ she asked.
Jason shook his head.
‘No, it’s fine,’ he said. ‘Get home to your husband before he thinks we’re having an affair.’
This made Linda laugh out loud.
‘I think Joe would be pleased to palm me off on someone else after all these years,’ she said with a smile; then she looked concerned once more. ‘Try not to stay too late.’
Jason looked up at her, flashing those big brown eyes of his that she was sure would melt the heart of any girl he ever tried to charm.
‘I won’t,’ he said. ‘I just want to finish this up and then I’ll go home. I promise.’
She looked at him, she didn’t believe him for a second. Twice that week she had found him asleep at his desk when she had opened up in the morning. However, she knew that there was no arguing with him when he was working on one of his quests. She bid him goodnight and left. Jason looked at his watch. Pearce was bound to be leaving the station soon. This was his chance to ask a few question.
Pearce left the police station, looking as sour as he always did. He headed towards his car, but Jason was waiting for him and approached before he reached it.
‘Any chance of an interview D.C.I. Pearce?’ he said, making the policeman look around. His face fell even further south when he saw Jason stood behind him. The loathing in his eyes was barely concealed.
‘We’re not making a statement to the press today Flynn,’ Pearce said and then turned back towards his car. Jason stepped around him, pulling the dictaphone from his pocket and sticking it in Pearce’s face. He knew that the dictaphone was unnecessary, but he did enjoy aggravating Pearce.
‘So you have nothing to say about this missing person case? You’re not considering this to be foul play?’ Jason asked.
‘No, Flynn,’ Pearce said trying to carry on walking. ‘We’re not. In fact, Mr Morgan hasn’t been gone for twenty-four hours, so we can’t even treat it as a missing persons case yet. The only reason we’re investigating it at all is because two officers found his car at the side of the road.’
‘Let’s talk about the car. I heard it was damaged, is that true?’ Jason said, walking backwards to keep the dictaphone right in Pearce’s face.
‘Yes, there’s the possibility that it was involved in a collision, but we have no proof of that as yet.’ Pearce said, his mouth tense as he became more annoyed with Jason.
Jason laughed.
‘My source said it looked more like the car had been caved in with a sledgehammer,’ Jason said; then he smiled knowingly at the detective. ‘Come on, Jon, you can tell me.’
Jason stopped as his back hit Pearce’s car. The detective pushed the reporter to one side.
‘I’m not at liberty to discuss it,’ he said as he placed his briefcase on his backseat. Jason pushed the dictaphone under his nose again as Pearce made for the driver’s door.
‘Fifth mysterious disappearance this year,’ Jason said. ‘Doesn’t that strike you as strange, Inspector?’
Pearce swept the dictaphone awa
y from his face, his eyes full of anger. He opened the car door, but then turned back to face Jason.
‘Look, Flynn,’ he said, his anger now evident in his voice. ‘I don’t have time for this. I’m not at liberty to discuss this case, or any other with you. Do you understand?’
Jason switched off the dictaphone and returned it to the pocket of his overcoat.
‘Perfectly,’ he said.
‘Good,’ Pearce replied. ‘I keep wondering to myself why you still use the name Flynn? I mean your mother went back to her maiden name years ago.’ Pearce smiled when he saw that the comment had been barbed enough to cut Flynn.
‘Flynn was my father’s name,’ Jason said coolly. ‘Surely you, of all people, remember him.’
Pearce nodded.
‘It was a shame what happened, but he was a bad apple. I’m still convinced of that.’
The detective got in his car and Jason started to walk away, kicking himself for not challenging Pearce more. He knew firsthand what a violent temper the detective had, and that it was his weakness. In the middle of his rages, he would often reveal more than he should. Jason turned back to Pearce, who was just about to shut his car door.
‘You won’t get away with it, you know?’ Jason shouted back at him.
Pearce stared at him with his cold dark eyes, and Jason could see the anger boiling inside him.
‘What did you say?’ Pearce asked through gritted teeth.
‘I said you won’t get away with it. Whatever it is you’re covering up, the truth will out, as they say.’
Pearce slowly got out of his car and walked towards Jason. His body looked stiff, like all of his muscles were contracting ready for attack.
‘Back off, Flynn,’ he said coolly as he reached Jason.
‘Freedom of the press, Inspector. The people have a right to know about the behaviour of the police force their taxes are funding. Or had you forgotten that?’ Jason said.
‘I’m warning you to stay away from this for your own good,’ Pearce said, and then he grabbed Jason’s arm and squeezed hard enough to make the reporter squirm in pain. ‘Are we clear?’
