by Steven Dunne
‘What time was that?’
‘About nine.’
‘What was his mood?’
‘Excited, nervous. About the party, I assumed.’
‘You didn’t see him after that?’
‘No. I heard him come in very late. He just ran up to his room and slammed the door.’
‘So you wouldn’t know what he was wearing last.’
‘Not for sure, but he only ever wore jeans and a T-shirt,’ replied Alice. ‘And a blue G-STAR hoodie to go out in. That’s missing.’
‘What about next-door neighbours?’ asked Brook.
‘Neighbours?’
‘They may have seen something the night of the party.’
‘Well, there’s Colin and Leanne, this way,’ Alice said, pointing. ‘They’re away. And the Stevensons, the other side. They were here. They’ve got two young children.’
Alice Kennedy stood by the door as Brook and Noble searched the small bedroom. It was surprisingly tidy, even the bed was made. They found nothing of interest, with no sign of Kyle’s secret passport, and left the laptop for the Scene of Crime Officers to dust for prints before possible removal. No kids used diaries in 2011. Kyle’s entire life would be in his phone, his emails or on a social networking site like Facebook or Bebo.
‘Is his room normally this tidy?’ asked Brook. Mrs Kennedy shook her head. ‘And you say you touched nothing except to pick up the mobile and the leaflet.’
‘Correct.’
Noble produced the mobile, inside its clear bag. ‘Where were they?’
‘On the bed, the phone on top of the leaflet.’
Noble took the leaflet from Brook and arranged the two artefacts on the bed. ‘Like so?’
Alice Kennedy nodded.
‘What about the aftermath of the party?’
‘Nothing out of place when we got home. No mess, no stains, no washing up in the sink, no empties. As if . . .’ She bowed her head.
‘As if he was getting his affairs in order,’ said Brook.
‘Only later did we realise it was odd,’ she added. ‘Oh, there was one thing. Blood.’
‘Blood?’ said Brook. ‘Is this the sticking plaster?’
‘Yes, it was in the rubbish. It was just a tiny bit, soaked into a small plaster. There was a bit of linen bandage as well. I assume one of them cut themselves.’
‘Did the other officer take the plaster?’ asked Brook, looking from Noble to Mrs Kennedy.
‘No, I threw it out, though the bag should still be in the dustbin. They haven’t collected yet.’
‘Sergeant Noble will need to dig it out, with your permission.’ Brook declined to look at his DS.
‘Of course. It couldn’t have been more than a graze,’ she said, though her face now betrayed unease at Brook’s interest.
Brook gestured around the room. ‘Have you checked his wardrobe and drawers?’
‘Yes.’
‘Anything obviously missing?’ asked Noble.
‘He often went out with a small knapsack which he kept on the back of the kitchen door. It’s gone. His MP3 would’ve been in there. Maybe some jeans and underwear, his G-Star hoodie. That’s it.’
Brook was fairly certain that an MP3 was some type of modern Walkman. The detectives asked a few more questions then let Alice return to the lounge.
When she was out of earshot, Noble said, ‘There’s no SIM card in the phone.’
‘That’ll make things a bit harder. Kyle obviously doesn’t want to be found.’
‘You think that’s what it is?’
‘We’ll see.’ Brook stood in the middle of the room looking at the posters on the walls. ‘Kyle had quite a thing for The Smiths – and Morrissey in particular. Nobody else gets a look-in.’
Noble turned to him with a mocking grin. ‘That’s groovy, daddio.’
‘Yeah, all right John, I’m not dead yet. And it’s not as though you’re the right side of thirty. Besides, this is a lot nearer my youth than it is Kyle’s or yours. You may not know it but Morrissey’s a gay icon – tells us a bit more about Kyle.’
‘That he likes gay icons,’ chipped in Noble.
‘That he thinks for himself and doesn’t just follow the herd. He’s different enough to choose what he likes rather than what’s in vogue.’ Brook sauntered to the window to look out over the road. He stopped and peered out into the gloom, his gaze held by a young man standing beneath a streetlight on the pavement outside. He was tall and powerfully built and wore a sweatshirt, baggy shorts down to his knees and chunky training shoes. Steam rose from him as he took an ostentatious breather, hands on knees. But in spite of this, Brook was convinced the young man was watching the house, looking directly up at him, framed in the light of Kyle’s bedroom window. A moment later, the young man took a deep breath and turned to power away up the street.
Brook looked at his watch. ‘Have we got DNA?’
‘Toothbrush. The others too.’
‘I’ve seen enough,’ Brook decided. ‘Get a copy of Kyle’s passport application sent over. We ought to find out who endorsed his likeness on the photograph. Maybe we’re looking for an older man.’
‘A gay lover.’ Noble nodded. ‘But why hide it from his mum? It’s not illegal.’
‘Neither is masturbation but it’s not something you would want your parents to know about, John. Especially if Alice knew who it was.’
‘Somebody who’d groomed Kyle for a few years, you mean. A paedo neighbour maybe?’
Brook sighed but didn’t rise to the bait. ‘Possible. Check the SO Register tomorrow. See if it throws up a local name. Adele Watson and Becky Blake have passports, you said?’
‘Their parents said so.’
‘Check when they applied for them. If it was the same time as Kyle, we may be able to put this thing to bed.’
Brook gazed out into the blackness. The back of the Kennedy house overlooked fields attached to one of Derby College’s small suburban sites. Like many such under-used facilities, part of the land had been sold to build new houses, and Brook could see the twinkling lights of new homes half a mile away. Another path passed the bottom of the garden and stretched out into the dark.
‘Got it,’ panted Noble, clutching a black bin bag.
‘Where does that path behind the house go?’
‘It leads up to the back of the college and then round to the new housing estate.’
‘You’ve had uniform take a look, I assume?’
‘Not the full monty, but yes. Why?’
‘And the fields?’
‘They’re shared by Murray Park School and the college,’ said Noble. ‘It’s a big area.’
‘It’s also dark and empty, John. They all lived close and walked to the party so, if Kyle and his friends wanted to disappear and no one saw them leave the house at the front, maybe they just walked away across the fields.’
‘Charlton’s going to love us finger-tipping that space,’ said Noble, nodding at the darkness.
‘We’re not at that stage yet. We do the canvass, bins and grates, and see where we are.’
Twelve
‘MR STEVENSON, I’M DI BROOK, this is DS Noble. We’ve come from next door.’
The man opened the door wider but turned round when he heard whispering behind him. ‘Bed, you two,’ he said firmly to the two curious infants poking their heads round the inner door. They scurried up the stairs, giggling.
Stevenson stepped outside and closed the front door behind him. ‘How’s Alice holding up? It must be awful. Any news?’
‘We’re still making enquiries and we were wondering if you noticed anything unusual last Friday night.’
‘Honestly, no. Alice mentioned Kyle might be having a party but we forgot all about it, it was so quiet.’
‘So you didn’t see any guests arriving, for instance?’ asked Noble.
‘I saw one of the girls arrive. She had dark, mid-length hair and dark eyes. Very pretty. About half eight that would have been.’
‘Walking?’ Stevenson nodded. ‘How was she dressed?’
‘Jeans and a hoodie. Trainers, I think. Oh, and she had a small rucksack.’
‘Not exactly party clothes,’ observed Brook.
‘I suppose not.’
Noble finished making a note. ‘No one else?’
‘No one.’
‘What about leaving?’
‘No. We’d be in bed by then, I guess, but we didn’t hear a commotion or anything.’
‘No cars or taxis idling outside the house?’
‘Not that I heard.’
‘No loud conversations?’ Again Stevenson shook his head. Brook turned to leave. ‘Thanks.’
Mr Stevenson raised a finger. ‘There was one thing a bit odd. It may be nothing.’
‘Go on.’
‘It was around half nine. I thought I saw another of Kyle’s friends arriving for the party, but I’m not sure – a young lad.’
‘Can you describe him?’
‘Tall, well-built and good-looking. I don’t know him but I’ve seen him around.’
‘You got a good look then.’
‘Well, it was hard not to. He stood outside under the streetlamp for a good five minutes, maybe more.’
‘Doing what?’
‘Nothing,’ said Mr Stevenson. ‘I got the impression he was deciding.’
‘Deciding what?’
‘Whether to go into the party.’
‘Did you see him go in?’
‘Well no, that was the odd thing. I saw him disappear, presumably to go into the house. But a few minutes later, I saw him walking away.’
‘Maybe he was just calling in?’ said Brook.
‘Maybe.’ Stevenson shrugged. ‘But the odd thing was, he had a present in his hand, wrapped up. I saw it quite clearly.’
‘Not unusual for a birthday party,’ observed Noble. ‘He could’ve been dropping it off.’
‘That’s just it. He still had it when he was walking away.’
Brook and Noble stared down at the mattress. The pink mobile phone and the leaflet sat in the middle of the fluffy pink duvet. The phone was switched off.
‘That’s how it was,’ said Mrs Blake from the bedroom doorway. ‘We haven’t touched a thing.’
Brook and Noble dropped the phone and the Deity leaflet into evidence bags and finished their cursory examination of the room.
‘Did you check her calls?’ asked Noble, brandishing the bag.
‘We didn’t touch the phone,’ said Fred Blake, making the effort to speak.
‘No point anyway. Madam wouldn’t tell us the SIM code,’ explained Mrs Blake with a hint of resentment.
‘What about her laptop?’
‘It’s in the case at the side of the bureau.’
‘Have you tried checking her emails?’ Brook asked. ‘Okay – you don’t know the password.’
‘Please take the laptop if it’ll help,’ Fred said.
‘We will.’
Brook glanced at the make-up bureau with its halo of naked light bulbs. ‘Any clothes or luggage missing?’
‘I wouldn’t know about that. It’s hard to keep up with madam’s wardrobe.’ Mrs Blake looked to her stricken husband who simply stared, ashen-faced, into the distance. ‘Fred? Anything missing?’
Fred Blake continued to stare until he became aware that his attention was needed, then he processed the question and looked up at Brook. ‘She had a small leather Louis Vuitton rucksack that she took everywhere. There may be a couple of T-shirts missing from her drawers. Some underwear too.’
‘What about her passport?’
‘Her passport?’
‘You told us before she had a passport,’ said Noble.
Fred nodded. ‘Becky wanted to go to Miami last year.’
‘So that’s where we went,’ put in Mrs Blake. Her husband shot her a spiteful glance.
‘So she’d had it a while,’ Brook said.
‘Over a year.’
‘Is it still here?’
‘She keeps it in there.’ Fred pointed to a drawer of her make-up bureau which Noble searched. The passport was missing. Fred was suddenly excited. ‘That’s good, isn’t it? She may have been planning to go abroad.’
‘She might,’ agreed Brook.
‘When was the last time you both saw Becky?’ asked Noble.
‘Last Friday,’ said Blake hesitantly. He looked at his wife who was putting a cigarette in her mouth. ‘Christy?’
‘Sounds about right,’ she replied with a shrug, rummaging for a lighter. ‘Before she went to the party at the gay boy’s house.’
‘His name’s Kyle,’ put in Blake, a pained expression on his face. ‘He’s a nice lad.’
‘How did she seem?’ asked Brook.
Fred Blake frowned at his wife as she lit up. ‘You shouldn’t smoke in here. You know how Becky hates it.’ Fred looked away as Christy exhaled, long and slow, into the bedroom.
‘Quiet, now you mention it,’ she said. ‘For her.’
‘And did she say anything which struck you as odd?’
‘Not to me.’ Christy turned to Fred, who shook his head.
‘What about money?’ asked Brook. ‘Did she have her own bank account?’
‘No need,’ said Christy.
‘Chris-ty,’ muttered Fred.
‘She was strictly a cash only girl, and with an ATM for a father she always had more than she needed. Didn’t she, darling?’ Her husband narrowed his eyes at her.
‘Did she ask for any money that Friday?’
‘Ask and ye shall receive,’ sneered Christy. ‘Whatever she wanted.’
‘For God’s sake, woman!’ spat Fred. ‘Becky could be hurt or even . . .’ His head disappeared into a massaging hand. ‘She didn’t ask for money on Friday. She had enough for a taxi home but it’s not like she was going to a bar in town.’
‘What was she wearing?’ asked Brook.
‘Yeah, that was a bit weird, come to think of it,’ said Christy. ‘She went out in jeans and a sweatshirt.’
‘Colours?’
‘Black jeans and purple sweatshirt,’ said Fred.
‘And why was that weird?’ asked Brook.
‘Most weekends she went out looking like a prostitute,’ said Christy. Fred turned away, his fists and teeth clenching. ‘Short skirt. Tits you could see from space.’
Fred Blake wheeled round, a sudden inspiration brightening his countenance. ‘Maybe she was dressed practical. For a journey, like.’
Brook nodded. ‘It’s possible. Had she talked about wanting to get away?’
‘No. Like we told the other officer, she was happy,’ said Fred softly. ‘She’s never gone off before. Not without ringing us. Why would she leave her phone?’
‘It’s unusual,’ agreed Brook.
‘It’s unheard of.’ Christy laughed bitterly. ‘The fuss she kicked up to get it.’
‘Did she leave on foot?’
Fred nodded this time. ‘She often walked. It was good for her muscle tone.’
‘It’s Wednesday now,’ observed Brook. ‘You last saw her on Friday, but only reported her missing yesterday morning.’
‘When we found out Kyle Kennedy was missing. It was his party.’
‘They were good friends?’
‘I didn’t think so,’ said Fred. ‘Kyle was . . .’
‘A homo,’ snorted Christy. ‘But girls these days don’t mind that, do they?’ She smiled at Brook. ‘They’re not a threat.’
‘I don’t think she was looking forward to going,’ continued Fred. ‘But her mate Fern was away.’
‘Mate, my arse.’ Christy laughed. ‘That dopey cow is just another one of her worshippers. Like you, fawning all over her night and day.’
Fred Blake spun round on his wife. ‘Becky’s missing, for God’s sake, woman! Give it a rest.’
‘Is she fuck. She’s swanning off somewhere on our hardearned cash.’
‘My hard-earned cash.’
‘Is that why you didn’
t report her missing until yesterday?’ interrupted Brook.
The warring parents fell silent. Finally Fred said reluctantly, ‘Christy may be right.’
‘Halle-fucking-lujah.’
‘We thought she might have gone away. She’s eighteen, very mature, very certain of herself. She’s got a key and comes and goes as she pleases.’
‘So you thought she was staying with friends,’ said Noble.
Fred shrugged. ‘We’d still think that, if it wasn’t for the phone. She was never off it. Texting every minute of the day.’
‘To a boyfriend maybe?’
‘Sometimes.’
‘Anyone special?’
‘No chance. She was the special one. They were queuing round the block for her. Not that my Becky is going to get bogged down with one of the local deadbeats and start churning out benefit bums. She has big plans.’
‘Such as?’
‘She’s going to be famous.’ He grinned suddenly, deflected from his loss. ‘A Supermodel. That’s why she didn’t mess around with drink and drugs. It was bad for her skin. Always telling you off for smoking round the house, wasn’t she?’ he said to his wife, who deliberately blew cigarette smoke in his face.
‘So she had nothing she needed to run away from.’
‘Absolutely not.’ Fred rummaged in his pocket and unfolded a piece of paper. ‘Here. She got this letter last week from Models Select.’
‘Haven’t you framed it yet?’ jeered Christy.
Brook took the letter and examined it. The heading was basic, the text brief and to the point.
Dear Becky,
I am pleased to tell you that we are able to offer you a place at our modelling agency, and would be grateful if you could contact us to arrange a meeting as soon as possible.
Yours sincerly
There was an illegible signature but no name typed. Brook looked at the top of the page. The address was 222 Kings Road, London. There was no email address, just a contact telephone number. Brook pulled out his mobile and keyed in the number before handing the letter to Noble.
‘See? She’s known since she was ten that she was special. And she was right. When she’s got her A-levels, she’s out of here and on her way to fame and fortune. She even took her portfolio off the walls to take to London.’ He turned to Brook. ‘Here, you think she might have already gone to London? Decided to pack in her studies?’
