‘Aye, well, I wouldn’t wish that on anyone, even him. The police asked me all about it at the time like.’
‘They asked you about her?’
‘Yes, but they asked everybody,’ he seemed eager to dispel any misunderstanding, ‘and I saw her, didn’t I? A couple of days before she disappeared.’
‘Where was that?’
‘Here,’ answered the man. ‘You never see young lasses on the allotment, so I noticed her.’
‘Was she up there long?’
‘That’s exactly what the police asked me. I don’t know but I was probably having my scran,’ the man told him. ‘My wife always does me a snap tin so I don’t have to come back.’
Tom realised he was talking to a former miner as soon as he mentioned his snap tin, which was a sturdy lunch box made of metal that could be taken down the pit. ‘So Sandra Jarvis could have walked back down while you were having your butties.’
‘I eat them over there.’ He jerked his head towards the back of a large, crudely constructed, rickety wooden hut some way from the two of them. ‘Got myself a chair and table and I have my tea in a flask,’ he said with some pride.
‘You just need a bed and you’d never have to leave.’
‘Aye, right enough.’ He clearly enjoyed that idea.
‘Was that all the police asked you?’
He nodded. ‘More or less. They wanted to know whether I’d seen or heard anything else.’
‘And?’
‘Well, I didn’t see anything from down here and I heard nowt bar a bit of shouting.’
‘You heard shouting?’
‘It was only a bit of a row. You hear worse coming from the houses down yonder.’
‘So who was doing the rowing?’ asked Tom.
‘Him and her.’
‘Frank and Sandra?’
‘I wasn’t able to make out the words but they were having a barney of some sort.’ And he sniffed.
‘No idea what it was about then?’
‘Do I look like a mind-reader?’ he asked. ‘Since she’s a teenager and he’s her old man I’d say he was trying to tell her what to do and she was giving him a load of lip because she wanted to do the opposite. Isn’t that the way it goes?’
‘I don’t know,’ admitted Tom.
‘Me neither,’ admitted the man. ‘Got no kids but that’s what I hear.’
‘And you never saw her come back down again?’
He laughed. ‘No, but I don’t think he did her in, do you? The police told me she’s been seen around since.’
‘She got on a train to London a couple of days later,’ confirmed Tom.
‘There you go then.’
‘Thanks, Mr …?’
‘Don’t you Mr me,’ warned the old man and he straightened then puffed out his chest. ‘I’m not one of the bosses. The name’s Harry.’
‘Then I’ll see you around, Harry.’
‘Not if I see thee first,’ laughed Harry and he went back to his digging.
Jarvis was sitting outside his own hut, staring off into space, when Tom reached his plot of land. He was easily recognisable from all of his local TV appearances. Jarvis spotted the younger man and watched with interest as he ascended the hill.
‘Quite a spot you’ve got here,’ said Tom by way of introduction. ‘I’m Tom Carney. I understand you wanted to see me.’
‘Thanks for coming, Tom.’ His handshake was firm and his smile broad, as Tom would have expected from a politician. ‘I was hoping you would.’
‘So was DCI Kane,’ replied Tom, ‘apparently.’
‘Aye, well, we go back a long way. He told me all about you.’
‘And you still wanted to meet me?’
‘Yes, I did,’ the councillor laughed. ‘I suppose I should start by asking you what you know about me, or at least what you think you know.’
Tom shrugged. ‘You’re a politician, you’ve been active in local government these past twenty years and up until relatively recently you were the leader of the city council,’ he said, ‘but you gave that up.’
‘To search for my daughter, yes,’ he agreed. ‘Our mutual friend DCI Kane mentioned you once. It was something about the case of a missing girl you helped him with.’
‘Michelle Summers.’
Jarvis nodded.
‘That was a very unusual case and I don’t see how it could possibly relate to the disappearance of your daughter.’
‘It doesn’t – but you sounded like a resourceful man who might be able to help someone in dire need, and I am that someone.’
‘What exactly did the DCI tell you about me?’
Jarvis took a moment to answer. ‘He told me you were a journalist who thought like a copper but had more freedom to investigate things than a police officer does. He said you were clever and you sometimes saw things other people missed. In short, he rates you highly.’
‘That doesn’t sound like Kane,’ said Tom, and the councillor sighed.
‘He also said you were a bit of an arsehole. There, I’ve said it. Happy now?’
Tom laughed. ‘Was that all?’
‘He added a few other choice phrases,’ admitted the politician, ‘like stubborn, opinionated, cocky and there was something about a chip on your shoulder “the size of the Tyne Bridge”.’
‘That does sound like him. Thanks for the honesty.’
‘Glad we could clear the air. Look, whatever he actually thinks, it was Kane who put me on to you. He doesn’t suffer fools and nor do I. Now can you help me or not?’
‘What do you want me to do?’
‘Find my daughter,’ Jarvis said simply.
‘Just like that?’ asked Tom. ‘How?’
‘Well, if I knew that I wouldn’t need you, would I? I don’t know how but I want you to use your skills to try to get to the bottom of Sandra’s disappearance.’
‘And you think she’s still alive?’ Tom probed. ‘I’m sorry, but I obviously have to ask that.’
‘Aye, I do, for what that’s worth. Call it a feeling, call it pig-headedness but I firmly believe Sandra is alive. She’s out there somewhere. If she wasn’t, we’d have found her body by now.’
Not necessarily, thought Tom, but he wasn’t going to share that notion with her father. ‘What makes you think I can succeed where the police couldn’t?’
‘I might be a politician but I don’t live in an ivory tower. We both know there are sections of society, whole communities even, that won’t talk to the police, no matter what’s at stake. I grew up in the west end of Newcastle and to a lot of people there, the police were the enemy. Now if someone out there knows something but they are into drugs or prostitution or Lord knows what then they aren’t going to talk to a detective … but they might talk to you.’
‘Why?’
‘Money,’ Jarvis said. ‘I haven’t got much but I have some and I’m prepared to part with it in return for information on the whereabouts of my daughter.’
‘Contacting a journalist wouldn’t be most people’s first port of call, so who else did you try – aside from the police, I mean?’
Jarvis seemed embarrassed then. ‘A private detective. He approached me and said he’d have her back within the month. I wanted to believe him but he got nowhere. Took me for a fool and took my money too.’
‘What makes you think I won’t do the same?’
‘Because I approached you, not the other way round, and you still haven’t said you even want the job.’
‘The police are going to pay me anyway,’ Tom told him, ‘from some fund they use for specialists and experts, though I am neither.’
‘Oh,’ said the councillor, ‘I didn’t realise that.’
‘You can thank your old friend DCI Kane.’
‘I will.’
‘What if I don’t find anything?’
‘Then we call a halt but I have a good feeling about you. Kane told me all about that body in the field and how you worked it out.’
‘I had help with t
hat,’ Tom told him.
‘I know; a female reporter and one of Kane’s more …’ Jarvis seemed to be searching for a diplomatic phrase ‘… unconventional detectives. I’m happy for you to get help if you need it. I don’t care how you do it. Just help me get my daughter back. Please.’
Tom still wasn’t sure he could help Frank Jarvis but the man looked desperate.
‘Alright.’
‘Good man!’
Tom held up a hand. ‘I’ll ask around and see what I can uncover but it might not be much.’
‘I’m prepared to run that risk,’ Jarvis assured him. ‘So, when can you start?’
‘Now.’
The sun suddenly emerged from behind the dark clouds that had been threatening rain again but at the last moment decided against it. The allotment was bathed in bright sunshine and Tom noticed how big it was. Frank Jarvis had obviously spent a lot of time here since he stepped back from front-line politics.
‘Plenty to do on an allotment.’
‘Always,’ agreed Jarvis. ‘I’ve had one for years. Grown most of me own veg since then,’ he said proudly.
‘My dad used to have one.’ Tom surveyed Jarvis’s plot. ‘Isn’t it a bit high for growing stuff?’
‘The vegetables don’t seem to mind and my bit’s sheltered by the top of the slope. You should have said you were coming though,’ he told Tom. ‘I’d have met you at the house and saved you the bother of trailing up here.’
‘It’s no problem. I went to your house; your wife said you’d be here.’
‘Did she?’ He sounded doubtful.
‘Yeah,’ said Tom, ‘I met your mother-in-law too.’
‘Well,’ said the politician, ‘now you know why I have an allotment.’ And he did a little grimace. ‘No one can bother me up here, including her. If you got any sense out of Audrey you are a better man than me.’
‘I only spoke to her briefly but she did say one thing that puzzled me.’
‘And what was that?’
‘It was about your daughter,’ Tom informed him. ‘She said she was cuckoo.’
Jarvis snorted, ‘She can talk,’ then he turned serious again. ‘You would have thought her own grandmother might have been a bit kinder under the circumstances but she’s always been a malicious old bag that one.’
‘Why do you think she said it?’
‘I have no idea. There’s nothing wrong with my daughter’s mental health. She wasn’t depressed, mad or suicidal. You’re not going to get very far if that’s a line of enquiry – I suspect you noticed that if anyone is cuckoo, it’s Audrey. Her and her senses parted company many moons ago.’
‘So there’s no substance in it?’
‘God, no. Sandra was as sane as anyone. Her behaviour did change before her disappearance but she wasn’t having a nervous breakdown or anything.’
‘But that change in behaviour was noticeable enough to cause you concern?’
Jarvis nodded. ‘I read up on it, even asked a doctor who’s a friend of mine. I didn’t tell him I was asking about Sandra. I made out I had a friend who was worried about his son. I told him the behaviour I’d witnessed and he came to a simple conclusion.’
‘Which was?’
Jarvis seemed to sag then. ‘Drugs. You know, I used to have a very old-fashioned view on drug users. I thought that if parents took the time to outline the pitfalls of drug abuse, if they came down hard on their children if they caught them with a spliff, then they would never lose them to drugs. That’s what I used to think.’
‘And what do you think now?’
‘That I was a fool,’ he admitted, ‘that it can happen to anyone: your kids, my kids, anybody’s kids. If they get a taste for drugs, they’ll give up everything for them because nothing means more to them than the next fix. I’ve seen it, down at the rehab centres and the needle exchanges. We have to provide them, otherwise the playgrounds would be full of used syringes. It’s a bloody tragedy.’
‘You think that’s what happened to Sandra?’
‘I hope to God I’m wrong, but it’s my best guess,’ and he fell silent for a moment before eventually adding, ‘though I’ve imagined worse things.’
‘She wasn’t gone long though, from home I mean. What was it, a term and a half?’
‘It doesn’t take long,’ he said sadly.
‘How do you think she would get her hands on hard drugs in her first year at university, particularly a posh one like Durham?’
‘Forgive me, Tom, but that’s one of the things I’m asking you to find out, though if you don’t mind me saying so, you’re being a bit naïve. There’s a drug dealer in every city, town and village in this country; they hang round every playground, pub and university campus. They have to; dealers are parasites and the only way they can make a living is to find new users. Drugs are the ultimate growth industry. I’ve read the reports, I’ve seen the stats. They call it a war on drugs and I can tell you this, we are losing it.’
‘Did she have a boyfriend? Someone who could have got her started with drugs?’
‘She never told us about one, but somebody must have got to her. I don’t think she would have gone looking for a dealer. Somebody must have taken advantage.’
‘That line of enquiry went cold but I’ll look into it again.’
Jarvis took out a packet of cigarettes then and offered one to Tom, who shook his head. ‘Very sensible.’
‘I saw a fellah on the way up here,’ Tom said, ‘by the name of Harry.’
‘Old misery guts?’
‘He told the police you rowed with your daughter a few days before she disappeared.’
‘I told them that too,’ said Jarvis.
‘Did she come up here to have a row with you or did one just develop?’
‘Why would she come all the way up here to start a row?’ asked Jarvis.
‘I don’t know,’ admitted Tom. ‘She obviously felt the need to see you. She could just have waited for you to come home but instead she walked all the way up here, so either it was important or she wanted to talk to you in private, away from her mam and grandma.’
Jarvis nodded and gave a grim smile. ‘You are a perceptive man. She did want to talk to me in private. It didn’t start as a row but soon developed into one, I’m sorry to say.’
‘What was it about?’
‘The future,’ said Jarvis, ‘her future, to be exact. She wanted to drop out of college.’
‘Why?’
‘She wasn’t enjoying it, it wasn’t what she was expecting, she couldn’t see the point of it and wasn’t making many friends.’ He paused. ‘I think Sandra thought I’d hear her out, agree with her reasoning and give her my parental blessing.’
‘But you didn’t?’
‘I told her not to be so bloody stupid. Me and my daughter are both cut from the same cloth. We can be strong-willed, stubborn even, so we clash. She was born several weeks premature you know, so she’s had to fight to survive from day one. I’ve always encouraged her to question everything but she is still a young woman and can be naïve. I was the same when I was her age,’ he admitted. ‘I was the big idealist who thought I could change the world. She thought she could drop out of college and travel then somehow magically have a career, despite a bloody big hole in her CV and no proper qualifications. I told her she was an idiot for thinking that way after all the hard work she’d put in to get there. Look, if I could go back in time I would handle it differently. I was too harsh on her and she got upset.’ He looked downcast. ‘She then said some things that I wouldn’t tolerate.’
‘What kind of things?’
‘She was rude to me,’ Jarvis seemed embarrassed at the recollection, ‘saying I knew nowt about the real world. She started shouting at me so I shouted back. I’m not proud of my behaviour or hers but I was worried she was throwing her life away.’
‘What brought the argument to an end?’
‘She did,’ he said. ‘She stormed off.’
‘And you let her go?
’
‘I thought it might be for the best,’ Jarvis said. ‘Let her cool off and try to talk some sense into her later.’ Tom could tell he was hurt by the implication he did not care enough to go after his daughter. Maybe Frank Jarvis wondered if Sandra might still be here now if he hadn’t let her go. He visibly slumped then. ‘I never realised it would be the last time I’d see her,’ he said, obviously fighting back the tears.
‘Not the last time,’ Tom assured him, for he was embarrassed by the man’s discomfort and the fact he had caused it. Tom never liked to plant false hope in anyone but he couldn’t help himself now. ‘We’ll find her.’
Chapter Twenty
He’d started the argument but it was only now he realised Karen was right. He had been an arse. When Bradshaw saw his girlfriend that night after a long, tiring day he was still feeling righteously indignant, which is why he greeted his girlfriend with the words, ‘How come everybody thinks we are shacked up together?’
‘Eh?’
‘What have you been saying to make them think that? Even Kane said it to me.’
‘I haven’t been saying anything,’ said Karen, ‘and I certainly haven’t been talking to your DCI about us.’
He had intended the conversation to be a relatively mild one, during which he would tell his girlfriend he didn’t appreciate people discussing them behind his back. Unfortunately, he had not foreseen the conclusion Karen would naturally come to.
‘Oh, so you’re ashamed of me, are you?’
‘What? No, of course not!’
‘I’m good enough to be seen with, good enough to be shagging – but not good enough for anyone to think we might be in a proper relationship.’
‘Don’t be daft. We are in a proper relationship.’
‘Yeah, course we are … just so long as it doesn’t involve me staying over too many nights a week and I take my toothbrush with me when I go?’
While he usually felt he might be a little more intelligent than his girlfriend, Bradshaw had to admit he was absolutely no match for her in an argument. They rowed for over an hour and she seemed to effortlessly move between all of the emotional states: from anger, to sadness and despair then back to rage, via tears and some highly imaginative industrial language. Karen even threw cushions at him at one point while he desperately tried to placate her. In the end she opted to leave and Bradshaw belatedly realised this had been a problem entirely of his own making, so he very quickly went into reverse gear and apologised – a lot.
Behind Dead Eyes Page 15
