Rush of Blood

by Mark Billingham

  ‘Go on …’

  ‘Did you notice that when he told her off … I can’t remember what it was about exactly, but she seemed to like it. And all that slapping her on the arse.’ He stared out of the window. ‘You reckon they might be into, what do you call it, S&M? Whips and chains and all that?’

  ‘I never had her down as the kinky sort,’ Angie said. ‘It’s like I said back there—’

  ‘Do you reckon he puts a dog collar on her?’

  ‘Haven’t got a clue,’ Angie said. ‘Who knows what people get up to when the bedroom door closes?’

  Barry said nothing for a while and Angie knew she had said the wrong thing. After all, aside from nodding off with a good book and some heavy snoring, there was nothing at all going on once she and Barry had closed their bedroom door.

  Still a very sore point.

  ‘I just mean it’s not really our business, is it?’ she said.

  ‘Well, there’s definitely something funny going on.’

  ‘She’s got problems,’ Angie said.

  ‘What?’

  She told him about Sue’s daughter, the conversation in her bedroom.

  ‘Jesus,’ Barry said.

  ‘I know, can you imagine what it’s like to lose a child?’

  They drove on in silence for a minute, until Barry said, ‘Yeah, well good as lost mine already, haven’t I?’

  ‘It’s hardly the same, love.’

  Barry’s head was back, his eyes closed. ‘I think in a way it’s actually worse. I mean, if they’re gone, they’re gone, aren’t they? But with Nick … it’s like all I can do is imagine all the stuff he’s doing without me. It doesn’t make any sense …’

  ‘Don’t you think losing a child at thirteen is senseless? Doesn’t matter if it’s an illness or a car accident or if it’s what happened to that girl in Florida.’

  ‘Talking of which,’ Barry said, ‘how bloody odd is that Dave? How bloody odd is his other half, come to that?’

  ‘Well, she’s a bit … theatrical, maybe.’

  ‘They’re always touching each other,’ Barry said. ‘You noticed that?’

  ‘Nothing wrong with that, is there?’

  ‘Always got their hands all over each other. Like bloody kids.’

  ‘I think it’s nice,’ Angie said.

  ‘All that crap he was coming out with.’ Barry leaned forward and looked at her. ‘And while we’re on the subject, what was that about “At least we’re off the hook”? What the hell was that supposed to mean?’

  ‘It was a joke, Barry. I was joking.’

  ‘So, do you think they actually thought we might have had something to do with it? Is that what you think?’

  ‘I don’t know about “we”,’ Angie said. ‘I think it was that business of you driving off to buy fags or whatever that was the issue.’

  ‘Or whatever? What’s that mean?’

  ‘It doesn’t mean anything. I’m just saying.’ She cursed herself for saying anything at all. The last thing she wanted from here to Crawley was Barry ranting about how the world and his wife were out to wind him up. Pushing his buttons. How everyone was against him.

  She asked him what he’d thought of the food, talked about making them both a nice cup of tea when they got in, and nudged her speed up to sixty-five in an effort to keep him happy.

  This time of night, Dave and Marina had elected to drive home straight through town and were only ten minutes from Forest Hill. They had talked all the way about what Sue had told Marina and Angie in her bedroom. Or rather Dave had talked, and Marina had chipped in when she had the chance.

  ‘It explains a lot,’ Dave said. ‘I mean the whole eating disorder thing for a kick-off.’

  ‘She eats as much as I do,’ Marina said. ‘Some women are jammy like that, have the right metabolism.’

  ‘Well, I think you’re wrong, but let’s leave it. It does explain why she lets her husband treat her like dirt.’ He looked at her, clearly with a lot more to say. Marina shrugged. Go ahead. ‘Well, it’s all about guilt, isn’t it? I know she had nothing to do with what happened to her daughter, but the mind doesn’t work like that. It isn’t always logical. Somewhere, she might well feel like she was responsible in some way, like it was a genetic thing that was her fault or that there was something she could have done to prevent it. Or maybe it’s just that she feels bad for not being a better mother when her daughter was alive.’

  ‘How can you possibly know that?’

  ‘I can’t, but like I say, the mind plays strange tricks. I just think it might be the reason why she lets Ed get away with that stuff, why she lets him bully her like that. Because perhaps, deep down, she feels as if she deserves it. To be punished, you know?’ He looked across at Marina. ‘It’s just a theory.’

  ‘You’ve got plenty of theories,’ she said.

  He smiled. ‘That stuff about the girl, you mean?’

  ‘I don’t know why you felt the need—’

  ‘I didn’t,’ Dave said. ‘I mean why the hell would I? Barry clearly had a bee in his bonnet, so I told him what he wanted to hear, that’s all.’

  Turning off the roundabout at the Elephant and Castle, Marina said, ‘I think they both had bees in their bonnets. She definitely knew about that drink Sue and I had. Did you not see the face she had on her when she got there? That comment about not getting into London very much.’

  ‘Over my head,’ Dave said.

  ‘Did you say anything?’

  ‘About what?’

  ‘About me and Sue meeting up?’

  He shook his head. ‘Ed mentioned something when we went out. I think Barry might have picked up on it …’

  Marina drummed her fingers on the armrest for half a minute. ‘Well, thank God someone can keep a secret.’

  Sue was already in bed, while Ed was taking his time as usual in the bathroom. She shouted through the open door to him. ‘Did you see the dress Marina was wearing?’

  He shouted back. ‘What about it?’

  ‘I’ve got almost exactly the same dress.’

  ‘Good job you weren’t wearing it then.’

  Sue squeezed moisturising cream into her palm, put the tube back on the bedside table and began rubbing it in. ‘She has the same handbag as me too. She had it with her when we met up for a drink. She said she’d had it for ages, but I don’t know.’

  ‘You think she’s copying you?’

  ‘I don’t know what to think,’ Sue said. ‘It’s a bit freaky.’

  ‘You should be flattered she thinks you have such good taste …’

  Sue counted to ten in her head, then said, ‘I told her and Angie about Emma.’

  After a few seconds, Ed emerged into the hall and walked through the open door into the bedroom. He was wearing underpants, with a towel draped across his shoulder. He was still brushing his teeth, though very slowly. He looked at Sue for a few moments then turned and walked back to the bathroom, closing the door hard behind him.

  Sue switched her bedside light off and turned on to her side. She reached across to open the drawer and took out the photograph. She looked at it. She wiped it carefully with the edge of the sheet and said, ‘I don’t care.’

  A couple of minutes later, Ed came back in, heavy on his feet. ‘What the hell did you do that for?’ He saw what she was holding. ‘Sue …’

  ‘Sue what?’ She adjusted the pillow she had propped up behind her. ‘Sue, don’t be stupid? Sue, put that back?’

  ‘You need to stop it.’

  ‘When was the last time we even talked about her?’

  ‘I’m not doing this.’

  ‘Not since her birthday.’

  ‘It’s ridiculous.’

  ‘We’re not the same,’ Sue said. ‘You don’t feel it in here.’ She slapped at the duvet across her belly. ‘You don’t feel anything that isn’t giving you a hard-on.’ She stared at him. ‘And I don’t think Emma fell into that category.’

  ‘You’ve seriously fucking lost it, y
ou know that?’

  She turned the picture frame around and held it towards him. ‘Ring any bells?’

  ‘Don’t push it.’

  ‘Emma Dunning? She used to live with us …’

  Ed still had the towel. He threw it towards the laundry basket in the corner. He took off his shorts and did the same with them, then walked around the bed and sat on the edge of it, his back to her.

  ‘Pretty girl, she was,’ Sue said. ‘I mean this isn’t even a particularly good picture of her.’ Although she knew Ed could no longer see it, she continued to brandish the photograph at him. ‘Anything at all?’ She watched the muscles tense across his shoulders and swallowed, dry mouthed. ‘Anything stirring?’

  He reached across and began to adjust the digital clock on his bedside table. ‘I’m playing tennis in the morning,’ he said.

  ‘Ed—’

  ‘I’m not sure what time I’ll be back, so don’t bother about lunch.’

  ‘Please …’

  He lifted himself off the duvet and slipped beneath it. He reached for his light and said, ‘Put the picture back.’

  FORTY-ONE

  I was grateful for good weather, the day I drove out to take the girl.

  Rain would have seriously hampered my chances and though sunshine meant there would be more people out and about, it also gave me a bit more choice. On top of which, there’s nothing like decent weather to encourage wandering about and to make people a bit more carefree.

  Careless.

  I parked in the pre-selected spot – on a side road out of sight of any buildings – and walked across the small park towards the playground. I could hear children’s voices and music from a radio. I was carrying a kids’ plastic lunchbox and I tried to look slightly annoyed, as if waiting for a child was making me late for something or messing up my plans. There were kids of all ages milling around and even though there was plenty of equipment aimed at the older kids – a wooden bridge, jungle climbers and nets – a lot of them still chose to play on swings and in the sandpit.

  These were the ones I was here for.

  The parents hung around in groups, smoking here, gossiping there, and there was plenty of cover in the trees, which was handy. Benches and tree-stumps to sit on, my head in a paperback. I nodded to a man as he jogged past, lost in whatever music he was plugged into. I had a dog lead in my pocket and I took it out when a stroppy-looking dog owner came close. He was losing his rag with a golden retriever who kept disappearing and I promised him I’d keep an eye out for it, told him that my own dog – I decided I had a Jack Russell – was doing much the same with me.

  After about twenty minutes, I watched a girl come wandering out of the playground after a small dog. She was the right sort of age and the uniform told me she was the right kind of child. As she got closer to me, out of sight of whoever was supposed to be watching her, I started calling out, like someone searching for a lost child. Not loud enough for anyone other than the girl to hear, not loud enough to cause any sort of alarm.

  I picked the name Charlie.

  I looked up like I was surprised, and asked her if she’d seen a five-year-old boy. Told her there was probably a Jack Russell dog with him.

  She shook her head. Nice and slow.

  ‘I need to find him because we’re going to go and buy something.’

  She studied me. ‘What are you going to buy?’

  Like I said before, I’d decided to play it by ear and it felt pretty inspired at the time, if I say so myself.

  ‘An egg,’ I told her. ‘A big chocolate egg, wrapped in red.’

  ‘I like chocolate,’ she said.

  I laughed. ‘Doesn’t everyone like chocolate? Charlie loves it …’

  She nodded, waggling her fingers at her dog, who was sniffing around a few feet away. ‘I really like it.’

  I said, ‘Do you want to come with us? I could probably afford to buy you an egg as well.’ I saw her look back towards the playground. ‘Oh, actually I’d better ask your mum, because she might not want you to have all that chocolate.’

  ‘She won’t mind,’ the girl said, and I knew I was going to be all right.

  ‘Well, maybe you should save some for her,’ I said.

  ‘OK,’ she said. ‘Just a bit though because she doesn’t want to get fat.’

  ‘Of course not,’ I said.

  She shook her head. ‘Of course not.’

  ‘Come on then,’ I said. ‘I think Charlie’s probably back at the car.’

  ‘What about your dog?’

  ‘Charlie will have found him by now.’ I took a few steps. ‘We’ll have to keep the dog away from the chocolate egg though. It’s bad for dogs, did you know that?’

  She took a few steps after me. ‘Not bad for people though.’

  ‘No, course it isn’t …’

  Even though I wanted to, I was careful not to take her hand as we walked away. I let her follow me, that was all. Her dog started to do the same, so I picked up a stick and chucked it as far as I could into the trees and the girl didn’t seem to care as the dog chased after it. ‘We don’t want him getting any of our chocolate, do we?’ I said.

  She smiled.

  It wasn’t quite as heart-stopping as Amber-Marie’s. I’d be lying if I said it was.

  A small lie in the scheme of things, obviously, but I don’t want anyone to think I’ve been lying all the time. I want to be nice and clear about that. Lying’s played its part in all this, no question about it. One lie leading to another, which is why it all happened the way it did.

  You also need to remember one other thing.

  I wasn’t the only one who was lying.

  PART THREE

  MARINA AND DAVE

  From: Jennifer Quinlan

  Date: 13 July 09:16:32 BST

  To: Jeffrey Gardner

  Subject: Missing Girl In UK

  Detective Gardner,

  If you have not heard about this already, the following articles should prove very interesting …

  http://www.thisislondon.co.uk/standard/article-2395632-family-fear-for-missing-girl-as-police-search-woodland.do

  http://www.telegraph.co.uk/news/158724/missing-girl-police-appeal.html

  http://www.thisiskent.co.uk/fears-for-missing-sevenoaks-girl/story-13342751-detail/story.html

  The girl went missing from Sevenoaks in Kent (one hour from central London) two days ago. Her name is Samantha Gold. She is thirteen years old with long blonde hair, and disappeared from a playground in a small park near her school. This school teaches children who have learning difficulties! Samantha Gold could be Amber-Marie Wilson! I am attaching contact details for the officers in charge of the investigation should you wish to liaise with them. Obviously if there is anything I can do, please do not hesitate to get in touch.

  All the best,

  DC Jenny Quinlan

  FORTY-TWO

  Two days after Jenny sent the email, Gardner called. Friday afternoon, she was an hour into a tedious report on some ongoing domestic that was threatening to turn nasty and reached for the phone without thinking, in the same way she might reach for a biscuit while flicking through a magazine. She said her name and fought the temptation to whoop like some piece of pond-life on Jerry Springer when that familiar velvety voice said his.

  ‘So, Jenny, you busy?’ he asked.

  She had presumed that she was well and truly out of the loop, now that the Sevenoaks case seemed to have become tied into the Florida investigation and Gardner’s team in Sarasota was officially liaising with both Kent police and the Met. All the same, she had been following the case from a distance, calling in favours from the most tenuous of contacts anywhere near the inquiry, studying reports, keeping her ear to the ground. Five days after she had gone missing, there was almost nothing Jenny Quinlan did not know about Samantha Gold’s disappearance.

  Apart from who had taken her.

  Gardner said, ‘I need to put you ba
ck to work.’

  ‘Oh,’ Jenny said. Thinking, now you do. Now you’re taking me a bit more seriously. ‘So my email was helpful, then?’

  ‘Absolutely,’ Gardner said. ‘Well … because we get so many tourists, when something like the Wilson murder comes along we try and reach out to those places the majority of visitors come from, you know? All over the US, most of Europe … so anything with a similar MO is going to be on our radar. So the fact is, we knew about your missing girl pretty fast. Thanks for the heads-up though …’

  Jenny tried to keep the disappointment from her voice. ‘No problem.’

  ‘Anyway, I’ve been looking through the reports you sent.’

  ‘OK.’

  ‘Good job, by the way.’

  ‘Thank you.’ Jenny inched her chair closer to the desk and looked round quickly to see if anyone was listening. To make sure nobody could see her blush.

  ‘We’ve done some checking and there are certain … inconsistencies, shall we say, in one or two of your witness statements.’

  ‘They’ve been lying?’

  Gardner paused for a second or two. ‘Yeah, they’ve been lying.’

  ‘Who?’

  ‘We checked CCTV at the mall that Edward and Susan Dunning claim they visited on the afternoon that Amber-Marie Wilson was taken. A lot of the stores have already wiped the tapes, but we’ve managed to find Mrs Dunning in four different outlets.’

  ‘So …’

  ‘Just Mrs Dunning.’ Gardner paused again and Jenny heard him take a drink of something. ‘No sign of her husband on any cameras. There’s no CCTV in the parking lot unfortunately, but based on what we’ve got so far there’s nothing to confirm he was ever there.’

  ‘Well, they both had the same story,’ Jenny said. She was trying to keep her voice down, but it was hard, the flutter in her chest. ‘So, if he’s lying, she’s covering up for him.’

  ‘Right,’ Gardner said.

  ‘You want me talk to them again?’

  ‘I want you to talk to all of them again. I want to know why it took Barry Finnegan an hour to buy cigarettes and why that other couple are so vague about the bar they claim to have eaten lunch in. That guy, Dave Cullen? Something a little off about him, at least that’s what came across in your report …’