by Luca Veste
Was it an act? Did it really mean as much to her as it did to him?
His heart was pounding in his chest, his hands began to shake, and he struggled back to standing.
He slammed the bracelet down on the bedside table and left the bedroom, jogging down the stairs. He grabbed his car keys, wallet and checked his pocket for his phone and opened the front door.
He’d forgotten somewhere he was supposed to go. Something he was supposed to do.
He wasn’t doing the right things. He needed to make a list.
He pulled the car out, waiting for Jemma’s mum to answer the phone.
‘Helen, it’s Rob, I need you to get around to the house.’
‘Rob slow down. Has she turned up?’
Rob turned the corner at the bottom of the road with one hand on the wheel. ‘No. I’m going to look for her.’
‘I don’t understand, Rob. Maybe we should talk.’
‘We’ll talk later. Just please go to the house just in case. I can’t sit there any more.’
‘Fine. I’ll call in half an hour. But ring me if you hear anything.’
He threw the phone in the passenger seat, driving towards the town centre. Someone needed to be at the house. He shouldn’t leave it empty.
Ten minutes later he drove past Matthew Street, parked the car on double yellow lines, and got out. He walked down North John Street, the top of Liverpool One shopping centre behind, past various takeaways and newsagents. He slowed as he passed the Hard Day’s Night hotel, the Beatles-themed place which was always busy. Up towards Castle Street and back down again. People milled around, sometimes sidestepping him as he walked slowly, purposefully.
He had to be noticed. The place would be crawling with cameras. If he was seen here, it’d seem like he’d gone looking for her at least.
That’s what he was doing.
He walked down Matthew Street, the various bars on either side of the walkway already filling up. A few tourists milling around outside the Cavern Club, getting their pictures taken with the John Lennon statue. For a Saturday evening it was still pretty quiet. The grey paved street not filled with wandering drunks just yet.
He walked further down, towards the club Carla had told him they’d ended the night in. Grim, faceless. Just a garish neon sign outside. The club wasn’t open, so he rapped on the door.
Rob rocked on his heels as he waited. A minute or so went by and he was about to knock again, when the door opened.
‘Yeah?’
A thick-necked, shaven-headed beast of a man stood in the open doorway. Rob took a step back. ‘Hi, were you working here last night?’
‘What’s it to you?’
‘My girlfriend has gone missing, I was just wondering if you’d seen anything.’
The bouncer looked around. ‘Yeah, I was here last night. But a lot of people come in and out of here, I probably won’t be able to help you. You should ring the police or something.’
Rob took out his wallet, removing the small picture he had of Jemma inside. ‘Do you remember her?’
The bouncer looked at the photo, his brow furrowed. ‘I think I do as it happens. She left on her own, about two. She was on her phone. She walked off towards the top.’ He gestured towards the top of Matthew Street.
‘Did you hear her talking at all, where she might have been going?’
He shook his head in reply. ‘Sorry I can’t be any more help. I hope you find her.’
Rob thanked him and wandered back to his car. He couldn’t think of anything else to do. He needed that list. He started driving towards home. He called Helen at the house, glad to find she’d gone there as he’d asked. He turned on the radio, looking for some music to try and clear his mind of the images which threatened to enter. He found the local radio station, but it played that shite dance music and Rob quickly scanned past it. He settled on easy listening.
Focus. That’s what he needed to do. Decide on a plan of action and start doing something.
He started at the beginning. Jemma had been out with her friend Carla. So start there. He turned right instead of left on the road out of the town centre, and drove towards her house.
Carla had married Andy the previous year, in what Rob had described as a fuck of an expensive party, much to Jemma’s distaste. She’d loved the whole spectacle of it.
Should have noticed that. All her friends were married. She always seemed happy, but why hadn’t he wanted to make things more permanent?
He pulled up outside Carla’s house around ten minutes later. He checked the dashboard clock, almost eight in the evening. A quick pang of hunger hit him as he got out the car. He hadn’t eaten since earlier in the day, when he’d made a sandwich and taken two bites of it before throwing it out. Too nervous. The thought of eating anything at that moment was enough to start his stomach churning again. Rob tried to shake the feeling off as he approached the door of the terraced house on the quiet street. They’d moved there recently. New baby, new house. Always the way.
As he reached for the doorbell, he stopped and knocked softly, mindful of their newborn. Thirty seconds later and he knocked again, a little louder. Andy opened the door, a tea towel over his shoulder, his hands still wet.
‘Rob. Come on in, mate. I was just washing some dishes.’ Rob wiped his feet on the doormat and closed the door after himself. He followed Andy into the living room, where Carla was sitting with her feet underneath her on a leather sofa, watching some reality show on TV. She wasn’t stunning, but Carla was nice looking in an understated way. Smaller than Jemma, brunette instead of blonde. Small in stature, but big on confidence. Sometimes that can go a long way. Sometimes, only on the odd occasion he needed something a bit different to fantasise about, Rob had pictured her face in the dark as he and Jemma made love. He looked away from her as the thought entered his head.
Their newborn daughter was in a small Moses basket next to her. Sleeping. From what Jemma had said, that was a rare occurrence.
‘Hi, Rob,’ Carla said. ‘Any news?’
‘Nothing,’ Rob replied. ‘You don’t seem too worried.’
Carla leaned over to check on the baby. ‘I am, of course. But I’m sure she’ll come home when she’s ready.’
Andy shifted beside Rob. ‘You want a drink or something?’ he said.
‘No thanks,’ Rob replied, shaking his head. He sat down on the sofa opposite Carla. Andy looked over at her, and she nodded slightly. ‘I’ll get back to doing the dishes then.’ As he left the room, Carla leaned back, her hands coming to a rest across her stomach. Rolled her eyes at the door.
‘What’s going on?’
She shifted her feet and stretched out her legs in front of her. ‘Look, Rob … she told me what was going on between you. Are you that surprised that she’s gone away for a bit?’
‘What are you talking about?’ Rob said.
‘You know … you and Jemma haven’t been getting on lately. She was talking about leaving.’
How to react. Surprise? Acceptance? Fear? The first one. ‘This is news to me. When did she say this?’
‘Last night. She said she was fed up with the arguments and wanted to go away for a bit. This isn’t the first time she’s done something like this, just disappeared for a few days or longer when she wants to clear her head. So no. No, I’m not worried.’
‘Are you serious?’ Rob said, unable to keep his voice from rising slightly.
‘Shh, you’ll wake Leah. Look, I know it’s a shock, but you must have known she wasn’t happy. You did know, didn’t you?’
Rob sat back on the sofa, ran his hands through his hair and down onto his face. He wanted to say something then. Confess it was his fault. And it wasn’t the first time. Instead, he kept going. ‘No. I had no idea. She always seemed so happy. We never argued over anything big, just stupid stuff really. Whose turn it was to wash up, why couldn’t I pick my socks up. You know, small insignificant bollocks like that. Nothing major. She wasn’t happy?’
Carla p
laced her hands either side of her and lifted off the sofa slowly. She came across to him, settling down to his right, placing a hand on his shoulder tentatively. ‘Look, Rob,’ she said. ‘Sometimes we don’t always see what’s right in front of us. I’m sure she’s just gone somewhere to clear her head.’
That wasn’t supposed to happen. No touching. Calm. He needed to stay calm. ‘You said it’s not the first time she’s done something like this. What did you mean?’
‘Has she never said anything to you?’
He shook his head in response.
‘Well, Jemma was seeing someone, a few years before you. She didn’t know how to leave him, so she just left one night. She was gone for a few months, turned out she’d planned it well before that night. Had a friend down south who she stayed with. Even worked for a bit down there.’
Rob lifted his eyes from the carpet. Looked across at the flickering quiet images coming from the TV. ‘We were fine, Carla. I don’t understand any of this. If she had problems, why didn’t she say anything?’
Carla began to move her hand down his arm, before resting her hand in his.
‘Sometimes, she doesn’t know a good thing when it’s right in front of her. That was always a problem for her.’
Rob looked down at her hand, moved his eyes upwards and held her gaze for a few seconds. She opened her mouth a little as if to say something, but nothing came out. A voice from over her shoulder broke the silence.
‘Everything okay in here?’ Andy said.
Carla jumped up off the sofa at the sound of his voice. ‘Fine, babe. Rob just needed to hear some things he didn’t know about Jemma.’
Andy came fully into the room, stood behind Carla and placed his hands on her shoulders. ‘I best be getting back,’ Rob said.
Carla took a step forward. ‘I’ll see you out.’
At the door, Rob turned around to face Carla. She put her arms around him before he had a chance to resist. ‘She’ll be okay, Rob. Just don’t let yourself be played with. You’re much better than that.’
He stepped back and she unwrapped her arms from around him. ‘I’ll be in touch if I hear anything,’ he said and stepped off the door step.
Rob heard the door shut behind him, standing still for a moment.
‘What the fuck was that about?’ He heard Andy’s voice from outside. Then a door slamming. Through the blinds in the window he could see Carla rushing to the Moses basket and picking up Leah. And then her eyes locked with his.
Looked like someone else was having problems. At least they were both there to sort them out.
Rob turned and walked back to the car. What Carla had told him had knocked him back somewhat. Jemma just leaves sometimes, pisses off to the other end of the country like a petulant child.
He didn’t really know her at all. She wasn’t some perfect woman. She wasn’t right.
Some of the guilt lifted.
But he still needed to keep going. Keep the show going.
Her mum next. Then … he couldn’t think of the next step.
What was he supposed to do next?
9
Monday 28th January 2013 – Day Two
Murphy stood in his kitchen, waiting for the kettle to boil so he could fill the large mug that was sitting on the counter. Coffee and a little milk already added. He yawned, the previous night’s lack of sleep catching up on him. The events of the previous day conspiring to keep his mind ticking over into the late hours, the ache in his neck telling him falling asleep on the couch was probably a mistake. Yet again, he’d drifted off to the sounds of canned laughter, from the endless re-runs of American sitcoms he watched late at night.
And then there was the small fact of still not feeling at home.
Murphy had one proper friend. Jess. Twenty years they’d known each other. Never a hint of romance. Jess had tried to help in the previous couple of months. Trips to Ikea, that sort of thing. He appreciated it, knowing she was probably hating every second of the experience.
She didn’t like change. Wait … not quite right. She didn’t like other people changing. And so much had changed in the last few months.
‘You’ve bought a house?’
‘Yeah, I needed somewhere to live.’
‘But it’s a little soon don’t you think? It’s not been that long. Where is it?’
‘The Millhouse Estate in Moreton.’
‘Over-the-water Moreton? Why would you do that? That’s at least a half hour drive for me. You couldn’t have moved around here?’
‘Sorry, Jess, that wasn’t really my concern.’
‘You prick. You’re just trying to get rid of me.’
‘Jess, I’ve been trying to get rid of you for twenty years. It hasn’t worked so far. You’re still technically my best friend.’
‘Don’t say that. That’s depressing. And anyway, I’m your only friend.’
‘Honest, I wouldn’t know what I’d do without you.’
‘Oh, grow a pair will you, Bear. Start living up to your name for once.’
Bear. The same nickname she’d used since they’d met over twenty years ago. She’d become used to his new place within weeks, still preferring to drive over to his house rather than eat alone. Must cost her a fortune in tunnel tolls.
‘Shit.’
Murphy paused in his coffee-making and jumped as the alarm on his new phone went off again. He fished it out of his pocket and pressed some icons in an effort to stop the noise.
It had woken him at the correct time. Although it being in his trouser pocket had confused him at first. He shut it off, the noise threatening to wake the entire cul de sac. Apparently there was a difference between turning off and sleep mode.
A quick look at his watch told him it was coming up to half seven, an hour before he usually got in to the station.
Time enough for a quick wake-up call.
‘Bear, it’s too fucking early. What have I told you? Don’t bother me before at least lunchtime.’
‘Morning, Jess. Did I wake you?’
‘No, I’m up. Peter is at his dad’s and I had to make sure the little bastard is up for school. Can’t rely on that lazy twat he calls a father, and he’d bunk off given half the chance. Fucking teenagers. What do you want?’
Murphy took a bite of his toast. ‘Got a murder yesterday.’
‘Shit. The girl in Sefton Park. Seriously? They gave it to you?’
‘Yeah. First one in months.’
‘How is it?’
‘Interesting.’ Murphy put the half-eaten toast back on the sideboard and opened the fridge with his free hand, taking out a bottle of water. ‘Killer left a letter. Victim is a student. Usual nutcase stuff. You’ll probably end up defending him in court.’
He heard a snort on the other end of the line. ‘Well … congrats I suppose. I know you wanted to get back into it quicker than this.’
‘But …’
A large sigh. ‘Just … well … don’t let it get to you. I worry, you know.’
‘I’m fine,’ Murphy replied, his attention more on trying to unscrew the top off the water bottle with one hand. ‘You gracing me with your presence soon?’
‘We’ll see. I’m going back to sleep.’
The line went dead, and Murphy smiled as he put the phone away.
Until the previous day, it had been a quiet couple of months for the team he worked on – E Division, headed by DCI Stephens. Lately they’d been tasked with investigating the increase in gang activity around the city centre, but that was proving to be long, difficult work. No one wanted to talk, there were no high-profile murders of youngsters to shake up the city. Just a lot of illegal activity that everyone would rather turn a blind eye to.
It beat murder though. He took another bite out of the slice of his toast. Nice balanced breakfast. Always important.
Murphy had been a DI for over five years, so he’d seen more than his fair share of murders and manslaughter charges. Most of the time, solving a case came down to one thing
.
Luck.
The psychology of it wasn’t something which interested him really. He’d seen the newcomers come into the force, mostly university graduates thinking they could apply some of their attained knowledge to police work. Sure, sometimes they could come up with a fresh angle on some things. But mostly, Murphy stuck to what he knew. Investigate everything, and if nothing turned up, hope to get lucky.
Murphy finished eating and switched off the radio, the Chi-Lites snapping into silence mid-song. Good old-fashioned songs, from the sixties, like his mum used to play. There was even a radio station dedicated to playing that era of music now. Jess had bought him a digital radio at Christmas, and he’d not switched off the station since.
Bear. Jess still refusing to let that nickname die a death. His groomed beard was beginning to show some grey, and his short hair, that matched his beard length, receding backwards. He was washing more and more of his face every day. He wore his nickname well, his size being the main reason for it. It fit. Never caught on at work though.
He locked the house up and got into his three-year-old Citroën C5. Red. Extravagant really for what he actually needed. He’d grown up on a council estate in south Liverpool, but got out as soon as he could. Working and living over there as a PC, in Speke where he’d lived most of his life, had caused a few problems. So he’d lived out in Dingle, until recently. His parents hadn’t moved though. Worked all their lives, been together since school. Thatcher had enabled them to buy their council house in the eighties, although their opinion on her didn’t change because of that, saved for a long happy retirement together, with no money worries and plenty of day trips on coaches.
And they were both dead at fifty-eight years old.
Murphy was an only child, so everything went to him. Which meant he had a nice sum of money in the bank, no mortgage, no kids, no worries.
And no excitement away from the occasional bad marriage or tough case.
Apart from the odd holiday he planned and never took, he had no idea how to spend it. His dad had been frugal, always saving for a rainy day, and Murphy guessed he’d picked up the same habits. He smiled as he started the car, remembering his dad explaining to him that he could do without a new iron, as the old one still heated up occasionally.
