by Jane Casey
‘No.’
‘Were they in a relationship?’
His surprise was comical and, I thought, unfeigned. ‘No. No way. Just friends.’
‘All very friendly round here, isn’t it?’
‘You have a dirty mind.’ He gave me a long, appraising look and I heard Derwent snort.
‘William, if I find out you know something about the whereabouts of either or both of those two girls, I will make it my business to have you prosecuted for whatever charges I can dream up.’
‘Yeah, OK. I believe you. But I don’t know anything you’d find useful.’
‘Do you have a car?’
He looked wary. ‘Yeah. It’s that Corsa. The blue one.’
I made a note of the registration number. ‘Don’t go anywhere, Mr Turner. I don’t want you disappearing. And stay away from the Norrises unless you’re trying to cause trouble.’
‘Tell them to stay away from me.’
‘I already did.’ I frowned. ‘Look, if anyone bothers you, you have my number. You can get in touch with me—’
‘I’ll cope.’ He stepped back into his house and shut the door in my face.
I turned back to Derwent.
‘Don’t say anything.’
‘Not even that it’s nice to see you haven’t lost your touch?’
‘Not even that.’
20
Eleanor Norris let us into her house, her face pale but composed. The house smelled of cooking, of lamb and rosemary and roasting potatoes, and I caught Derwent sniffing appreciatively.
‘I thought you’d be at church,’ I said.
‘I didn’t go. I didn’t want to. In case they came back, I mean. I prayed here.’ She pointed to a well-worn bible that was lying on the hall table, as if she’d put it down to answer the door.
‘Is that where your husband is?’
‘He should be back by now,’ she said vaguely. ‘Lunch is ready.’
‘I’m surprised you’re cooking, given that Bethany is missing.’
‘There’s nothing strange about celebrating God’s love in a time of hardship. He has her in his hands. What can we do but praise his name in company and fellowship?’
‘What indeed?’ I murmured.
‘Besides, we always give Gareth lunch on a Sunday, and anyone else who needs to eat with us. Gareth says we need to share God’s grace with anyone who needs it.’
How convenient for Gareth.
‘Is DC Shaw upstairs?’
She nodded.
‘We’ll try not to take too long.’ I started up the stairs, followed by Derwent. Glancing down I saw that Eleanor had picked up her bible again and was already immersed in it, her lips moving as she read.
We separated on the landing. Derwent headed into Bethany’s room and I went to find Georgia in the room Chloe had been using.
‘Anything?’
She leaned out of the wardrobe so she could see me. ‘Nothing out of place. I don’t know how much stuff she had but she doesn’t seem to have taken much with her, so they weren’t planning to stay away long.’
‘Or it wasn’t planned at all,’ I said, pulling on gloves to open the drawer in the bedside table. It contained the medication I’d found in Chloe’s house. I went through the boxes methodically, counting. She had taken one box with her – and all the contraceptive pills she’d had. I frowned.
‘What’s wrong?’
‘Just wondering …’ I went out and back down the stairs to the kitchen, where Eleanor was sitting at the table, her head in her hands, still reading the bible.
‘Did you take any of Chloe’s things? Her medication?’
She was lost, her eyes half-focused. ‘No.’
‘What about the pill?’
‘Oh, that.’
‘Yes, that. Did Chloe take it with her?’
‘No. We don’t agree with contraception of any sort. Abstinence is the best contraception there could be.’
‘So you took it?’
‘She couldn’t have it in this house.’ Eleanor placed a bookmark in her bible and shut it. ‘We had to think about Bethany. That wasn’t the example we wanted her to set our daughter.’
‘No wonder she ran away,’ I said, unable to stop myself. ‘You were supposed to be providing her with a safe place to stay. It wasn’t your job to monitor what she did with her own body.’
‘She was under our roof. She had to obey our rules.’
‘You don’t even know why she was on the pill. It could have been for lots of reasons. And even if it was because she was sexually active—’
‘Oliver and I had to do what we thought was right.’ Her face was stubborn.
‘Kerrigan!’ The shout came from upstairs: Derwent. He thundered down the stairs, vaulting the last four or five steps to gain a half-second. As he dragged the front door open he threw over his shoulder, ‘Call for back-up.’
‘What’s going on?’ I was talking to the air; he was running down the street at house-on-fire speed. I looked up the stairs and saw Georgia peering down from the landing, her face pale. ‘What’s happening?’
‘I think DI Derwent saw something out of the window.’
No shit. There was obviously no point in asking what. I followed him out to the middle of the road and shaded my eyes so I could see in the dazzling sunshine. Oliver Norris’s car was parked at an angle across the road, near William Turner’s house, which was not good at all.
Also not good: I could hear Derwent shouting. I put my hand down to get my radio and found nothing. I’d left it in the car.
‘Georgia!’
She appeared in the doorway, looking wary.
‘Have you got your radio?’
A nod.
‘Then call for some back-up, quick as you can. And then come and help.’
‘Help? With what?’
‘Whatever Derwent has got tangled up with.’ I was backing away, impatient to be gone but I couldn’t leave Georgia when she was looking pinched and shocked, when she was still – still – not calling for back-up, when her hands were shaking so much that I could see it a mile away. ‘Come on.’
‘But I don’t have any body armour or gas.’
‘Neither does he,’ I said. I had no faith in her and I couldn’t wait any longer. ‘Just – just do your job.’
Every instinct told me to run as fast as I could and jump straight in to whatever situation lay behind Derwent’s call for help, but my training and experience overrode it. I went low, behind the parked cars on the opposite side of the road from William Turner’s house, until I had a decent vantage point and I could see what Derwent had seen.
Oliver Norris was standing in the front garden, his hands clenched into fists. Two men flanked him, both heavy with muscle, one older, one younger. Norris was talking, trying to hold Derwent’s attention. Derwent stood astride a huddled figure that lay on the ground and the expression on his face was pure death: I dare you to try it. He was in shirtsleeves: no baton, no CS gas, no radio. All he had was his rank and his absolute belief in his ability to control a volatile situation. And his knowledge, of course, that I was right behind him.
On the ground: a man barely recognisable as William Turner, his face a blur of blood, his body curled in on itself in a way that spoke eloquently of pain received and pain that was yet to come.
Norris was leaning in, shouting in Derwent’s face, distracting him from the men who presented the greater threat. Derwent shook his head, looking like a bull tormented by a fly. Even as I watched he yelled, ‘Get back. That is an order.’
There were situations where you could shout your way out of trouble; I didn’t think that this was one of them.
‘This is nothing to do with you.’ The tendons were standing out on Oliver Norris’s neck. On edge. Something to prove. Reckless.
‘It is now,’ Derwent said. He glared around, making eye contact with all of them. ‘Go on. Fuck off, the lot of you.’
‘He knows where my daughter is.’ Norris was shaking.
‘No, he doesn’t.’
‘Is that what he told you?’
‘Yeah, it is.’
‘And you believed him?’
Derwent shrugged. ‘Why shouldn’t I?’
‘We saw you taking his DNA. He’s a suspect.’ The older man’s eyes were cold, unblinking. ‘You’re too soft, you police officers. Too scared of losing your jobs to do them properly.’
Derwent laughed. ‘You’re talking to the wrong officer about that, trust me.’
I was almost starting to believe Derwent might have the situation under control when the younger man spat a gobbet of slime that landed on Turner’s chest. I doubted he’d even felt it but Derwent snapped.
‘Don’t you fucking spit near me.’
‘Watch your mouth,’ Norris said.
Derwent snorted. ‘Like fuck I will.’
Quick as lightning, Norris punched him. Derwent had time to flinch away from it but not enough time to dodge it completely, and Norris’s fist caught him high on his cheek. He lost his balance for a second, staggering back, almost tripping over Turner. I could see the confidence coming back to Oliver Norris and his muscled pals, the balance of power shifting as easily as that. Derwent was only one man, after all, and there were three of them. Three against one didn’t seem fair at all.
It was time to improve the odds.
The rules on the street were simple and I’d learned them the first time I stepped out in uniform: never lose face. Never show weakness. Never back down once you’ve fronted up. And never look as if you don’t know what to do.
‘Assault on a police officer. This just got a lot more serious,’ I said, strolling up to the garden gate. I had jammed my hands in my pockets to hide the fact that they were shaking. ‘Ever heard of joint enterprise, boys? When one of you does something, it’s the same as if you all did it. So if this lad dies, you’re all up for murder. And if one of you hits a police officer, you’re all in the dock.’
‘Look, help me get him into the car,’ Norris said to his friends. ‘I need to know what he knows.’
‘You mean you didn’t get him to talk before you beat him to a pulp?’ I clicked my tongue. ‘Schoolboy error, Mr Norris. Always get what you want before you do the damage.’
‘Kerrigan,’ Derwent said, his voice tight, because it was all right for him to risk injury and worse but he didn’t like it when I did the same. I moved my hand, drawing it out of my pocket so he could see the car key fob in my palm.
I cocked my head. ‘Do you hear that? Sirens. Back-up for us.’ I looked around at them. ‘Where’s your back-up, boys?’
Norris’s heavies glanced at one another, an unspoken message passing between them. This is more trouble than it’s worth.
‘Don’t listen to her,’ Norris said, his voice edged with desperation. ‘You have to help me.’
The younger one moved then, vaulting over the garden wall and setting off down the street at a pace that was a bit too fast. He pulled his hood up as he went. I let him go. We’d catch up with him another time.
Anyway, I was more interested in getting out of this in one piece.
Turner groaned. Derwent reached down and hauled him to his feet, drawing one of Turner’s arms around his shoulders. Upright, he looked much, much worse, his head lolling, his nose swollen, his mouth a bloody blur. I pressed the button that unlocked my car. It was parked ten feet from the garden gate and I had to hope Derwent had noticed where it was parked or, at the very least, might have seen the lights flash when I unlocked it.
It played out as smoothly as if we’d discussed it beforehand, planned it out and practised it. Derwent shouldered his way past me to manhandle Turner into the passenger seat of my car. It would be easier to deal with Norris when he was gone, I thought.
But in the meantime, Derwent had left me to face him down alone.
No problem.
‘What are you doing?’ Norris demanded. He stepped up, crowding me, his face in mine. ‘You can’t take him away.’
‘I can’t leave him here. He’s not safe.’
‘You’re damn right he’s not.’
The big older man had lost patience. He jostled Norris out of his way and took hold of my shoulders. I twisted out of his grasp.
‘Don’t touch me.’
‘Don’t tell me what to do, miss.’
‘When we run you through the box, what are we going to find? Outstanding warrants? Or are you out on licence? Either way, I hope you’ve got a bag packed.’
‘Kerrigan.’ Derwent, behind me. I backed away from them, going around the car, making for the driver’s seat. Priority one: rescue Turner. Priority two: get every officer to safety. Priority three, in very small print at the bottom of the list: arrest the men. Someone would get around to it sometime.
I looked for Georgia and saw her cringing on the pavement on the other side of the road, holding on to her radio like a talisman, her face paper-white. There was no time to get her into the car too. I slid into the driver’s seat and started the engine, listening to the wheeze and rattle of Turner’s breath, hoping it was his injuries and not another asthma attack. Eye contact with Derwent and a meaningful look in Georgia’s direction; I saw him start towards her before I began to reverse, cursing the narrow street and Norris’s Volvo blocking the roadway. Something hit the roof of the car with a bang that had me ducking: Norris himself hammering his fist on the metal, his face contorted with rage. I locked the doors in the nick of time and Norris tugged at the handle as if he was going to break it off. The big man was moving to block my way out; it was now or never.
I spun the wheel, careless now, and accelerated away. I checked the rear-view for the other two, seeing the men running after me as Derwent guided Georgia to the other car. I tore out of Valerian Road on to the main road and saw the blue lights closing fast, carving through the traffic. How long had it been since we summoned them? It felt like forever.
‘What …’ Turner shifted in his seat, bleary-eyed. ‘What’s happening?’ He sounded slurred but coherent.
‘I’m taking you to hospital.’
‘My face …’ He put his hand up and I caught it.
‘Don’t touch it.’
He groaned. ‘Fuck, it hurts.’
‘I’m not surprised.’ I turned down a side road and another, trying to remember the maps I’d studied of the local area.
‘Where are we?’ He peered out of the window. ‘Where are we going?’
‘Hospital,’ I said again. He was definitely concussed. ‘You need a doctor.’
He gave a bubbling sniff and stared at me out of his one working eye. The other one had swollen shut already. ‘Is it bad?’
‘They’ll patch you up.’ He had a fractured eye socket, I guessed. His nose was definitely broken. They had targeted his face deliberately. I could imagine Oliver Norris taking pleasure in it, destroying the looks of the man who’d intrigued his daughter. ‘But you need to get it looked at now.’
‘I need to talk to you first.’ His breathing was still laboured.
‘Do you have your inhaler?’
‘Yes. No.’ He patted his pockets and found it. ‘But I don’t need it now.’
‘Just in case.’
‘Yes.’ He put his hand up to his face again, his fingers trembling, and I took hold of it gently but firmly.
‘Trust me, you don’t need to touch your face. It’ll only make things worse.’
‘Can I see what they did?’
‘I don’t recommend it.’ I put his hand down on his knee. ‘What do you want to talk about?’
‘Chloe. I should have told you before.’ He winced. ‘Can you stop the car for a minute?’
I should have said no, really; he needed to be treated and anything he said to me could be challenged in court. This was far from an official interview. What was more important: the legal side, or finding out where the girls had gone? Toss a coin … I cut down a narrow alley and stopped. It was a dead end, not overlooked, no houses.
<
br /> ‘Where are they, William? Where are Chloe and Bethany?’
‘I don’t know.’
I felt the disappointment in my gut. ‘Oh. I’d hoped—’
‘No, I told you. I don’t know. That’s what I said to the men back there – to Norris and the others. I haven’t heard from them since they disappeared and it’s driving me crazy.’ He clenched his fists. ‘If anyone harms her, I’ll kill them.’
He was probably too weak to punch his way through a wet tissue at that moment, but I didn’t doubt him.
‘You love her.’
‘Of course I do.’ He sniffed and coughed as the blood ran down into his throat. A fine spray dusted the inside of the windscreen.
‘Do you know Harold Lowe?’
‘Who?’ Unfeigned confusion.
‘Twenty-two, Constantine Avenue.’
He shook his head again, but this time I didn’t believe it.
‘Did you go there? With Chloe?’
He closed the single eye and sighed.
Bingo.
‘Chloe suggested it.’ He sniffed, his eyelids creasing as he rode a wave of pain. It had to be hard for him to think straight. Easier, on the whole, to tell me the truth … ‘It was her idea. Her mum had the keys. Chloe took them.’
‘Why were you there?’
‘It was somewhere to go. Somewhere we could be on our own.’ He touched the tip of his tongue to his lips, assessing the damage. ‘We stayed at the back so the neighbours didn’t see. And so Chloe could see when her mum got home.’
‘What were you doing there?’
A one-eyed look, heavy with scorn. ‘Can’t you guess?’
‘With Chloe.’
‘She wanted it. I always liked her.’ With a flash of exasperation he added, ‘There’s no need to look at me like that. If it wasn’t me it would have been someone else. At least I was careful. At least I took care of her. I made sure she was on the pill. She didn’t care if I used a condom or not. She didn’t care about anything. I was the responsible one.’
Abuse? I wondered. That could turn a child hypersexual from an early age. But of course, Chloe wasn’t a child. She was an adult with adult desires and a diminished ability to understand the consequences.
