Gone Astray

by Michelle Davies

  ‘I’ll talk to her about it,’ she said.

  ‘Really? Ah, cheers. She’ll listen to you.’

  Maggie wasn’t sure she shared his optimism but said she’d try her best for the boys’ sake.

  ‘One more thing . . .’ he began.

  Here we go, she thought uncharitably. There was always something else with Rob. ‘Go on.’

  He squirmed in his chair and Maggie realized he was nervous, which surprised her. Loud, blunt, rude? Rob was all those things. Skittish? Hardly.

  ‘You got anything to do with that missing girl case in Haxton?’

  ‘Yes,’ she said suspiciously. ‘I’m the FLO to her family, in fact.’

  His Adam’s apple bobbed up and down as he swallowed hard. ‘What if someone older goes missing? Do you lot do the same then?’

  ‘You mean do the police investigate in the same way? No. With an adult you have to wait twenty-four hours to file a missing person’s report, unless they’re particularly vulnerable, like they’re elderly or ill. Why do you ask?’

  He shrugged again. ‘No reason.’

  There clearly was one, so she waited for a few moments, hoping the elapsing silence might prompt him to elaborate. When he didn’t, she decided it wasn’t worth worrying about.

  ‘Thanks for the money,’ she said, as Rob waved her out. ‘Try not to leave it so late next time.’

  44

  He drummed his fingers impatiently on the steering wheel. Rob hadn’t said anything about someone else going round to see him first and he didn’t like being made to wait.

  He had been halfway up the path when he saw the woman press the button for Rob’s flat on the entry intercom and doubled back before she noticed him. He wondered who she was. She looked too classy for Rob’s usual type, the trouser suit at odds with the miniskirts and halter-necks that girlfriend of his usually wore. She must be someone official. In any case, she was too tall for his personal taste – he liked his women short and slight, so he could tower over them. If she wore heels, she’d be the same height. He’d hate that.

  She didn’t see him sitting in his car because he was parked not outside the flats but around the corner in the next street. He didn’t want Rob to know he was driving this crappy little car. After fifteen minutes he saw the woman drive past in a cherry red Toyota and knew it was safe for him to go up.

  Rob wasn’t in the best of moods when he arrived at the flat. He assumed it had something to do with the woman.

  ‘Who was that who just came round?’ he asked. ‘The woman I saw leave?’

  ‘My sister-in-law.’

  ‘Bit smartly dressed, wasn’t she?’

  ‘She’s a copper. CID.’

  He froze. ‘A detective?’

  ‘Yeah.’

  ‘What was she doing here?’

  ‘Picking up some cash I owe her sister, my ex.’

  ‘Shouldn’t she be at work?’

  ‘I suppose. She’s on that missing girl case. She does family handling or whatever it’s called.’

  His heart beat wildly as it dawned on him how close he’d come to meeting the officer whose job it was to look after the parents. What he’d have given to ask her about their reaction to his phone call! Were they ready to pay him his money? A plan began to form in his mind. He needed to draw up the instructions for the parents to sort out the pre-paid credit card and get it to him. Rob’s sister-in-law might just be the glue that held his plan together.

  ‘There was something on the radio about that just now. What does she think has happened to the girl?’

  ‘Didn’t ask. Wait here, I’ll get your gear.’

  Rob went into the kitchen. He heard the sound of a fridge door being opened and closed then Rob came back holding a Tupperware box. He opened it up and took out two vials from the dozen or so inside it. Both contained clear liquid and as Rob held them up to the light he saw the language printed on the side was again one he didn’t understand.

  ‘It’s the same stuff as last time,’ said Rob. ‘Same price.’

  He reached into the pocket of his tracksuit bottoms, pulled out a roll of money and peeled off six fifty-pound notes. ‘Here you go.’

  ‘This is two months’ supply. Try to make it last this time. It’s fucking nasty stuff if you don’t use it right.’

  He bristled. Who the hell did Rob think he was talking to? These business transactions did not make them friends – Rob should consider himself lucky he gave him the time of day.

  ‘You’re hardly one to talk,’ he said, nodding at Rob’s hulking arms.

  ‘Yeah, but I’m not stupid.’ Rob grinned.

  That’s debatable, he thought wryly. He pocketed the vials.

  ‘What have you done to your hand?’ said Rob. ‘Looks nasty.’

  He flexed the sore, bruised knuckles on his right hand, from where he’d hit the wall. ‘Oh, it’s nothing. I just caught it on a door,’ he lied.

  ‘You been at the gym today?’ Rob asked.

  ‘No, I’ve been seeing private clients. Why?’

  ‘Just wondered if you saw Lisa there.’

  ‘Your girlfriend Lisa? The one you live with? Mate, wouldn’t she tell you if she’d gone to the gym?’

  Rob went red. ‘It’s nothing. Forget I mentioned it.’

  ‘No, come on, you can tell me.’ It was written all over Rob’s face that something was up.

  ‘Lisa went to stay with a friend at the weekend. She was meant to be back by now but hasn’t come home yet. I’ve tried calling but her phone’s off. I thought she might have gone straight to work.’

  ‘Oh yeah, I forgot she sometimes covers the reception when Kelli’s off. Sorry, like I said, I haven’t been in today.’

  Rob shrugged. ‘I bet she’s pissed off about something. I’ll talk to her later.’

  He pretended to be interested but he was bored talking about Lisa now. She wasn’t what he’d ever consider girlfriend material, with her slutty clothes, straw-like black hair and her habit of being over-familiar with customers. Fine for a fuck, if you were prepared to lower your standards, but nothing more than that. Even Rob could do better than her.

  ‘Maybe she found out about your little visit from your hot sister-in-law?’ he joked.

  Rob pulled a face. ‘Maggie, hot? I don’t think so. Her tits aren’t even that big.’

  So she was Maggie. Nice name.

  ‘I suppose Lisa’s a bit funny about you seeing your ex-wife still. You’ve got a kid, haven’t you?’

  ‘Yeah,’ said Rob, breaking into a smile. ‘Girl called Mae.’

  ‘Do you get to see much of her?’ he fished.

  Rob pulled out a picture to show him from his wallet of a baby with fluffy blonde hair. It could’ve been a boy or a girl for all he could tell.

  ‘She’s lovely,’ he lied. ‘Do they live close by?’

  ‘Yeah.’ Rob rattled off the name of the road where his ex-wife lived. He had a rough idea where it was but would look it up on his phone to be sure.

  ‘Was her sister going round to give her the money?’

  ‘Probably.’

  ‘But she doesn’t know where you get your cash from?’

  ‘Fuck no,’ said Rob, laughing. ‘If she knew I was dealing ’roids she’d fucking arrest me.’

  ‘I can’t believe you’re related to a police officer.’

  He feigned panic while beneath the surface he fizzed with excitement. If he followed the sister-in-law, this Maggie, she could be his ticket to ensuring he got what he wanted out of the Kinnocks.

  ‘If anyone finds out I’m stacking, I’m done for. I’d lose my job.’

  In truth, he didn’t care in the slightest. Once he got his money, he’d go to the States for his operation and stay there, try his hand at something else.

  ‘Who’s gunna find out?’ said Rob. ‘I’ve been dealing for years and Maggie’s never suspected a thing. Believe me, I’d have known if she had.’

  He made a show of pretending Rob had calmed him down, then sa
id he needed to get going.

  ‘I’ve got an early client tomorrow and I need to get a good night’s sleep.’

  ‘Sure,’ said Rob. ‘Listen, if you do see Lisa—’

  ‘Don’t worry, I’ll let you know straight away. Mates look out for each other, don’t they?’

  He must’ve sounded more convincing than he realized because he thought Rob was going to hug him when he showed him out. He managed to sidestep the embrace and slapped him on the back instead. By the time he reached his car he’d called up a map on his phone showing the street where Rob’s ex lived. It would take him less than ten minutes to get there. A slow smile spread across his face.

  Coming to get you.

  45

  Maggie’s flat was on the top floor of a converted Victorian townhouse overlooking the train station. The unrelenting rumble of commuter and freight trains passing beneath her front windows had thwarted the previous owner’s attempt to sell it at the same price other two-bedroom flats in Mansell went for, and Maggie was happy to put up with the noise in return for having a spare room.

  Having not been home for two days, the flat was musty and airless. She yanked up the sash windows even though it was drizzling outside and sighed as she surveyed the clothes scattered over the lounge floor and sofa, the washing-up that had been in the kitchen sink for a week and the pizza box with one slice left uneaten still open on the coffee table.

  For the past four months she’d lived there alone, ever since her lodger, Susan, had moved out; Maggie never referred to her as a flatmate because that term implied they spent actual time in each other’s company. Susan, who was a veterinary assistant, moved in after answering Maggie’s ad on Gumtree. Maggie had told her to treat the place as her own and looked forward to cooking meals together, sharing bottles of wine in the evenings and having someone to talk to who wasn’t Lou or anyone to do with work. But whenever they were in the flat at the same time, Susan slunk off to her bedroom to watch TV and after six months announced she was moving out. Maggie wasn’t bothered when she left but she did need to find a new lodger at some point. She needed half the mortgage covered so she could afford to help Lou out with her bills.

  Maggie had thought about going straight round to her sister’s with Rob’s money but decided to go home first and grab something to eat. She needed an hour to herself to process the past couple of days. When she checked, however, there was nothing in the fridge save a half-drunk bottle of white wine, a chunk of mature Cheddar cheese, an iceberg lettuce that was browning around the edges and a couple of bottles of Budweiser. Maggie rummaged through the takeaway menus she kept in a drawer next to the cutlery. Disregarding the ones for pizza and curry, her taste buds steered her towards Thai and she went to ring through her order. But as she waited for the restaurant to pick up, her phone beeped to signal another call waiting and when she saw who was on the other line she knew dinner would have to wait.

  ‘Where are you?’ barked Umpire, typically brusque.

  ‘At home, sir. You said it was fine for Belmar to stay with the Kinnocks tonight,’ she added defensively.

  ‘Yes, I know. You live above the station, don’t you?’

  Maggie was thrown. ‘Um, yes. Marshall Street.’

  ‘What number?’

  ‘Twelve.’

  ‘I’ll be round in five minutes.’

  She almost dropped her phone in shock. He was coming here, to her flat? What the—?

  Before she could say anything, he’d rung off.

  She stood stock-still, her mind churning with all the reasons why on earth Umpire would want to come to her home. Then it occurred to her what a state the flat was in and she panicked. Getting a black bin bag from under the kitchen sink, Maggie raced around the lounge throwing the pizza box and piles of old newspapers into it. Then she grabbed her clothes an armful at a time and rushed them into her bedroom, chucking them down on the carpet. Back in the kitchen she knew she wouldn’t have time to wash up so she took the bowl full of dirty dishes out of the sink and shoved it into the cupboard below. Thirty seconds later her doorbell rang.

  She buzzed Umpire into the house and opened the front door to her flat, listening with growing trepidation as his footsteps got louder coming up the stairs. Suddenly there he was in front of her, his face set in its usual frown. The landing outside her front door was small anyway but now it seemed tiny with his tall, lanky frame taking up most of it. He had already taken his suit jacket off and draped it over the crook of his arm, and his tie and top shirt button were undone to reveal a tangle of downy, reddish-blond hair creeping up towards the base of his throat. Maggie quickly averted her gaze.

  He spoke first. To her surprise, he sounded a bit nervous.

  ‘So, Neville, well, I just thought that with you not being able to come to all the briefings I should make sure you’re up to date on everything. Save you coming into the station. I was driving past anyway,’ he added hastily.

  ‘Um, thanks,’ she said, even more baffled. He was the SIO – if he wanted her to be at a briefing, all he had to do was order her to be there. ‘Come in.’

  He followed her into the lounge. ‘Nice room. I like the high ceilings,’ he said, glancing up.

  Maggie had no idea how to answer him. It was like she’d lost the power of speech.

  ‘Have you lived here long?’ he said, cocking his head to one side to appraise the spines of the paperbacks stuffed onto shelves in an alcove near the window. She was thankful there were a few classics among the holiday reads she’d collected at airports over the years.

  ‘Erm, not really. About three years.’ She wanted to kick herself for how stupid she sounded.

  ‘On your own?’

  ‘I had a lodger, but she moved out.’

  Neither of them spoke as he moved slowly round the room, taking in his surroundings. All Maggie could think was what people would say if they knew he was there. Belmar and his gossips would have a field day. She shook her head to dislodge the thought. Get a grip, she ordered herself.

  ‘Please, sit down. Can I get you a tea or coffee?’

  ‘Have you got anything stronger?’

  It was earlier in the day than she’d normally have a drink but she was hardly going to refuse him.

  ‘Is red wine okay?’

  She had a bottle of Chilean Cabernet Sauvignon stashed away that was meant to be half decent.

  ‘I’d prefer beer if you’ve got one,’ he said, flopping down onto the sofa. He stretched out his long legs and she had to hop over them on her way to the kitchen.

  Her hands shook as she poured herself a glass of white wine from the bottle already opened in the fridge. She stopped short of giving herself too large a measure but did sneak a quick gulp before grabbing one of the bottles of Budweiser, cracking the lid off with an opener and returning with both drinks to the lounge.

  ‘Sorry, do you want a glass with that?’ she said, as Umpire reached up and took the beer bottle from her.

  ‘No, this is fine.’

  Maggie perched on the edge of the sofa, pressed up against the arm, as far from him as possible. Worried she reeked because she hadn’t had a chance to change her clothes, she clamped her arms to her sides.

  ‘Have you seen the papers today?’ Umpire asked, taking a swig of beer.

  ‘I scanned the headlines but that’s it.’

  ‘The Chief Constable’s on my case. She thinks the Kinnocks should follow up the press conference with an interview. She’s worried a backlash is building because of their win and it’s harming the investigation.’

  ‘A backlash based on what?’

  ‘Some papers have laid into them about reducing the reward and are insinuating they must somehow be involved in Rosie’s disappearance. They’ve also republished some of the rumours being written on Twitter and Facebook.’

  ‘Written by trolls, I bet,’ said Maggie, unimpressed. ‘Why do we even care what idiots like that think?’

  ‘Because people believe what they read and we need
everyone on Mack and Lesley’s side. We don’t want a situation where witnesses won’t come forward with information because they’re jealous of their wealth or think that with all the money they have they should’ve taken better care of their daughter. Yes, I know, it’s ridiculous, but that’s what people are saying. So we need the public to see that they’re still normal despite the money.’

  ‘You’re saying people think they deserve what’s happened because they’re rich?’ Maggie retorted. ‘That’s crazy.’

  ‘Yes it is, but that’s what we’re up against. I think we should get them to sit down with the Mansell Echo first, get the locals on side.’ Umpire relaxed back onto the sofa cushions. ‘Do you think they’ll be up for it? I know we can’t force them to do an interview, but we could do with some more breaks on the case.’

  ‘Actually, sir, I may have one.’

  ‘From Cassie Perrie?’

  ‘Not exactly. I talked to her but she has no idea who GS is. She then suggested I speak to another of Rosie’s old friends, a girl called Emma Mitchell, so I’ve just been round to see her on my way back here. Basically, I got Emma to admit that Rosie phoned her last week, saying some bloke has been harassing her for sex. Rosie didn’t call him GS when she was talking to Emma, but it sounds like the same person. She was also scathing about the suggestion Rosie self-harmed.’

  ‘You went to a witness’s house without telling me?’ said Umpire, in a tone that sounded unnaturally dispassionate to her ears.

  ‘Yes,’ she faltered. ‘It’s not far from here—’

  ‘But you didn’t think to clear it with me first? You are the FLO first and foremost on this case.’

  Frustrated, Maggie set her glass of wine down on the coffee table. ‘I was driving past the door, sir.’

  ‘That’s not the point, DC Neville, and you know it.’

  She held her nerve. ‘Look, I know I appear to be in a minority of one but I think what Rosie wrote on her laptop is significant. She rang Emma because she was upset about being harassed and she wrote about someone called GS who wouldn’t take no for an answer. What if GS is the crayon writer?’