He's Gone

by Alex Clare

  Silence, one, two, three, then Graham swore at a scooter, keeping up a string of abuse until he’d got across all three lanes and swerved the car under an archway. ‘Easier to park here, don’t want to get stuck in the multi-storey.’

  Robyn thought the abuse was really for her. She’d never criticised Prentiss before, hiding her frustration at the cliques and sloppiness she’d inherited. Her flash of regret at the outburst started receding.

  They got out of the car in the loading area. Robyn’s scan took in the bays, racks and pallets; so many places you could hide a child.

  ‘We can take the access passage right to the middle.’ Graham pointed to a scuffed set of doors. ‘That’s where Uniform are supposed to bring shoplifters out so they don’t scare punters.’

  Robyn stretched her arms; the jacket’s tight shoulders stopped the movement. ‘No, let’s go in the proper way.’

  The quarter-chime on St Leonard’s church could just be heard outside the centre’s Northbank entrance. All doors except one pair were shut, two women complaining as they left.

  ‘Ten minutes I had to wait and it’s stifling.’

  ‘Well, if a little lad’s missing, something’s got to be done. We don’t want another case like the kid on the railway line.’

  Graham approached a uniformed sergeant who broke away from his conversation with a woman jammed into a mobility scooter. People in the queue fretted and stamped – somewhere a child was screaming. The officer didn’t do a good job of hiding his double-take or sharp breath when he saw them: his Adam’s apple jerked and was still.

  ‘Morning, ah, ma’am, Graham.’

  Graham gestured at the queue. ‘Blimey, Phil, it must be serious if you’ve been dragged in from Gaddesford. How’d the cricket go over the weekend? Have you got anything?’

  They were giving the crowd something to look at. Robyn heard muttered conversations and sensed an undercurrent of hostility. Biting her tongue, she told herself it was frustration at waiting – she was just part of the delay. She fixed her gaze on Phil, who rubbed the back of his neck.

  ‘A draw. Nothing so far, Graham. We’ve got teams on all exits but if someone took him, they’d be long gone because we weren’t called in until twenty minutes after the boy went missing. And they’re having trouble getting the CCTV. Right bunch of showers, the security team here.’

  Robyn tried to shut out the pop music. ‘What have we got from …?’

  ‘How much longer are we going to be kept waiting? I’ve got a meeting.’ A man strode forward from the queue, shiny patches on his suit jacket.

  Robyn waited for quiet. ‘… from the mother?’

  Phil made a placatory gesture in the direction of the crowd. ‘Not his mother, it’s a nanny.’ He swallowed. ‘Ma’am. She’s in the administration office.’ He handed over a picture of a boy with pale brown skin and solemn, dark eyes. His red sweatshirt had an ostentatious blue crest. ‘Ben Chivers, the missing boy. He’ll be two in September.’

  ‘A face made for television,’ Graham held the photo at arm’s length. ‘Can we keep this?’

  Now it’s holiday time, everything you need is here at Whitecourt Shopping Centre. Make the most of our free parking and family-friendly space …

  The tannoy cut across the rising noise from the crowd. Phil nodded. ‘We’ve got copies. Lucky the nanny had some pictures on her phone. It’s been circulated to all the usual places. Should warn you, ma’am, we’ve already had someone from the Gazette here. Taking pictures.’ Phil’s glance to Robyn lasted too long.

  There was a second’s pause. Graham shrugged. ‘Not surprising. This would be a big story for them.’

  The man in the suit barged forward, tie undone. ‘I asked how much longer?’

  Graham clapped Phil on the shoulder. ‘You’d better get back to it. Has the mother been contacted?’

  Phil nodded. ‘Yeah. She works locally so has gone home, somewhere in Upper Town, in case he turns up there. Family Liaison is sending someone.’ He turned back to the queue and dismissed the woman in the mobility scooter, who reversed, wheels crunching over the man in the suit’s briefcase.

  They walked down the slope to a door marked Staff Only between a Pound Shop and an empty unit: there was still a faint echo of raised voices. They went up a dim staircase, notice-boards on both sides, to the first floor where there were just two doors, marked with a stickman and a stick-woman with drawn-on tits. Continuing up, a dark trail on the lino ran into a room resembling a bedsit with a corner counter crammed with dirty crockery. At the end of the corridor, they walked into an office where grimy windows gave a view over the shop-floor. A woman in a tight suit leant over a paper-strewn desk, plastic bands for various causes slithering around her wrists. Discarded on top of the muddle were papers with bright red headers denoting B23-08 Customer Sickness and B23-04 Acts of Vandalism.

  On a chair in front of the desk, someone sat swaddled in an olive cardigan, grey wisps of hair visible above the shawl collar. By the window, a young woman with spiky, cropped hair saw Graham and looked relieved. She was familiar – a constable from the station, in civvies. Robyn nodded to her as she searched her memory for a name: Claire? Kate? Graham muttered something to her as he got out his notebook.

  A sniff came from inside the cardigan. Robyn pulled her mind back. ‘Madam? I’m DI Bailley and this is Sergeant Catt. Please can you tell us what happened?’

  The woman raised her face towards the voice, hearing but not seeing. Sixty, Robyn concluded, seeing the powder in the lines of the face and a slight tic fluttering in the left eye.

  The young woman took a half step forward. ‘Perhaps I can help, DI Bailley, Graham? Constable Chloe Talbot.’

  The broad Yorkshire accent sounded too big for her small frame. Robyn nodded for her to continue.

  Chloe tucked her hands behind her. ‘I was doing some shopping.’ Her eyes widened. ‘Only because I’ve got the week off, you see. Well, at quarter to nine, I saw this lady getting agitated with a security guard. They hadn’t even started first response though the lad had been gone since half past. I called it in then got some staff and public organised into a search but there was no sign of him.’

  ‘Thank you, PC Talbot. I appreciate this is very difficult for you, Mrs …’

  ‘Green, ma’am,’ supplied Chloe. ‘Gillian Green.’

  ‘Thank you. Mrs Green, we need you to tell us what happened in your own words. Can we get you anything – a glass of water?’ There was a small nod.

  Robyn appealed to the skinny woman, now pulling more files from the shelves. ‘Could you get Mrs Green a glass of water?’ The woman didn’t even look round. Robyn rapped on the desk. ‘A glass of water, please.’

  ‘I have to find our missing child policy.’ The woman dumped more files on the crowded desk. ‘The index says it’s B23-10.’

  Graham stepped into her eyeline. ‘I think it’s a bit late, don’t you?’

  ‘I’m the manager of this centre, I have to follow the policy.’

  ‘Good for you, it’s your centre.’ Graham held a file shut as the manager tried to open it. ‘Least you can do is get this poor shopper some water.’ She glared at him and swept out.

  Gillian kept her cardigan tight around her, despite the heat.

  Robyn felt a creeping sensation on her skin as each second passed. ‘Tell me what happened this morning.’

  There was no answer or acknowledgement. One of Gillian’s hairpins fell to the lino.

  ‘Mrs Green, what time did you get here?’ Robyn raised her voice.

  The manager returned and spent huffy seconds finding a mat for the plastic glass with a scratched Minnie Mouse picture.

  Robyn jerked her head at Graham, who took the hint. He blocked the manager’s route back behind her desk. ‘Why don’t we go and make sure the CCTV footage is ready?’ He steered her to the door and out.

  Chloe stepped forward, squatting directly in Gillian’s eyeline, taking a liver-spotted hand. ‘Hey, it was an accident. Just an a
ccident. You mustn’t blame yourself.’ Her voice was friendly, soft and at last there was an answering nod.

  Chloe pressed on. ‘Now, when did you get here? I bet you were like me, here early to beat the crowds, yes?’

  ‘I listened to the end of the news on the radio then started the chores.’ The husky voice filtered through the collar of the cardigan.

  ‘So about five past eight.’ Chloe smiled in encouragement. ‘And what did you do downstairs?’ Robyn moved behind Chloe, perching on a corner of the desk.

  ‘Uh, the health-food shop, got shoes from the menders and picked up dry-cleaning. The pharmacy was the last stop.’

  ‘Did you notice anything peculiar?’ Chloe looked up to Robyn, who nodded she should keep going.

  ‘No. Everything was the same.’ Gillian’s voice wavered. Chloe passed a tissue from a quilted box on the desk and Gillian blew her nose before composing herself. ‘I always do the chores on a Monday morning as it’s quietest and Benjamin doesn’t have school.’ Her shoulders shook and tears seemed imminent.

  Chloe cocked her head on one side. ‘Ben goes to school? You mean nursery?’

  ‘No, Benjamin attends a special school for gifted children on Tuesdays and Wednesdays and I teach him at home the rest of the week.’ Gillian dabbed around her face with the tissue.

  ‘How long have you cared for him?’ Robyn leaned forward.

  ‘A year and a half.’

  ‘And what else can you tell us about him?’

  Gillian drooped leaving Robyn wondering why she wasn’t making a connection. A nervous voice in her mind whispered that no one would want to talk to her because she must seem odd, maybe frightening. A more practical voice said her appearance couldn’t be important as Gillian wasn’t focusing on anything.

  Robyn leaned forward. ‘Mrs Green, Gillian? We need to get this information …’

  Gillian lurched to her feet, knocking Chloe backwards and began to pace – step, step, turn.

  ‘What can I tell you about Benjamin? Everything, because I’m with him all the time except when he’s with a tutor or in school.’ Step, step, turn. ‘His mother works so hard and I’ve lost him.’ Step, step, turn. ‘He’s such a gifted child, he wouldn’t go anywhere on his own, someone’s taken him, someone’s …’

  Step, step, crumble. Gillian collapsed back onto the seat, tears beginning to fall. Chloe passed another tissue, making soothing noises. Graham and Phil appeared in the doorway and behind them, the manager could be heard demanding her office back.

  ‘And where’s Ben’s father?’ Robyn had to speak louder than she wanted: it sounded like an accusation.

  Gillian’s swollen eyes peered into Robyn’s. Uncomprehending, she turned back to Chloe.

  ‘Gillian? How can we get in touch with Ben’s father?’

  The answer was so muffled, Robyn couldn’t catch anything but Chloe reacted, leaning forward. ‘You must know something, Gillian. Does he live a long way away?’

  ‘I became Benjamin’s nanny when he was six months old. His father has never been mentioned.’

  Most single mothers lived in the Docks or New Town estates, not Upper Town so Robyn filed the father’s whereabouts as a question for when they spoke to Ben’s mother. She straightened. ‘Thank you. I assure you we will do everything we can to find Ben. Phil, can you radio for someone to take Mrs Green home?’

  Gillian left, arms wrapped around herself, forgetting the shopping bags piled by her feet until Chloe called after her.

  4

  Robyn sat with Phil and Chloe in a corner of the shopping centre’s staff room.

  ‘A right shambles, ah, ma’am.’ Phil flicked back pages in his notebook. ‘There are supposed to be three security staff on duty at any one time. Gillian was in the chemist’s when the lad went missing. She had a look up and down but the boy had gone. The pharmacist pushed his emergency button at eight thirty-eight. The only guard actually working was removing a rough sleeper and didn’t get there for another ten minutes.’

  ‘That’s when I heard Gillian yelling and assumed she was a shoplifter.’ Chloe had her feet up on the chair, arms wrapped around her knees. ‘I went over to see if I could help the security guy.’

  Graham slipped in, holding a disc and settled on the sofa next to Robyn.

  ‘We got a couple of cars here before nine.’ Phil pointed to his notes. ‘Chloe had got both sets of doors shut but it was too late. Nothing was going out on the tannoy because the guy on the ground was Polish and the one in the office was Greek.’ He paused, as if expecting a reaction. ‘Barely speak English between them–’

  Chloe cut across him. ‘And all this time, Gillian was just left outside the chemist’s. She didn’t want to leave in case Ben came back.’

  Phil’s eyes narrowed. ‘As I was saying, the office didn’t help and no one wanted to disturb the manager because she was on the phone to a potential tenant.’

  A locker was banged shut: Robyn shifted on the hard sofa. ‘Thanks, Phil. Got the CCTV, Graham?’

  Graham scowled. ‘Yeah. Don’t get your hopes up though. Nothing but blue sky from the cameras at the Riverside end because they were out of position but …’ He held up a disk. ‘We’ve picked up Gillian and Ben at the Northbank entrance.’

  A constable hurried in. ‘Sir, we’ve got something from the shop-to-shop.’ Robyn gritted her teeth, until she realised the woman was addressing Phil.

  The officer handed Phil a camera. ‘The photography shop said someone was taking pictures with this in the aisle about the time the boy went missing.’

  Phil’s big fingers jabbed at buttons as he squinted down at the small screen. ‘There’s nothing here.’ He held out the camera to Robyn. ‘Just blurs.’

  Robyn scrolled through the six images: the text of a fast-food sign, litter amongst the plastic flowers, a couple holding hands. ‘He’s testing the camera’s features.’ She scrolled through them again: a girl sucking on a straw; the support struts of the roof; a mannequin in a first-floor window, fuzzy figures below. Zooming in, one of the blurs resolved itself into two distinct shapes. ‘Here! Look at this.’ Robyn held the screen so that everyone could see. ‘Can we blow this one up?’

  ‘If you think it’ll help, ma’am.’ Phil hauled himself to his feet.

  Robyn made a larger-than-needed gesture to check her watch, impatience growing at the lack of urgency. ‘It’s five to ten. The child’s been missing an hour and a half. We’ll need an all-ports alert and extend the searches into town.’ She bit her lip, tasting lipstick. ‘Phil, can you get on with that? I need to arrange a press briefing.’ She stood up. ‘Anything else? Oh, has the loading bay been searched?’

  ‘Of course it has. Ma’am. We’ve searched the whole place. Teams are in the High Street and Victoria Park now. More units are on their way to cover the rest of town.’

  Dealing with Phil had always been hard work. ‘Thanks, Phil.’ Robyn turned to Chloe. ‘Good work today. Lucky you were there.’

  Chloe lifted her elbow from the table, then screwed up her face and began scrubbing something sticky off her skin. ‘Not lucky enough, though. Guess I should go back to the station – they might need me for searches.’ She stood up.

  As she towered over Chloe, Robyn was struck by how ridiculous she must appear in comparison. Chloe hesitated a moment then turned to go, grabbing her bag from the sofa.

  Robyn suddenly realised she didn’t know where her own handbag was. Her phone was in it and she needed to call Fell. There were a few panicky seconds before she worked out she hadn’t picked it up from the car.

  ‘Graham, can I borrow your phone?’ She found her hands were flapping and went to put them in her pockets, before giving up and clasping them behind her. ‘I left my handbag in the car.’

  Graham pressed his lips together but held out his phone. Robyn turned away to make the call, nearly bumping into a plump woman in a yellow uniform who gave her a look of curiosity and suspicion.

  ‘Superintendent Fell’s office.’
/>
  ‘Hello, Tracey. It’s Robyn.’

  ‘Robyn.’ Tracey seemed to roll the name around her mouth, as if tasting it. ‘Welcome back.’

  ‘Thanks.’ There was a constant crackly hum. ‘Can you hear me?’

  ‘Just about – it’s an awful line.’

  ‘I wanted to update Fell on the missing boy as it looks like an abduction. We’ll need to get an appeal out as soon as possible. Could you organise one here at the shopping centre as soon as possible?’

  ‘Let’s see. Ten o’clock now – I’ll arrange the session for eleven to give enough notice for a reasonable show.’

  ‘Thanks. We’ll have finished interviewing here by then.’

  ‘Anything else you need?’

  ‘We’ll need some bodies to answer phones.’

  ‘I’ll get a team together. Oh and the superintendent would like to see you sometime this afternoon.’

  Robyn shut her eyes for a second. Of course he would. Just a routine, she would have to get used to now that DCI Golding had been signed off sick again. Fell needed an update, nothing to worry about. ‘OK, Tracey. Thanks.’ As she finished the call, the phone rang. ‘Hi, Ravi.’

  ‘Oh? Hello, Guv. I tried to calling you and just got voicemail. I’ve got the info you wanted on Ben.’

  ‘Go ahead.’

  ‘Well, he’s not known to Social Services. There’s no father listed on his birth certificate, just his mother. Her name’s Melissa Chivers, no record, one speeding fine – I’ve sent a text with her address. She also made a complaint about someone threatening her, three months ago: Janice investigated.’

  ‘Interesting. Anything else?’ The woman in the yellow uniform said something into her own phone and shrieked with laughter. Robyn changed the phone to her other ear.

  ‘Yeah, one other thing, Guv: there’s a lot online about this case.’

  ‘What’s being said?’

  ‘CCTV from Whitecourt has been posted to YouTube. It seems to be Ben just before he goes missing and it’s got thousands of hits already.’

  ‘What?’ Someone had seen Ben disappear and done nothing. Her angry gesture got Graham’s attention. ‘Hang on, Ravi …’ ‘Graham, someone’s put a CCTV clip from here on the internet – can you find out what the hell they saw and why they didn’t tell us first time?’ Graham scowled, nodded and left. ‘… sorry, Ravi. Can you keep a watch for anything else online? Tracey’s rounding up a squad to answer phones so can you and Janice get the office organised? OK, thanks. Bye.’