Alice Teale is Missing

by H. A. Linskey

50

  Happy Harry was unrecognizable. He was clean and shaven and dressed in hand-me-down clothes that actually fitted him: trousers, shirt and a cardigan. He’d even had a haircut and, aside from some blemishes on his face, he looked like any normal man might. He even seemed sober. His short time at Alex McGregor’s shelter had obviously been good for him. It was the logical solution to the problem of what to do with the homeless man, and at least now he was easier to locate, particularly after dark.

  ‘I like it here,’ he told them when they asked him how he was. ‘They feed you and they let you have hot tea.’ He held up his mug to show them this unimaginable luxury. ‘It’s better than the streets and warmer than the woods.’ Beth realized how luxurious a bed indoors must have seemed to Harry. ‘Thanks for putting a word in for me.’

  ‘No problem,’ said Black. McGregor’s shelter was a better option for Harry than sleeping rough, and it meant they knew where he was and could find him again easily if there were further developments in the case. They were glad of their decision now.

  Beth explained why they needed to speak to him again. She promised him that his place at the hostel and any future help he had been offered to keep him off the streets permanently was not in jeopardy: ‘But only if you tell us the truth now.’ And he nodded eagerly along to that.

  It was Black’s turn then. They had prearranged their approach. Beth would be kind then Black would come in and play the bad guy.

  ‘Of course, if we find out later that you’ve lied or held out on us, then that’s a very different matter. That would be serious, Harry’ – the homeless man looked alarmed – ‘and we would have to review your situation here.’

  ‘Review?’ he asked them uncertainly.

  ‘Which is why we’re going to give you this chance to clear the air and get everything out in the open,’ Beth told him, ‘because there is one important thing you haven’t told us.’

  ‘Maybe you were worried you’d get into more trouble,’ Black said.

  ‘I didn’t do anything,’ said Harry, but his guilty face betrayed him and Black knew they were on the right lines.

  ‘The camera, Harry,’ he said. ‘Tell us what you did with the camera.’

  Kevin Brown complained a lot, even after they showed him their warrant cards. The shopkeeper couldn’t understand why they were there, knocking on his door so insistently at such a late hour, or why they needed him to leave his apartment to open up the shop so they could inspect its contents.

  ‘It’s late,’ he said, as if they didn’t know this. ‘We’re closed. Why can’t you wait till the morning?’

  ‘This won’t wait till the morning,’ explained Beth, her patience quickly reaching its limit, ‘and you live above your shop! We’re not asking you to drive across town.’

  He greeted this statement with a sigh and a muttered curse but made no further objection as he went back into his flat to grab the keys to the shop below.

  The shabby little shop was right at the far end of the town and not a great distance from Alice Teale’s own home. The faded sign outside still claimed the place to be a newsagent’s, but that had closed down long ago and he hadn’t bothered to put up a new one. It was obvious from the window that he was trading in second-hand goods which he had picked up for a pittance from desperate people who were strapped for cash and looking to get a few quid by flogging everything from tumble dryers to vacuum cleaners. The front window was jam-packed with vases and ornaments, old coffee tables, lampshades, an ancient battered chest of drawers and a paraffin heater.

  He opened the front door and let them in while they explained what they were looking for. ‘I get a lot of cameras,’ he said, making it sound like dozens crossed his counter every day.

  Beth went over to the glass-fronted cabinet, also for sale, which housed half a dozen cameras, as well as other electrical goods, an ancient TV game and an early-eighties computer.

  ‘Did you buy one from Harry?’ asked Black.

  ‘Harry who?’

  ‘Everyone in Collemby knows Harry,’ Black told him. ‘He’s not someone you’d forget. Has he been in here recently with a camera for sale?’

  ‘Not that I recollect.’ The man’s posture stiffened. He must have assumed that Harry had stolen the camera from someone, even as he paid the homeless man for it. Beth and Lucas’s presence in his shop had confirmed that suspicion.

  ‘It’s here,’ called Beth, and she turned away from the cabinet: ‘Canon AE-1, black plastic grip with a silver body.’

  ‘Oh, er, I’m not sure about that,’ he stammered. ‘I think we’ve had that one for a while.’

  ‘Then why does it have “CCS” on it?’ She pointed at the identifying white markings. ‘For Collemby Comprehensive School.’

  ‘Eh?’ he said innocently, and walked over to survey the camera with mock-incredulity. ‘Well, that is strange. I’ve not noticed that before.’

  ‘Just hand it over,’ said Lucas, and when the shop owner seemed reluctant: ‘Or we’ll take you in.’

  The man saw sense then and nodded at the locked glass cabinet. ‘I’ll just get the key.’

  He took a while to locate the right key but, eventually, while Beth and Black waited impatiently for him, he re-emerged and walked over to the cabinet, tried the key in the lock and opened it then reached inside for the camera. He handed it to Beth and she checked it.

  She looked up at Lucas. ‘There’s film in here.’

  There was no one at police HQ who could develop old-fashioned 35mm film at that hour, so Black kept the camera and they reconvened the next morning. Black knew a technician who was old enough to recall a pre-digital age and they accosted him as soon as he arrived. He explained the urgency of the situation and urged the man to take great care.

  He needn’t have worried that there might be a lack of enthusiasm. ‘Oh, wow, actual film, like from the Ark,’ he enthused. ‘I haven’t seen a roll of film in a camera in I don’t know how long, but it’s years.’

  ‘You do know how to do this, right?’

  ‘Of course,’ he said. ‘That’s how I started out. Don’t worry, you’re in good hands here, mate.’

  ‘I hope so,’ said Black. ‘And, if you don’t mind, I’ll wait till you’re done.’

  The technician looked as if he was going to advise against that, but when he saw the look on Black’s face he relented. ‘I’ll be a while,’ he said. ‘I’ll have to nip out and get some developer. You might want to get yourself a cup of tea. I’ll come and get you as soon as I’m finished.’ Then he said, ‘I promise. What are you expecting to find, anyway?’

  ‘I don’t know.’

  Black could tell the man did not believe he had no idea what was on the roll. The technician didn’t challenge him, though, he simply said, ‘It must be important.’

  ‘It is,’ Black assured him. ‘A girl died for it.’

  They went to Black’s desk at HQ and the first thing he noticed was a large envelope resting on the keyboard by his computer. He opened it then said, ‘It’s the forensic results on the car Simon Nash was driving that night.’ He looked accusingly around the room. ‘You would have thought someone might have called me,’ he said, loud enough for everyone to hear, and Beth noticed how they all studiously ignored him.

  Black read through the report then briefed her. ‘It’s clean. No fibres, no blood or bodily fluids of any kind that link the inside of the car to Alice and, more importantly, no trace of her body in the boot. No trace of her anywhere, in fact.’

  ‘Perhaps even Nash baulked at the idea of sex with a secret lover in his fiancée’s car?’ offered Beth.

  ‘Either way, it looks like he may have been telling the truth about that night.’

  ‘The part about her not getting in his car, perhaps,’ she said, ‘but he might still have been the last one to see her alive in the school.’

  ‘If he killed her there, why would he then park his car a few yards away?’

  Beth had no idea but suggested, ‘Shock, mayb
e? At the realization of what he had done. Maybe he had to pull over to process it?’

  ‘Perhaps.’ But he sounded doubtful. ‘And his room is one of the ones that can be overlooked from the scaffolding.’

  Whatever else he might have been about to add was lost when the phone rang. Black answered the call, listened for a moment and his face betrayed anxiety at what he was being told. Beth could only wait until he had finished and hung up before she could learn more.

  ‘It’s the Teales,’ he told her grimly. ‘Ronnie Teale has been arrested.’

  ‘What for?’

  ‘Assault occasioning actual bodily harm.’

  So, Ronnie Teale had finally exploded on someone.

  Before she could ask who the unfortunate victim was, Black filled in the gaps, ‘And Abigail Teale is in hospital.’

  Black looked conflicted then. She knew his main focus was on the photographs and that he wouldn’t want to leave here until they had been developed and he’d seen the results, but she wanted to check on Abigail, both on her well-being and also to get her side of the story before Ronnie could influence it.

  ‘I’ll go,’ she told him.

  Side-on, Abigail looked okay. She was sitting up in bed, propped up by pillows, fully conscious and seemingly unharmed. It was only when Beth drew level with the foot of her bed and saw the damage to the other side of the woman’s face that she realized the extent of her injuries. Her left side was badly bruised, her eye swollen so badly it was completely closed, but that wasn’t the worst of it. The half-dozen stitches that ran from her forehead to her temple told the story of what must have been a gaping wound before they patched Abigail up.

  Beth gasped, ‘Oh my God, Mrs Teale, what happened?’

  ‘I fell,’ she said flatly.

  It was a while before Beth could answer her calmly, ‘You’re saying he didn’t hit you?’

  Abigail took even longer with her response. ‘He did hit me,’ she admitted, ‘and then I fell. Hit my head on the edge of the coffee table.’

  At least she hadn’t lied about being hit by Ronnie Teale. Surely now she would kick the man out or leave him.

  ‘We can help you, Abigail,’ Beth said. ‘We can make sure Ronnie never –’

  The woman interrupted her. ‘It was my fault.’

  ‘No,’ said Beth. ‘It wasn’t. Women often say that, but –’

  ‘I know they do, and I know why they say it,’ said Abigail. ‘They make excuses for their men, but this time it’s true.’

  ‘How could this be your fault?’

  ‘Because I told him he was the reason Alice was dead.’

  ‘Wait – what did you say?’ Had Abigail learned something new about her daughter’s death? ‘Why is Alice dead because of him?’

  ‘I said it was all his fault.’

  ‘What did he do? Abigail, if Ronnie is in any way responsible for what happened to Alice, then you must tell me.’ And tell me now before we arrest the wrong guy for it. ‘If you know something, then you must say, for Alice’s sake and your own.’

  ‘No.’ She shook her head then winced at the pain this caused her. ‘You don’t understand. Ronnie didn’t kill her and it wasn’t his fault. I just said that it was.’

  Beth was confused. ‘Why would you say that,’ she asked, ‘if it wasn’t true?’

  ‘Because I was angry about the way he was with her all those years and I wanted to hurt him.’ Then she said, ‘And then he hurt me. So, really, it was my fault and he only hit me once.’

  ‘Hard enough to cause that,’ said Beth, and she pointed to the side of her own face to indicate the damage he had done with that one hefty blow.

  ‘It looks worse than it is.’

  ‘You have to leave him.’

  ‘And go where? Do what?’ snapped Abigail. ‘With no proper job, no money and no home?’

  ‘Then kick him out. Get a restraining order. Your face is all the proof you need. We’re on your side. We’ll charge him with assault.’

  ‘You think I’d like you to put my husband in prison? We just lost our daughter and you want to put him in jail? He’s all I’ve got.’

  ‘You are lucky to be alive, Abigail. If you stay with him, how do you know this won’t happen again?’

  ‘Because I won’t ever be cruel enough to accuse him of being the cause of his own daughter’s death, that’s why.’

  Beth listened to Abigail’s argument with mounting frustration at the thought of the woman going back to this one-man ball of rage. She might not have many more options, but surely one of them was more palatable than living the rest of her life with Ronnie.

  Beth had one last card to play and she reasoned she had nothing to lose. ‘I have to ask you this, Abigail,’ she began, and the woman regarded her closely. ‘Was Ronnie Alice’s father?’

  Abigail’s shoulder seemed to sag and, for a moment, Beth was convinced the woman was about to tell her everything. Then she gave Beth a look of complete disgust and said, ‘You bitch. How dare you? I just lost her,’ and stared at Beth in disbelief. ‘I lost my little girl, and you come here and say you’re on my side then ask me that? What’s wrong with you? Get out,’ she said, then screamed: ‘Get out!’

  Beth flinched at the ferocity of the woman’s cry and left the ward without a word.

  Black didn’t know what to do with himself while the film was being developed, so he took the technician’s advice. He went to the canteen for a mug of coffee and sat quietly on his own in the corner, lost in his thoughts, while silently praying there would be something of significance on that roll of film which might lead him and Beth to the killer. What if there was nothing, though? They’d be no further forward. What if the images were blurred or the identities of the people in the pictures inconclusive? What if they were completely mistaken and all they were going to get back were a few snapshots of Alice and her friends on one of their rambles in the countryside? Black was snapped from his thoughts by a loud crash as a young man working in the canteen dropped a stack of dirty plates on the floor and smashed them. There were a couple of mock-cheers from policemen who were eating there and some swearing from someone behind the scenes who was unamused by the boy’s clumsiness. There was a sole cry of ‘Sack the juggler!’ from a comedian who must have assumed no one had heard that before. Black glanced at his tea. The contents of the mug had gone cold and he realized he hadn’t drunk a single drop.

  ‘Mind if I join you?’

  He looked up to find Beth standing there in front of him.

  ‘How did it go at the hospital?’

  She pulled out a chair and sat down opposite him. ‘Not well.’ She told him about Abigail Teale’s reaction to the assault by Ronnie and Beth’s suggestion that she should leave the man.

  ‘I’ve seen that a lot, and it never gets any easier. You tried,’ he told her, ‘and sometimes that’s all you can do. Maybe when she’s had time to process it …’ But they both knew Abigail Teale was unlikely to change her mind.

  Beth checked the time on her phone. ‘How long has it been?’ she asked.

  ‘Long enough.’

  ‘I hope your guy doesn’t muck it up.’

  ‘He won’t,’ Black assured her, though he wasn’t entirely certain of that himself. His contact was more used to a digital age and an examination of close-up crime-scene photos, not shots taken on an old film camera by a schoolgirl from an obscure vantage point. ‘Let’s hope Alice Teale had a good eye and a steady hand.’

  More time passed, and they were beginning to wonder what was keeping the man. ‘Has something gone wrong, do you think?’ asked Beth.

  ‘Christ!’ Black blurted in exasperation, and it was loud enough for those at the next table to turn and glance at him questioningly before resuming their conversation. He made Beth jump as well, but she realized it was frustration, not anger at her question. ‘Where is he?’

  It was an entirely rhetorical question, but Beth looked around and found that she was able to answer it.

  ‘Here
he is.’ They both got to their feet.

  The technician was carrying a large brown envelope which contained the results of his work. It seemed to take him an age to walk through the tables and chairs to reach them. Beth and Black didn’t take their eyes off him for a moment, both trying to read something in his expressionless features but finding nothing there. They’d know soon enough whether this was a waste of time or if there was gold in that envelope.

  The technician handed the envelope to Lucas. ‘Thanks,’ said the detective sergeant, who was desperate now for any hint about its contents. ‘I hope it was worth the effort.’

  ‘Oh,’ said the technician, ‘I would say so,’ but he gave them no further clue. ‘See for yourself.’

  They almost ran to the nearest empty room. As soon as they were inside and the door was closed behind them Black carefully opened the envelope and pulled out its contents. There were twelve prints in all. Black placed them face up, one at a time, on the table.

  The first photograph made Beth’s heart sink. The image showed a river running by a field. The second was of another rural scene with the same light and weather conditions, so it was more than likely taken on the same day. There were trees and more fields. The third showed two young people standing by a stile. They were dressed for outdoors activities, in durable jackets, and one of them wore walking boots.

  ‘Bloody rambling club,’ said Beth. ‘Is that all this is?’ Surely not, when the technician had already assured them it had been worth his effort. The fourth picture silenced her doubts. If the first three images had been captured by Alice, the latest one must have been taken by a friend. A group of three friends stood together: happy, smiling girls, bunched in close – Chloe, Kirstie and Alice. It was a great shot, perhaps taken by Simon Nash, and it showed every detail of their faces. They seemed so carefree, but that was all a lie – and now one of them was dead. A great sadness hit Beth then, along with the realization that Kirstie’s and Chloe’s lives would never be the same.

  The fifth photograph snapped her out of it.

  ‘What’s that?’ she asked Lucas.

  ‘I can’t make it out,’ said Black.