Gone (11 page)

‘No. I haven’t seen anything.’

‘Right. Well, I’m sorry to inform you, but we think it’s probably Emma Thorley.’

She saw Ben stiffen, and waited. ‘I’m sorry,’ he said. ‘I don’t know her.’

Freeman stared at Ben. Now this was interesting. She knew for a fact he was lying. She just didn’t know why. Ben waited. His face remained impassive.

‘You don’t know her?’ Freeman asked.

Ben shook his head. ‘I don’t recognise the name. Should I?’

Freeman suddenly felt like there was more to Ben Swales than met the eye. He was hiding something.

‘You don’t know Emma Thorley?’

She saw him swallow but he still shook his head and smiled gently. ‘I’m afraid not.’

Freeman acted surprised. ‘Oh,’ she said.

Ben let out a nervous laugh. ‘Is something wrong?’ He scratched his cheek, his face reddening again.

‘Emma Thorley was an addict, went missing a couple of times. This is going back a bit. ’99. Her father filed reports. Only the second time he retracted it after he was informed that his daughter was safe.’

Ben took a sip of his tea and Freeman noticed his hands shake slightly.

‘Her father said that it was you who came to tell him she was okay,’ Freeman said and stared at Ben.

‘Me?’ He shook his head and stumbled over his words. ‘I don’t recall that.’ He swallowed again. ‘He thought it was me?’

‘Yes,’ Freeman said.

Ben rubbed the side of his face and raised his eyebrows. ‘Maybe I did. I don’t remember it, but maybe.’

‘He seemed to think you visited him on a couple of occasions. Surely you’d remember that? Also, another police officer questioned you after Emma Thorley disappeared for good. A couple of months after you’d visited her dad. You thought maybe she’d started using again and took off.’

Ben stared at Freeman like a rabbit caught in the headlights. ‘I . . . yes.’

‘Yes? Yes you remember now, or yes, you think you would remember?’

‘Yes. I remember something about a girl. I helped a girl who was being abused. By her ex-boyfriend, I think? She left town and I passed on a message for her.’

Freeman tilted her head. ‘It’s all flooding back now,’ she said.

‘I remember saying I’d tell her father but I don’t recall visiting him often. And her name. I don’t remember that. It doesn’t seem familiar. It was a long time ago.’

‘Yes. Eleven years. You think you’d remember being questioned by the police, though.’ Freeman watched Ben carefully. Why would he deny knowing Emma?

‘I’m sorry,’ Ben said. ‘I can’t believe I forgot about that.’

‘No,’ replied Freeman. ‘You’d think it’d stick in your memory.’

If Ben caught the sarcasm he didn’t show it. He swilled his tea, taking a moment, and then looked up at Freeman.

‘I’m sorry, Detective Freeman, but I really didn’t remember her name,’ he said and looked down at the floor. She noticed him looking at her bag, realising it was open, the paper bag from the chemist’s lurking at the top, sharing her secrets. She nudged the bag closed with her foot and Ben looked away, embarrassed.

Freeman watched Ben. Something was wrong here. The man clearly knew more than he was letting on; had clearly known Emma Thorley quite well. Freeman looked closely at Ben Swales. What did he know? What was his part in all this? He tried to hold her stare but after a few seconds his eyes dropped back to the table. He chewed his lip and Freeman could’ve sworn he was about to speak, but the call from upstairs stopped him.

‘Ben!’ his mother shouted. Ben blinked and looked at Freeman.

‘Excuse me,’ he said and scurried away.

Freeman listened to the muffled exchange and heard movement. She wondered who was really up there. She knew it was ridiculous but she couldn’t help it. She walked out into the hall and listened at the bottom of the stairs. She couldn’t quite make out what was being said. She climbed the stairs and stood in the doorway of the first room. Ben was helping an elderly lady out of bed, and being criticised for not doing it right. The old woman caught her eye and cried out. Ben spun around and Freeman felt her face burn.

‘Sorry,’ she said. ‘Could I use your toilet?’

Ben stared at her for a little too long before nodding. ‘Down there,’ he said and pointed to the end of the hall.

Freeman heard Ben trying to placate his mother as she closed the bathroom door. She knew she wasn’t going to get anything else from him. Not yet anyway. Besides, she was exhausted. She made use of the toilet while she was there and came out to find Ben waiting for her.

‘I’m sorry, my mother needs her bath,’ he said.

Freeman nodded. ‘That’s all right; I need to head back anyway.’ She looked at Ben and the relief seemed to wash across his face. She pulled a card from her pocket and handed it over. ‘If you think of anything you want to tell me, that’s my number.’

Ben stared at the card and looked as if he might speak again but instead tucked it into his pocket and nodded at her. She waited, hoping he’d change his mind, but he turned and walked down the stairs to the front door. ‘I’m sorry I couldn’t be more helpful,’ he said.

The rush of cold air hit Freeman and she was almost tempted to ask if she could bunk there for the night. But she stepped outside, shoved her hands into her pockets and turned back to Ben. ‘I’ll probably need to speak to you again,’ she said. He just nodded.

Freeman walked to her car.

‘Goodnight,’ she heard Ben call after her and as she opened her car door Ben struggled to close his before turning off the light.

Freeman turned the heaters on. She knew she’d be back to speak to Ben again. She just wasn’t sure if time would make Ben more likely to talk or just give him a chance to sort out his story. At least one thing was certain. He wasn’t a flight risk. Not with his mother up there.

Freeman waited until her hands warmed up and then pulled away, wishing she hadn’t come to Alnwick. Partly because she barely had the energy to drive home, but mostly because it had given her more questions than answers.

Like why had Ben denied knowing Emma? What possible reason could he have? His old boss had suggested he was a bit too involved with some of his clients. But could he have had something to do with Emma’s murder?

Chapter 22

4 March 1999

Emma sat, knees to her chest, on the cold floor. He hadn’t just locked her into the flat this time; he’d locked her into the bedroom. She shouldn’t have said she wanted to leave, to go home. She’d pissed him off. More than ever.

She could’ve sat on the bed, could’ve tried to sleep, to pass the time unconsciously. But the sheets smelt of him and she knew she would never sleep. She rarely did these days. Always on guard, always waiting for the next time.

She could’ve moved to the other side of the room to where the radiator was, but what was the point? It was never on. And the window was useless. Too far up to climb out. Too far away for people to see her. As if anyone would care. As if anyone would help her. She wasn’t Rapunzel.

Her legs ached from staying in one position so long. But she didn’t dare move. She was cold. She needed the toilet. Every so often she wished he’d just come back so at least she could stop thinking about it, about what would happen when he did. At least it would be over for another day.

She could hear a TV next door. A laughter track. A dog barking. Maybe that was outside.

And then she heard the key in the door. The scrape of the door across whatever the postman had left. Probably more junk mail. Nothing good came here.

She pushed herself further into the corner. She could hear him in the kitchen. He’d bought more bottles, she could hear them clinking into the fridge. He was taking his time. She wondered what today would bring. It was giro day. Probably already spent. But money wasn’t a problem for him. Never was. He’d told her they’d go away together when she first moved in. She knew that wasn’t going to happen now. He’d never leave Blyth. Neither of them would.

The scrape of the bolt made her jump. He came in and lay down on the bed, didn’t even acknowledge her. She waited for him to say something but he just lay there, staring at the ceiling. She waited, saw him close his eyes. She almost smiled. He’s okay.

Emma stood up, her legs creaking. She walked out to the bathroom. Relief. And then she saw him standing there, watching. She felt embarrassed, vulnerable. She didn’t know why. He’d seen her more intimately than this. She stood and washed her hands and he took her by the wrist, squeezing just a little too tightly.

She looked up at him and wondered if she should kiss him, if that was what he wanted. He lowered his face to hers and she knew. He didn’t want that.

‘Have you thought about what you said?’ Lucas asked her. She nodded. ‘And?’

‘I’m sorry,’ she said, feeling tears in the back of her throat, behind her eyes. She knew she wasn’t sorry for wanting to go home, she was just sorry she’d told him.

He turned her away from him, pressing her against the filthy sink. The porcelain dug into her hips. He pulled her knickers down. She stood, waiting, while he unzipped his jeans. As he forced himself into her she could see her face reflected in the taps, distorted. She wasn’t going to cry. Sometimes she thought he liked it, other times he’d slap her, hard; tell her to shut up.

She would never win.

Not with Lucas.

Chapter 23

14 December 2010

Freeman made her way up the stairs to her flat, dragging her feet, forcing her eyes to stay open for just a bit more time. It’d been a long day.

She was exhausted but knew that she was unlikely to sleep well. She wasn’t any closer to finding out what had happened to Emma Thorley. Even saying definitively that it
was
Emma was proving tricky. They had the necklace and the ID, and the fact that the remains appeared approximately old enough for Emma to have been murdered when she disappeared the last time. But it wasn’t enough. She was putting pressure on the lab to get back to her about the tracksuit but there were more pressing cases. Apparently. She knew there was no way to prove the blood was Emma’s, but if they could find another person’s blood – if Emma fought back – then maybe she’d be in business.

She was still pretty sure that Lucas Yates had to be the one who put her in the ground, but she had no evidence whatsoever – other than he was a little prick. She doubted that would stand up in court. She was desperate for his DNA to be on that tracksuit. At least it’d be something.

But then there was Ben Swales. She’d started the day thinking he was just another witness. Someone who could perhaps give her more details about Emma’s last few months, maybe something about Lucas. But something was off there.
Maybe
he could’ve forgotten her name after all this time, but it just didn’t ring true. And his old boss had also said something was off with him. Too involved with the girls, she’d said.

She listened to the sleet on the window and the sounds of the silent flat. For a split second she wished she hadn’t told Brian to sod off, that he was there to keep her company, to talk about something other than dead girls. But she
had
told him to go, and for a good reason. She might not have been the most attentive girlfriend but that didn’t give him the right to sleep with his yoga instructor. What kind of man
has
a yoga instructor anyway? She knew she’d have to speak to him eventually but as long as she kept ignoring it she could put it off. Having so much on her plate at work was a blessing. It kept her mind off her own shitty life. The only problem was there was a time limit on these things. She couldn’t put it off forever. She dragged herself to the bedroom, promising to do something about it in the morning. Or the next day at the latest.

She couldn’t stop thinking about Ben Swales. Why would he deny knowing Emma? She stared out of the window, watched a group of kids loitering in the car park. Maybe she should call DI Gardner again. See what he’d thought about Ben.

She’d barely closed her eyes when she heard the knock. She listened carefully and thought she could hear the sound of a game show. Freeman got up and went to the door. She could hear the TV louder now as her neighbour, Lady Clairville, stood there in her dressing gown and slippers, her little Jack Russell, Roy, yapping at her feet. She got the feeling the woman was in her seventies but you’d never know it to look at her. She dressed like she was attending a royal wedding every day, hence Freeman’s nickname for her.