Gone (2 page)

He stubbed out his cigarette and stood up. As he walked to the small window he could see his own breath in the air. He looked down at the street and watched people passing by and wondered when that knock would come. If the police would come asking when he’d last seen Emma Thorley and bring up all that shit from the past. He knew it was going to happen. He just didn’t know when. The police weren’t the sharpest tools in the box but between them they might be able to put two and two together.

Him and Emma had history.

Chapter 1

13 December 2010

DS Nicola Freeman sat at her desk and looked at the clock above the door. She hated this. They were pretty sure that the dead girl was Emma Thorley – from what they could piece together the body appeared to be the right height and age. But there needed to be no doubt before she made an official statement. Before she confirmed things for Emma’s dad. It would’ve been so much easier to get a DNA comparison but Emma Thorley had no living blood relatives. Or at least no known ones. The only family that remained was her dad, Ray, but he’d adopted Emma. Nothing was ever simple.

The phone barely got out its first ring before she snatched it up. ‘Freeman,’ she said.

‘Hi, Nicky, it’s Tom.’ Tom Beckett, pathologist and the most laid-back man Freeman had ever met. She usually hated being called Nicky. Only her little brother, Darren, had ever called her that, purely because she hated it, but with Tom she let it slide. To be honest, he could call her whatever he liked. The man was wasted spending his days with dead people. He should’ve been made to come and work with the living, who’d appreciate him.

‘Tell me you’ve got something,’ she said.

‘I have, but you won’t like it. Our disorganised dentist definitely does
not
have Miss Thorley’s records any more.’

‘Brilliant,’ Freeman said.

‘Not that it would’ve mattered a great deal. There’s not a lot left to work with.
But
what I can say is that it looks like your mystery girl was attacked twice, possibly once post-mortem.’

‘What do you mean?’

‘Well,’ Tom said, ‘it appears she was beaten. The injuries to the face suggest that someone really had a go, probably with their fists. And it’s likely whoever did it was left-handed. The injuries were predominantly on the right side of her face. But then there are marks on some of the teeth that appear to have been made with a weapon. Possibly a hammer.’

‘So someone was trying to prevent identification?’

‘Looks like,’ Tom said. ‘Only they didn’t quite manage to finish the job. We didn’t retrieve all of the teeth but a few were in the grave and there were a couple still intact. Looks like your killer was sloppy.’

Freeman sighed. ‘So there’s nothing that I can take to Ray Thorley?’

‘There’s not much else to work with in terms of identifiers. There’s the broken arm. I checked medical records and there was no match but that doesn’t mean to say she didn’t break it later on. If she did it during one of her disappearing acts then it’s possible she didn’t get it treated.’

‘And possible her dad didn’t know,’ Freeman said. ‘Okay. Thanks, Tom.’ She hung up. She wished she hadn’t been forced to involve Ray Thorley so soon. Wished she hadn’t had to go into his home and re-open old wounds without definitive proof that it was his daughter’s body out there. But the leak to the press about the ID in the pocket of the tracksuit top had forced her hand. At least they hadn’t mentioned the gold necklace. At least she still had something the rest of the world didn’t know. The papers were already suggesting the police had failed Emma Thorley and her father back in the day. She didn’t want to be accused of the same thing now.

Freeman looked at the clock again. Her stomach rumbled and she wished she’d grabbed something to eat before she left this morning, but at 6 a.m. she just hadn’t been able to face anything. She took out her mobile and found the number for her doctor, her finger hovering over the call button before she threw the phone down on the desk and went back to the information she’d pulled on Emma Thorley. Her own shit could wait.

Emma’s dad had filed three missing person reports in total. The first in February 1999, which was resolved when Emma returned of her own free will a month later. The second in April of the same year, which was quickly retracted by her father. And finally in July that year when she disappeared for good. Ray Thorley had told her that Emma’s problems had started after her mother died. Emma was fifteen and it hit her hard. She’d never been in trouble before then. She worked hard at school. Wasn’t an ‘A’ student but she tried. She was quiet. She had a group of friends but didn’t socialise with them outside of school very often. She dreamed of going to university. Ray had been saving for a long time. In the end he’d spent the money searching for his daughter and on posters saying ‘Have you seen this girl?’

Freeman sat back in her chair. It was funny how things, how people, could change, just like that. One minute they’re good, heading for a life of security and friends, marriage and kids. And the next they’re gone. The person they were, destroyed beyond all recognition. Suddenly they’re monsters.

She took a breath. She wasn’t going to go there. She couldn’t think about him any more. It was too hard. He’d chosen his path. And now there was nothing she could do. Nothing anyone could do. He was long gone. She hoped he was finally at peace.

DC Bob McIlroy stomped into the office, shouting across the room at the top of his voice. The man didn’t have any volume control. Ignoring his greeting of ‘Morning, Nana’ – his nickname for her on account of her glasses (which bore little to no resemblance to singer Nana Mouskouri’s) – she watched him as he passed her desk, shirt buttons straining against his gut. She felt nauseous and turned her attention back to Emma Thorley.

She skimmed through the reports until she found what she was after – the officer in charge of the investigation last time, a DC Michael Gardner.

‘Hey, Bob,’ she said and he turned around, clearly surprised she was talking to him.

‘What?’ he said and pulled a pack of gum from his pocket. Since someone had told him his breath stank like rotting eggs he’d been chewing gum constantly. It hadn’t helped.

‘You know a cop named Michael Gardner?’ She saw McIlroy’s face darken. ‘I’ll take that as a yes,’ she said. ‘Friend of yours, is he?’

McIlroy snorted. ‘Hardly,’ he said. ‘Why? What’s it to you?’

‘I need to speak to him,’ she said. ‘Where can I find him?’

‘He left,’ McIlroy said.

‘Where did he go?’

‘Don’t know. Don’t care.’

‘What did he do to you? Make fun of your bald patch?’

She could see McIlroy’s chest rise and fall. He was pretty pissed off. This Gardner must’ve done something bad to warrant that; McIlroy usually couldn’t be bothered to get angry, it wasted energy he could’ve used eating.

‘He screwed over another copper,’ he said and then waved his hand in front of him. ‘No, scratch that. He killed another copper.’ He turned and walked away, shaking his head.

Freeman watched him go. He killed another cop? She saw McIlroy stop and say something to Fry, his drinking buddy. Fry turned to look at Freeman and then muttered something undoubtedly strewn with four-letter words.

What the hell had happened with Michael Gardner?

Chapter 2

14 January 1999

Lucas slid the money into his back pocket and watched the scruffy little shite scamper off with his gear. He hated this place and all the little retards in it. He’d have preferred to do business outside but his punters apparently liked the ambience of the place, damp seats and all. He needed a change of scenery. He downed the rest of his pint and slid the glass along the bar towards Tony. Unlimited refills were one perk of working in a pub run by a spineless twat.

He looked around at the place. He hated the fact that it was well into January and there were still remnants of Christmas decorations hanging in the corners of the pub. He hated that the same people came in every night and expected something different. He hated that he was one of them.

‘All right, Lucas.’

He turned and saw Jenny Taylor staggering towards him. She was the dirtiest slag in Blyth and proper stalking him.

‘Piss off,’ he said as she draped herself over him, picking up his pint and taking a swig before handing it back to him. ‘Fuck’s sake,’ he muttered and pushed the glass away. Tony took the hint and got him another.

‘D’ya wanna come to the toilets with me?’ Jenny said, her words slurred.

Lucas pushed her off him and she toppled onto the sticky floor. He stepped over her and walked towards the pool table where Dicko was currently making a killing. Lucas watched the smug look on his face melt away as he realised that whatever he won would be going in Lucas’s pocket, not his.

Someone had left a pack of fags on the edge of the pool table. Lucas took one out and found his lighter. He slid both the lighter and the remaining fags into his pocket and watched a girl cross the road outside, head down, sleeves pulled down over her hands.

Whoever was losing to Dicko asked Lucas to move out of the way so he could take his shot. Lucas ignored him. He realised who the girl was. He’d seen her with Tomo a few days earlier. She hadn’t said a word. Just stood there, looking at the floor. Didn’t look very old but Tomo said they were in the same year so that made her fair game. She kept pushing her blonde hair behind her ear but it fell back every time. She was proper blonde, not like some of the other skanks he knew. He’d hoped she’d stick around but she reckoned she had to get home. He hadn’t stopped thinking about her all night. Even asked Tomo where she lived. And now here she was again.

Lucas pushed the door open and went outside. He stopped in the middle of the pavement and watched her. She almost collided with him before she realised anyone was there.

‘Sorry,’ she muttered and went to walk around him.

‘It’s Emma, isn’t it?’

She stopped and looked up and down the street, as if she shouldn’t be there. Or at least not with him.

‘I met you the other day, didn’t I?’ Lucas said. ‘With Tomo.’

Emma nodded but kept her eyes on her feet.

‘Do you want a drink?’

She shook her head. He stepped a little closer and she finally looked at him properly. ‘Come on. You can’t stay out here by yourself. All sorts of scumbags out here. Come on,’ he said again. ‘Just one drink and then I’ll walk you home. Promise.’ He smiled and he could see her soften. ‘Good girl,’ he said.

They sat in the back. Every time someone headed their way he warned them off with a glare. The shop was closed. By her third drink she still hadn’t said much, but she’d smiled.

‘Give us a triple this time,’ Lucas said to Tony, before looking back at her. ‘Fucking cunt,’ he muttered and walked back to their table. Jenny was standing over Emma, up in her face.

‘You fucking get me?’ Jenny screamed and Emma nodded. Lucas grabbed hold of Jenny from behind and dragged her away, pushing her against the fruit machine. Her hair fell over her face, blonde but not like Emma’s. Jenny’s was bleached. Dirty.

‘Talk to her again and I’ll smash your fucking ugly face in,’ Lucas said, his face an inch from hers. He shoved her away and walked back to Emma. ‘You all right?’

Emma nodded but he could see it was time to go. ‘Sorry about her. She’s a proper psycho.’ Lucas held out his hand to her. ‘Come on,’ he said. Emma stood up and took hold of it. He led her out, past Jenny, who glared at them but didn’t say a word.

Outside, the cold air made her face flush. She stumbled as the effects of the alcohol hit her and he held on to her hand tighter. ‘Come on, we’ll go back to mine. It’s closer,’ he said.

Chapter 3

13 December 2010

Lucas stood on the corner of the street, looking at the house. He’d wondered if there’d be reporters hanging around, but if there had been any they’d all gone home. And who could blame them? It was freezing. The street was empty except for a little old woman walking a dog that looked almost as old as her. Not much had changed in the last eleven years. Nothing ever did around here. People had no money then, they probably had even less now. The place was a dump. Rusting cars resting on bricks and piles of junk cluttering the front gardens. The houses were a mismatch of styles and sizes. Too many were pebble-dashed in some fit of insanity by the builders. At least it was quiet now. When he’d been here back in the day, back when he’d been watching Emma, all the scruffy kids were out causing trouble, making the place unbearable. Asking him for tabs or to go to the offy for them. They did his head in. These days they all stayed inside.