Gone (40 page)

She kept asking him afterwards if he was angry with her. He wasn’t. Not really. It was the right decision. Just not his decision. She broke up with him three months later. But Freeman probably didn’t want to hear all this.

‘You’re right,’ he said and stood up. He dug in his pocket for some change. ‘Another drink?’

He came back with two more Cokes and his spilt across the table as he put it down.

‘I saw Ray Thorley yesterday,’ Freeman said. ‘Emma’s been staying there. He’s a new man. It’s nice.’

‘That’s good. What about Adam? Has he stuck around?’

Freeman nodded as she slurped the full glass. ‘Him and Emma are staying for Christmas. She’s also changed her story.’

‘Really?’

‘Yep. All lines up with Ben’s. She was on a bus out of town before the body was moved.’

‘But she was still involved. Still took on Jenny’s identity,’ Gardner said.

‘Yeah, she’s not quite out of the woods yet. So to speak.’

‘What about Ben Swales?’

Freeman shrugged. ‘He’s out of hospital. But he’s still waiting for all this to end. I think part of him wants to go to prison. He thinks he should be punished. I still can’t believe he smashed Jenny’s teeth in. Didn’t think he had that in him.’

‘So you think it’s really true? That he planted the ID and buried the body, but didn’t kill her?’

‘You
don’t
believe him?’ she asked.

Gardner blew out his cheeks. ‘Sounds far too convenient. Finding a dead girl just when you need one.’

‘I guess if you work with heroin addicts you’re bound to come across one eventually,’ Freeman said. ‘Especially if they know Lucas Yates.’

‘What’s happening with Yates?’ Gardner asked. ‘He’s still not talking?’

‘Nope. But I know it was him, I can feel it. But,’ she shrugged, ‘we don’t have enough. There’s Emma’s testimony about what he told her in the woods but she’s hardly a reliable witness. There’s the semen, but that means squat.’ She sighed. ‘I just wish I knew what’d happened. It’s pissing me off.’

Gardner’s phone beeped and he checked his message. An email from the dating site. Some woman from Guisborough had been in touch. Did he fancy meeting for a drink sometime? Gardner smiled.

‘What’s up?’ Freeman asked.

‘Nothing,’ he said and slid the phone back in his pocket.

They sat back in silence and listened as ‘Fairytale of New York’ came on the jukebox. In the corner the office workers started singing along and Freeman and Gardner finished their drinks.

Epilogue

6 July 1999

She lay back on the sunken mattress, her fingers touching her neck where his hands had been. As he’d slammed into her, with his hand around her neck, she thought he would kill her. She didn’t need this. It wasn’t just sex. It was anger. It was hate.

Bitch. Slut. Junkie. Whore.

Emma.

Between the vitriol he called her Emma. For a moment it verged on tenderness until his fury took over again and the name took on the same spiteful tone as the other names he’d called her.

And then it was over. He pulled out of her, pulling the sheet across his legs, leaving her naked body exposed. He lit a cigarette and tossed the lighter between them. She waited a moment before she spoke – allowing him to calm down, allowing time for the nicotine to kick in.

It hurt when she swallowed. He was a fucking animal. But she knew that already. She wasn’t expecting anything else. She’d given up on anything else a long time ago. Her life now was pain followed by pleasure. A lot of one, a little of the other. But what pleasure.

He closed his eyes and she figured it was enough time.

‘Have you got any, then?’ she said, her voice catching in her throat. She pulled her tracksuit top out from under him and put it back on.

He opened his eyes as if he’d forgotten she was there. He stared at her for a second before sitting up, reaching for his jacket and pulling out the small packet. Her heart started to race. She reached out but he pulled back, out of her grasp.

‘Give it to me,’ she said, her voice stronger.

His hand stung her cheek and she knew she’d been too forceful.

‘Don’t,’ he said, his fingers wrapped around her face. He threw the packet at her and climbed off the bed. He pulled on his jeans, muttering to himself. ‘Stupid fucking cunts. I’ve had it with the lot of you.’

‘Aw, poor Lucas. Did your little girlfriend dump you?’ She giggled and sat up, opening the tiny plastic bag.

‘Shut up,’ he said and turned to leave.

‘Poor Lucas,’ she said again, in a singsong voice. ‘Doesn’t she love you any more?’

He was back on her in a flash. Her head snapped back against the mattress as he held her down.

‘Don’t you fucking dare,’ he whispered.

His hands were hot against her neck. She could see herself reflected in his eyes. She wanted to beg him to stop but no words came out. She saw spots flit across her vision. His body was heavy on hers; she could see the veins in his neck bulge. She tried to push him away, kicked at him. She caught him in the balls and he fell away from her. She started to run, tripped over her shoes thrown carelessly on the floor.

She screamed as he grabbed hold of her, throwing her back on the bed. ‘Fucking bitch.’ He slammed his fist into her face, spitting out ‘Emma’ as he pounded. She tried to call out, tried to make it stop but he just kept going until she couldn’t see, until her face was hot with blood and tears.

Her eyelids fluttered and suddenly there was nothing. She felt the world darken and his hands fell away. She could feel him, feel his fingerprints on her, feel the life draining from her body, feel death coming over her.

She wished for the first time in so long for her parents. She wondered if they’d ever know or care.

She heard the front door slam.

She was alone.

And as she finally found her voice for the very last time, all she could say was, ‘My name’s not Emma.’

Acknowledgments

Thanks to everyone who helped make this book happen. I’m sure I’ll forget someone for which I apologise, but special thanks to:

Mam, Dad, Donna and Christine.

To my unofficial distributors Jonathan (Yorkshire and Bulgaria regions) and Maria (North East and Australia regions).

To Diane (best boss ever), Andrea and Barbara for lending their names to characters – and just for the record, the real Andrea Round is nothing like her namesake and does
not
like to be called Anders.

To everyone at James Cook Hospital who’s supported me and always asks how the next book is coming along – you know who you are.

To New Writing North and Moth Publishing for continued support.

To all the crime writing friends I’ve made over the last year – you’re all marvellous.

To all at Mulholland/Hodder for believing in my work and making it happen, especially my editor Ruth Tross, who I knew I’d get along with after she confessed her love for
Buffy the Vampire Slayer
.

To my agent, Stan, for general awesomeness and all the cider he kindly provided me with. I’m sure it helped the book in many ways.

To Cotton, who will be in one of the books one of these days.

And lastly, to Stephen, for everything you are and everything you do – thank you so much. xx

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