Gone (9 page)

‘Whatever, Mother Teresa. Anyway, I’ll give you one guess as to which school he went to and when.’

‘Emma’s?’

‘Yep. Same year. Knew each other since they were little kids. I’ll bet you anything he was the little shit got her hooked on heroin.’

‘I think you’ll find Lucas Yates did that,’ Freeman said.

‘Well, I bet
Tomo
was the one that introduced them.’

Freeman sighed. ‘I’ll look into it. Next.’

‘One Christian Morton. Arrested alongside our boy Yates in ’98 for brawling outside a pub in town. Nasty piece of work – he’d already done time before then for ABH and . . . something else,’ he said, flicking through his notes. ‘Committed suicide in 2006.’

Freeman threw up her hands. ‘How about you just tell me things that are actually useful?’

‘All right,’ Lloyd said, ‘calm yourself. I’m building up to the good stuff. Morton was from Morpeth. As was Jenny Taylor. Another little charmer by all accounts. Says here she was picked up for soliciting – dirty cow. And then, and this is the moment you’ve been waiting for . . .’ Lloyd did a drum roll on her desk and Freeman fought the urge to do one on his face.

‘Jenny Taylor knew Emma. They were all part of a little gang, liked to hang around the same pub. One night it all kicked off, pub was a war zone from the sound of it. Police hauled the lot of them in – Emma included.’

‘What?’ Freeman said, sitting up straight. ‘I didn’t come across that before.’

‘What can I say?’ Lloyd replied. ‘I’m just better than you.’ The look on Freeman’s face clearly showed him that she wasn’t in the mood. ‘Emma wasn’t arrested. Wasn’t even questioned. Neither was Jenny, for that matter.’

‘Lucas?’ Freeman asked.

‘Nope. Just Christian Morton. Trashed the pub and then kicked some poor uniform in the balls when he tried to break it up. But in his statement he claimed it kicked off because of Jenny. Apparently Jenny had quite the crush on lovely Lucas, and the green-eyed monster got the better of her. Had a go at Emma, threatened to glass her. Lucas stepped in in his own inimitable manner and threatened Jenny, someone took offence on the lady’s behalf and it all kicked off.’

‘So what happened?’

‘Christian was charged. Everyone else slept it off in the cells. No mention of Emma.’

Freeman sat back and thought about it. ‘And when was this?’

‘February ’99.’

‘You don’t happen to know if Emma’s arm was broken, do you, wise one?’

‘Dunno,’ Lloyd said. ‘But I reckon you should have a word with this Jenny Taylor. Maybe
she
offed Emma.’

Freeman rolled her eyes at Lloyd but wondered if it was beyond the realms of possibility that a teenage girl could’ve killed Emma Thorley. If she’d already threatened her with a broken glass, probably not.

‘See if you can find her,’ she said.

Chapter 17

15 February 1999

The flat was cold but she wasn’t going to ask again if she could put the heating on. She’d learned by now that it’d go on when he thought it was cold enough and not before. Maybe she was just too coddled. Her mam always had the heating on. But it wasn’t just the heating. It was other things. He expected her to clean up after him. Pay her way, he said. That was fair enough, but he was so critical of everything. She didn’t wash the dishes properly. There was an order, apparently. And her cooking wasn’t up to scratch. They were relying on takeaways most of the time. And they cost money. His money.

But there were other ways to pay her way, he said.

He wanted it all the time. And she didn’t mind so much, she just wished he’d use a condom. But he hated it. Said it didn’t matter. Said, ‘You’re clean, aren’t you?’

The first time had hurt so much she thought she was going to cry. The second time a little less so. And now they’d done it so many times she’d lost count, but it was starting to hurt again. There’d been blood the last time, just like the first time. And of course he got pissed off and said she’d ruined his sheets and that she should’ve said she was on the rag because it was disgusting. But she wasn’t. It wasn’t that time. It was something else.

She shivered and tucked her feet in between the cushions on the settee to try and warm them up. That was another reason not to ask for the heating on. He’d just say, ‘I know how to warm you up,’ and then he’d get her to take off her clothes and make her stand there while he watched, while she got even colder, and then he’d start. And when he was done he’d leave her alone and go and watch TV or play on his PlayStation or even go out and just leave her in the flat by herself answering the door to all the scumbags looking for a score.

Feeling the pinprick of tears, Emma closed her eyes, trying to stop them from coming. She’d been here less than a week and already she was wishing she’d never left home. She felt bad for her dad. She could’ve at least told him where she was going. But she hadn’t told anyone, so now no one would come looking for her. No one would rescue her and take her home. She’d thought Lucas was the one who was saving her, taking her away from her shitty life, but she wanted out of this, too. She wanted her dad and school and everything else back. She didn’t want to be this girl.

‘Emma,’ Lucas said, and nudged her arm. She opened her eyes and he nodded towards the door. She realised someone was knocking. She got up and answered and two of Lucas’s mates barrelled in. Except they weren’t really mates, they were customers. Lucas acted as though he liked them while they were there, while they were putting money in his pocket, while they made jokes about all having a go with her. And then when they left he called them wankers. Told her maybe she should stop acting like a slut next time people came round and then maybe they wouldn’t say shit to her.

She watched the familiar routine of Lucas acting the genial host – but only when the money had been handed over. He listened to their bragging about who they’d kicked the shit out of or what they’d nicked from the offy. He let them shoot up in his living room sometimes but only if they were really good customers. He didn’t want the hassle of someone overdosing in his flat unless they were worth something.

She’d watch them shoot up and slip into happiness. She wondered if that’s what she needed. A security blanket of drugs.

One of the men took out his kit, laying it out on the low table. She wondered if she’d be able to memorise the ritual. If she could do it while Lucas was gone. Make the day pass more bearably.

‘You want some?’

Emma stared at the man. He was grinning. Taking the piss. But the fact was she
did
want some. She looked at Lucas. He was half-smiling. He said nothing but his face was a dare. He’d offered her stuff before but she’d refused.

But now? What did she have to lose?

Chapter 18

14 December 2010

Freeman waited while the receptionist finished her phone conversation, her finger held up in the air indicating, she assumed, that she’d be right with her. For a woman who worked in such a depressing place she seemed awfully chipper as she cackled into the receiver. Freeman tapped her fingers on the counter and made no attempt to hide the fact she was listening in. Behind the reception desk a door opened and an older woman walked out, causing the receptionist to glance over her shoulder and abruptly end her call.

‘Catherine, what did you do with those letters I asked you for?’ the woman asked the receptionist, her eyes cast down, reading through some notes, apparently oblivious to her employee’s phone call.

Catherine stood up and glanced from Freeman to her boss before rummaging around on the desk and coming up empty-handed. ‘I’m sure I left them here. Maybe Andrea took them,’ she said and walked away into an office behind the desk.

If Freeman was a betting woman she’d put all her money on Catherine never having done the letters. She cleared her throat and the older woman in front of her looked up.

‘Can I help?’ she asked.

‘I’m DS Freeman,’ she said and showed her ID as the woman’s eyebrows rose. ‘I was hoping I could ask you a couple of questions about Ben Swales.’

‘Ben?’ the woman said. ‘He doesn’t work here any more.’

‘I know,’ replied Freeman. ‘I’ve been trying to get hold of him for a couple of days. I wondered if anyone here was still in touch or had his mobile number.’

The receptionist returned, hands remarkably free of any letters. ‘Jessie?’ she said to the older woman.

‘Yes, Catherine,’ Jessie said.

‘Andrea doesn’t have the letters.’

Jessie stared at Catherine. ‘So where are they, then?’

Catherine glanced around her desk and shrugged. Jessie rolled her eyes and took a deep breath, looking from Catherine to Freeman, probably trying to weigh up which annoyance to deal with first. ‘Give me one minute,’ she said to Catherine, then turned to Freeman. ‘I haven’t spoken to Ben in years. I doubt anyone else here has either.’

‘Why’s that?’ Freeman asked.

‘Someone else—’ Catherine started but Jessie cut her off with a raised hand.

‘One minute,’ she said and Catherine stood with an open mouth before scuttling off into the office.

Jessie showed Freeman to another room where the walls were covered in posters with inspirational quotes and flyers for helplines.

‘Ben was never really a part of this place,’ Jessie said.

‘What do you mean?’

‘Well, he never really . . .’ Jessie looked at the ceiling, searching for the right word, ‘gelled.’

‘Gelled?’

‘He didn’t socialise with anyone here. He kept very much to himself.’ Jessie stopped and looked at Freeman as if she’d just realised for the first time that she was talking to a police officer. ‘Don’t get me wrong,’ she said. ‘He was quite good at his job. Very committed.’

‘But?’

‘I don’t know. Something about him always struck me as being a little odd.’

‘In what way?’

‘Can I ask what this is about?’ Jessie said.

‘I’m investigating a possible murder. I’m just looking to speak to anyone who might’ve known the deceased. I have reason to believe Ben knew her.’

Jessie almost raised an eyebrow. Freeman could tell she wanted to ask more questions but knew as well as she did about confidentiality.

‘Ben was good at his job,’ Jessie repeated, leaning forward a little, lowering her voice. ‘But sometimes I worried he was a little too involved with some of his clients.’

‘Which clients?’

Jessie looked away for a second. ‘Some of the girls,’ she said.

‘What made you think that?’

‘Well, he spent a lot of time with some of them. And not always at work.’

‘He saw them outside work? In what capacity?’ Freeman asked.

Jessie just shrugged. ‘I have no idea. I just saw him in the town with a few of them. One of them used to hang around outside, waiting for him to finish work.’

‘Do you know who it was?’

‘I did recognise her. The name escapes me now. It was a long time ago.’

‘Was it Emma Thorley?’ Freeman asked, and saw Jessie’s eyes light up.

‘The girl from the woods?’ she said. Freeman didn’t respond. ‘You know, I think it might well have been.’

Freeman nodded.
Might well have been
wasn’t the sort of thing the CPS liked to hear.

‘But you’re not sure – not absolutely certain?’ She had to push; had to know for sure.

‘N–no, not certain, but . . .’ She trailed off.

‘Why did Ben leave?’ Freeman asked, hoping for something a little more concrete.

‘He left to go and take care of his mother. It must’ve been ten, eleven years ago now, I suppose.’

‘Eleven years?’ Freeman said, perking up. It had been eleven years since Emma Thorley disappeared. Eleven years since Ben Swales left town too.

Chapter 19

14 December 2010