The Calling (5 page)

Goodhew spotted WPC Gully ahead of him in the second-floor corridor. ‘Sue,’ he called out and quickened his step to catch up with her. ‘Hang on.’

‘No problem.’ She waved her notepad. ‘Marks will just assume it was you that made me late. I’ve been taking telephone statements since yesterday.’ They continued to head towards the end meeting room.

‘Have I missed anything?’

‘Still nothing.’ She screwed up her nose. ‘There are a lot of
maybe I saw her
calls, but not one of them stands out. Young and Charles are trawling through most of them, but it’ll take them an absolute age.’

‘I’ll stay on for a couple of hours and give you a hand, if it’s stacking up.’

‘OK,’ she gave a grateful nod, ‘as long as you mean it. I know what you’re like for getting distracted.’

‘Unless there’s an emergency,’ he protested.

‘Well, in that case I’ll believe it when you show up.’

They entered the briefing room and he assumed they were the last to arrive but, as he turned to close the door, he saw DI Marks striding along the corridor towards them.

‘Thanks,’ he grunted to Goodhew, who held the door as he marched in. Goodhew clicked the door shut and would have remained standing, but Marks nodded him towards the chairs. ‘Gary, sit. It’s time you got out of the habit of being last in and first out.’

His colleagues Kincaide, Gully, Clark, Young and Charles were all seated, but Kincaide sat closest to the front, with his chair angled slightly away from the other five. Goodhew dropped into the chair next to Aaron Clark, who tutted a quiet reprimand.

DI Marks folded back the cover sheet of the flip chart to reveal the first page, where ‘25/3/11 p.m. – 26/3/11 p. m.’ was inscribed in red ink. ‘As far as we’ve ascertained, then, Kaye Whiting
disappeared
sometime between 8 p.m. on Friday 25 March and the evening of Saturday 26th, when she failed to turn up at a family birthday gathering.’

Kincaide already fidgeted in his chair, and started speaking as soon as Marks paused. ‘That’s if her sister’s boyfriend Carl Watkins is telling us the truth. He’s the one who supposedly saw her at 8 p.m. on Friday, sir.’

‘Quite so, Kincaide. The previous sighting to that one, was by a work colleague, Doreen Kennedy, who dropped her off at her home at six-twenty. Any comments so far?’ He scribbled a blue question mark above the ‘8 p. m.’, circled it, and drew an arrow from the circle to one side – where he now wrote ‘6.20 p. m.’.

He looked around the group and rubbed the end of his nose a couple of times with his knuckle, before continuing.

‘She was reported missing by her mother, and we have no other sightings to go on. Her entire domestic situation appears to have been in order and—’

Kincaide raised his hand this time. ‘Sir?’

‘Yes, Kincaide?’

‘I’ve just interviewed her uncle, Andrew Burrows, who also missed the family get-together. Didn’t feel well he says, but seems rather an antisocial type, sir.’ Despite facing away from the others, his voice was louder and more demanding than Marks’.

Marks fidgeted with his nose once more. ‘Michael …’ he paused and made a conscious effort to keep the sarcasm from his voice. ‘I suspect every family has a relation who’s no party animal, so—’

Kincaide butted in again. ‘But this was for his own mother, sir.’

Marks rattled the flip chart as he tore off the top sheet. ‘I too didn’t go to one of my mother’s birthday bashes, but it wasn’t because I was busy abducting my niece!’

Marks scowled, aware he’d made a few people smirk. ‘But don’t drop that thought, Kincaide. Stranger things happen.’

‘Yes, sir.’ Kincaide nodded.

On the second sheet, Marks now wrote three headings: ‘Own Choice’, ‘Accident’ and ‘Crime’.

‘While we cannot discount the possibility that she’s met with an accident, we do know that she is not in any of the nearby hospitals or morgues, and we should therefore discount this avenue at the current time.’ He drew a line through the word ‘Accident’.

‘Clark is keeping tabs on everything from her bank account and credit cards through to her store cards and even her Boots Advantage Card, and there has been absolutely no activity recorded on any of them. This, coupled with the now national publicity we’ve generated for this case, leads me to conclude that we are reasonable in discounting the idea that she’s decided to flit off for a long weekend without telling anyone.’ He drew a line through the heading ‘Own Choice’.

‘Which leaves us with “Crime”. It may seem like an overly simplistic route to that conclusion, but I want you to be absolutely clear that it’s the only option we’re looking into right now. This is also a good moment to remind you all that you do not speak to the press, and when I eventually do, I will be stressing the hope that we will find her alive.’ He stopped for long enough to direct a studied look at each of them in turn. ‘We all know the reality of the situation, but we will keep the public interest for far longer if they believe they are helping in a race to save someone’s life, rather than just a body search.’

Goodhew glanced round. There was no one in the room who hadn’t been exposed to this logic in the past. Marks drew two more of his arrows, this time from the word ‘Crime’, and in green pen.

Marks added a title beside each arrowhead: ‘By stranger’ and ‘By person(s) known to K.W.’. He then circled the latter. ‘Until we have further information to the contrary, I want us to look more closely at her family and friends.’

Goodhew’s gaze strayed outside.
We’re not helping her at all by sitting in here
, he thought.

Marks glared at him. ‘Goodhew!’ he said with a sharp hiss.

‘Sir?’

‘Are you with us? Good. Please sum up for me, then.’

Goodhew nodded, taking the opportunity to close the briefing swiftly. So in summary: We have a missing girl and no clues. We need to pinpoint her movements after the last sighting, and pick up on any friends that may have information.

“‘Was she meeting someone?”

“‘Did she have a date?”

“‘Where was she when she was abducted?”’

When Goodhew had almost finished, he could see that Marks was also ready to wrap it up, so he added, ‘And one more thing. Can I suggest that we push to have at least one other photograph of her circulated nationally? And a televised press conference, perhaps?’

‘Thank you, Goodhew. The media details are already in hand, but the alternative photograph is a good suggestion. This room will become the incident room for the course of this investigation, so I want you to move anything you may need in here straight away.’

When finally they dispersed, Goodhew was the first through the door. Marks caught up with him in the corridor. ‘Do you suffer from some kind of claustrophobia, Goodhew?’

‘I don’t think so.’ Goodhew kept walking.

‘Briefings may well bore you, Goodhew, but if you have one of the vital pieces of information and a colleague holds another, it’s a briefing like this that can make it all come together. I see you’re going to visit Kaye’s colleague, Doreen Kennedy?’

‘I don’t want to be late.’

Marks paused at the top of the stairs. ‘Clark’s already seen her.’

Goodhew stopped and jiggled the loose handrail. ‘She’s had time to think, so she might remember something else.’ He started to back down the stairs. ‘You know I wouldn’t go to see her if I didn’t think it could be important.’

‘That’s why I’m not stopping you,’ Marks replied grimly, and turned back towards his office. ‘Just use your time wisely, Gary, and …’

‘Keep you informed?’

Marks nodded and entered his office, where he took a Rennie from his drawer and washed it down with the dregs of coffee from a plastic cup. ‘Don’t add to my stress, Gary-bloody-Goodhew.’

PC Sue Gully sat alone in the incident room. As she held her pen over the page, ready to write, she could hear the caller’s deep breathing, and traffic surging past faintly in the background.

Gully knew the caller might hang up if she spoke, but then she figured they might hang up if she didn’t. ‘My name is PC Sue Gully and you can speak to me in confidence.’

The breathing stopped and she expected to hear a voice, but the only new sound was a short sniff.

‘Are you OK?’ she asked, keeping her voice relaxed and even.

The caller replied, ‘Yes,’ in a stifled whisper.

Gully scribbled ‘Female. Twenties?’ on the page, and waited as the woman fell silent again.

Through her earpiece she heard a heavy bell clanging at a slow beat, and pivoted in her seat to look out from her window and across the rooftops towards the protruding tower of the Great St Mary’s Church. She wrote ‘Phone boxes – Market Hill?’

She imagined the woman huddled in the call box, with her back to the door, hiding her face so no one could see her crying. Gully heard the woman’s breathing become steady and knew she was about to speak.

‘I have some information about the disappearance of Kaye Whiting. I don’t want to give my name.’

‘That’s fine,’ Gully encouraged.

The line clicked and to Gully’s surprise the woman hung up.

Gully dropped the receiver back on to its rest and circled the notes
on the paper with three big rings. ‘How odd,’ she murmured. She tore the sheet from its pad and folded it in half. She stood it, like a greetings card, at the back of her desk.

Several calls and fifteen minutes later, Gully took another call. There were no traffic noises, clock chimes or sounds of breathing, but in an instant she knew that she was connected to the same person.

‘I have information about Kaye Whiting.’ The voice was now monotone and bereft of the distress that she’d heard so clearly the first time. ‘You’re WPC Gully, aren’t you?’

‘Yes, that’s right.’

‘It was you before, wasn’t it?’

‘That’s right,’ Gully repeated as she flattened her original sheet of paper back on to the top of her pad.

‘I bet you think she’s dead.’

Gully didn’t reply, but lodged the receiver under her chin and held the pad still with her left hand while she wrote with her right. ‘Drunk???’ she jotted.

‘Don’t you?’ demanded the woman, and Gully suspected that she was smiling as she’d said it.

Gully decided to play the official line. ‘We are obviously very concerned, but we are not assuming anything at this stage.’

‘That’s good, because I think when you find her you’ll realize that she was still alive at this point.’

The skin at the back of Gully’s neck began to tingle as goosebumps rose beneath her collar. ‘How do you know?’

‘I don’t know, not for certain. But I don’t think there’s long before it’s too late.’

Gully bit her lower lip and made sure that the caller had finished before she responded, ‘Where is she?’

Gully heard the woman laugh, in a bitter snort of derision. ‘I can’t tell you that. Peter Walsh, that’s who you need to speak to. He works at Dunwold Insurance and lives at 26 Hanley Road. This is all I can do, phone you and tell you how it is. Do you understand that?’

‘No, not exactly. Can you explain it to me?’ asked Gully, as she repeatedly underlined the word ‘Drunk’.

‘Arrest Peter Walsh and the killings will stop. Do you know, I feel it so much I can guarantee it. One hundred per cent. And if you are really quick, you may save Kaye Whiting.’

Gully realized that she was holding her breath. She exhaled quickly as she spoke. ‘How do you know?’

The caller mumbled, ‘It doesn’t matter. I’ve told you now and it’s not going to be my fault any more.’

‘Why are you to blame?’ Gully said, just as she realized that she was talking to a dead line.

She picked up the phone again and dialled Goodhew’s mobile. ‘Damn,’ she groaned as she found herself directed to his voicemail. ‘Gary, it’s me, I’m in the incident room. Can you phone back? It’s urgent.’

‘Sue?’

She spun round. ‘Oh, hello, Michael.’ Kincaide grabbed a chair and pulled it alongside hers. ‘What have you got?’

Gully followed Kincaide’s gaze, and saw he was looking at her monitor, probably already eyeing the
play
button.

‘An interesting call, I think. Hang on, I’ll play it for you.’

She scooted the mouse across the desktop and hit the red triangle, then looked up at Kincaide, keen to see whether her excitement would be reflected in his own expression.

‘What’s so special about this one, then?’ he asked, glancing at his watch.

‘Wait till you hear it,’ Gully enthused. ‘She’s called twice now, she names a suspect, and she doesn’t sound like a crank.’ Gully played the message for a couple of seconds, then skipped forward to find the start. ‘She might have had a couple to drink, though, because she sounded nervous the first time and not the second.’

Knowing she was talking too much, Gully felt herself redden.

‘Anonymous, I suppose?’ he asked, talking over the first few moments.

‘Yeah, unfortunately.’

‘Anonymous and drunk, then?’ was all he said, as he listened. He tilted his head, resting it on one hand in the pose of Rodin’s
The Thinker
.

By the time Gully clicked the
stop
button, her enthusiasm had
evaporated. Kincaide made a dismissive sweep of the hand as he jumped to his feet.

‘Chase it up if you want. Sounds like a loony to me. Or is there some more I haven’t heard?’

‘No.’

Kincaide scowled. ‘Get it checked out, along with the others.’ Then he shrugged and turned to go. ‘Don’t worry, Sue, we’ve all jumped to silly conclusions. It’s all part of learning.’

‘All part of learning,’ she mimicked with contempt, once he was out of earshot. She rested her elbows on the desk and pressed her forehead on to her fists. She stared down at the blue ink stain just an inch below her nose. Out of focus, it looked a bit like Australia, or next-door’s West Highland Terrier, depending how she viewed it.

She didn’t hear Goodhew come in. ‘Sue?’

‘Hi. I thought you were seeing Mrs Kennedy?’

‘I was, but she’d already gone home, too upset to stay at work, apparently. She’s coming to see me first thing tomorrow.’

‘Oh.’

‘You said “urgent”.’

She now raised her chin on to her left palm, clicked the rewind icon and pressed
play.
‘I thought this was important.’

As the recording replayed she watched a flicker of interest ignite in Gary’s eyes, and then felt her own first impressions rekindled.

Intense concentration burnt between the pair of them and the recording. As it finished Goodhew leant over and clicked
rewind
. It skipped backwards by several seconds.

The woman’s voice repeated: ‘Arrest Peter Walsh and the killings will stop.’

Gary stretched across WPC Gully again, and clicked the
stop
button.

‘We’ve had plenty of calls so far, but this one stands out, Gary.’ She sat alert again, completely regalvanized.

‘And who’s heard it, so far?’

‘Kincaide did, but he thinks it was a crank call – just said I should check it out along with all the others. But I wanted you to hear it, because I thought you’d say something more than that. I’ve got a really strong feeling about this, even after hearing it several times over.’

‘Yes, I can see why.’

Sue nodded in relief.

They both fell silent. Goodhew was gazing in her direction, but his green eyes were slightly out of focus. She watched him thinking until she wondered if she seemed to be staring, then she reddened again.

‘She talks of … “killings” in the plural,’ she said finally,
stumbling
over words.

His eyes readjusted and locked with hers. ‘Yes, I know.’ He hesitated, then straightened up, his tone suddenly becoming detached and efficient, ‘So let’s hope that wasn’t a threat.’