Then She Was Gone (6 page)

‘I agree, for what it’s worth. I think something’s happened to the guy. Someone in the public eye like this, they don’t just bugger off for a long weekend or more and not
tell even an assistant. That house wasn’t right and there’s something off about those two women in his office.’

Murphy didn’t reply, staring out of the car windscreen towards a bookshop on the opposite side of the road. ‘Seems well liked in the community from what I can gather. The shops
around here are dying a death and he’s promised them all kinds. If he can do even a little bit to help them, I can’t imagine he’s disliked, even if he is a Tory. Seems like he was
heading for the top as well.’

‘Another career politician,’ Rossi said, tutting to herself. ‘At least this one didn’t go to that Eton.’

Murphy smirked then started the car up. ‘Silver linings,’ he said, taking the handbrake off and pulling out onto the road. ‘That’s why I like you, Laura. You always see
the positive.’

‘It’s the only way to get through the day.’

‘Agreed. Now let’s go and see his parents. Finally.’

Murphy checked the address on the sheet once more before handing it back to Rossi. He tried fiddling with the satnav again, but gave up when he spotted Rossi pulling out her
phone.

‘It needs updating or something,’ Murphy said, turning the thing off and resisting the urge to throw it out of the window. ‘Have you found it?’

‘Yeah,’ Rossi replied, squinting at her phone. ‘Go to the end of Sefton Lane and I’ll direct you from there.’

‘Ever been to Aughton? Can’t remember if we’ve ever had a job that far out together.’

‘Probably at some point. Maghull isn’t far from it and I’ve definitely been there. Can’t remember offhand.’

‘It’s barely Liverpool anyway,’ Murphy said, accelerating along the A road and passing a slow-moving car. ‘Near enough Ormskirk. Edge Hill Uni is just round the corner,
but that’s about it. There’s not much going on from what I remember. Not quite Formby, but near enough.’

They reached the edge of the city, the suburban area revealing itself once again. More tree-lined roads and large houses. Murphy sometimes forgot that the house he now lived in could probably
match up to any here. His days on a council estate in south Liverpool now long behind him.

‘Have you got the names of the parents there?’ Murphy said, waiting for traffic to pass by before turning left onto Green Lane. ‘I know his name, obviously, but I don’t
know the wife.’

‘Arthur and Mary. She’s the second wife, I imagine, as he must be getting near eighty now. Sam Byrne is only twenty-six, so even allowing for a late pregnancy, she can’t be
more than sixty odd. Seem to recall something about it, but I don’t tend to keep up with ex-MPs’ family lives.’

Murphy nodded and turned right towards Maghull and then onto Liverpool Lane North, away from the more familiar town and further north. ‘I suppose it wouldn’t be right if the whole
city looked like this. For a start, I think we’d lose our status as part of that northern powerhouse that’s always talked about but never appears.’

‘It would be difficult to make certain parts of the city look like this,’ Rossi replied, checking her phone screen again and pointing to the right. ‘You’d have to move
the locals about as well while you were at it. Can’t imagine that would go too well.’

‘This looks right,’ Murphy said, pulling into a side road of more recently built houses. ‘Not bad at all here. MPs must get nice pensions.’

‘Alongside all the money they make in business on the side.’

Murphy didn’t bother replying. The last thing he wanted at that moment was to get into a discussion about politics with Laura Rossi. Even he wasn’t that stupid.

‘How are we approaching this?’ Rossi said, turning to Murphy as he stopped the car outside the house. ‘Are we going to go with the premise that he’s missing and presumed
in danger, or missing of his own accord . . . or just buggered off for a long weekend and neglected to mention it to anyone?’

Murphy shook off his seat belt and took out the car key. ‘Let’s see what they have to say first. They’re the ones who want to keep things quiet, more than his actual work
colleagues, or whatever we call them. They must have a reason for that, which means there’s something not right. Usually if someone in the public eye is a victim of crime or whatever, their
face would be plastered over every newspaper and TV news channel within hours.’

‘I guarantee someone will speak out soon enough. Then it’ll be everywhere.’

Murphy opened the car door and waited for Rossi to exit the other side. ‘We’ll cross that bridge when we come to it and then try not to jump off the damn thing as well.’

They walked up the driveway, not for the first time admiring a house from the outside. ‘It always fills me with some kind of weird feeling when we see houses like this in Liverpool,’
Murphy said, enjoying the sight of the house. I guess even though I live in the city I still expect everywhere to look like it’s about to fall down, like it does on the telly.’

‘With some of the places we’ve seen, are you really that surprised?’

Murphy lifted his hand to knock on the door but didn’t get the chance to. It was opened inwards, almost knocking back the person inside with its swiftness.

‘Hello, detectives,’ the man filling the doorway said. ‘I was told you’d be arriving at some point today. Detective Inspector David Murphy and Detective Sergeant Laura
Rossi, I guess?’

‘Pretty good guess,’ Murphy replied, giving a sharp glance at Rossi. ‘Do you need us to come inside, or do you know how the rest of the day is going to go as well?’

‘Sorry, my preparedness can be off-putting sometimes. It’s something my wife complains about also. Please, come in.’

Murphy stepped inside, Rossi following behind him. They waited for the former MP to show them which way to turn. The hallway was suitably grandiose, matching the house’s facade. The
aforementioned former Member of Parliament wasn’t keeping himself in as good a condition as his dwelling, however. Murphy remembered some of the more cutting depictions of the man back in the
eighties. A rotund man, with wrinkled skin and a comb over, he was the Eric Pickles of his time. He was even larger now with jowls that flapped when he spoke, although from a quick glance Murphy
thought some attempt had been made to live a healthier life.

‘Just through here,’ Arthur Byrne said, extending an arm to his left as he faced them. ‘Mary will be joining us presently. Can I offer you some refreshments?’

Murphy shook his head. ‘That’s OK, Mr Byrne,’ he said, walking into the room that had been indicated and taking stock. ‘Sit anywhere?’

Arthur came in behind Rossi and nodded his head, the folds of skin under his chin wobbling around as he did so. Murphy thought of that Churchill dog from the adverts and suppressed a laugh.
Rossi stopped short, then continued to walk into the room, looking around the room with widened eyes. Murphy tried to ignore the various ornate pieces and headed for a seat.

‘As I said, Mary will be with us shortly,’ Arthur said, standing as he waited for Murphy and Rossi to take up opposite ends of an uncomfortable sofa. He stood before them with his
hands clasped together in front of him. ‘I’m sorry to meet with you in these circumstances. I have followed your careers with much interest. You have done much for the city and its
community. I do hope you know how that is appreciated.’

Murphy looked towards Rossi who was still staring at the furniture in the room. He followed her gaze to a particularly well-carved, deep-brown bookcase, the pattern at its top edges remarkable
in its design.

‘Doesn’t need saying,’ Murphy said, tearing his eyes away and back to Arthur Byrne. ‘Just doing our job. Nothing more than that.’

‘On the contrary,’ Arthur said. Murphy half expected him to add
my dear chap
to the end of the statement. ‘I believe you two and your team go above
and beyond the call of duty on many an occasion. That’s why I asked if you were available.’

‘Really, that’s interesting,’ Murphy replied, shifting his bulk on the sofa and gaining Rossi’s attention. ‘I guess you believe Sam hasn’t just neglected to
mention a short trip?’

‘No, Detective Inspector Murphy,’ Arthur replied, looking towards the hardwood floor beneath his feet. ‘I believe he’s at a critical point in his life and would not leave
at this time. I am extremely worried about his safety, given the amount of time he has been out of touch. When we were informed at the weekend that he hadn’t arrived into the office on
Friday, we didn’t think much of it. When we couldn’t get a hold of him over the weekend well . . . let’s just say it’s inexplicable behaviour from Sam. I
contacted DSI Butler personally this morning, asking for your assistance. Four days is just a little too long.’

‘Tell us a little more about him,’ Rossi said, finally finished with admiring her surroundings and joining Murphy in conversation. ‘He’s young for an MP, or should I say
prospective MP, isn’t he?’

Arthur looked up, then made his way to a chair opposite them and carefully settled his bulky frame upon it. ‘Sometimes we find our calling early. Look at that young Scottish woman. I can
never pronounce her name, but she was still in university when she was elected. Never mind that it’s representing that party from north of the border who would see the union split, she is
still representative of a shift in politics. She could do with a bit more life experience, of course, but that’s the generation we’re left with now. Sam is older than her, but I think
he could have got elected at any point. He has something about him, which I imagine he inherited from me. He knows how to work a room, how to make people believe in him.’

‘He’s winning at the moment,’ Rossi said, opening her notebook as Murphy sat back a little in the sofa and allowed her to continue. ‘By some margin, as well. Not very
easy in our city, coming from your particular political affiliation. I don’t think you ever stood within Liverpool, did you?’

‘No, I don’t think I would have been an MP for as long as I was if I’d stood in Liverpool, Ms Rossi,’ Arthur replied, a chuckle escaping from his lips.

Murphy tensed as Rossi bristled beside him. He was DI Murphy, she was Ms Rossi. Sometimes you can boil the prejudices of a generation down to a simple act.

‘Has he always been interested in politics,’ Murphy said, speaking before Rossi could make a remark back. ‘Or was that something he followed you in doing? The family business,
if you will?’

‘He needed some guidance, especially as his exam results failed to live up to expectations. He was sent to the best private school we could afford, but whilst we wanted him to move onto
Oxford or Cambridge, he couldn’t quite live up to that. We were happy he made it into the City of Liverpool University. He hasn’t looked back since.’

Murphy inwardly shuddered at the mention of the university. A place he would rather not think about too much. Another case, another time.

‘Of course,’ Arthur continued, resting his hands on his substantial stomach, ‘we had hoped he would be amongst a different crowd, but Sam has a way of standing out. He excelled
in debates, worked very hard and achieved what was needed.’

‘He wasn’t always working hard,’ a voice said from the open doorway. Murphy turned to see Mrs Byrne appear in the room. ‘Spent many a night getting up to all kinds in
those clubs in town. I blame those friends of his. They led him astray far too often.’

‘Mary–’ Arthur began to say, before his wife cut him off.

‘No, they need to know everything. If you ask me, detectives, he will have got himself into some kind of trouble. Always easily led. You want to find Sam, look at who he was spending time
with and they’ll give you the answer. It’s not like he is unfamiliar with the
unsavoury
aspects of life.’

Murphy refused a drink once again, as Mary waited in the doorway having asked if they’d like tea or coffee. Murphy, worried that accepting would break the flow of
conversation, was pleased Rossi also turned down the offer of refreshments.

‘My wife, Mary, detectives,’ Arthur said, standing up and waiting for Mary to join them. Murphy felt compelled to do the same, leaving Rossi still sitting on the sofa. ‘As she
says, Sam did enjoy his time in university, as youngsters are wont to do. He still graduated with a first class degree, however.’

‘In politics, though, dear,’ Mary said, lowering her eyes at her husband before turning back to Murphy and Rossi. ‘Couldn’t even talk him into doing a combined degree.
Something in economics, perhaps, or even history. I suppose it doesn’t matter much now.’

Murphy sat back down, letting his eyes rest on Mary for a second before moving away. She was much as he’d expected. Immaculately turned out, her make-up freshly applied, she looked to be
around mid- to late-forties, but Murphy guessed she was almost a decade older. Compared with her husband, she was aging well.

‘Yes, detective, I don’t look my age, thank you for noticing so vividly.’

Murphy felt the blush rise to his cheeks, but shook his head and carried on. ‘Nice to meet you, Mrs Byrne. I’m sure your husband has informed you already who we are.’

‘Of course,’ Mary replied with a wave of her hand. ‘Always an odd boy is Sam. I’m sure this is another one of his games. I hope it is, anyway, or I will be very
cross.’

‘Games?’

‘Not important,’ Arthur cut in, giving his wife a look of admonishment she took with a roll of her eyes. ‘What is important is that we make sure my son is safe, isn’t
that right?’

‘Of course,’ Murphy replied, trying to hide his enjoyment of the pairing. Something bugged him, though: the difference in the reactions of the two to their son’s disappearance.
He filed it away for later scrutiny. ‘Which means we need to know as much as possible about Sam’s life now, in order to discover what’s happened.’

‘I know the way these things work. I listened to a whole one of those podcast things recently about missing people. Some crime writer or something hosted it. Was very interesting. Anyway,
that means I know how it’s usually nothing bad that has happened and that the missing person turns up within a few days or so. Still, Sam is not your normal everyday type of person.
He’s . . . important.’