Then She Was Gone (7 page)

‘Quite,’ Rossi said, scribbling something Murphy couldn’t see on her notepad. ‘Sam left university and went straight into politics then?’

Arthur cleared his throat. ‘Yes, something like that. I had to place some calls to get him some experience, of course, but he moved upwards quickly. Became a councillor and then began this
journey into being a fully fledged Member of Parliament. Quite the rise, you would say.’

‘I wouldn’t say anything, Mr Byrne,’ Rossi replied, giving him a flash of a sneer and looking down again before Murphy could give her his own look of admonishment. ‘Has
he always been a good boy, or has he been into any kind of trouble growing up?’

Murphy looked back at Arthur, expecting him to be annoyed with Rossi, but he seemed to have brushed it off. He was slightly disappointed. It would have been fun to watch Rossi make him
squirm.

‘He got himself into some scrapes as a teenager, but who doesn’t at that age?’ Arthur said, speaking before his wife had a chance. ‘He’s been concentrating on his
future since then. He knows it wouldn’t do for him to be getting into any kind of trouble if he wants to fulfil his ambitions.’

Murphy glanced over at Mary who still had her mouth open as if to speak. She caught his eye and looked away quickly. He watched her absent-mindedly brush away a little dust on the side table
next to her chair.

‘How about now?’ Murphy said, moving his gaze back to Arthur. ‘Any kind of threats or unwanted attention?’

‘You know how things are these days, detective. All that internet nonsense and so forth. I’m sure he receives all kinds of abuse on there every day. However, the internet has also
been hugely important for the campaign. He is young and privileged, but not a Jacob Rees-Mogg type. He’s not taking his “nanny” out with him when he canvasses. He’s just
like them. Only not like all those lefty types the universities seem to be breeding these days.’

Murphy sensed Rossi tense up again.

‘
Cazzo
,’ Rossi said under her breath. Murphy knew what the word meant and hoped Arthur and Mary Byrne didn’t.

‘Anything specific you can think of?’ Murphy said, when it didn’t seem as if the pair had taken any Italian language lessons in their retirement. ‘Something out of the
ordinary he may have mentioned?’

‘Not that I can recall . . . Mary?’

Mary was still looking away from the group, quiet since her initial outburst. ‘No, nothing like that. I’m sure he would have told us if there was.’

‘How about friends? Do you know the names of them at all? We don’t have many contacts for him at the moment.’

‘Oh, yes, he has many friends,’ Arthur said, sitting back, hands now clasped on the arms of the chair. ‘There was a whole group at university he was very close to. Can’t
imagine they haven’t stayed in touch.’

‘That’s lovely,’ Rossi said, tapping her pen against the notepad on her knee. ‘Any names at all?’

Arthur glanced at Mary again, pursing his lips and grimacing. ‘Erm . . . Mary, what was the name of that one chap, with the hair?’

‘Simon. Simon Jackson. I think he’s from Manchester originally. We don’t have any phone numbers. I’m sorry. Not the done thing these days, I suppose.’

‘That’s fine,’ Murphy said. ‘Any other names you can provide to us would be great.’

‘I know a few first names, but that’s about it. We weren’t especially involved in that part of his life.’

Murphy waited as Rossi wrote down an array of names, each more middle-class sounding than the previous one.

‘Sorry we can’t help you more on that,’ Arthur said, clasping his hands together. ‘He was far too busy lately with the campaign, so I’m sure he didn’t have
much of a social life anyway. Just the way of things. I’m sure you’ll be able to work some of that computer magic and find the people from the information Mary has given you. I
can’t imagine there being a need to bother any of them, however. I’m sure his disappearance will be connected to what is happening in his life now.’

Rossi raised an eyebrow at Murphy and gave a slight shake of her head.

‘OK,’ Murphy said, shifting forwards on the sofa so he was perched on the edge. ‘Well, at the moment we’re investigating various avenues of interest. We’ve been to
his house, but we didn’t exactly get much of a sense of him from there.’

‘That doesn’t surprise me,’ Mary said, smoothing down her skirt as she spoke. ‘We don’t go there much, but we’re always telling him to make it more homely.
Find someone to start courting and have a family. That always played well for Arthur. Everyone knew he was a family man, which helped immeasurably in getting him re-elected so often.’

‘He still has it,’ Arthur said, his voice booming across to Murphy and Rossi. ‘Only a month until the by-election and he is considerably ahead of the Labour candidate. Not a
surprise, really, given the mess that party is in right now.’

Murphy held up a hand to stop Arthur going further into the politics. ‘Is there anything at all you can think of, any reason why he might have left now, or may be in danger?’

Arthur and Mary exchanged glances and waited a few seconds to reply.

‘Nothing would make him suddenly take off in the middle of a campaign such as this,’ Arthur said as Mary sat open-mouthed again. ‘He has been brought up correctly and
understands his obligations perfectly well. Something must have happened to him for him to disappear in this manner. I would very much like for you both to find out what that is and bring him back
to us, Detective Inspector Murphy.’

‘We’ll do our best, sir,’ Murphy replied, standing up and at once towering over the pair. ‘If you do think of anything,’ he continued, trying to catch Mary’s
eye, ‘please don’t hesitate to get in touch. I’m sure you know how to do that, but here’s a card with our relevant information on it anyway.’

Murphy produced a card from his back pocket and laid it on the coffee table in front of Mary. She leant forwards and made it disappear before Arthur had chance to move.

‘Thank you very much, detectives,’ Arthur said, getting to his feet slowly and with some effort. ‘You have our every trust that you can get to the bottom of this.’

They were shown to the door without further preamble. Murphy glanced back to see Mary still sitting on the chair. She seemed lost in herself now, without the pretence of a show to put on.

Once outside, Rossi finally let rip.

‘
Mannagia alla miseria
. Politicians,’ she said, spittle flying from her mouth. ‘And Tories at that. Nothing but a bunch of
carogna
. Did you see the way he spoke only to you, never me. Sexist bastard.’

Murphy continued to walk, hoping to get further away from the house before Rossi really started to shout.

‘Honestly, these types of people run the country and we wonder why it’s in such a mess.’

‘We don’t have to like them to help them.’

‘That should be the official police slogan,’ Rossi replied, reaching the car door and huffing when she realised Murphy hadn’t keyed the automatic locking yet. ‘We
didn’t get a single helpful thing in there. Pointless conversation. We’re nowhere with this thing.’

‘She knows something,’ Murphy said, unlocking the car and climbing inside. ‘The way she was on the verge of saying something every few minutes. She has something to say.
I’m hoping that a few more days of Sam being missing will make her talk. They didn’t seem all that upset, which was weird.’

‘All a front. Stiff upper lip and all that shite.’

‘Suppose so. For now, no, we don’t have much, but hopefully they’ve found something back at his office. There’s a bit of secrecy going on around this thing.’

‘To be expected, I suppose,’ Rossi said, clicking her seat belt on just as Murphy pulled out into the road. ‘I bet if we really knew what went on with MPs behind closed doors,
we’d never vote any of them in.’

‘You say that like it would be a bad thing.’

Rossi laughed, filling the car with its distinctive sound. That’s when Murphy knew he’d made Rossi laugh properly . . . when his ears were still ringing a few minutes
later.

‘I’ll give you that one,’ Rossi said, pulling her notepad out and studying the notes she’d made. ‘A bunch of first names and a Simon Jackson. I really hope we
don’t have much trouble accessing Byrne’s social media accounts. Otherwise, this could be a very long and boring process.’

‘I’ll leave that to you and Graham to sort out,’ Murphy said, grinding his teeth at the mere mention of social media. ‘Wouldn’t know what I was doing
anyway.’

‘You still refuse to get with the programme? Everyone is online now. Stop resisting it. You’re missing out on trolls, political arguments, echo chambers and pictures of cats. What
more could you want?’

‘I’ll live,’ Murphy replied, bringing the car to a halt at a set of traffic lights. ‘I can think of a hundred and one other things I’d rather torture myself with
before joining those sites.’

‘I give it another six months, then you’ll cave.’

‘Keep dreaming. I’m more likely to visit Goodison Park than open a Facebook account.’

Rossi laughed, but the noise of it didn’t fill the car this time. ‘We’ll ask the university as well, but can’t imagine we’ll get far with that one. What did you
make of them anyway? Have to say, when Mary walked in with the tanned tights and sensible shoes, I thought I’d end up disliking her more. Turned out she was OK.’

‘She’s definitely hiding something about her son. I doubt we’ll ever know if the dad has his way, though.’

‘Oh yeah, it’s all about the correct image with him. All about the
campaign
and how that’s going. That’s why we’re having to keep
everything in the dark. If it gets out that a prospective MP has gone missing and then he turns up looking sheepish with a few love bites and a three-day hangover, he would probably lose a fair few
votes. Not very professional. What about that house, though . . . amazing furniture in there.’

‘You could do a whole hour of the
Antiques Roadshow
in just the living room, or whatever they want to call it.’

‘Probably a
morning room
or something,’ Rossi said, taking her phone out and keying the screen. ‘I’ll put Graham on the list of names, but I
don’t think we’re going to get very far with just this. We need something a bit more concrete.’

Murphy slowed the car as traffic built up in front of them. Thought through the meeting with the missing man’s parents once again in his head.

Something wasn’t right. And he wasn’t sure he wanted to find out exactly what that something was.

He enjoyed pain. Particularly carried out on others. Women especially. He liked seeing the hurt in their eyes. The awareness of their helplessness reflected back at him,
knowing he could end it at any point. Under his control, his power. There was something about that kind of thing which really got him going.

Problem was, not all women liked his particular brand of play. In the past, he’d had too many whiny bitches who became worried about their safety as soon as he started playing. Idiots. As
if he would put himself in danger for some whore who didn’t like it when he went a bit far.

That’s all they were, really, he thought. Playthings, objects for him to derive pleasure from.

It wasn’t his fault he had been driven to this mindset. They had done that. All that talk of equal rights and safe spaces. It was his world. He was the one in power. If they wanted to take
some of that, they would have to deal with the consequences.

That was how he had dealt with the changes in the world around him. His father had instilled in him the importance of power. How he had to take it, make it his and never let it go.

Once he had made it through the next few weeks of the campaign, he would have everything he needed.

He would have his pick.

For now, the urges had become too strong. He needed a release and she was a willing and cheap solution.

‘Put these on,’ he said, handing the clothes to the woman. He turned away as she swiped a hand across her nose and began undressing. He didn’t want to see her until she was
properly attired.

‘If you want any of that weird shit, that costs extra,’ the woman said, a rasp to her voice which set his teeth on edge. ‘You hear me? You have to give me more if I have to do
anything like that.’

‘You’re getting paid well enough,’ Sam said, pinching the bridge of his nose and trying to maintain control. ‘I’ll give you three hundred quid just to shut the fuck
up.’

‘My lips are sealed,’ the woman said, unable to keep the glee from her tone. ‘Well, until you need them to be open.’

‘Are you dressed?’

The woman murmured a yes. He turned round to see her properly. She was a little older than he would have liked, but he would see past that. The short plaid skirt, the white blouse, the tie loose
around her neck. It would work.

‘Walk this way and keep quiet.’

He led her to the bedroom in the back of the flat, the lights off so she couldn’t see what was inside. He felt a slight touch of hesitation when they reached the doorway, but a gentle
nudge kept her walking.

‘Lie down on the bed.’

She complied, as they always did. Their stupidity driven by the desire for money. To feed an addiction. It sickened him.

‘Close your eyes,’ he said, crossing the room and opening the bottom drawer of the bedside table. ‘Now.’

She did as she was instructed, lying down fully on the bed now. He moved quickly, placing the blindfold over her eyes. ‘Turn over,’ he said, not wanting to touch her yet. She did as
she was told, lifting herself and turning over. She raised her lower half in the air, but he pushed it down with an elbow and leaned over her. He snapped a manacle hanging from the bedpost around
her wrist.

‘Hey, what are you doing?’ she said, lifting her head up off the bed and turning towards him.

‘Shut up, or you won’t get your money. You’ll do as you’re told and be out of here within an hour. Keep talking and you’ll get nothing.’

The threat was enough, just as it always was. He was surprised it worked, but then he didn’t understand the way these people lived.