Gone (4 page)

If only he hadn’t been so caught up with his own shit, then he wouldn’t have failed her all those years ago.

Chapter 5

12 July 1999

DC Gardner tried not to let his impatience show as Ray Thorley dug around in an old biscuit tin, searching for photographs of his daughter.

‘There must be a more recent one than this,’ Ray said, sifting through memories of holidays in caravans and birthdays defined by cakes.

Gardner looked at the half-dozen pictures of Emma her father had already handed over. Most were a couple of years old. Emma aged thirteen or fourteen – smiling more than most teenagers do in photos with their parents. The girl in the picture was pretty but looked young for her age.

‘This one was last year,’ Ray said, handing over another picture. Gardner took it from the man and noticed the happiness levels were down a little. Emma sat beside her mum on a hospital bed, clutching her hand.

‘Thank you,’ Gardner said and put the collection down on the coffee table in front of him. ‘Mr Thorley, I wanted to ask you about Emma’s boyfriend again. Lucas Yates.’

‘He wasn’t her boyfriend,’ Ray snapped. ‘I’m sorry. But that boy was not her boyfriend.’

‘Okay. But she
did
stay with him, didn’t she? The first time you reported her missing in . . . February. That’s where she went. Is that correct?’

Ray gave a quick nod. ‘But she’s not with him now, if that’s what you’re thinking.’

‘What makes you so sure?’ Gardner asked.

‘Because she wasn’t seeing him any more. She can’t stand him. He hurt her.’

‘How did he hurt her?’

‘I don’t know,’ Ray said, his voice catching, his eyes welling up. ‘She wouldn’t talk to me about things like that. It was always her mum she talked to. But I know my Emma and she wouldn’t have gone off with him again. She wasn’t a stupid girl.’

Gardner felt for the man, he truly did. He’d not long lost his wife and then his daughter had gone off the rails. But grief had made Ray Thorley blind.

‘Mr Thorley, Emma had problems with drugs, didn’t she?’

‘Not any more. She stopped all that.’

‘Okay. But it’s not always easy to just stop. Perhaps she was using again and Lucas Yates is a known dealer—’

‘No!’ Ray Thorley closed his eyes, shutting Gardner out. Gardner waited a few minutes before standing. No matter what her father thought, he knew the best way to find Emma was to find Lucas Yates. So far he’d had no luck with that, but he’d turn up eventually. Come out from beneath whichever rock he was hiding under.

Emma Thorley needed help. That was a certainty. It just wasn’t the kind of help her father imagined.

He watched Ray Thorley sit there, head in hands, refusing to listen to reason. It was pointless. They could sit there all night, going round in circles. He’d keep looking for Yates but it’d have to wait until tomorrow. He was tired. All he wanted to do was go home and chill out.

Gardner stood. ‘I’ll be in touch,’ he said and left Ray sitting amongst his tins of old photographs.

Gardner scraped the leftovers into the bin. He was starting to wonder why he bothered at all when nothing was good enough any more – too salty, too garlicky, too whatever. She was like Goldilocks. They should’ve got a takeaway every night, at least then it’d be someone else’s fault. Usually she still managed to eat it, or enough to make him wonder if she just wanted to complain for the sake of it. But tonight she’d barely touched it. She’d lost weight. She was going to the gym more and more.

He walked into the living room with a bottle of red. There was never anything wrong with the red. He expected her to be sitting staring at the blaring TV, feet tucked up beneath her, but the room was quiet. She was standing by the window, arms around herself. He saw her jaw clench. So much for chilling out. She had something to say. He tried running through his day. What could possibly be the problem now?

They never had real arguments – no fireworks – just a few carefully chosen words and ominous silences.

She stood staring at him as if he was supposed to know what was wrong.

‘What’s up, Annie?’ he said and put the bottle down on the table without finding a coaster. She didn’t even blink. Now
that
was strange. He sat down, sinking into the worn leather settee. He couldn’t be arsed with whatever it was. It had been a long day.

She stayed standing. He could see tears starting to well. Oh fuck, he thought. Someone’s dead.

Gardner leaned forward, reaching for her hand, but she pulled away. Turned to the window.

‘Annie?’

‘I’m seeing someone,’ she said, almost whispering.

Seeing someone? Gardner tried to work out what she was talking about, whether he was supposed to know. Had she mentioned this before? ‘A therapist? Why?’ he said.

A sound came from her, part laugh, part sob, and she covered her mouth, real tears coming now. She turned back to him and looked at him pleadingly, head tilted as if she were talking to a three-year-old.

‘Michael,’ she said.

‘What are you talking about?’ he said, shaking his head. ‘You’re seeing someone?’

She nodded, barely perceptibly. Suddenly things were falling into place – a kid’s toy with slots for shapes – all glaringly obvious to everyone but the stupid kid trying to force a cube into a circular hole. He didn’t want to acknowledge it, didn’t want to make it real. But he could feel it. He could feel it running through his veins, zigzagging its way through his body until every last cell was aware of what was happening.

‘Who is it?’ he asked.

Gardner stepped closer, stood looming over her. She stepped back and he wondered for a second if she thought he might hit her. If she thought that’s who he was.

‘Who?’ he said.

‘Just sit down. I’m not talking to you like this.’

‘I’m not going to fucking sit down,’ he said and felt a lump in his throat. He squeezed his eyes shut. Please don’t throw up, not now. ‘Just tell me who.’ Annie started to walk out of the room. Gardner caught her by the elbow. ‘Tell me.’

‘Stuart Wallace,’ she said and pulled away from him. She started running up the stairs.

‘Stuart fucking Wallace?’ He couldn’t move. Wanted to follow her but couldn’t. ‘Stuart Wallace is a fat, fucking prick,’ he shouted after her.

He heard the bathroom door slam and the sound of his own breathing filled the spinning room.

Stuart Wallace. He’d introduced Annie to him. He’d been forced to go to a Christmas party at his shitty nouveau-riche house. They’d laughed at his decor.

He knew where he lived.

Gardner grabbed his keys from the table. He started to walk out, first stopping to pick up the bottle of red from the table. He smashed it against the wall that held the shabby chic photo frames she’d insisted on and threw what remained of the shattered bottle against the opposite wall.

‘There’s a red wine stain on your fucking carpet,’ he shouted up the stairs and then slammed the front door.

Chapter 6

13 December 2010

Freeman sat and looked at the door to the house. The small garden was overgrown and strewn with litter. She wondered if the toll of eleven years of not knowing where his daughter was had done that to Ray Thorley – robbed him of all desire to live his life, to take care of himself, to do his garden – but as she got out of the car and walked towards the house she noticed that most of the other gardens on the street were in a similar state. The place was hardly a candidate for Britain in Bloom. Freeman brushed away the crumbs from a hastily eaten ham and cheese sandwich and knocked on the door.

Ray Thorley answered and a look of confusion morphed slowly into recognition. Freeman had thought last time she’d spoken to him that perhaps he was a little senile. He seemed to take a while to recall certain words and when he had offered her a drink he’d disappeared into the kitchen for fifteen minutes and then returned empty-handed. Freeman wasn’t immune to the occasional blank when writing reports or remembering her shopping list but there was something about Ray’s behaviour that reminded her of her granddad. Perhaps that was why she had liked him so much.

Ray stepped back and showed her into the warm house, muttering something about it being all go. Bloody reporters. They hadn’t even positively ID’d Emma yet and already they were hassling Ray. If she got her hands on the little shit who’d leaked it to the press, she’d cut his balls off.

As she walked through into the living room she unwrapped her scarf and shoved it into her pocket. Ray was right behind her.

‘Have you heard anything, Miss Freeman?’ he said.

Usually she bristled at being called Miss and would correct whoever had spoken, usually some macho guy who didn’t take kindly to a woman in a position of power, telling them, ‘It’s Detective Sergeant.’ But with Ray somehow she didn’t mind. It seemed kind of sweet.

‘Not yet, I’m afraid,’ she said. ‘The post-mortem did show a broken arm – the left arm. I was wondering if Emma—’

‘Never had a broken bone,’ Ray said and smiled. ‘I remember her crying one day, telling me all her friends at school had had a cast except her. Thought it was very unfair.’

That didn’t necessarily mean anything but she let it go. Freeman wondered why he wasn’t making more fuss. Why he wasn’t shouting at her to do more. She wondered if he’d always been this kind, this understanding, or if all the years had just beaten the fight out of him.

‘Mr Thorley, I’m trying to retrace Emma’s steps before she disappeared. Did you know any of Emma’s friends? Anyone she used to hang around with before she disappeared?’

Ray shook his head. ‘She was always a shy girl. She never played with other kids very much. Not really. There were a few girls from school but by the time she was, well, when she was having the trouble she stopped seeing them. She kept to herself.’

Freeman nodded. She’d bet Emma hadn’t kept completely to herself. If she was doing drugs she wasn’t doing them alone. And of course there was Lucas Yates keeping her company. ‘What about boyfriends? She ever tell you about anyone in particular?’

She noticed Ray’s face darken a little but he shook his head. ‘She wouldn’t talk to me about those things.’

Freeman nodded again. ‘But there was someone when she started . . . when the trouble started?’ Freeman had noticed that Ray never used the words ‘taking drugs’.

Ray looked anxious again. ‘There was some boy. She went off with him the first time, the silly girl. I knew he’d hurt her,’ he said and twisted his hands on his lap. ‘She came back and was so upset but she wouldn’t tell me what happened. I was just glad she was back so I didn’t push it.’

‘Did she get back together with him?’

Ray shook his head. ‘No. She wouldn’t have done that. He was no good. I knew that much. He used to come here sometimes. I remember she stopped going out for a while. She’d look out the window. Up and down she’d be. Checking outside. I asked her if she was waiting for someone.’ Ray turned towards the window. The net curtain had yellowed from the sun. ‘I saw him hanging about one day. Across the road. I said I was going to call the police but she told me they wouldn’t do anything. I went to go outside myself, to tell him to bugger off, but she wouldn’t let me. Said it didn’t matter. When I looked out later he’d gone.’ Ray stood and picked up a photo of Emma from the mantelpiece. ‘She left again shortly after that.’

‘And that was in April. Was this when the man from the clinic came to see you?’ She searched through her notes, recalling what she’d read from the original investigation. ‘Ben Swales, right?’ Ray nodded. ‘But he never came when she disappeared the last time?’

Freeman saw his hands shaking as he put the photo back. ‘No. He never came again.’

‘Was there anyone else who might’ve seen Emma before she disappeared? Any other friends you can think of?’

Ray sat down again. ‘There was a girl she was at school with.’ He shook his head. ‘It’ll come back to me. They’d been friends since primary school. I know they stopped seeing each other so much but she might know something. Emma could’ve told her something about the boy.’ He shook his head again as if trying to dislodge his memories. ‘Diane. That’s it. Diane Royle. I’m sure your lot spoke to her last time.’