Local Gone Missing(11)
They were so young—late teens. A boy and girl convulsing on the damp grass, and she struggled to get them on their sides into the recovery position. She felt their pulses racing and their limbs were flickering as if the strobes were still playing on them.
The crowd had shuffled back but remained watching, the kids with face paint sliding down their cheeks, green neon wands hanging limply in their hands. And then Pete Diamond burst through the human cordon to join her.
“Christ!” he breathed before turning to his audience. “All right, everyone, let’s not panic. They’ve probably had too much to drink. Give us a few minutes to get it sorted out. They’re serving hot dogs and burgers in hospitality area.”
“This isn’t alcohol,” Elise hissed at him as people started drifting off, laughing, relief making them giddy. “They’ve taken something. What’s circulating? Your security lads must have found some drugs at the gate or heard something?”
“What? No! Oh, God, I’m going to be crucified for this, aren’t I? The festival will be shut down. Christ! I’ll have to give people their money back if tomorrow night doesn’t go ahead.”
“Let’s worry about these two first, shall we?” Elise was on her knees, checking their breathing.
Pete Diamond looked at her properly for the first time. “Sorry. Who are you?”
“DI Elise King.”
And his face had sagged. “Christ . . .”
“Look, I’m off duty. We need to know what they took.”
“Dad.” A teen in tiny shorts snaked past Elise and lodged under Pete’s arm. “Will they be okay?”
“?’Course, sweetheart. Help is on its way.”
The sound of an ambulance filtered through, faint at first but growing louder by the second. It was as if they’d turned the music back on.
As Elise moved back to let the medical team work, she felt something under her sandal and reached down. A black leather wallet flattened by hundreds of dancing feet. When she peeled it open, there were a couple of till receipts, a folded photo of a smiling girl, and a loyalty card for Ebbing Wines. C. Perry’s loyalty card. No money.
God, Charlie, you had a really crap night, Elise thought.
Eight
SATURDAY, AUGUST 24, 2019
Elise
Caro’s cackling about her festival outfit died down only when Elise’s neighbor realized she was late for a tae kwon do taster class at the hall and scurried off.
“I’d better get off too,” Caro said. “She’s a real laugh, isn’t she?”
“Hilarious.” Elise sighed. “Look, give me a minute to change my T-shirt. I thought I’d stroll up there with you.”
“Okay,” Caro said carefully. “But it’s all a bit ugly—the father of one of the victims has tried to punch the organizer—so you’re not to do anything apart from observe.”
“All right, Sergeant,” she snapped, and Caro’s eyes widened. “Sorry. Bit on edge this morning . . .”
If Caro had taken offense, Elise knew it wouldn’t last—she knew her DS too well.
They were very different animals: Caro was brilliant at thinking on her feet but incapable of being anywhere on time, while Elise was borderline OCD. They’d never have been friends in normal life and hadn’t clicked at work until a couple of old coppers had tried to date-stamp Caro’s arse. It was considered a rite of passage for young female officers in some stations—the sort of Neanderthal enclaves where female constables used to be seen as dykes or bikes. But Elise had walked in on it. They’d been trying to get Caro’s trousers undone and Elise had launched herself at them. She’d been on the tallest one’s back with her arm round his neck and he was bellowing for her to get off. Caro had kneed the other one in the balls and date-stamped his face before the men had fought their way to the door. When it was all over, the two young women had sat there, sweating and shocked. It’d been Caro who’d said: “This stays here.” And Elise had agreed. Neither of them would make the same decision today—it was assault, plain and simple—but then, nearly twenty years ago, no one would have wanted to hear it.
Anyway, as Caro said, it was the start of a beautiful friendship—and nobody had messed with either of them again. The squad called them King and Kong for a bit and Caro ignored it. “I’ve got thighs like barges and mad hair—it could be a lot worse. We need to pick our fights.”
* * *
—
“How are the victims?” Elise asked, returning the nods from a clutch of familiar faces outside the supermarket.
The women turned to watch as she and Brennan passed and she heard one hiss: “They should be locking up Pete Diamond for this.”
Caro rolled her eyes. “Still unconscious,” she said. “The ecstasy was a bad batch—double strength—and Tracy Cook’s been put in an induced coma while they control her seizures. Her family is waiting for news.”
“God, I wonder if it’s the first time she’d taken it.”
“The dad seems to think so—but no parent believes their kids take drugs, do they? He’s in bits—he and his mates had a real go at Pete Diamond just now.”