Local Gone Missing(31)

—

Afterward, he sat in his car and pulled his laptop out of the glove box. He’d have to make more calls. Twirl another plate. He still had it, didn’t he?

When the screen lit up, one of the old e-mail accounts that slumbered on his desktop was winking at him. He couldn’t remember the last time he’d even looked at the account, let alone opened it, but a number one had appeared beside it. You’ve got mail sounded in his head.

It’ll be spam—an ad for a world cruise or a stair lift. That’s all I seem to get now.

But his finger trembled as he clicked to look.

It wasn’t a cruise. [email protected] was contacting him. Hello, it said.

Delete, he told his finger but it wasn’t listening. It opened the e-mail.

    I know what you did. Where are you? It’s time we talked.



No name.

And he slammed down the lid of his laptop as if Addison1999 were staring out of the screen. Who is it from? It can’t be Phil Golding—he’s dead. But who else knows? Sweat prickled Charlie’s top lip.

Stuart Bennett. Charlie counted up the years since his daughter’s attacker had been sentenced and saliva flooded his mouth.

He could be out.

Charlie spun round in his seat, staring out of his car in case Bennett could have materialized.

Christ! Am I being hunted down? The man is a psychopath and he says he knows everything. What the hell am I going to do? Steady, he told himself, gripping the steering wheel. He doesn’t know where you are. Yet.

Anyway, he had a much more pressing problem—finding the money to keep Birdie where she was.

He suddenly blinked twice. He knew where there was money. The appalling Bennett had it. He’d robbed Charlie all those years ago and hidden his beautiful things. He must have. He hadn’t had time to sell them before he was arrested and they’d never been found. A quarter of a million pounds. Just sitting somewhere.

Charlie needed time to think. He started the car and roared out of the car park as if he’d stolen it.



* * *



—

    When he sat at his desk an hour later, he knew exactly what he was going to do.

He was going to meet Stuart Bennett.

Charlie had pulled up an old photo of his quarry—the one of Bennett being led to the prison van after the trial. He’d looked like a killer in a film, with his snake tattoo and wild dark eyes. Charlie wondered what he looked like now and his mouth went dry.

You’ve been in riskier situations before, he told himself.

You weren’t seventy-four then, a voice whispered back but he flapped it away.

He was going to start with an offer—splitting the proceeds. Seventy-thirty seemed generous, as it was his property. But he would move swiftly on if Bennett didn’t agree. He was going to threaten to tell the authorities that Bennett had contacted him and offered to sell him back his stolen goods. The ex-con would know he’d be recalled to prison immediately. He’d do a deal.

Charlie pressed “reply” on the e-mail.

    I can meet you on Sunday. I’ll let you know where nearer the time.



That would keep Bennett on his toes. He’d be waiting on Charlie’s instructions.

It took a couple of hours for Addison1999 to answer. The e-mail just said, Okay.





NOW





Twenty-three


SUNDAY, AUGUST 25, 2019





Dee


I told Liam I had to nip to the shop but I’ve had to come to Pauline’s on the way. I left my white jacket here yesterday with the cash she paid me in the pocket. And I need it for Cal’s footie fees—we’re two weeks behind as it is and Liam didn’t have a penny on him when I asked this morning. He just emptied his pocket onto the table. It was all odd screws and nails and fluff. I tried to talk to him about our money situation. But he’s not listening. He’s off somewhere in his head. But then so am I. Phil and his wasted life won’t leave me alone.

I haven’t heard anything from Pauline but I suppose Charlie got back. I bet he was in a terrible state. When I saw him Friday night, he looked awful. He was lurching along the pavement with the festival crowds. It made me think of Phil, and that horrible knot retied itself in my stomach. I turned away. Didn’t want to get caught up.

I tried to blot everything out and I let myself think I was a teenager again, clutching my ticket, with a fiver for drinks in my bra and already dancing on the spot to the music leaking out of the venue.

I was supposed to meet Liam by the trees near the car park field for the festival on Friday night—he and Ade Harman had got a bit of paid work helping set up the bars.

“Does Dave know? He’ll do his nut,” I said when Liam told me.

“Ade’s an adult—and he needs the money as much as I do,” Liam snapped.

I was looking for him but I kept an eye out for Charlie. I couldn’t help it—he seemed so weighed down with stuff lately and I felt guilty for not talking to him earlier. I stumbled into him sitting on a tree stump and he looked even worse, like he’d been crying.

“Are you okay?” I said, and knelt down in front of him.

I was getting a tissue out to tidy him up when he suddenly grabbed at me.