Local Gone Missing(9)

“I want you to drive me into town,” she announces. “He must have stayed over with someone.” And she goes to get dressed.



* * *



—

The police are by the Old Vicarage gates when we arrive and there’s yellow-and-black tape flapping about farther up the drive.

Pauline tells me to stop and gets out and does her walk across to them, all teeth and tits.

“I’m looking for my husband,” she says in her silly, breathy Joanna Lumley voice. “He didn’t come home and we have an important appointment. I thought someone might have seen him last night.”

“Umm, well, there were about eight hundred people milling around for the festival,” a woman police officer says. “And we’re a bit busy with an ongoing incident.” She sounds tough but she’s got a hair slide with little hearts in her hair. She must have kids.

“I thought the police were supposed to look for missing people,” Pauline snaps.

“We are,” the officer says. “Sorry. Let’s start again. I’m DS Brennan. Why don’t you tell me why you are worried about your husband? How old is he? Is he in poor health?”

“Charlie’s seventy-three—some years older than me,” Pauline simpers, but it’s clearly wasted on the officer. “And he’s fit and well.”

I want to say he takes blood pressure tablets—the silver blister packs sit on the bathroom shelf beside a dusty box of Viagra—but it will mean being part of this. So I stay silent.

“I see. And has he ever gone off before—”

“Well, there has been the occasional evening when he’s stayed out. When he’s bumped into old chums,” Pauline says.

“I see. And the appointment—is it medical?”

“No, he’s supposed to be taking me shopping in Brighton today.”

The police officer stops making notes and sighs. “Okay. Well, I’d try the chums if I were you and we’ll keep an eye out for him. Perhaps you could let us know when he gets in touch.”

But she’s not looking at Pauline anymore. A tight knot of people is walking fast toward us. At the center is a raw-faced man who looks like he hasn’t slept for days.

“Where is he? Where is the bastard?” he bawls, pushing past me in his search.

DS Brennan reaches into the group and takes his arm, steering him to her side.

“Leave me be,” the man shouts. “My daughter Tracy’s lying unconscious in hospital. . . . The doctors say she might never wake up.” And his voice breaks. “She’s only eighteen!” he croaks. “Someone did this to her. Gave her this filthy stuff.”

“Yeah,” one of the others adds. “We knew this would happen, didn’t we? Nobody wanted this bloody festival in Ebbing. Except Pete Diamond, of course. He’s the one making money on the bodies of our kids.”

“Come on,” DS Brennan says gently to the father, “you must be beside yourself with worry. But this won’t help. Why don’t we go and find somewhere quiet to talk?”

His face crumples and she’s about to lead him away when Pete Diamond appears at the gate wearing an Ibiza Rocks T-shirt.

“What’s going on?” he says. “I need to get my car out. You’ll have to move.”

And the dad breaks away from DS Brennan and screams in his face. “My little girl’s dying. You’ve got her blood on your hands!”

“Of course I haven’t,” Pete shouts back. “Your little girl was popping pills. I’m not responsible for that. . . .”

Tracy’s dad gets hold of him, banging his head against the railings and yelling abuse. I realize I’ve got my hands over my eyes. Like when I was a kid. Looking through my fingers when something scary was happening. I can still smell the sharp smell of my grubby hands as I crouched down, away from it. Looking but not looking. Hoping not to see.

Pauline starts shrieking for them to stop and DS Brennan fights her way between them. Her head gets jerked backward and the little hair slide goes flying. I pick it up for her but she’s busy shoving Pete inside the gate and putting her arm round the dad. He’s sobbing, and he goes down on his knees on the pavement. His mates huddle round him. But the anger is coming off them in waves.

“This isn’t over,” one of the men mutters as they lead him away.





Seven


SATURDAY, AUGUST 24, 2019





Elise


DS Caro Brennan tapped on the window as Elise tried to take off her backpack without using the muscles in her upper body. She jolted at the sound and let out a groan.

Ronnie stood to help her. She’d appeared through the door as soon as Elise had got back from a jog on the beach—“Just doing my ward rounds,” she’d said, and stayed.

“Give me that,” Ronnie said. “What were you thinking of? Going for a run after all that drama last night?”

“I walked most of the way. I’m fine. Come in, Caro,” Elise shouted. “Are you up at the festival site?”

“Yeah, I’m helping out. So I heard you were first to the victims.”

Ronnie started singing, “?‘I need a hero . . . ’?”

“Thank you, Ronnie. Yes, they were unconscious when I reached them.”