The Lost (35 page)

‘
Guy!
’ Corry and Gerard looked round, one face with plucked eyebrows raised in surprise, the other creased in annoyance. Finally, Guy himself looked up, and she saw his hands were trembling. ‘Will you tell me what happened, please?’

‘You aren’t meant to be here.’

‘I know. But I can help. You know I can.’ She walked closer. ‘You need to tell me. When did you notice Katie was gone?’

He passed shaky hands over his face. ‘I don’t know. I woke up – I’m usually awake about six. I saw her door was ajar – that’s strange, she normally shuts it tight. She’s been going on about getting a lock, but I don’t know, I didn’t—’

‘Guy. Focus.’

‘All right, yes, what – so I knocked, and I pushed it open and I could see right away her bed was – she hadn’t slept in it. So I checked – I didn’t know what things she’d take, or what she had, or . . . Christ. I think – I think some of her clothes are missing, maybe her shoes. God, I don’t know!’

‘It’s OK.’ Paula turned to the other two people in the room, who were looking from her to Guy with curiosity. ‘Gerard, I think you should leave. Let the DCI and me do the rest.’

‘Hang on now, we’re in the middle of an investigation,’ Gerard started.

‘Yeah. And you’re here even though she’s only gone a few hours, because we all know time is critical.’

Guy was shaking. ‘I can’t lose her too. I can’t.’

‘I know. But listen, all we know at the moment is Katie is gone. And just because she’s not here, it doesn’t mean she’d want men going through her things. Not to mention her dad.’

She heard Gerard muttering something about a ‘hard ticket’.

Corry cleared her throat. Even dressed in pre-dawn haste she managed to look poised, leather boots pulled over jeans and a cream scarf wound tight to her throat against the cold. Paula was zipped into a black waterproof jacket, trousers black too, at one with the gloom. Corry said, ‘Fellas, I’m sorry – she’s right, you have to get out. Come on. It’s the girl’s bedroom.’

In a strange way Guy seemed to draw strength from what Paula had said, as she’d hoped he would. By talking about Katie in the present tense she was reminding him that, as far as they knew, his daughter was safe and well.

Paula crossed the room in
three swift steps, and uncaring of who saw, or however much Gerard scowled, she touched Guy on the arm. He was frozen, rigid. ‘We’ll get her back,’ she murmured. ‘I promise. We’ll get her back.’

Guy pulled away, but when he spoke again it was in a more normal voice. ‘I shouldn’t have called everyone out, I’m sorry. It’s just I didn’t think we could afford to wait until twenty-four hours were up, and . . .’ He tailed off but she knew what he meant. Only a police officer knew how low down the priority a probable runaway would be. For Corry to be here with so many officers, she must believe the urgency was real. Guy said, ‘I’ve got to ring Katie’s mother. Come on. Paula’s right.’ Casting a last look round his daughter’s small bedroom, he went out.

Even with the men gone, going through Katie’s things felt like a violation. Paula was inexperienced in crime scenes, and looked to Corry for guidance. ‘Do I need to wear gloves?’

‘It’s a bit late now, they were all rifling through her things when I got here.’ Corry was patting down the clothes in the wardrobe. Paula looked around them. Posters on the wall, boys she didn’t recognise. Who were JLS? Fairy-lights strung up round the mirror, a litter of cheap lipsticks and eyeshadow on the dressing-table. Pictures stuck up of the gap-toothed boy, Jamie. The dead brother. One picture in a frame, of a striking dark-haired woman, her arms round a smaller Katie – Tess Brooking. None of Guy.

‘Thanks for letting me be here, Chief Inspector,’ she said. ‘I couldn’t stand not to be, if there’s anything I can do, anything at all.’

Corry was running her hands expertly between the wardrobe and the wall. ‘You can do your job. Help us get into Katie’s head. What would you have taken if you’d gone, when you were that age?’

It had crossed Paula’s mind, of
course, when she was a teenager. To run, to get out, to flee that dark house with the shadows full of sorrow, but she’d had no choice. Her mother had gone, and there was no way she could also abandon her silent father. In the end, she’d felt the only way out was strapped to an ambulance stretcher.

She pushed the thought away. ‘You’re thinking she ran off?’ But even that wasn’t as reassuring as it should have been, the idea of Katie creeping out in the damp dark. Who had she gone to meet, for a start?

There was a short silence from Corry. ‘We have to look at every angle. From your research, it’s the most likely thing, isn’t it?’

That was true. God, she hoped it was true. ‘Well, I’d take whatever money I could get my hands on. We should ask Guy if he had any lying around. Parents always think their kids can’t find this stuff, but they can.’ Paula opened a drawer, a mess of pants and socks, all disordered. She ran her hand in quickly, feeling ashamed – the most common place to hide things, the underwear drawer – and came out with a small box. Durex extra-strong. Unopened.

Ever efficient, Corry was frisking down the bedside table. ‘I’d take warm clothes, a rain jacket in this weather. Soft shoes, to sneak out, so he wouldn’t hear me.’

Paula raised her eyebrows for a second. ‘That’s true.’ She nodded. ‘How did she get out without him hearing?’ She knew from experience that policemen fathers did not sleep deeply in their beds. ‘If she did run away, she might have planned it in advance, maybe been stockpiling food too. We should ask him if anything like that’s gone. What else?’ Paula paced round to the side of Katie’s bed. A wooden-framed one. Space underneath. She dropped to her knees and put her hand under, feeling dust, plastic storage boxes, and something else. Something small, with hard edges.

‘We should check with her friends. See if
any of them knew she wasn’t happy.’

‘Hmm.’ Paula was thinking about that group of girls she’d seen at the school, their passive white faces. ‘To be honest with you, Chief Inspector, I’m not sure Katie really had many friends.’ She was reaching under the bed to pull out the object she’d touched.

‘But Brooking was saying she went to her friend’s every weekend. For sleepovers, apparently.’

‘Yes, well.’ Paula got up, dusting off her knees. In her hand was a rectangular pink box, empty.
Accurate to within two weeks of pregnancy.
‘I think we might be about to find out Katie wasn’t always telling the truth.’

Downstairs in the lounge, Guy was sitting on the same purple armchair Paula had draped her coat over that night. It seemed a million years ago, when he’d reached for her and they’d needed each other; they’d been able to give the only comfort there was. Gerard was in the kitchen with Bob, making phone calls; she could hear his rough voice rumbling low. She shut the door quietly, leaving just her and Guy in the lounge once again.

‘Any luck with Tess?’ Even then, in the middle of all that urgency, it was difficult to say his wife’s name.

Guy was leaning forward, frowning at his phone. ‘There’s no answer at the house.’

‘Did you try her mobile?’

‘No answer.’

‘Oh. When did you last – when were you last in touch with Tess?’

He said slowly, ‘To be honest, we haven’t spoken since she asked for the divorce. We – well,
I
– said some things. She kept talking about going off, getting some head-space, that sort of crap.’

‘Has Katie spoken to her?’ It dug into Paula, the
idea of a mother not knowing her daughter was even missing.

‘I don’t know. She has her own mobile. She could be talking to anyone, for all I know.’ He looked up at Paula. ‘You must think I’m a terrible father. It’s just – I’ve been so wrapped up in work, and Katie – she’s fifteen. She doesn’t talk to me. I don’t know how to ask her.’

‘I’m sorry, Guy.’ She had to tell him. Paula held out the box she’d found and watched Guy’s face go very still for a moment.

‘Do you think this means—’ he began.

‘Yes, I think so. Last time I was here, well, I saw her throwing up. I thought she was just ill.’

Guy sank back down again, his hands trembling. ‘I heard her being sick a few times, too. I asked her, and she said she’d picked up a stomach bug – all her friends had it. I was worried about maybe, an eating disorder, something like that, not . . .’

Poor Katie. Too proud to ask for help, to admit that those wonderful sharing friends of hers didn’t exist. Because that was the thing, wasn’t it? The terrible burden of loneliness, of difference, that left these girls holed up in stuffy rooms, carving the names of boys into their files, and eventually, into their skin. Alone, you were nothing.

Guy looked up with hunted eyes. ‘Those other girls, Majella and – what was her name?’

‘Louise.’

‘Louise. Do you think . . . do you think Katie feels like that?’

Paula chose her words carefully. ‘I think Katie’s very unhappy, that’s true. She was obviously trying to hide her pregnancy, and she hasn’t been telling the truth about where she’s been or who she’s been with. Did you ever check with her friends’ parents to see if she was actually there?’

He looked confused.
‘No. She’s fifteen. I thought – I thought she wouldn’t like that. And she was— I think it embarrassed her, having just me, and my job.’

‘It’s OK. Most parents wouldn’t check either. It’s just that I spoke to that Siobhan and it didn’t seem like she actually was friends with Katie. I’m sorry.’

‘So what are you saying? Do you mean she might do something, or somebody could have . . .’ He couldn’t say the words.

She fell back on professional jargon. ‘In most cases where a teen takes their life, it happens at home. We’ll often find they talked about it to their friends.’ If they
had
any friends, that was. Paula quailed, but struggled on. ‘They might have looked up sites on the internet – does Katie have a computer?’

‘Yes, yes, a laptop, but I think she’s taken it.’

Paula relaxed a fraction. ‘So that’s a good sign. If she’s taken things it means she’s making plans, that she left here of her own accord. The most likely explanation is she’s run away.’

He nodded dully. ‘But where would she have gone? Who’s with her?’

‘I’m sorry to have to say this, Guy, but I think we should send officers to the Mission. You know I saw her there.’

‘You tried to tell me,’ he said slowly. ‘I didn’t listen.’

‘I didn’t do it very well, I’m sorry.’

‘If she’s not there – if Lazarus is gone – they’ll rip us apart, the lawyers.’ His face was pale, haggard. ‘I just don’t know what to do. I can’t . . . I’m the boss here. I can’t do –
things
.’ He was looking at her keenly, and she understood what he wanted from her, now when it counted more than anything. ‘Lazarus, he’ll have an alibi for Katie, I’ll bet he will. He always does, somehow. But . . .’

Paula took his hand, where a pulse was beating slow. He looked at hers as if he didn’t understand what it was. ‘Listen, we’ll do what we always do. Check the buses,
the trains.’

‘It’s not enough. If someone has her – if someone’s keeping her . . .’

‘I know.’ Then she said the words she always used, to try to keep hope alive. ‘She hasn’t just vanished, Guy. She’s somewhere. I know she is.’

The question was, was she safe and unhurt in whatever place she’d gone. Or whoever she’d gone with.

‘Paula?’ He stopped her as she put on her jacket. ‘How do you know all this – about girls, about why they . . . about suicide?’ His voice cracked on the word.

What was the point in pretending? It was all so long ago, and the stakes were different now. Guy’s daughter was in danger.

She said, ‘Because when I was eighteen, I tried to kill myself. And I didn’t run away first and I didn’t take anything with me. So that’s how I know.’ She turned and went out without looking back at Guy. ‘Gerard?’ she called. ‘Could you come with me downtown, please? I need your help.’

Chapter Thirty-One

‘Why’d you need me for?’

‘I’ll explain when we get there. Will we take my
car?’

‘That heap of shite Volvo? No way, we’ll take the jeep.’

Knowing what she planned to ask of him, Paula wasn’t inclined to argue with Gerard. They climbed up into the police Land Rover. It wasn’t lunchtime yet, but the streets were filling up as they drove. Hallowe’en was a holiday for the local schools, meaning hordes of children were out in black hats, cloaks, scary masks. The murky day had barely got going yet the light was used up and exhausted. It wouldn’t be the easiest time to find a missing girl.

Already up ahead, bright flowers of light rent the sky from time to time as people let off illegal fireworks. Gerard drove in silence for a while, cursing under his breath as small figures ran across the road, girls half-dressed in mini-skirts and devil horns.

‘Never had any of this in my day. You’d want to put your coat round them.’

His day had pretty much been her day too, but she said nothing. She was chewing nervously on a flap of skin by her thumbnail, a terrible nausea brewing inside her. All the facts they knew so far flitted through her head, turned upside down and inside out.

‘Every year on the force we get calls – fireworks shoved in doors, eggs on houses. It’s as bad as the Twelfth of July. And the cut of some of these wee girls, their skirts up their bums . . .’ He trailed off as she gave him a fierce
look. ‘You’ve done a load of these cases, aye?’

‘A few.’

‘You usually find them, the girls?’

She looked out of the window. ‘Sometimes. It certainly looks like Katie left the house of her own free will. But . . .’ She didn’t finish her sentence. It depended very much on where she had gone after that.
Think, Maguire.
If you were fifteen, and you’d no friends at your strange new school, and your father was preoccupied and brooding, and your mother had left, and your brother died, and the only place you could find comfort was a church group . . . She shook her head. They had to find a way to get into the Mission again. The only problem was everyone was at the square, waiting to perform their big concert. ‘Can you go any faster?’