Gone Page 3

  ‘Someone feeding off the drama? Or using it as an opportunity to groom?’

  ‘Something like that. I’ll keep looking, but for now we have four real disappearances. We may be too late for Faye and Grayson – they’ve been missing for a month or two – but Lana and Stuart have only been gone a few weeks.’

  ‘That might still be too long. And the police officers you spoke to – were they doing anything?’

  ‘Nope. Nada.’

  ‘Any interest in a number of potential victims?’

  ‘They said to keep them informed.’

  ‘Of course they did.’

  ‘Look, I know you’re worried about our other work, but I’ve looked through the planner and we have no pressing deadlines in the coming week. The next court date is a fortnight away, and I’ve checked in with the solicitors and detectives on our cases and nothing’s changed in terms of urgency.’

  ‘I have my young-offender clients.’

  ‘Tuesday mornings and Friday afternoons, right?’

  Bloom murmured her confirmation. Counselling under-eighteens was important to her and Jameson knew that.

  ‘We can work around that. One week. That’s all I’m asking. Just to see if there’s anything to it. I’ll cover all the expenses.’

  ‘There’s no need to do that. We have enough in the account.’

  ‘Is that a yes? Shall I arrange a meeting with Stuart’s fiancée? She’s the Finance Director at Leeds Bradford Airport, so back in your neck of the woods. She’s also thirty-eight weeks pregnant.’

  Bloom smiled. Jameson knew how to press her buttons. ‘Fine. Yes. And let’s meet with Jane again and conduct a full interview.’

  ‘Consider it done,’ Jameson said and then the line went dead.

  Bloom turned Radio 4 back on. She wanted to catch Ian Rankin discussing the death of Inspector Morse creator Colin Dexter. She had loved watching Morse with her father when she was young. They’d competed to work out who’d done it, and then her father would turn lawyer and point out the flaws in the case. He was the reason for her fascination with the criminal mind.

  She warmed the broccoli-and-Stilton soup she’d made on Sunday and sliced a loaf of farmhouse brown. Then she settled at the kitchen table just as Barrington Pheloung’s Morse theme began to play. The opening notes made her nostalgic; she wanted to be back on her father’s sofa one last time. She wanted one more evening together.

  8

  Claire’s conservatory was scattered with discarded soft toys and half-finished jigsaw puzzles. Bloom watched as the two girls ran around the kitchen island, squealing with delight. Claire kept telling them to keep it down. She had one of those fancy machines and was making coffee, frothing milk as she updated Jameson on her husband’s new job. Bloom watched the interaction with fascination. As the only child of two intellectuals she hadn’t grown up around banter or humour at all, so the trading of sarcastic asides and shared chuckles was as intriguing as it was alien.

  ‘Sorry, Augusta. I’ll take these noise-machines to the park so you can have some peace and quiet,’ said Claire. ‘Seriously, guys, shush a minute. You’re giving me a headache.’

  The girls fell silent but continued to run laps of the kitchen.

  ‘Jane’s not been so good the past day or so,’ Claire said to her brother. As yet, Jane was nowhere to be seen. Claire had shouted up the stairs when Bloom and Jameson had arrived, but that was over fifteen minutes ago.

  Jameson carried his cappuccino to the seat opposite Bloom, then placed a mug of tea in front of her. ‘How d’ya mean?’

  Claire glanced at the stairs and lowered her voice. ‘Staying up late, lying in late, not eating.’

  ‘Sounds like you as a teenager.’ Jameson took a sip of coffee. It left a white moustache of milk that he licked away.

  ‘Yeah, because you were the dream child,’ Claire said to her brother before smiling at Bloom. ‘What d’ya reckon’s going on? Is Lana in trouble or has she just lost her way?’ Claire turned around. ‘Girls!’

  ‘Sorry, Mummy,’ her daughters sang together.

  ‘It’s a weird one, sis.’ Jameson was halfway through his coffee already. The man inhaled the stuff. ‘The other people who’ve received these cards have been missing for a good few weeks now and the first one for two months.’

  ‘What do you think?’ Bloom asked. ‘Is this game something Lana might play on a whim?’

  Claire spoke quietly. ‘Lana’s had a rough time recently. Since Afghanistan she’s been struggling. She’s been on a few more tours – driving, this time – but it’s not easy. I don’t know what happened out there, but she’s having a hard time coping.’

  ‘You think she might want to escape?’ asked Bloom.

  ‘She wouldn’t leave Jane. She’s a good mum.’

  Jameson tutted. ‘What’re you talking about, Claire? You’re always moaning that she’s a terrible mother.’

  Claire tilted her head, raised her eyebrows towards the hallway and spoke through clenched teeth. ‘Not when I can be overhead I’m not.’

  Jameson dropped the volume of his voice. ‘OK, but it won’t help us if you hold back. We need to know what’s really going on with Lana.’

  ‘Fine.’ Claire kept her voice low as she spoke to Bloom. ‘Lana’s incredibly good fun but utterly flaky. She can’t be trusted to pay her bills or do her shopping and that’s not down to the PTSD. She’s been like that as long as I’ve known her.’

  ‘How long’s that?’ said Bloom.

  ‘About ten years. She and Jane moved here not long after Dan and me. They live at number seventeen. It’s split into flats.’ Claire glanced towards the hallway. ‘She puts a hell of a lot on that young girl. What with the drinking and the constant absences, it’s a wonder Jane hasn’t gone off the rails herself.’

  ‘She’s been lucky to have you and Sue,’ said Jameson.

  Claire gave her brother a smile. ‘Sue lives across the road,’ she explained to Bloom. ‘She and I have taken turns to have Jane over the years, but it’s fallen on me and Dan a bit more lately. Sue and Mark are going through a divorce.’

  ‘Has anything happened recently to make you think Lana is struggling any more than usual?’

  Claire frowned and shook her head. ‘If I’m honest, I actually thought she was getting better.’

  Bloom knew that people with depression often seemed to be doing better in the weeks and days before they took their own lives.

  ‘Tell Augusta about the men,’ said Jameson to his sister.

  Jane appeared in the doorway.

  ‘Hi sleepyhead,’ said Claire. ‘Want a cuppa?’

  Jane nodded. She had made a small effort – she was dressed – but not much. Her hair hung limply around her face and her leggings and long-sleeved T-shirt were only one step away from pyjamas.

  ‘How ya doin’, sport?’ Jameson said to Jane. She responded with a weak smile.

  ‘Marcus can fill you in on the rest,’ said Claire, herding her children into the hallway. They put on coats and shoes and then left for the park.

  Jameson turned to Jane. ‘We need you to tell us as much as you can about your mum. You need to be totally honest. We need to hear everything. OK?’ Jameson’s voice was gentler than normal. It was obvious that he cared a great deal about this young girl.

  Jane curled her feet under her legs and nodded. ‘Where do you want me to start?’ Her voice was still croaky with sleep.

  ‘Just tell us what your mum’s like,’ pressed Jameson.

  Jane looked out into the garden. ‘Mum’s a bit crazy, completely nuts sometimes, but …’

  Jameson waited.

  She looked at them both. ‘She tries her best. Dad left her with nothing. She was on her own at twenty-one, a single mum with a two-year-old and no job.’

  Most sixteen-year-olds thought twenty-one-year-olds were ancient. Bloom guessed these might be Lana’s words, rather than Jane’s own.

  Jane continued, ‘She applied for an office job at the Army ba
se but she did so well on her tests and they liked her so much that she joined up.’ She shrugged. ‘So she’s been away a lot and I stayed with Claire and Sue. I’d be excited to see her when she got back, but she was always distracted. She just wanted to sleep. Or go out and party.’

  ‘Sounds tough,’ said Jameson.

  Jane stared into her tea. ‘I try to take care of her and look after the house.’

  ‘Course you do.’ Jameson smiled at Jane. ‘Has your dad ever made any contact with you or your mum?’ This would be a key line of inquiry if the police looked into Lana’s disappearance.

  Jane shook her head. ‘Mum made sure he couldn’t find us. He was a druggie. He stole money from her. Once, when I was a baby, she left me with him and when she came back I had a bruise on my face. And she promised she’d never let him hurt me again.’

  ‘So did he leave? Or did she throw him out?’ Bloom asked.

  Jane frowned, then nodded. Bloom picked up her pen and scribbled in her notebook, Dad left or kicked out?

  ‘And how was your mum before she went missing? She was on extended leave?’ Jameson said.

  ‘Yes, because the PTSD was getting worse.’

  ‘Did she receive any treatment?’ said Bloom.

  Jane shook her head. ‘I don’t think so.’

  ‘But they put her on extended leave?’ said Jameson.

  Bloom wrote down, Leave without treatment?

  ‘And how was she doing?’ Jameson asked again.

  ‘She was OK. Always drinking too much and spending all day on the computer, but her mood was good. She wanted to go out for tea on her birthday. It would have been nice, but then …’

  Jane sounded like the parent. Bloom wondered how long it would be before the girl disappeared. Children responsible for alcoholic or drug-dependent parents often fled as soon as they could and never looked back.

  ‘Do you know if she’d upset anybody?’ she asked.

  ‘No more than usual. You know Mum,’ Jane said to Jameson. His raised eyebrows and smirk suggested he’d seen this aspect of Lana first-hand. Jane mirrored his smirk. It was a shared joke. She turned to Bloom. ‘She never backs away from a fight.’

  ‘Never,’ said Jameson, and Bloom wondered how many arguments there’d been between Claire – and by extension Jameson – and Lana over the years.

  Bloom continued, ‘Did your mum seem particularly worried about any of the fall-outs? Scared, even?’

  Jane shook her head. ‘I don’t think Mum’s ever been scared of anything. If I was worrying about something, she’d just tell me to stop being stupid. “What’s there to be scared of?” she’d say.’

  Plenty, thought Bloom. Sometimes those who felt no fear were the most frightening of all.

  9

  Dear Dr Bloom,

  This morning PC Watkins came over to tell us that Darren Shaw isn’t dead. He’s in a serious but stable condition. She said this will help my case immensely. But then the school phoned to say I was excluded and couldn’t attend any of the upcoming trips. I told Mum how important my classes are and how much I love Art. She’s ringing the headmaster now to convince him to let me go. Claudia’s going, so I don’t see why I shouldn’t. It’s not as if I can’t catch up with the work. I could probably get away with missing the whole term and still pass my exams.

  I’m not sure the police and school really understand the meaning of justice. I mean, the whole thing was the caretaker’s fault. I didn’t ask him to follow us into the hall and get all pervy. So why punish me and my poor parents who’ve done absolutely nothing wrong?

  I might do some research into miscarriages of justice. I’ll let you know what I find out as it might be helpful for your job.

  Seraphine

  10

  Jameson placed two cups of tea on the table in front of Bloom. They were passing Peterborough and would arrive in Leeds to meet with Libby Goodman, Stuart Rose-Butler’s fiancée, in an hour or so.

  Bloom lifted the lid from one of the insulated red cups.

  ‘Ah,’ Jameson said, twisting her cup around. ‘I think you’ve got mine.’ Bloom looked down. On the side of the cup it said: What can I say? I’m hot.

  Bloom twisted the second cup. ‘They both say that.’

  Jameson frowned. ‘Disappointing.’

  Bloom shook her head disparagingly. She took a small sip and looked out of the window at the Cambridgeshire countryside. ‘So what else is there to know about Lana?’ she asked.

  Jameson poured three little milk pots into his tea. ‘Like I said, I hardly know the woman. I’ve spent plenty of time with Jane – Sunday lunches and whatnot, because she’s always at Claire’s – but I’ve only met Lana a few times. But from what Claire says …’ He shook his head. ‘From what I can tell, she’s trouble. Claire watched Lana seduce Sue’s husband. It’s the equivalent of Lana going after Dan. I mean, she probably wouldn’t, because Claire can be bloody scary, but Sue is this sweet, gentle woman.’

  ‘And that’s why Sue and her husband are divorcing?’

  ‘Absolutely. And Mark wasn’t Lana’s first married man. Claire thinks Lana enjoys the thrill of proving she can have any man she wants. She never sticks with them. She pursued Mark for months, slept with him and then that was that.’

  ‘She’s never made a play for you?’

  ‘Why would she? I’m not married. Nothing to prove.’

  Bloom mulled it over. Lana was competitive – that was clear – otherwise there’d be no thrill in seducing another woman’s husband. But plenty of people liked the chase. And very few would drop everything to play a bizarre game. ‘What’s Lana’s motivation? Why would she play this game? If that’s the reason our people have disappeared, we need to understand why.’

  ‘Maybe she didn’t have a choice.’ Jameson opened his packet of biscuits and offered one to Bloom.

  She shook her head. ‘Right. Did they choose to do it – it had some personal appeal – or …’

  ‘Were they forced to do it? Blackmailed.’

  ‘Or were they abducted? The birthday message could be nothing more than a calling card. There may be no game at all.’

  ‘Just some sicko showing off?’

  Bloom made a few notes in her book. ‘If they did voluntarily accept the dare and play a game, then what are we dealing with? All of the participants would be highly competitive, very impulsive. Jane said her mother didn’t play computer games, but she could be wrong. This might be something targeted at enthusiasts.’

  ‘You mean they may have asked for access to the game?’

  ‘Or visited a specific website. Have you heard of this Blue Whale game? The one in Russia?’

  Jameson’s expression darkened. ‘You don’t think it’s similar, do you? Targeting unhappy kids and coercing them into committing suicide?’

  ‘I hope not. But Lana’s PTSD could make her a candidate for something like that. Let’s try and find out if Stuart was similarly vulnerable, if he was depressed. And if he’s in the habit of going missing, or losing touch. If he’s impulsive or impressionable. And if there’s anything going on that would make him susceptible to coercion.’

  ‘Could these people have crossed the wrong person?’

  ‘We need to find the link.’

  Bloom’s phone buzzed on the table and she headed out of the carriage to answer it.

  Five minutes later, she returned to her seat. ‘That was the PC who attended Stuart Rose-Butler’s road-traffic accident.’

  ‘How’d you find him?’

  ‘Contacts.’ Bloom smiled. ‘He said they treated it as abandonment initially. But after a couple of days they spoke to his partner, Libby, and his employer, the ASDA in Pudsey – he’s a shelf-stacker – and a few friends. It seems Stuart was prone to flitting between jobs. His parents passed away when he was young and Libby and his friends have only known him a few years. The officer said they passed it on to CID as a missing-persons case but were pretty sure he’d done a runner due to impending fatherhood.’
/>   ‘Sounds like a stand-up guy. What about the game?’

  ‘Well, this is interesting. One of the witnesses said they saw the driver of the other vehicle involved in the collision hand a card to Stuart.’

  ‘Really? Someone may have seen who’s doing this?’

  ‘Possibly, but the other two witnesses had no recollection of such a handover taking place. The other car was gone by the time the police arrived and they didn’t follow it up.’

  ‘Good police work.’ Jameson drained the dregs of his tea.

  Libby Goodman lived in a neat little house in Horsforth, on the outskirts of Leeds. It had a small, pretty front garden filled with daffodils. Bloom knocked on the wooden door and a heavily pregnant woman with tight dark curls opened it.

  ‘Libby Goodman? I’m Dr Bloom. We spoke. And this is Marcus Jameson.’

  ‘Yes. Hello. Come on in.’ Libby walked through to the lounge with one hand tucked beneath her belly. Bloom and Jameson took the two single chairs, leaving the sofa for Libby. It was useful to have her swivelling between them, facing only one of them at a time, so that the other could observe her reactions.

  ‘Thank you for seeing us, Libby,’ Jameson said, his charm turned up to ten. He explained about Jane and Lana, how he knew them and why he and Bloom were looking into Stuart’s disappearance. Then he asked Libby to tell them about the day Stuart went missing.

  They had shared breakfast, she’d given him a birthday gift and then she’d waved him off before tidying up and getting ready for work. She’d been irritated because Stuart had forgotten to wish her luck with a big presentation she had that day. The police arrived just after she’d showered, so half an hour or so later. When she’d seen them step out of the car and put their hats on, she’d known it was bad news. She’d been convinced Stuart was dead, so their revelation had been quite a relief.