Tim Vicary - A Game of Proof

‘Just one moment, sir. I’ll put you through to someone who’s dealing with this.’ There was the sound of another phone ringing at the end of the line. Bob was about to go and see who was at the door when a voice said: ‘Mr Newby? Detective Chief Inspector Churchill here. I understand DI Bateson hasn’t made contact with you yet?’

‘No. But I’ve found out something that may be very important. I went to my stepson’s house this morning you see, and …’

Before Bob could describe his discovery further the doorbell rang again and then, a few seconds later, he thought he heard the front door open and voices talking, as though they were actually coming in. He hesitated, wondering what to do, and DCI Churchill took advantage of the break in conversation to say: ‘Well, I’m very sorry to tell you this over the phone, Mr Newby, but there’s been a rather unfortunate development. Inspector Bateson found the body of a young girl in a wood near the river this morning and I believe he’s taken your wife in to identify …’

There were definitely voices in the hall. Then the kitchen door opened and Bob dropped the phone on the floor, where it continued prattling busily to itself.

‘Mr Newby? Are you there, sir? I’m really very sorry indeed to have to tell you this but there is a strong likelihood that the body may be that of your daughter … Mr Newby? … Mr Newby, sir, are you all right …?’

Churchill could hear screams and cries which sounded like hysterics at the other end of the line, and he thought, I shouldn’t have done it like this, I should have taken time to go round there and break it to him myself, but a man like a headmaster, I would have expected more self control, what the hell’s going on down there?

‘A girl’s body, is that what you said, Chief Inspector?’ Bob broke in on his thoughts, his voice sounding oddly inappropriate, much nearer laughter than tears.

‘Yes, sir. I’m really very sorry I have to break it to you like this …’

‘Oh that’s all right, don’t worry, no offence. You see it isn’t my daughter anyway, so it doesn’t matter.’

‘Can you really be sure of that, sir?’

‘Yes. Oh yes. You see she’s standing right here in front of me. With the young man who took her away, I take it.’

‘He didn’t take me away, dad,’ said Emily earnestly. ‘I decided to go myself, and we both came back together. You see I haven’t run away or anything, and if you’d only listen we can explain it all.’

Bob put the phone down and gave his daughter a second hug, to comfort himself as much as her. Then he looked, somewhat less fondly, at the young man with the ponytail and scrubby beard who stood beside her, calmly holding her hand.

‘Yes. I think you’d better do that. You’ve got a lot of explaining to do, young lady.’

‘So who is it, then?’ Terry asked.

‘It’s my son’s girlfriend, Jasmine. Well, ex-girlfriend really. Oh God, I don’t mean it like that, I mean I don’t think he’s seen her for some time.’

‘But you’re quite certain? Positive?’

‘Yes. Oh yes. Oh God, now I suppose her poor parents will have to go through all this.’

‘I’m afraid they will. You don’t happen to have their address, do you?’

‘I’m not sure, I suppose I must have got it somewhere. Do you mind if we get out of this awful place now? I think I want to sit down.’

‘Of course.’

On the grimy green sofa across the corridor Sarah began to recover her poise. The WPC brought her a cup of hot sweet tea while she fumbled in her diary and found an address for Jasmine’s mother. She took a deep draught of the tea, grimaced, and said: ‘The worst of it is I didn’t really like the girl. I never wanted this to happen, of course.’

‘But she was your son’s girlfriend for some time.’

‘Yes. For nearly a year, I suppose. We never got on. I was probably her idea of a mother-in-law from hell.’

‘Perhaps you can tell me all you know about her. I shall have to interview your son, of course.’

‘Oh. Of course.’ The shock must have made Sarah’s brain slow because this was the first time this idea had occurred to her. She saw the seriousness in Terry’s face, and underneath that, pity. Oh no, not Simon, she thought. ‘You don’t think he had anything to do with … that?’

‘I’ve no idea at present,’ Terry said carefully. ‘But I’m going to have to ask him a few questions, at least.’

‘So perhaps you’d better take it from the beginning. Where exactly have you been?’ Bob’s voice wavered between relief and harshness as he confronted the pair on the sofa, Emily clutching her bearded young man’s hand as though joined to it from birth. They were both, he noticed, as grubby as a street couple but there was a radiant glow in his daughter’s face that made his heart sink.

‘Well, we’ve been at the protest, you see — we spent two nights there, on a platform. It was fabulous, Dad, you could feel the tree creaking around you, and see all the birds and squirrels that depend on it too! The whole wood is like that and they’re cutting it down just for a tacky shopping centre …’

‘No, hold on a moment.’ Bob raised both hands. ‘Who’s this young man, anyway?’

‘I’m Larry,’ the wispy beard and ponytail said. ‘You’re Bob, I guess.’

‘Yes,’ Bob admitted reluctantly, offended by the boy’s use of his first name. ‘Emily’s father, as I’m sure you know.’

‘Yeah, well, it’s because of me that it happened, you see. I mean about Emily coming.’

‘Coming where?’

‘To the protest, Dad!’ Emily burst in. ‘You’re not listening. You see, Larry phoned me, three days ago was it? — when I was pissed off with all this shit about the GCSEs …’

Bob registered the new foul language with shock. She had rarely used such words at home before, and never with such brutal new-found fluency. It was all of a piece with the dirt and the fleece-lined denim jacket which, he thought vaguely, was different, too. But then this glowing self-assured Emily was not someone he’d seen before, either.

‘ … so he said why not come down to the protest and so I did, Dad, and it’s brilliant. I mean it’s so much more real than anything else — there are people who’ve actually got the guts to stand up and do something to stop the fucking meathead bastards tearing the place to shreds. I mean do you know what they do? Some of those trees are more than a hundred and fifty years old and they just go in there with bloody great chainsaws and cranes and tear them down in a few minutes. And nobody gives a toss! It opens your eyes, Dad, it really does!’

‘So you spent two nights there?’ Bob managed, as she paused for breath.

‘Yes, and I’m sorry I didn’t phone, Dad, I really am, only I didn’t have my mobile and you can see I’m OK now, can’t you …?’

‘Have you any idea …’ Bob began, but then the front door opened and Sarah walked in with the detective, Terry Bateson.

When she saw Emily she stood quite still, trembling. To Bob’s surprise Bateson put an arm round her shoulder. Emily stood up, smiling nervously. ‘Hi, Mum.’

What’s happened, Bob wondered, she’s struck dumb. This is having an impact on her, at last. Why doesn’t she move?

Emily stepped forward, nervously, but Sarah stayed frozen and Bob thought oh no, it’s not relief or joy she’s feeling but anger. The cruel vindictive bitch — she’s going to punish the child for coming home! Then Sarah reached out and smothered the girl in an embrace that became a storm of tears. First no emotion and then too much, Bob thought. There were tears in Emily’s eyes, too, but her feelings seemed more like embarrassment and guilt.