Mo Hayder - Gone

She looked at him sullenly, her dyed black hair flopping down over half of her face. Her bottom lip moved almost imperceptibly, and for a moment he thought she was going to scream. Or tear around the utility room kicking things. But she didn’t. She muttered an almost inaudible ‘S’pose.’

‘Which one?’

She looked across at the dogs. They looked back at her. The spaniel tentatively banged its tail on the floor, wondering if this human discussion was an elaborate preamble to a walk. Seeing them together like this Caffery noticed just how old and infirm the collie was compared to the spaniel.

‘Sophie.’

Hearing her name, the spaniel straightened eagerly, her tail metronoming side to side.

‘The spaniel?’

‘She’s the best guard dog,’ Philippa said defensively, taking the lead from the handler. ‘She’ll look after us best.’

The collie watched Sophie take her place next to Philippa.

‘What’re you going to do with the other one?’ Caffery asked the handler.

‘Probably ask around the force.’ He looked down at the collie, which had put its head back and was looking up at him, as if it already knew he was the new person in charge. ‘There’s usually an idiot on some unit or other soft enough to be a foster-parent for a day or two. Until the whole thing blows over.’

Caffery sighed. ‘Jesus.’ He felt in his pocket for his car keys. ‘Here.’ He chucked the keys to the handler. ‘Put it in my car.’ The collie raised its eyes to him, dropped its head on one side. He sighed. ‘Yeah, OK – don’t make a big thing of it.’

He took Philippa and Sophie into the hallway, where her parents and the FLO were waiting among the hastily packed suitcases. He stood next to the window and peered out through the crack in the curtains. He’d told the cars not to use their blues and twos. Didn’t want to stretch out the warning the reporters would get. ‘Now, you know the deal. Our press office doesn’t want you covering your faces when you go out there. The flashes will go off – just ignore them. Don’t be baited. Just go about this business as quickly and calmly as you can. Pretend it’s a fire drill. No panicking but just get everything moved along, OK?’

The family nodded. Caffery checked out of the window, looking along the silent estate. Still no cars. He was about to reach into his pocket for the phone when the door to the kitchen opened and one of the CSI officers who had turned up to forensicate the back garden, the basket and the pie dish appeared in the hallway.

‘What?’ Caffery turned from the window. ‘What is it?’

The man, who seemed barely out of his teens and still had pimples on his chin, gave Rose Bradley an uncomfortable look. ‘Mrs Bradley?’

Rose backed to the wall, her hands tucked tightly under her armpits.

‘What is it?’ Caffery said.

‘I’m sorry, sir. It’s the tooth you wanted to have tested.’

‘You don’t need it.’ Tears welled in Rose’s sore eyes. ‘You don’t need it.’

‘We do need it, Rose,’ the FLO said gently. ‘Really. We do.’

‘You don’t. You can take my word for it. It’s hers. The first tooth she lost and she never wanted to let go of it. We had it put into a locket for her. I promise – I’d know it anywhere.’

Outside, the cars were sweeping into the driveway. Caffery sighed. Great timing.

‘Rose, please, give the gentleman the tooth.’ He glanced out of the window. No time to head them off now. They’d have to start the whole exercise again. ‘We can’t help Martha unless you give it to him.’

‘ No! I won’t. You have my word for it, it’s her tooth.’ The tears plopped out of her eyes. She lowered her chin and tried to wipe them on the shoulders of her blouse. ‘It is her tooth. I promise it is.’

‘We don’t know that. It could be anyone’s. It could be a hoax – it could be anything.’

‘If you think it’s a hoax, why are you moving us out? You believe me. So why do I have to give it up?’

‘Jesus Christ,’ he hissed impatiently. The whole exercise was falling apart at the seams. ‘I have to tell your daughter to grow up and now I’m telling the mother to do the same.’

‘That’s not necessary,’ said the FLO.

‘Christ.’ Caffery ran his hands through his hair. Outside, the cars had stopped. Their engines were running. ‘Just – please , Rose. Please give the nice man the tooth.’

‘Mum.’ Philippa stepped up behind her mother, put her hands on her shoulders and held Caffery’s eyes. There was no respect, just a look that said she and her mother were in this together and no one, no one , could understand what this whole thing meant. ‘Mum, do what he says. I don’t think he’s going to give up.’

Rose was silent. Then she pushed her face into her elder daughter’s neck. The sobs shook her body noiselessly. After a moment or two her right hand came out from her armpit and slowly unclenched. She held out the tooth on her open palm. With a quick glance at Caffery, the CSI man stepped forward and carefully took it from her.

‘Good,’ Caffery said, feeling a line of sweat break just under his hairline and trail slowly down into the back of his collar. He hadn’t realized until now how tense he was. ‘Now can we all get going?’

At six o’clock that afternoon the inspector came into the office, put a hand on Flea’s desk and leaned over so that he was staring hard into her face.

She ducked out of his way. ‘What? What is it?’

‘Nothing. Just the superintendent likes you, apparently. I’ve had Professional Standards on the phone.’

‘Yeah?’

‘Yeah. That review of your competency pay? It’s been suspended.’

‘You mean they’ll get their bonus?’

‘Happy Christmas. Ching ching ching.’

When he’d gone she sat for a while in silence in her familiar office, surrounded by the things she’d got easy with over the years. The photos of the team on jobs pinned to the walls, the budget forecasts scribbled on the whiteboard. The stupid postcards stuck to the locker doors. One showed a man in snorkel and fins and read: Steve had got all his diving gear, now all he needed was to find those elusive muffs his friends kept telling him about . And a force poster on the wall about an anti-drugs operation: Atrium: since 2001 we’ve arrested one person a day. Help us make that two . One of the team had used a marker pen to delete ‘ a day ’. Flea would catch serious hell from the superintendents if they saw any of this, but she’d let the boys leave it all up. She liked their sense of humour. Liked the easy way they were around each other. They were going to get their money. They could buy their Xboxes and their kids’ Wiis and their alloy wheels and all the guy things that would make it a real Christmas for them.

The front door opened, wafting in a blast of cold air and petrol fumes from outside. Someone came down the corridor. Wellard, carrying a bag and heading for the decontamination room. She stopped him in the doorway. ‘Hey.’

He put his head into the office. ‘What?’

‘You’re going to get your pay. The inspector just told me.’

He inclined his head. A small, chivalrous bow. ‘Well, thank you, kind lady. My poor disabled children will smile this Christmas for the first time in their sad, short lives. Oh, they will be content, kind miss. They will. It will be the best Christmas ever.’

‘Make sure the one with the polio gets the iPod Touch.’

‘You’re not as nasty as you like to pretend, Boss. No, really, you’re not.’

‘Wellard?’

He paused, door half open. ‘Uh-huh?’

‘Seriously. This morning.’