Mo Hayder - Gone

Peter Moon sat back in his seat, arms crossed. Angry that the police were so damned useless. ‘The fucking system. Lets you down every time, don’t it? If it can’t fuck you one way it asks you to turn round and has a good look at you to see if it can fuck you some other way. Did it to us back then. No one even told us Ted had it up here.’ He tapped his temple. ‘Schizophrenia. People just thought he was simple. Brain-dead Ted. Sharon Macy thought that made him fair game so he turns round one day, calls her a couple of names, and she turns round and pours petrol through our letterbox. Sets fire to the fucking place. At first we’re thinking it’s something to do with the Chinky lot downstairs, but then there’s Sharon gloating about it to my lads, saying as how it served them right. Course, there wasn’t a person in Downend would stand up in court and swear it was her. If you’d met her and her family you’d know why.’

Caffery had a photo of Sharon Macy from those days pinned to the giant corkboard on the opposite wall. When he’d first seen it, his instinctive thought had been that if ever the word ‘dysfunctional’ needed a human face to illustrate it, then Sharon Macy’s was the one. By thirteen there had already been an abortion and a line of police cautions jostling for position. You could see her past and her future written in her slack eyes. He’d had to force the professional in him to wade in and remind him that she was a victim. That he had the same duty of care to her as to anyone else.

‘You’re thinking what I’m thinking, ain’t you?’ Moon’s eyes were hard. ‘You’re thinking that if ASBOs had been handed out in those days Sharon would’ve got herself a whole fucking trophy cabinet. I mean, she could take care of herself, that one, and she was a big girl too. Broad, you know. Course, Ted was bigger. And madder. My Sonja tops herself – don’t make me go there with what that was like. Having my whole entire heart pulled out through my mouth was what it was like, losing her, because, no, I wasn’t having an affair whatever your filthy cop brains are telling you – but she tops herself and if that was bad for me it was even worse for Ted. He’s like that .’ Moon jutted his head forward, teeth bared, one fist balled. The sinews on his neck stood out, high tensile, rigid. ‘Next thing I know he turned around to me and Richard and goes, “I ain’t sitting still no longer, Dad.” Never bothered to hide what he did next. He dragged that girl through the streets – everyone saw it, thought it was boyfriend and girlfriend arguing, sort of thing you’d see a lot round there. They look the same age so no one calls it in, do they? So he’s off then, getting away with it, and before anyone knows it he does her in the bedroom. In his own bedroom. With a kitchen knife.’ He shook his head. ‘Me and Richard weren’t there. The neighbours, though, they heard the whole thing through the walls.’

There was a long silence. Moon looked from Caffery to Turner and back again. ‘He killed her.’ He held his hands up in the air. ‘I’m not saying he didn’t. He killed Sharon Macy. But not to piss the parents off. And I wasn’t having an affair with that slag of a woman. Definitely not. Cut me open.’ He tapped his chest. ‘Cut me open and give me to your scientists. They’ll tell you what’s on my heart and what ain’t. I wasn’t having an affair with her .’

Caffery smiled lightly, meaning, yeah, yeah, yeah. You keep going with your fantasy, Peter, but we’ll get to the truth of it. ‘Sure there’s nothing you want to add?’ he said. ‘Bearing in mind we’re speaking to the Macys tonight?’

‘Nothing.’

‘Just here’s me thinking we’re going to hear a totally different story from them.’

‘You won’t.’

‘I think we will. I think we’ll hear that you were schtupping the Macy mother, and that your son killed Sharon because of it. I think we’re going to hear a whole catalogue of what he did to them later. The letters he sent them after the event.’

‘No, you won’t. Because he never did. He was banged up straight after.’

‘We will.’

‘You won’t. It’s not him,’ Moon said. ‘It’s not my son.’

There was a knock. Caffery let his eyes rest on Moon a bit longer. Then got up and went to the door. He found Prody standing in the corridor, slightly out of breath. He had a scrape on his cheek that Caffery didn’t remember seeing at the safe-house this morning. His clothing was a bit awry.

‘Jesus.’ Caffery closed the door behind him. He put a hand on Prody’s arm and led him a few steps down the corridor, away from the meeting room to the very back of the building where it was quiet and they couldn’t hear the phones ringing in the main offices. ‘You OK?’

Prody took a handkerchief out of his pocket and mopped his face. ‘Just about.’ He looked exhausted, completely drained. Caffery almost said to him: Hey, about the missus. I’m sorry. Don’t let it get to you . But he was still pissed off about a lot of things. Mostly the staying-overnight thing. And about Prody not calling him with progress on what the hell had happened to Flea. He took his hand away from Prody’s arm. ‘Well? Have you found something?’

‘It’s been an interesting afternoon.’ He shoved the handkerchief back into his pocket and ran a hand across his bristly haircut. ‘I spent a long time at her office – turns out she was rostered today and never showed. So people are starting to get a bit antsy, saying it’s not like her, et cetera, et cetera. So I went to her house but it’s all shut up – locked. No car there.’

‘And?’

‘Spoke to the neighbours. Now it turns out they are a bit calmer about the whole thing, put it all into perspective. Said they saw her yesterday morning packing the car – diving equipment, suitcase. She tells them she’s going on a weekend break – away for three days.’

‘She was supposed to be at work.’

‘I know. All I can think is she’s got the roster wrong, got a dud DMS printout, thinks she’s on a long annual or something. The neighbours were absolutely clear about it. They spoke to her. Unless one of them’s cut her up and put her under the floorboards.’

‘They didn’t have the name of the place she’s staying?’

‘No. But maybe it’s somewhere out of signal range. No one can get her on her mobile.’

‘Is that all?’

‘That’s all.’

‘What about that?’ He gestured at the scrape on Prody’s face. ‘Where’d you get that little artefact?’

Prody pressed his fingers to it gingerly. ‘Yeah – Costello really gave it to me. Suppose I deserve it. Is it that bad?’

Caffery thought about what Janice had said: ‘My husband is fucking Paul Prody’s wife.’ God, life was never easy.

‘Go home, mate.’ He put his hand on Prody’s back. Patted him. ‘You haven’t had a break in two days. Go home and put something on that. Don’t want to see you in the office until the morning. OK?’

‘I guess. I guess. Thank you.’

‘I’ll walk you down to the car park. Dog needs a pee break.’

They stopped at Caffery’s office and collected Myrtle from her place under the radiator. The three of them walked silently through darkened corridors that sprang to life with light as they entered, the men letting the old dog set the pace. In the car park Prody got into his Peugeot. Started the engine. Was about to pull away, when Caffery banged on the window.

Prody paused, sitting forward in the seat, his hand on the key. A look of annoyance crossed his face, and for a moment Caffery was reminded of the thing he didn’t trust about Prody. That the guy was a usurper. Trying to step into his own shoes. But he cut the engine. Patiently unwound the window. His pale eyes were very still. ‘Yeah?’