Hey You, Pretty Face Page 12

  The first place he headed was where they’d first met only a few days ago, not far from the station. Jack smiled again as he remembered the boy’s Monty Python approach to begging, the reason he’d stood out in the first place, the reason Jack had stopped. With the last of the day’s light, Jack got out of his warm car and set off in search of young Billy. If he and Janine could offer him and his girl a hot meal and a game of cards on Christmas Day, then they surely would. There was plenty of room for the four of them, and he hoped they would accept his invitation in the goodwill spirit it was intended and not fear that Jack and his wife were weirdos with an agenda. He hoped the card he’d passed on to the youngster would give him confidence and not scare him off; cops weren’t always out to catch someone unawares.

  But on Christmas Eve on a cold afternoon, there was hardly anybody out on the street. Most people had finished work much earlier and were probably now full of eggnog, sleeping the afternoon off on the sofa. The thought appealed to him, but with now three children missing, he’d be lucky if he got Christmas dinner himself.

  After walking the same street for ten minutes or so and not seeing or hearing Billy, he was about to give up and try somewhere else when he saw a hunched form in a doorway up ahead, sitting on a piece of cardboard and wrapped in an old blanket. As Jack approached, he realized it wasn’t Billy. It was a dirty-looking young man holding a cardboard sign.

  “I’m looking for a young lad called Billy. About this height,” Jack said, demonstrating with his hand around his own ears. “Fair curly hair, maybe seventeen-ish. A bit cheeky and maybe with a girl. Have you seen him recently? Today, maybe?”

  The man’s vacant eyes stayed vacant as he looked up at Jack and shook his head slowly.

  “Any idea at all where I might find him?” Jack persisted.

  The young man gave only a gentle shake of his head. Jack glanced down at the makeshift sign and read the words presumably he’d written himself – “Can you spare some change, please? I’d ask myself but I’m mute.”

  Abashed, Jack reached into his pocket for change. He tossed the handful of coins into the cap that sat next to the sign and won a nod of the man’s head for his generosity.

  “Take care, and Merry Christmas,” he added as he turned and made his way back to his parked car. If only he knew where Billy called home, he could go round and find him, but he didn’t, and with almost everyone gone from the streets as the darkness finally fell, Jack couldn’t help thinking he’d left it too late, that the boy and his girl would now go without, or queue at a soup kitchen like all the rest. It was with a heavy heart that he drove on to the charity shop, his last chance of seeing the boy before he headed back himself.

  As he pulled into an empty parking space, he wasn’t too hopeful at his chances. The street was almost empty and most shops had closed. A handful of last-minute shoppers scurried from doorway to doorway.

  Everyone had gone home. Perhaps Jack should do the same.

  Chapter Thirty-Eight

  Christmas Eve was not the most productive time to be coaxing change from strangers’ pockets, and by 2 pm, both Chloe and Billy had called it a day. Frozen through like two popsicles, they found themselves back at the garage about the same time, each carrying a plastic bag. Billy slid his behind his back so she couldn’t see what he had inside.

  “Great minds think alike, eh?” he said, smiling warmly. “Not much happening for you either?”

  “Nah. Thought I may as well freeze here in comfort. And I called and got Roy a gift for tomorrow. Hope he likes it.” Billy detected a slight change in her, almost a sadness, and he wondered whether to ask after it.

  “I’m sure he will. What did you get?”

  Chloe pulled out a small paper bag, opened it, and carefully slipped the contents into her hand.

  “I saw it in a charity shop window, and I thought it was appropriate under the circumstances. What do you think?” She held out a small glass paperweight; it had an old church inside the dome with snow on its roof. There was a man stood out front in a red suit; Santa. Billy could see the hope in her eyes that she’d done the right thing, and that she wanted his approval.

  “Chloe it’s perfect!” he exclaimed, with a little more gusto than he intended, but what the hell, if that was what Chloe needed. He watched her face break into a smile, her eyes bright and excited again at his praise. He stepped towards her and gave her a one-armed hug, still keeping the other arm behind his back. The plastic bag rustled as they embraced, alerting them both to its presence.

  “What’s in the bag?” she asked.

  “Nothing to concern yourself about,” he said, mock-haughtily. “You’ll find out soon enough.” He guided her towards the side entrance of the garage, their home. He unlocking the door and stood aside to usher her in. He followed her inside and watched as she flopped down onto the bed.

  “Is everything alright, Chloe?” he asked gently. “Only you seem a bit down about something. Was it a shitty day? Did you get loads of abuse?” He went and sat next to her and held her hand for a moment in comfort, as close friends do sometimes. Then he waited, giving her time to reply. Something was clearly bugging her.

  “Not really,” she said eventually. “No abuse, but a man stopped to chat with me. He wasn’t that old, maybe about thirty, but he said his sister had gone missing last year, had run away, and his parents had gone nutty worrying. He asked me to call my own parents, let them know I was alright, even if I don’t go back. Stop them worrying.”

  “Oh, I see. And what did you say?”

  “Not a lot, except my parents wouldn’t really care. It wasn’t a good home. He gave me money for the phone, actually.” Chloe paused for a moment and Billy sensed there was more to come, so he waited for her. With a big sigh she added, “He gave us a tenner to buy some food, which was lovely of him, but I can’t ring my parents even if I wanted to. I’ve no idea where they’ve gone.” She turned to him, her eyes wet again. “But that’s not why I’m upset, Billy.”

  “Oh? What, then?”

  “I got thinking about Mary. She’d be the one I’d like to call if I could, tell her I’m not far away. Tell her she’s important to me and to stay safe at all times. To tell her I love her.” Billy watched as a fat tear trickled down her cheek, and he caught it on a finger so it didn’t fall any further. Then he took her in his arms and pulled her close, her chin over his shoulder, as her body quivered with grief. All he could do was wait until the worst was over and she stopped crying so hard. He passed her some toilet roll to blow her nose on when she eventually pulled back, her eyes looking sore and red.

  “I know you miss her. Of course you do. And this man you met has brought it all to the surface again, but I’m sure he meant well. He obviously thought your parents would want to know you’re okay. He clearly doesn’t know your circumstances, though. And if truth be known, I don’t know that much about them either.” He gave her a small smile to show he’d like to find out more if she was willing to tell, but didn’t hold up much hope. Her head was bowed and she stared at the floor.

  “I haven’t told anyone.”

  “I figured that. But whatever the reason, you know I’m here for you, right? It doesn’t matter to me what happened. You’re still Chloe, my mate.” He squeezed her arm at the word ‘mate’ and she smiled though her head was still bowed. Billy saw the crease in her cheeks.

  “Why don’t you fill me in? Then I can show you that whatever it is, it doesn’t matter to me. Because it doesn’t. Maybe you murdered someone?”

  Chloe shot her head up in alarm. “No! Of course not.”

  “Well, then, anything else is cool.” He held her gaze while she thought it through. He could almost see the motion picture turning behind her eyes, the story playing out.

  He watched her inhale and hold her breath a moment, then she began to tell Billy the whole sordid story.

  Chapter Thirty-Nine

  Someone had to man the station on Christmas Day, but that someone wasn’t going to b
e Jack. Eddie had volunteered a shift, saying he’d go for dinner at the pub later, and Jack knew he’d wash it down with several pints of bitter and a couple of whiskey chasers. It was a bit of a sad existence for Christmas, but Jack didn’t care what the man did as long as it didn’t involve him.

  When he’d left the station on Christmas Eve in search of Billy, he’d nipped back in to see how the investigation was winding up for the day. The three children were still missing. It was far from ideal, and everyone’s thoughts were with the families of all three girls, none of whom would be tucking into roast turkey and wearing their new Christmas clothes. The only lead they had to go on was Martin Coffey’s van, but whether the man had gone away for the holidays or was simply lying low, he was proving elusive to find and speak to. There had been no further sightings of the van in the massive amount of CCTV footage they’d sifted through, and even Mo, their most intense and dedicated researcher, had come up empty-handed. At shift changeover time, DI Morton had wished them all a wonderful Christmas and told them to go home to their loved ones, as he would be doing himself. Jack and Clarke had stayed on another hour or so, generally mulling over the case and the evidence. Neither felt they should be off consuming sherry and wine quite yet. It didn’t feel right.

  “You know what saddens me?” Clarke asked Jack during a quiet moment. The two were almost kneecap to kneecap at his desk, thoughtful.

  “What’s that?” Jack twiddled with his upper lip, his eyes glazed over.

  “The lack of leads we’ve had from all the press coverage as well as the TV. We’ve sod-all to work with. It’s like three girls upped and left in the night, and apart from two folks who mentioned a dark van, that’s it. It’s not enough, Jack,” she said, raising her voice in frustration. “We need a break desperately, or we’ll never see them again. Even worse, more could vanish the same way.”

  It wasn’t a pleasant thought, but it was one that Jack had tossed around the inside of his own head for several nights while he lay in bed with Janine sleeping peacefully beside him. He rubbed his eyes.

  “Maybe Eddie and the next lot on duty will have a lucky break. That is, if they’re not too busy with the piss-heads tonight, though Christmas Day is normally quieter – once they’ve slept it off in a cell, that is.” Jack stood and held his hand out to her as if to pull her out of her chair. “Come on, then. I’ll buy you a swift one before we head home.”

  She took the hint to leave, though she didn’t feel the need to take his hand.

  He’d called home earlier and told Janine he hadn’t been able to find Billy; it had been too late on the shopping front. Regardless, Janine had done their possible guests proud. As Jack looked in the fridge for the chocolate éclairs they always had on Christmas Eve, he saw that there was barely space left over to store a wafer-thin mint. There was enough food to feed half the street, never mind two more mouths, and he wondered what they’d do with it all. Standing there looking for the familiar white cake box that was probably hidden away behind Brussel sprouts and pork pie, he felt a bit lightheaded. He’d already had a pint of bitter with Clarke at the pub, then a glass or two of wine over dinner that had further softened the smooth edges of his nerves. He could hear Janine call him from the other room.

  “Can’t you see them, Jack? White box.”

  “I know. I can’t see the bloody white box for everything else stuffed in here,” he complained to the empty kitchen, and began to take packets and bags of Christmas indulgence out and put them on the floor. The desired box was right at the back and he pulled that out too, just as Janine walked through the door. A sprout rolled her way, sprung free from a hole in its net. They both watched it stop at her feet.

  “Oh, Jack!” she exclaimed, trying not to laugh at the scene before her. “You look like a naughty boy who’s been caught stealing the cakes and surreptitiously trying to hide the sprouts at the same time.”

  He struggled to his feet as another sprout fell from the net he was holding in his hand. It bounced a couple of times then rolled towards the other one.

  “Ah, look,” Jack said, smiling. “She wants to be with her friend.”

  “How do you know it’s a ‘she’? Could be a ‘he.’”

  “Nope, all sprouts are ‘she.’ Otherwise, you wouldn’t serve them. I’m sure it’s a girl thing. Forcing us men to eat them though we detest them. I don’t know anyone that likes Brussel sprouts, yet we all have to eat them at Christmas.” He bent to pick the two strays up and put one in his ear. Janine looked quizzically at him, waiting for him to explain. In a mocking doctor’s voice, he said, “Mr Rutherford, you really must eat more sensibly.” His eyes were full of mischief and the effect of the wine as they filled the kitchen with laughter.

  “Ha-ha. Very funny, Mr Rutherford. You should be on the stage,” she said, then changed the subject. “Perhaps your friend Billy will appreciate some leftovers anyway. We’ll make up some sandwiches on Boxing Day, put a picnic together for them. I’m sure they’ll enjoy them and we’ll find a home for all this food. And if we can’t find Billy, we’ll give them to someone else in need. There’ll be plenty of grateful souls in the usual places, I expect.” Wrapping her arms around his middle, she pulled him close. “It always feels good to do some good, don’t you think?”

  “It does,” he said, putting his arms around her shoulders and squeezing her tight in return. “Love you, Mrs Rutherford. Now about them sprouts.”

  Chapter Forty

  They’d taken the van, since it was the least personal of the vehicles and not registered in either of their names. Rain pelted the windscreen like it was the monsoon season in Asia, transparent rods of liquid falling straight down from the black clouds that loomed over the south-east side of London, though officially they were in Kent. Bernard had the wiper blades working double time in an effort to see the road he was driving on.

  “What the hell are we doing out in this shit?” Bernard complained.

  “Well, I wanted a Macca’s and you need ciggies, so unless you’ve got a secret stash of both, we have to go get them. That’s how it works.” Rob sounded facetious and stroppy as he said it.

  Bernard was on the attack instantly. “What’s up with you? Got your period, have you?”

  Rob stayed silent, his mouth taut like a drum skin, while he seethed inside. What about, he wasn’t entirely sure, but he knew he wasn’t happy with the situation back at the house. How the hell he’d got mixed up with Bernard and Martin he’d never know. Actually, that was a lie. He did know. And he couldn’t let on to Bernard that he was pissed and wanted out. They didn’t do loose ends. He let out a sigh and made up a story he hoped was convincing.

  “It’s my old mum. She ain’t well and I’m worried about her, if you must know. I was thinking I should drop in and see her over Christmas, play the good son for a while.”

  Bernard glanced across to the passenger seat. “Well, ain’t that sweet, you great pussy. Wait till I tell Martin. He’ll laugh at that one, all right,” he sneered.

  “Tell him what you want. She’s my old mum. Don’t you see your old mum? Don’t you care much?”

  “Don’t really have one to care about, so no. Last I heard she was still inside. And my old man is definitely still inside, not that I know him much. He’s been inside most of my life.”

  “What’s he in for?”

  “Murder. Killed a bloke during a robbery that went a bit haywire and he got sent down. The others grassed on him to reduce their own sentence. Stinkin’ grasses. Nobody likes a stinkin’ grass.”

  Rob wasn’t sure if the message was directed at him or not, a warning should things come to it later on. There’d be repercussions for sure, and he wasn’t interested in what they might be. Rob grunted by way of reply and stared straight ahead, watching the road for somewhere to put his eyes. It wasn’t long before the familiar burger logo could be seen in the distance and Bernard pulled in to the drive-thru lane. He wound his window down to place his own order first.

  “Quarter Po
under, large fries and an apple pie, large Coke.”

  Rob shouted across Bernard to add to their order and they pulled forward. Bernard sneered as they waited for their order to be prepared.

  “What you sneering at now?” asked Rob.

  “Apple pie?”

  “I’m hungry. What’s wrong with that?”

  “Told you you’re a pussy.” Rob ignored him. It wasn’t worth his breath. When they’d picked up their order, Bernard pulled into a parking spot and they tucked in in silence. Rob watched as the windscreen began to fog up like those of the other two cars in the small car park. Everyone was content consuming hot greasy food on a cold rainy day. Bernard noticed the fogging up and, with an overstuffed mouth full of burger, attempted to speak, particles of bread roll falling from his mouth as he did so. He held a fry between finger and thumb, waiting for a space in his mouth to come free so he could concertina it in. Rob looked away before he was turned off his own meal.

  “I bet Martin is busy fogging up a window with that girl, eh?” he said and laughed. He caught a crumb in the back of his throat for his troubles and ended up in a coughing fit. The remains of a mouthful of burger landed in his lap. When he finally caught his breath, he took a long pull on his Coke. He brushed the wasted burger off his lap into the footwell. It would stink the van out for the next couple of hours until he kicked it out.

  “There ain’t a window in there.”

  “What?”

  “There’s no window in that room, so he won’t be fogging it up.”

  Bernard could only glare. “I meant it metawhatsically. I know there’s no window.”

  “Metaphorically,” Rob prompted, his voice clear and even, and carried on with his own meal.