Hurt (DS Lucy Black) (12 page)

‘That would be very helpful, Mr Ross,’ Lucy said.

She headed back out to the car again, but there was no sign of Tom Fleming. The people in the corner shop must have been more talkative than he expected, she thought.

Ian Ross’s comments had reminded her, however, that she was to follow up on Seamus Doherty.

She took out her phone and googled H. M. Haulage. The first result gave the contact details and a Google map of the office location in Coleraine.

A friendly sounding girl with a broad Ballymena accent answered the call almost immediately.

‘Can I speak with Mr Martin, please?’ Lucy asked, having introduced herself.

‘With what is it in connection?’ the girl asked.

‘With a missing person inquiry,’ Lucy replied tersely.

She was put on hold without further comment and for almost two minutes Lucy listened to an electronic version of ‘Greensleeves’. Given the choice, she’d rather have listened to silence while she waited.

Finally she heard a click and Harry Martin introduced himself. His voice was deep, gruff, his accent a little closer to home, as best Lucy could tell.

‘Yes, Inspector Black,’ Martin said. ‘You needed to speak to me.’

‘It’s Sergeant,’ Lucy said. ‘Thanks for your time. I’m trying to contact one of your drivers, Seamus Doherty. His mobile phone is out of network apparently. I was wondering if you might have some kind of system where I could contact him in his lorry.’

‘We do,’ Martin said. ‘But I’m not sure how much use it will be. Seamus isn’t out today.’

‘His partner told us he left at five this morning for a trip to Manchester.’

‘Not for me, he didn’t,’ Martin said. ‘We don’t have any contracts in Manchester.’

Fleming appeared out of the chip shop a few minutes later, carrying two small brown bags in his hand.

‘Lunch,’ he said, tossing one of them to Lucy.

‘It’s gone three, sir.’

‘Dinner, then,’ Fleming said.

‘Bit early for chippie grub, sir,’ she commented, opening the bag. A floury bap sandwiched sausage, bacon, egg and potato bread. ‘Mind you, I did have an early start.’

Fleming had already started into his own, chewing happily, his cheeks dimpled with dollops of tomato ketchup.

‘Seamus Doherty’s not in Manchester,’ Lucy said, opening her own bap and peeling the rind of fat off the bacon, before replacing the upper part of the bread and taking a tentative bite.

‘Where is he then?’ Fleming managed through a mouthful of food.

Lucy shrugged as she chewed. ‘Not where he said he would be.’

‘And not answering his phone. Get the details of his lorry and organize a Be On Look Out.’

Lucy nodded. ‘I’ll have to ask Mrs Finn.’

‘What did the boss say about Doherty? Anything useful?’

Lucy shrugged. ‘Not much. Just they don’t have contracts in Manchester. He said if he was going there, it wasn’t for his company.’

‘So either he’s driving for someone else, or he’s been lying to Finn every time he’s told her he’s doing a Manchester run. Sound her out on that too.’

‘Yes, sir,’ Lucy said. ‘I spoke to the fella in the post office too. Sarah withdrew £200 from her mother’s child benefit account yesterday afternoon.’

Fleming slowed in his chewing. ‘Check if the mother knew. If not, the wee girl’s run away.’

Lucy nodded agreement.

‘The shop was useless,’ Fleming added. ‘But the chippie proved more useful. And not just for these. The owner’s daughter was working in the place. She’s a friend of Sarah’s.’

Lucy understood why Fleming had bought food now. It gave him an excuse to stand longer, encouraging the girl to talk while the food was prepared.

‘Sarah wasn’t at the youth club last night. She had to go out with her mother and Seamus Doherty for dinner. Because he was headed away for the week today.’

‘A week to go to Manchester?’

Fleming raised his eyebrows as he popped the final mouthful of his bap into his mouth. ‘So she lied to both her mother and her friends. Plus she got herself a new phone a few weeks back. The girl has given me the number. Compare with the one the mother has and see if she knew about the phone,’ he added, handing her a torn corner of a brown paper bag on which the number was written.

Lucy’s mobile phone rang. It was the desk sergeant in Maydown, confirming that a team of uniforms had been dispatched to Finn’s house to begin house-to-house inquiries.

‘Best head back and meet the team,’ Lucy said.

They met the teams outside Sinead Finn’s house. Fleming split the uniforms into pairs and divided up the local housing estates around Fallowfield Gardens into six blocks, one for each pair. One of the men had brought copies of the picture Lucy had sent into the station.

‘Meet back here at 5.30,’ Fleming said. ‘And call either myself or DS Black if you find anything. I’m going to call down to the youth club just to double-check Sarah definitely wasn’t there last night.’

As the pairs dispersed, Lucy called back in with Sinead Finn. The woman opened the door, then hobbled back into the living room. She still had on the white dressing gown she’d worn earlier.

Lucy closed the door and followed her in. ‘Any word?’ she asked Sinead Finn’s retreating back.

‘Nothing,’ the woman said. ‘I’ve called all her friends. And her mobile, too,’ she added. ‘Nothing. No one’s seen her. Her friends said she wasn’t with them last night.’

‘Can I check what number you’re calling her on? Only one of her friends said she got a new phone a while back.’

‘Not that I knew of,’ Finn answered, opening her phone and checking the listing, before reading out the number. It did not match the one Lucy had been given by Fleming.

‘I need a second,’ Lucy said, calling ICS. She recognized Dave Cooper’s voice when he answered, felt a little surprised at the pleasure it brought her.

‘We’ve a second missing person,’ she explained after introducing herself. ‘The girl has a new phone ...’

‘Like Karen Hughes?’ Cooper asked.

‘Maybe,’ Lucy began. ‘If I gave you the number, could you try tracing it?’

‘No problem. I’ll be quick as I can.’

Lucy thanked him after reading the number off the scrap of paper, then hung up. ‘I’ve a few more questions,’ she said, addressing Sinead Finn. ‘Has anything like this ever happened before?’

Finn shook her head as she lowered herself into her seat. She pulled a pouffe across and raised her feet onto it. Lucy noticed balls of cotton wool between each of her toes. Her nails were freshly painted, having progressed on from doing her fingers.

‘Never. She stayed out late at times, but she’s a good girl. I never have no bother with her.’

‘She went to the post office for you yesterday, is that right?’

Sinead struggled to remember. ‘She might have. She ran jobs for me all the time. I’ve problems with my legs, you see.’

‘I see. Sarah withdrew money from a child benefit account using your card yesterday,’ Lucy said.

‘Did she?’ Finn looked towards the ceiling, trying to remember. ‘I didn’t ask her to do that.’

‘A significant amount, Mrs Finn. Two hundred pounds. You’re sure that wasn’t for you?’

‘Two hundred pounds?’ Finn snapped. ‘The wee bitch.’

Lucy bowed her head. ‘You didn’t—?’

‘The post office shouldn’t have given it to her. It’s my account.’

‘Apparently she did this for you a lot,’ Lucy said.

Sinead gave a non-committal grunt.

‘She told her friends she was going out with you and your partner for dinner last night, too,’ Lucy added.

‘We weren’t going for dinner. I told you already – we ate here.’

‘I know,’ Lucy said. ‘I’m just trying to be certain we have all the facts.’

‘Well, where the hell is she then?’ Sinead Finn said, her eyes glistening, as if, for the first time, she had begun to realize the seriousness of her daughter’s absence.

‘Did she have a boyfriend or anything?’

‘She was fifteen for Christ’s sake!’

Lucy wasn’t sure how she was meant to interpret that and rephrased the question. ‘Was there anyone she might have run off with? Taking the money and that suggests she might have had plans to go somewhere.’

‘She’d mentioned the odd boy or two at the youth club, but no one special. Not that I remember.’

Lucy nodded. ‘What about Facebook or Twitter? Did she have any friends on there?’

Finn shrugged. ‘I don’t know.’ She leaned forward and picked up her cigarettes. Her dressing gown sleeve drooped over her hand and she slid it quickly up her arm with her free hand. For a second, Lucy caught sight of a network of small red scars on her inner forearm, then the sleeve slipped down and covered it again. Finn followed her line of sight, sniffed loudly, then wiped her sleeve across her nose.

‘Do you have a computer that Sarah used?’

Finn shook her head. ‘No. She used the ones in school or the club for school work and that.’

Lucy nodded. ‘Have you had any luck with contacting your partner? Mr Doherty?’

Sinead Finn shook her head. ‘He’s going to message. And I’ve texted him. Maybe he doesn’t want to answer when he’s driving.’

‘Maybe,’ Lucy repeated. ‘Does he go to Manchester often?’

Finn shrugged. ‘Every few weeks. Sometimes he has other runs to do too – Dublin, Cork or that. But he’d do Manchester once or twice a month.’

‘Always for a week?’

Finn raised her left shoulder. ‘I guess. Why? What’s that to do with Sarah?’

‘Probably nothing,’ Lucy said.

By five it had already become clear that Sarah Finn was not in the immediate vicinity. All her friends had been contacted; none had seen her since the previous day. The youth club leader, Jackie Logue, confirmed she had been absent the previous evening, which was, by his account, quite unusual.

‘It’s a bit of a family here,’ he had told Fleming. ‘I think Sarah loved coming and seeing everyone. She didn’t get involved so much, mind you. But she liked having people around her, even if she didn’t chat too much.’

The neighbours had not seen her, though all concurred with the general consensus, which was that she was a quiet girl. Friendly, but shy.

Fleming ordered for the search to be widened. Press releases were drawn up and distributed to the local radio and news stations ahead of a press conference the following day if Sarah had not returned.

Hospitals and doctors’ clinics were already being contacted by uniforms in the Strand Road, though as yet had yielded no results.

Lucy and Fleming had just met back at Finn’s when Lucy’s mobile rang. It was Cooper.

‘Lucy. The phone number you gave is ringing out. But I’ve been able to trace its position from the GPS in it. It’s along the Glenshane Road. It seems to be in a picnic area, just opposite the turn-in for the Old Foreglen Road.’

‘I know it,’ Lucy said. ‘Thanks, Dave.’

‘Lucy,’ Cooper added grimly, ‘the phone isn’t moving.’

The lay-by in question was a popular one with long-distance lorry drivers. A small burger van squatted at one end, the owner seated in front of a portable TV, the fryers behind him empty.

He stood up when he saw the police cars pull in, reaching for the bag of cut chips and pouring them into the fryer basket in the expectation of business.

Three teams poured out into the lay-by. Fleming directed them to different sections of the space. They moved off to work quietly, all expecting to find not just Sarah’s phone, but possibly the child herself.

Beyond them, the mass of the Ness Woods loomed, the dying light already darkening between the trees. To the west, three huge wind turbines stood on the hill to their left, where a mist had already begun rolling down into the Ness valley. Behind them, the dying light of the sun, already passed below the horizon, scorched the top of the hill, the shape of the turbine arms standing above it, piercing the mist, itself like molten gold inside the sunset, the whole image like Golgotha ablaze.

‘It’s beautiful,’ Fleming commented, standing beside her, watching the scene.

‘It is,’ Lucy agreed.

‘Why is every nice place you see tainted with the shit of what happens there?’ he asked.

‘Inspector,’ a voice shouted. They looked across to where one of the officers stood, having emptied out the contents of one of the litter bins spotted around the area. He held, in his gloved hand, a black iPhone.

Lucy reached the man first, already pulling on her own gloves. She pressed the home button and saw that there were twelve missed calls. She unlocked the screen. The main wallpaper image was of a small cat. Clicking on the photo icon, she scrolled through the assorted images. Sure enough, there was picture of Sinead Finn and, in one, reflected in a mirror due to the angle of the shot, Sarah Finn herself could be seen.

She moved back to the home screen. A red numeral 1 over the message icon showed she’d an unread message. Lucy opened it. The name Simon H appeared at the top of the screen. ‘We still OK for 8?’ the most recent message read. It had been sent at 2.30 p.m.

‘Get it down to ICS straight away,’ Fleming said. ‘See if someone there can’t get something from it.’

‘Wait,’ Lucy said. ‘Let me check something.’ She scrolled up to the top of the page and clicked on the contact details for Simon. The next page listed his name, picture, email and number. The email address was a Facebook one. The name on the account was ‘Simon Harris’.

Lucy opened her own phone and called Cooper.

‘We got the phone,’ Lucy said, without introduction. ‘But I need you to do me a favour. “Simon Harris” – the one on Facebook this morning. Can you get up his picture and send it to me?’

‘Give me a minute,’ Cooper said.

It took less than that for a text message with the picture attached, photographed from the screen of Cooper’s computer, to beep on Lucy’s phone. She opened the message and compared the image to the picture Sarah had assigned to Simon H. It was the same picture.

‘Shit,’ Lucy muttered. ‘It’s one of the sock-puppet accounts belonging to Paul Bradley.’

Fleming took the phone and scrolled through the messages again. ‘He’s asked her to meet him tonight five times today. If he’s doing that ...’