and driving off into the night. Jackson had installed a GPS location tracker on his son’s phone, but he would have had a tracking chip inserted into his scruff if he could. He’d looked into it, but it turned out it wasn’t that simple, and he would need to implant a receiver and a bulky battery pack as well. He didn’t suppose Nathan would be too happy about that.
He set about marshalling his troops, Nathan in the passenger seat, Dido in the back. He would feel better if the dog had a seat belt. She always sat up straight like an alert back-seat driver on the lookout for danger, but she would catapult like a boulder through the windscreen if he had to brake hard. He tossed the empty backpack into the boot.
Starting the engine, he said, ‘Some music?’ to Nathan, but before you could even say ‘playlist’ Nathan was yelling his protests. ‘Dad, please, not that miserable crap you listen to.’ They compromised on Radio 2 – quite a big compromise on Nathan’s part.
When they arrived at the Crown Spa Hotel on the Esplanade, Jackson googled the whereabouts of the nearest police station while he was standing in the lobby waiting for Julia.
‘My two favourite people!’ she exclaimed when she appeared. Jackson felt quite pleased until he realized that she was referring to Nathan and Dido. ‘Dogs aren’t people,’ he said.
‘Of course they are,’ she said. ‘Doing anything nice with your free day?’
‘Chasing unicorns.’
‘Great,’ she said, so he knew she wasn’t listening. An increasing number of people, Jackson had noticed lately, were not listening to him.
‘But surely you can tell me if any girls have gone missing in the last twenty-four hours?’ he persisted with the desk sergeant.
‘No, sir, I can’t tell you that,’ he said. He wasn’t even looking at Jackson, but was making a show of being busy with the paperwork on his desk.
‘“No, there haven’t been any girls gone missing” or “No, you won’t tell me even if they have”?’
‘Exactly.’
‘What – no girls missing?’
‘No girls missing,’ the desk sergeant sighed. ‘Now will you go away and “investigate” something else?’
‘No CCTV up on the Esplanade that might have captured a young girl getting into a car?’
‘No.’
‘No CCTV footage or no CCTV?’ There was CCTV everywhere. You couldn’t move in Britain without being filmed. Jackson loved that.
‘Neither.’
‘You’re not going to look up that car registration number on the DVLA?’
‘No, sir, but I am considering arresting you for wasting police time.’
‘No, you’re not,’ Jackson said. ‘Too much paperwork.’
Despite his protests the desk sergeant had taken the backpack, saying he was going to log it into Lost Property.
‘No one’s going to claim it,’ Jackson said.
‘Well, then, leave your name and address, sir, and if no one does then in six months it’s all yours.’
Jackson had taken a photograph of the backpack before leaving the cottage – he photographed everything these days, you never knew when you would need evidence. Nonetheless he resented having to give the backpack up, it was the one tangible link to the elusive girl and now it was disappearing into the dark of a storage room somewhere.
He retrieved the Toyota and set off back up the coast. Back to the ranch to make some phone calls, he thought, call in a few favours. Free of Nathan’s musical prejudices he searched through his music and put on Lori McKenna. He always imagined that Lori was someone who would understand his melancholy streak. Wreck you, she sang. That’s what people did all the time, wasn’t it? One way or another.
He sighed. The day was still relatively young, but it felt as if it contained less promise now. There was no sign for that in Penny Trotter’s shop.
Lady with Lapdog
To their surprise Control called them, asking if they were still on the A165.
‘Yeah,’ Ronnie said. ‘Just coming off the Burniston Road.’
‘Well, turn the car round and head west, will you? There’s been a report of a murder. Everyone’s tied up with something that’s kicked off in town – day-tripping bikers or rioting youth, it’s not clear. You’re the closest we’ve got.’
Ronnie and Reggie looked at each other, features all over the place, eyes popping out of their heads. Sometimes it was like they were telepathic. Ronnie eagerly tapped the address into their GPS.
‘Serious Crimes’ll be on your heels, but can you hold the fort until they get there?’ They were to secure the scene, nothing else. This wasn’t their back yard, after all.
‘No problem, we’re on our way.’
They grinned