voice isn’t giving her away. And that Pauline doesn’t realize Quinn’s telegraphing behind her back. ‘Just so we can have a quick chat and eliminate him from our enquiries?’
Pauline lifts her chin. ‘He’s not due on-site till later so I expect he’s at home.’
Everett smiles brightly. ‘Well, if you could just let me have his address then. And the reg number of his van. If you don’t mind.’
* * *
‘She’s not in any trouble, I just need to know where she is. I’m sorry to call you on your mobile but I’ve texted everyone I can think of and spoken to the school and I know she’s not there – I’m going out of my mind – please, Isabel.’
Fiona hates the pleading in her voice, the desperation. It’s like a bad smell.
‘But I don’t know where she is.’ Isabel’s voice rises into a wail. ‘I told you – she got off the bus and I didn’t see her after.’
‘Is there anyone else she could be with?’ She can feel the tension in her jaw, the weight behind her eyes. ‘She told me she doesn’t have a boyfriend, but is there someone she likes? A boy who might have stopped and offered her a lift?’
‘No, really –’
‘Someone she’d have trusted – someone she knew from school perhaps –’
‘I’d have told you already – why won’t you believe me?’
There’s the sound of voices in the background, playground noises; it must be morning break. Fiona takes a deep breath. ‘So you really don’t know where she could be?’
‘I’m sorry. I really don’t.’
There’s the sound of a bell now and a moment later the line goes dead.
* * *
Every time Everett goes to Blackbird Leys she forces herself to find something good about it. A nice garden or a tree in blossom or even just a particularly sassy local cat. She hates giving in to stereotypes but, no matter how hard she tries, the place always seems to do its best to defeat her. As they drive up Barraclough Road there are two men slumped on a bench surrounded by beer cans, and an overturned bin has spewed rotting food and rubbish halfway across the road. She swerves and Quinn swears. He hates being a passenger, but there was no way he was bringing his car here. And however determined she is not to prejudge this place, she really can’t blame him. As they pass, one of the men waves his can at her and shouts, ‘Fuck off!’ And they aren’t even in a squad car.
‘It’s about ten houses further on,’ says Quinn, squinting at the numbers. ‘Ninety-six, right?’
The house is on the corner at the end of the terrace. These houses must have been The Next Big Thing once but the seventies architecture hasn’t aged well. The windows are too small and the whole of the ground floor is dominated by the garages jutting out from the facade. But all they are now is receptacles for junk: modern cars are too big to even get through the doors. Unlike its neighbours, 96 still has some scrubby grass out the front rather than a concrete parking space, but like the rest, the roof sags as if it just can’t be bothered any more.
Ev pulls up and they get out. There’s music coming from upstairs; someone’s in.
‘I’ll go round the side,’ says Quinn. ‘See if I can spot the van.’
Ev nods, takes a deep breath and rings the bell.
The music stops, but there’s no other sign of life. She rings again. And a third time. Quinn appears round the corner.
‘Did you find the van?’
He nods. He’s not smiling. ‘I could see some cable ties in the back. Looked the same type to me.’
‘That doesn’t prove anything. They’re hardly distinctive.’
‘Just saying.’
There’s a noise from inside now – the sound of chains being taken off and a bolt sliding back. The door opens slowly. It’s an elderly man, breathing heavily from the effort. He’s wearing a threadbare cardigan and a pair of brown slacks that hang loosely off his thin hips. His face and hands are freckled with dark age spots.
‘Mr Brotherton?’ says Ev, holding up her warrant card. ‘DC Verity Everett. Could we come in for a moment?’
The man looks suspicious. ‘What’s this about?’
‘It’s about your grandson. Ashley, isn’t it?’
‘What about him? He hasn’t done anything. He’s a good lad –’
‘No one’s saying he isn’t,’ she says quickly. ‘We just need to ask him a couple of routine questions. It’ll only take five minutes. Is he