Wymondham Station was filled with the hum of computers whirring, phones connecting, and occasional expletives.
“Fuck’s sake, I swear that kid is caught shoplifting every bloody weekend.”
“If this one ain’t in prison by this time next year, I’ll buy rounds for a month.”
“Well, then, what better reason to get him on a restorative justice programme, eh?”
Detective Sergeant Anthony Clarke huddled in the corner desk as best as he could, plugging one ear with his finger, trying to block out the sounds of the office as he whispered down his battered iPhone.
“I can’t talk now. I’m busy at work,” DS Clarke repeated for the third time. He needed to get around to sorting out his upgrade.
“It’s half eight already, Anthony. What time are you going to get back?”
“I don’t know yet. Look, I’m sorry, but we had a missing person report come in earlier, and I still need the update from the uniforms before I can leave.”
“Within the hour?”
“I don’t know, maybe.”
“So, that’s a no, then.”
“No, it’s a maybe.”
“Sure, it is. Well, Kacey’s already stayed up an extra hour waiting for you, but I’m not keeping her up any longer — she needs her sleep.”
“I know. I’m not asking you to. I’ll get home as soon as I can, okay?”
She hung up on him; he knew she would. DS Clarke sighed as he rubbed his tired eyes. He would pay for that later. He scratched his head, conscious that his receding hairline appeared to have worsened. It had been a rough day. Hell, it had been a rough few years. He nodded in gratitude for the coffee Rebecca had put down on the chestnut brown desk in front of him. She pulled up a chair.
“Got yourself right tucked away in the corner, haven’t you, Sarge?”
“It’s too busy here for my liking.” His ears clamoured with the rings of telephones and the general hustle-bustle of Wymondham headquarters. He used to be based at Attleborough, a concrete slab of grey. The tables and chairs looked like they’d been nicked out of an old school, and the place turned into an icebox as soon as October hit. Wymondham was the superior base by far, all new equipment and systems. It had carpets and everything. But at times like this, he missed the simplicity and the quiet of the old Attleborough base.
“Not that you’re unsociable or anything,” she mocked in that accent of hers. She’d only been in Norfolk Constabulary for a couple of months, since moving from Scotland. It normally took him a long time to get used to new colleagues, but he had to admit, something about her accent instantly warmed him to her. “So. Update on the MISPER. Teddy and I just got back from seeing Mum.” She took a sip of her smelly green tea.
“Ergh, are you on that green tea stuff again?”
“Course, it’s lovely. And healthy.”
“I don’t understand how you drink that stuff. Just drink a coffee like the rest of us and be done with it, ya bloody Scot,” he mocked in a fake Scottish accent. To his relief, she laughed with him, before making an inbred-Norfolk joke. That was good, he liked a co-worker who was happy to mutually take the piss out of each other. “Right, this MISPER case then?” He pulled his navy jumper off over his head. He still wasn’t used to the good quality heating of the Wymondham station.
“Basically, it’s a classic set-up for teenage runaway. Mum and daughter argued yesterday morning about a potential house move. Mum, Suzanne, was preoccupied with work. Daughter, Teigan, was left feeling like she doesn’t matter. Mum went off to work. Hasn’t seen her since.”
“Right. This was yesterday morning, did you say?”
“Aye, that’s the rub. Teigan didn’t attend school yesterday or today, and the school had been trying to get in touch with Mum, but unsuccessfully. Mum only realised when she got home from work today that Teigan was even missing.”
DS Clarke frowned. “Well, what was she doing all last night? How old is her daughter, again? Fourteen?”
“Yep. Coming up to fifteen. She assumed Teigan was in her bedroom all last night. Thought she was ignoring her because of the argument. Says it’s happened before, and it’s usually best to leave her to it. I’m not exactly calling her parent of the year, but I can see how it happened. She was trying to give her space and all that.”
He glanced to the picture of Kacey on his desk, wondering if he’d ever be so laissez-faire as to assume Kacey was safe in her bedroom without physical proof. He doubted it.
“I’ve got a recent picture to use for the appeal. Mum’s busy calling all Teigan’s friends and their parents and what-not. We checked her bedroom for any sign of belongings missing. Mum said that she always takes her phone and charger to school with her, anyway, and that she often takes spare clothes, too, if she goes into the city with friends after school, so that she can change out of her uniform.”
“Okay, so nothing out of the ordinary there, then. Thanks, Reynolds. Launch the appeal, and hopefully she’ll turn up within another twenty-four hours. If not, I’ll come back with you to ask her muum some more questions about this argument.” Clarke took a gulp of the coffee, his body grateful for the hit of caffeine. His eyes wandered to the time as he remembered his phone conversation. “Is that all, Reynolds? Just that I need to get going, really.” He threw back the last of the coffee as he packed away his things, hoping that he’d get home within the hour, as promised.
She stood up, sipping some her tea as she did so. “Pretty much. Although, just to note. The mum, Suzanne Walker, was the social worker for Emma Beale. Ironic, huh?”
DS Clarke paused. “I’m not really one for irony.” He deliberated for a moment, wondering if it were worth the ear-bashing he’d surely get when he got home, before conceding that it was. He logged back into the system.
“What you looking for?” Rebecca asked as she leaned over his shoulder.
“Just checking for any intel on her.”
Rebecca rolled her eyes. “Oh, come on. It’s just a bit of poetic irony. She wouldn’t have been able to become a social worker if she were some maniac.”
“No, but they don’t do a full intel check on them, just a standard criminal prosecution check. Doesn’t mean there isn’t any intelligence on her at all.” He clicked through the various steps and waited for the results to appear. Despite all the new technical equipment, it still took ages for the system to load.
“There’s not going to be anything,” Rebecca said, with an air of confidence. She crossed her arms in front of her. “In fact, I’ll put a fiver on it.”
Finally, the results loaded. His eyes locked immediately onto the screen.
“You best get your purse out, Reynolds.”