Ellie Mason lived in humble accommodation. It reminded Ruby of the flat she used to squat in with Nathan before it was demolished, back in her teens. Situated over a newsagent’s, it contained a small square living room-cum-diner, and two matchbox-sized bedrooms, which barely afforded room for their single beds. All the flats on that road were laid out much the same way, and the occupants were no strangers to the police.
Mary Mason was a diminutive woman. Years of worry were evident, having emerged as frown lines furrowing her face – a face that carried expressions of both fear and hope as she waited for answers. Ruby had come to see these expressions many times in her job. It was amazing how the human face could contort itself to simultaneously produce dual emotions. As Ruby introduced herself, Mary stepped back, almost tripping on her threadbare dressing gown as she silently allowed her inside.
‘It’s not good news, is it?’ Mary’s voice was thin and shaky as they entered the living room. ‘I’ve had a bad feeling all day.’ Picking strewn clothes off the tattered sofa, she indicated to Ruby to sit down.
‘I’m sorry,’ Ruby said. She hated platitudes, but today she meant the words.
She took a seat, trying not to imagine herself in Mary’s place. It could so easily have been her, had her life not turned itself around. Mary had grown up on the street across from Ruby’s home and had her fair share of problems, which she readily transferred to her daughter. Ellie was no stranger to trouble but always found her way back in one piece. But Mary seemed to realise that today her daughter’s luck had run out. How sad it was, Ruby thought, that a bright young girl such as Ellie would end up on the streets. She was far from stupid, having done well in school. The certificates on the wall and numerous swimming trophies were a testament to that. But the boyfriend she had long since broken up with had introduced her to a dark pastime. With a father in prison and an alcoholic mother, it was easier to accept the promise of happiness gifted by narcotics than believe that she would ever get anywhere in life.
Ruby drew in a deep enough breath to accommodate the words she had not expected to repeat so soon. ‘Today we found the body of a young woman. Fingerprint analysis has suggested it’s your daughter, Ellie.’ Ruby continued to echo the same words she had used in Lisa Caldwell’s house: how Mrs Mason would be given the opportunity of a formal identification, and how a family liaison officer would be assigned to assist her with the process that lay ahead.
Mary Mason just nodded silently, her face stony grey. Numbed by a steady diet of alcohol, perhaps she was able to keep it together better than her counterpart, Mrs Caldwell.
‘How long was she there?’ Mary said. With a shaky hand, she lit a roll-up cigarette, leaving Ruby in a cloud of smoke as she exhaled.
‘Not very long, we’ll know more after the post-mortem.’
‘Three days she’s been gone. Three days.’ Mary’s eyes narrowed as she sent Ruby an accusing glare. ‘This is your lot’s fault. If you found her after I reported her missing, she’d be alive now.’
‘Police took your report, which meant they looked into it,’ Ruby said, knowing her words were of little comfort. It was no surprise that Mary was turning the blame onto her. After a lifetime of shrugging off her responsibilities, she was hardly going to accept her part in her daughter’s death now. If she had been a better mother, taken care of them both instead of sending her out to work for some pimp. . . Ruby sighed. Who was she to judge? She had delivered the news, and now she was needed back at the station.
‘But nobody cared,’ Mary wailed, digging her fingers into Ruby’s forearm as they both stood. ‘It’s because she was a prossie, isn’t it? That’s why you’d rather sit on your arse instead of going out to look for my girl. This is all your fault.’
Ruby thought of her colleagues who worked merciless hours, often completing full shifts without finding the time to eat. She thought of the endless paperwork, along with the pressure to gain detections, and the colleagues who risked their necks every time they walked the beat. She glanced around the flat littered with empty wine bottles and takeaway cartons; the air so stale you could cut it with a knife. She felt sympathy for Mary Mason just the same. Blaming the police was a knee-jerk reaction, and less painful than facing up to the fact she had let her daughter down.
Ruby wished she could have told her that they had pulled out all the stops, but she knew that the report of Ellie Mason would have been filed along with all the other missing person notifications they had received that day. Most of the time, such girls turned up of their own accord. There was nothing to indicate that Ellie Mason would be any different. But now, as her body lay on the cold slab of the mortuary, Ruby wished there was something more she could have done. It always came down to the same thing. They had to prioritise their work by a matter of urgency because they didn’t have the manpower to deal with everything the same day.
Ruby had read the newspaper headlines for Lisa Caldwell, the young university student with a promising future ahead. She wondered what story would be created, if any, for Ellie Mason.