The Society Of Dirty Hearts (12 page)

Julian guessed at once that Mia’s foster dad had beaten him to phoning the police. He explained about his neck. “Ah, yes, I heard about that,” said the detective. “Well, in that case, I’ll come to you.”

Julian thought about his parents. Almost as much as he wanted to find Mia, he wanted to avoid causing them – especially his mum – anymore upset. “Can’t we do this over the phone?”

“I’m afraid this is too serious for that.”

“When are you coming?”

“Now.”

Julian hung up and said to Eleanor, “You’d better go.”

She looked at him with concern. “Are you sure? I can stay if you want.”

“There’s no need.” Whatever the policeman might have to say to him, Julian didn’t want Eleanor, or, for that matter, anybody else to hear it.

Eleanor heaved a sigh. “God, I really hope nothing bad’s happened to Mia.”

No matter what’s happened to her, it’s too late to hope that, thought Julian, but he said, “I hope so too.”

“First one girl goes missing and turns up dead. Then, just a few days later, her best mate goes missing too.” Eleanor shook her head. “It’s crazy. I mean, like, what’s going on in this town?”

“To know that, you’d have to know what really happened to Joanne Butcher.”

“She OD’d.”

“Yeah, but what made her OD?”

“Nothing made her OD. It was an accident.”

“Maybe. Maybe not.”

Eleanor frowned. “Are you suggesting someone might’ve killed her on purpose?”

“I don’t know what I’m suggesting. I just get the feeling there’s more to it than a simple overdose.” Julian stopped himself from saying anymore. He’d already let out more than he intended to.

“Why?”

Julian shrugged. “I haven’t got any answers. Like I said, it’s just a feeling. I’m probably totally wrong.”

Eleanor raised an eyebrow, obviously not satisfied by his answer, but she didn’t press him. A little hesitantly, she reached to lay her hand on his arm. Her touch seemed even softer than he remembered. It stirred the desire he’d always felt for her. “I know how badly you want to find Mia, but I think you should leave this to the police now. If you’re right, if there’s more to Joanne Butcher’s death than a horrible accident, you could be getting yourself mixed up in something dangerous.” Her fingers flexed lightly against his wrist. “I couldn’t stand it if anything bad happened to you, Julian.”

He tried to smile reassuringly. “Nothing’s going to happen to me. How can it when I’m stuck in bed?”

Eleanor released his wrist. “Will you call me? Soon?”

Julian nodded. When Eleanor was gone, he shouted Wanda. “Where’s Mum?” he asked.

“In the garden.”

“Good. There’s a policeman coming here to talk to me. Will you keep her outside until he’s gone?”

Wanda frowned. “You know I don’t like keeping things from her.”

“Neither do I usually. But she’s already had more than enough worry these last few days, don’t you think?”

Wanda regarded Julian uncertainly a moment, then nodded. “Okay, I’ll try, but no promises.”

When Tom Benson turned up, Wanda showed him through to Julian’s bedroom. He seated himself, pen and notebook in hand. “Why don’t we start with you telling me what you’ve got to tell me?” he said.

“I’m worried about Mia Bradshaw. I think she might be in trouble.”

“What kind of trouble?”

Julian gave the policeman the full story about his previous night’s encounter with Mia. “It just seemed so odd,” he said. “It was like she’d got all dressed up to play some sort of part.”

“That doesn’t sound so odd to me. I’ve got a young daughter myself who changes her hair colour nearly as often as she changes her clothes.”

“Well, what about the car?”

“Did you take the registration?”

“No.”

“That’s a shame, but it’s probably not important. After all, it’s not illegal to get dressed up and go out with your friends.” Suddenly, the detective bent forward, his voice dropping low, as if he wanted to make sure there was no chance of anyone who might happen to be listening at the door overhearing. “But it is illegal to engage in sexual intercourse with a minor.”

Something – some almost intimidating intensity – in the detective’s eyes made Julian wonder if he’d made a mistake not having his parents present. “I haven’t touched Mia.”

“That’s not what her foster father says.”

“Well he doesn’t know what he’s talking about.”

“Doesn’t he? So why were you seen leaving his house the other afternoon with your hands tied with what looked like a stocking?”

Julian felt his neck getting red. He chewed his lip as his mind raced for a plausible lie and failed to come up with one. The detective nodded, Julian’s silence and expression told him all he needed to know. “He wants to press statutory rape charges, you know.”

“But I haven’t done anything wrong.”

“That remains to be seen.” Inhaling audibly through his nose, the detective sat back. “I warned you, didn’t I? I warned you you’d get in trouble hanging around with Mia Bradshaw.” The intensity left his eyes. He flipped his notepad shut. “Look, between you and me, I’m inclined to believe you. Mia’s foster father thinks she’s with you, but he’s obviously wrong on that score.”

“He’s wrong on every score.”

“That’s what I’m saying. If he’s wrong about that, he’s more than likely wrong about everything else. But I’ve got to follow procedure. And once your name’s in the system, it’s in the system, if you know what I mean. That’s the worst thing about cases like this, even if there’s no conviction, the accusation alone is enough to leave a permanent stain.”

“Look, I really don’t care about that as long as Mia’s okay.”

“Well you should. Your father has a good name, a good reputation in this town. That reputation brings a lot of business his way.”

“This has got nothing to do with him.”

“Don’t be naïve. You’re his son, this has got everything to do with him. Keep that in mind. And bear this in mind, too, I assume I’m right in thinking that someday you’ll take over his business, which means…”

Wrinkles furrowed up between Julian’s eyes as the detective’s words sank in. He finished the sentence for him in a voice heavy with the strain of responsibility, “Which means that someday its success will depend on my reputation.” He heaved a breath, imagining everything his dad had worked so hard to build falling apart, imagining what that would do to his parents. “But what can I do? Like you said, you’ve got to follow procedure.”

“I’ll tell you what I can do. I can talk to Mia Bradshaw’s foster father, convince him he’s got it all wrong.”

“Why would you do that?”

“Because you’re a good kid, and this town needs you. Your factory employs a lot of people. I’d hate to see them suffer because you made one stupid little mistake. But you’ve got to do something for me in return – you’ve got to take my advice. Forget about Mia Bradshaw.”

“How can I forget about her when she’s missing and might be in danger, or worse?”

“Missing. That’s an emotive word. If I thought for one second that she was missing, do you think we’d be sat here chatting like this? I’d have you hauled down the station, neck-brace n’all. And I’d have every available man out searching for her. But she’s not missing. She’s holed up in some dive, out of it on booze and drugs. Or she’s a runaway. Whichever the case, she’ll either be picked up by the police, or she’ll go crawling home by herself.”

“You really think so?”

“I guarantee you. That girl’s got a history as long as my arm of this kind of thing. I give her two or three days max.”

“What if you’re wrong?”

“I’m not.”

Tom Benson sat looking steadily at Julian, as if waiting for him to say something. Julian knew what he wanted to hear, but the word caught in his throat. Just the thought of saying it felt like a betrayal of Mia. A brief flash of that same intensity in the detective’s eyes drew it out. “Okay.”

The detective’s moustache twitched slightly as, standing to leave, he smiled. “Good. And let’s hope we don’t have to have any more of these chats.”

Heavy with unease, Julian could only nod in mute agreement. It wasn’t just Tom Benson’s unwillingness to take his concerns seriously that disturbed him. He felt that he’d been backed into a corner, forced to choose between safeguarding his own future and abandoning Mia to whatever fate she might’ve brought upon herself, and he was disgusted at the ease with which he’d made his decision. Mia was right, he was just a rich kid, that’s all.

Chapter 11

One day passed. Julian didn’t call Eleanor, didn’t answer her calls. He didn’t want to speak to her, didn’t want to speak to anyone. He didn’t look at his laptop, didn’t read, didn’t watch television. He did sleep, though, long and restlessly. Even the dreams were preferable to the guilt that coursed through him to the bone whenever he thought about Mia. Two days dragged by. The pain in his neck eased off to a nagging ache. Pale as a ghost, he rose and showered. His mum gave him a worried look when he sat down at the table for breakfast. “Are you sure you should be up and about?”

“I’m fine.” Julian looked at his dad. “So what happens now?”

Robert looked back at him. There was a moment’s uneasy silence. “Me and your father have been talking,” said Christine. “And we’ve come to a decision, haven’t we Robert.”

“Yes.” Robert’s tight-lipped response made it clear that whatever decision had been made he far from approved.

“We’ve decided to allow you to work at the factory.”

“On the condition that you don’t drop out of university,” put in Robert. “You defer your course for a year.”

“That way you leave your options open in case you change your mind.”

“I won’t change my mind,” said Julian, his voice flat, toneless. Normally it would’ve given him some satisfaction to get his own way, even when it came to an issue that called forth so many mixed, conflicting feelings. But at that moment he had no room for any emotion other than the dreadful hollow guilt festering deep down inside him.

“That’s the deal. Take it or leave it,” said Robert.

“Okay, fine.” Julian made to stand.

“Where are you going?”

“To get dressed for work.”

“You don’t have to start today,” said Christine. “Rest up a few more days. Relax in the garden, invite your friends over, whatever you feel like doing.”

Julian shook his head. “I told you, I’m fine.” Besides, he might’ve added, I want to work, I want to work so hard it deadens all thought and feeling.

“You’d better be quick, if you want a lift,” Robert told him. “I’m leaving in a few minutes.”

As they passed between the gates, a red car further up the street pulled away from the kerb behind them. The thought vaguely passed through Julian’s mind that maybe it was an unmarked police car, keeping tabs on his movements. He watched the car in the rearview mirror. He couldn’t make out the face of its driver. After a couple of miles, it took a different exit at a roundabout.

Julian and his dad didn’t exchange a word, didn’t even look at each other during the drive to the factory, which was on an industrial estate on the outskirts of town. ‘Harris’ Shoes’ read the sign over the entrance to the hanger-like building. Julian had once asked his dad,
why
shoes
? And his dad had replied,
good or bad times, people always need shoes
. The workers were taking their places, but work hadn’t begun on the assembly lines yet. When it did, Julian knew, the noise of the machines would be loud enough to vibrate his diaphragm. The workers nodded hello, giving Julian curious glances, as he and Robert made their way to the soundproofed offices at the rear of the factory. Seating himself at his desk, Robert began flipping through mail and papers. Julian sat opposite him. Several minutes passed. The dull rumbling of the assembly line starting up reached their ears.

“I wanted to talk to you about some ideas I have for cutting costs,” said Julian.

“Hmm?” Robert looked up at him as if he’d forgotten he was there.

“Have you considered investing in new technology? It would cost in the short term, but provide gains in the long term by allowing us to cut down on production line workers.”

“No I haven’t considered it, Julian. For one thing, every Harris shoe is hand finished. That’s why people choose us over our competitors. For another, we’re not in the business of chucking people on the dole. And besides, decisions on operating strategy are for management to make. You said you wanted to start at the bottom. So you can start by making me a coffee. My secretary’s off sick.”

Julian stared at his dad as if trying to work out if he was serious – which he obviously was. With a low sigh, he made his way to a kitchen. He returned with the coffee. “What now?”

“Sit down and be quiet while I think of something.”

Julian watched his dad drink his coffee, make some phone calls, have a conversation with one of the factory foremen who poked his head into the room. Half an hour passed, an hour. He sighed again. “Have you thought of anything yet, or shall I just sit here like a dummy all day?”

Robert looked at Julian with a thoughtful frown. “Come with me.” He led Julian through the din of the factory to a door marked ‘Cripples’. Inside were thousands of mismatched shoes, some in boxes on shelves, most in piles on the floor. “You can sort these seconds into pairs.”

“Why?”

“It doesn’t matter why. It’s simply a thing that needs doing. So do it.” Robert was closing the door even as he spoke.

The room smelt of leather and glue. Its thin stud wall barely muffled the noise of the machines. Yet another sigh broke from Julian as he laid aside his suit jacket. He worked as fast as possible, gladly retreating into an almost hypnotic oblivion of monotonous movement. When the lunchtime whistle blew, he became suddenly conscious that several hours had passed. Squatted against a wall outside the back of the factory, he ate the sandwiches Wanda had made for him. Some of the factory-floor workers were gathered there, smoking. A few glanced acknowledgement, but none said anything. Perhaps they were wary of speaking to the boss’s son. Perhaps they simply had nothing to say to him. Whatever, it suited Julian fine if they chose to keep their distance. Right then, he had nothing he wanted to say to them either, or anyone else for that matter.