DEAD GONE - Luca Veste

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‘Look, Rob,’ she said. ‘Sometimes we don’t always see what’s right in front of us. I’m sure she’s just gone somewhere to clear her head.’

      That wasn’t supposed to happen. No touching. Calm. He needed to stay calm. ‘You said it’s not the first time she’s done something like this. What did you mean?’

      ‘Has she never said anything to you?’

      He shook his head in response.

      ‘Well, Jemma was seeing someone, a few years before you. She didn’t know how to leave him, so she just left one night. She was gone for a few months, turned out she’d planned it well before that night. Had a friend down south who she stayed with. Even worked for a bit down there.’

      Rob lifted his eyes from the carpet. Looked across at the flickering quiet images coming from the TV. ‘We were fine, Carla. I don’t understand any of this. If she had problems, why didn’t she say anything?’

      Carla began to move her hand down his arm, before resting her hand in his.

      ‘Sometimes, she doesn’t know a good thing when it’s right in front of her. That was always a problem for her.’

      Rob looked down at her hand, moved his eyes upwards and held her gaze for a few seconds. She opened her mouth a little as if to say something, but nothing came out. A voice from over her shoulder broke the silence.

      ‘Everything okay in here?’ Andy said.

      Carla jumped up off the sofa at the sound of his voice. ‘Fine, babe. Rob just needed to hear some things he didn’t know about Jemma.’

      Andy came fully into the room, stood behind Carla and placed his hands on her shoulders. ‘I best be getting back,’ Rob said.

      Carla took a step forward. ‘I’ll see you out.’

      At the door, Rob turned around to face Carla. She put her arms around him before he had a chance to resist. ‘She’ll be okay, Rob. Just don’t let yourself be played with. You’re much better than that.’

      He stepped back and she unwrapped her arms from around him. ‘I’ll be in touch if I hear anything,’ he said and stepped off the door step.

      Rob heard the door shut behind him, standing still for a moment.

      ‘What the fuck was that about?’ He heard Andy’s voice from outside. Then a door slamming. Through the blinds in the window he could see Carla rushing to the Moses basket and picking up Leah. And then her eyes locked with his.

      Looked like someone else was having problems. At least they were both there to sort them out.

      Rob turned and walked back to the car. What Carla had told him had knocked him back somewhat. Jemma just leaves sometimes, pisses off to the other end of the country like a petulant child.

      He didn’t really know her at all. She wasn’t some perfect woman. She wasn’t right.

      Some of the guilt lifted.

      But he still needed to keep going. Keep the show going.

      Her mum next. Then … he couldn’t think of the next step.

      What was he supposed to do next?

      9

       Monday 28th January 2013 – Day Two

      Murphy stood in his kitchen, waiting for the kettle to boil so he could fill the large mug that was sitting on the counter. Coffee and a little milk already added. He yawned, the previous night’s lack of sleep catching up on him. The events of the previous day conspiring to keep his mind ticking over into the late hours, the ache in his neck telling him falling asleep on the couch was probably a mistake. Yet again, he’d drifted off to the sounds of canned laughter, from the endless re-runs of American sitcoms he watched late at night.

      And then there was the small fact of still not feeling at home.

      Murphy had one proper friend. Jess. Twenty years they’d known each other. Never a hint of romance. Jess had tried to help in the previous couple of months. Trips to Ikea, that sort of thing. He appreciated it, knowing she was probably hating every second of the experience.

      She didn’t like change. Wait … not quite right. She didn’t like other people changing. And so much had changed in the last few months.

       ‘You’ve bought a house?’

       ‘Yeah, I needed somewhere to live.’

       ‘But it’s a little soon don’t you think? It’s not been that long. Where is it?’

       ‘The Millhouse Estate in Moreton.’

       ‘Over-the-water Moreton? Why would you do that? That’s at least a half hour drive for me. You couldn’t have moved around here?’

      ‘Sorry, Jess, that wasn’t really my concern.’

       ‘You prick. You’re just trying to get rid of me.’

       ‘Jess, I’ve been trying to get rid of you for twenty years. It hasn’t worked so far. You’re still technically my best friend.’

       ‘Don’t say that. That’s depressing. And anyway, I’m your only friend.’

       ‘Honest, I wouldn’t know what I’d do without you.’

       ‘Oh, grow a pair will you, Bear. Start living up to your name for once.’

      Bear. The same nickname she’d used since they’d met over twenty years ago. She’d become used to his new place within weeks, still preferring to drive over to his house rather than eat alone. Must cost her a fortune in tunnel tolls.

      ‘Shit.’

      Murphy paused in his coffee-making and jumped as the alarm on his new phone went off again. He fished it out of his pocket and pressed some icons in an effort to stop the noise.

      It had woken him at the correct time. Although it being in his trouser pocket had confused him at first. He shut it off, the noise threatening to wake the entire cul de sac. Apparently there was a difference between turning off and sleep mode.

      A quick look at his watch told him it was coming up to half seven, an hour before he usually got in to the station.

      Time enough for a quick wake-up call.

      ‘Bear, it’s too fucking early. What have I told you? Don’t bother me before at least lunchtime.’

      ‘Morning, Jess. Did I wake you?’

      ‘No, I’m up. Peter is at his dad’s and I had to make sure the little bastard is up for school. Can’t rely on that lazy twat he calls a father, and he’d bunk off given half the chance. Fucking teenagers. What do you want?’

      Murphy took a bite of his toast. ‘Got a murder yesterday.’

      ‘Shit. The girl in Sefton Park. Seriously? They gave it to you?’

      ‘Yeah. First one in months.’

      ‘How is it?’

      ‘Interesting.’ Murphy put the half-eaten toast back on the sideboard and opened the fridge with his free hand, taking out a bottle of water. ‘Killer left a letter. Victim is a student. Usual nutcase stuff. You’ll probably end up defending him in court.’

      He heard a snort on the other end of the line. ‘Well … congrats I suppose. I know you wanted to get back into it quicker than this.’

      ‘But …’

      A large sigh. ‘Just … well … don’t let it get to you. I worry, you know.’

      ‘I’m fine,’ Murphy replied,

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