Missing Read online

  Missing

  A DI Scott Baker Novel

  Jay Nadal

  Published by Jay [email protected]

  Copyright @ Jay Nadal 2018

  All rights reserved.

  Jay Nadal has asserted his right to be identified as the author of this work.

  No part of this book may be reproduced, stored in any retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording or otherwise, without the prior written permission of the author.

  This book is a work of fiction, names, characters, businesses, organisations, places and events other than those clearly in the public domain, are either the product of the author’s imagination or used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events or locales is entirely coincidental.

  Contents

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  Foreword

  Missing

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  Chapter 21

  Chapter 22

  Chapter 23

  Chapter 24

  Chapter 25

  Chapter 26

  Chapter 27

  Chapter 28

  Chapter 29

  Chapter 30

  Chapter 31

  Chapter 32

  Chapter 33

  Chapter 34

  Chapter 35

  Chapter 36

  Chapter 37

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  You Saw Too Much

  Prologue

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

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  About the Author

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  Foreword

  Hi there, it’s Jay Nadal here. Thanks for giving me the opportunity to share my writing with you. My books are set in the coastal resort of Brighton on the south coast. For the Brightonians amongst you, you’ll recognise many familiar locations in my scenes.

  Brighton offers such a vivid and diverse landscape that it makes it a pleasure to incorporate many well-known settings that bring my writing alive.

  Missing

  1

  Fuelled by rage, his heart wrestled in his chest. Plumes of vapour spewed from his mouth and hung in the stagnant air. His skin tingled with excitement as satisfaction flowed over him. She’d been silenced once and for all.

  A vast blanket of white hung heavy over the hills. It suffocated every tree, swallowing every distant object. Creeping with a billowy grace, silent footsteps tiptoed around him. Fog swooped in and skirted around the trees, like a giant eraser moving indiscriminately, eradicating the existing terrain and morphing it into something new. He stood in a pocket, the chill of the winter crept into the fabric of his clothes.

  He hadn’t planned or expected to be swamped in a sea of fog; but his envelopment came with good and bad news. The good was that no one else would be foolish enough to venture this far out of town and the dense blanket provided minimal risk of being discovered or seen. The bad news was he’d have to find his way back to town slowly and run the risk of crashing or hitting an obstacle.

  He glanced down at her body, knowing she, too, was swallowed, erased, and eradicated by the enveloping whiteness. A sliver of bliss snaked up his spine. Taking one last look at her, he smiled to himself before hiding her body.

  With time a worthy opponent, and the weather closing in, he searched around, and gathered his belongings. The cold chewed into his face as moisture in the air gathered to form droplets on the end of his nose. He needed to hurry as the smudged red tail lights of his car disappeared into the white blanket of the night.

  Her lips were cold and moist, oblivious to the chill that surrounded them. Just ever so slightly parted in her last moment of expression. Granules of earth and leaf matter filled her mouth from where she had struggled. It clogged her nostrils, her ears, and her face like a grotesque mud mask. A face perfectly preserved from the inclement weather that accompanied her tonight.

  She’d tried to look her best. When she’d dropped off her kids, Jackie had done her hair for her. Intricate waves, and bounce and body were the terms Jackie had thrown about as she’d pulled, tugged and lifted her brush through the hair.

  She’d made the effort of buying a new outfit. A daringly short silver skirt that clung to her milky white thighs, a white long-sleeved top, matching red underwear, and black patent peep-toe heels. She’d cooed over the ankle strap fastening and slim four-inch stiletto heel. She felt sexy and vibrant rather than slutty or common.

  After all she didn’t want to scare him off on a first date. With two kids, stretch marks, and a limited budget, she did well to look after herself. As much as she wanted to go to the gym and work out, organised fitness hovered just out of reach. Her current means didn’t allow for dreamy luxuries.

  Pausing in front of the mirror, she looked at her naked form, turning from left to right to examine the side profile, pulling on her small bingo wings, pushing up her saggy breasts, and rubbing a hand over the small rolls of fat that hung from her stomach. She convinced herself that if she sucked in hard enough, she could pull it off and give any twenty-five-year-old a run for her money.

  Running around in Primark jeans and T-shirt wasn’t the impression she wanted to create. A long soak in the bath had allowed her to shave her legs and treat herself to a Brazilian, before painting her toenails and fingernails deep metallic red to match her new underwear.

  Those toes she’d painted with such care and pride had been laid bare along with her legs, both now shrouded in a thin layer of cold, wet soil and a dusting of leaves serving as nature’s blanket.

  Her body cooled rapidly in the chill of a winter’s night, her fingers and toes freezing as the temperature dipped into the lower single digits.

  He dropped down a gear as he descended a long decline into town. He had thrown the last of her belongings out of the window as he inched his way along the narrow track away from the scene. As much as he wanted to keep them as morbid souvenirs, the risk of being stopped and questioned by the police presented a substantial risk. With the thick fog creeping across the outskirts of town, inching its way towards the seafront, there wouldn’t be many more cars passing this way until the morning.

  2

  Scott thought of a dozen places he’d rather be on a Sunday night than surrounded by two hundred and fifty people at a charity event hosted by Brighton and Hove Council. They invited anyone and everyone who had the slightest level of influence or importance.

  The guest list included Scott and Cara as police and medical representatives alongside Meadows and CC Lennon. The group rubbed shoulders with civic representatives, industry leaders, and other charity representatives. The event itself wasn’t bad, but it was tedious to spend the evening making polite conversation, offering obligatory smiles and handshakes to people he had never met, and probably wouldn’t meet again.

  The council were launching a new initiative to tackle the homeless crisis, which ever
yone knew was a big problem in Brighton. The streets were home to dozens of homeless people who congregated in and around the Royal Pavilion, Pavilion Gardens and under the pier. Drink and drug problems were common amongst most of those who gathered.

  Scott shook his head at the obvious irony. Even though the council continued tackling the issue, they had also gone to a large expense to host this lavish evening. No expense had been spared with a four-course meal and a string quartet ensconced in one corner. Waitresses delicately balanced trays of free wine, as they weaved amongst the crowd, offering anyone that took the time to look at them a courteous and well-practised smile.

  He glanced around the event hall and admired the ornate architecture. It was once Prince Regent’s riding house, and little alteration had taken place other than extra lighting being added and the gravel floor being replaced with wood in 1867. Towards the end of the 19th century, it had taken on the guise of an archaeological and geological museum. It had adopted a new function as a unique and versatile venue with a magnificent single span arched ceiling, and a lovingly restored and refurbished sprung maple floor.

  “You’re not enjoying it, are you?” he asked.

  Cara pursed her lips and threw back the biggest smile she could offer. “It’s a nice place, and a worthy event, but I can’t stand the falseness. Besides, I can tell that you’re not enjoying it either.”

  Scott was just about to reply, when some unknown council executive piped up over the PA system to continue with the speeches after having taken a short break. Scott waited for a lull in the man’s droning voice, before he continued, “No, I’m not enjoying it. I think it’s a load of hypocritical shit to be honest. They would have been better off using this money to give the homeless a meal and a place to sleep for the night.” He placed his arm around Cara’s waist. “The only good thing is that there are a few good-looking women here.”

  Cara snapped her head in Scott’s direction, and narrowed her eyes in a cold, hard stare, before leaning forward and standing on his foot.

  The pain raced up his leg as he dragged his foot away to let his throbbing toes relax. “And I was about to say, they’re all eclipsed by this stunning beauty standing by my side.”

  Cara shook her head and rammed her elbow into Scott’s side. “You are so full of shit, Scott, it must be all that wine you’ve drunk. Did you get that one off the back of a cereal packet?”

  “It is true; I only have eyes for you. And right now, I’d much rather take you home and get you out of this,” he replied, tugging at the edge of her burgundy, off-the-shoulder fitted dress, that draped around her ankles.

  “Well, any more wisecracks like that, and you’ll be sleeping in the spare room, young man. Do I make myself clear?”

  Scott bowed his head in mock shame before his glazed eyes came up and danced around to focus.

  They passed the next hour networking. Cara had bumped into a senior surgeon she knew from the Sussex County. The drunken grin on his face revealed his lecherous thoughts. He held out his hand to offer a friendly, firm handshake that lingered longer than she considered polite. His brown eyes glanced over her as he took in her appearance.

  It was the way the surgeon said, “That’s a gorgeous dress that you’re daring to wear this evening. Rather flattering I might say,” that disturbed her, as much as the way his eyes seemed to linger on her breasts. She shrugged her shoulders, gracefully accepting the compliment. The man’s intimate stare left her wondering if she’d overdone it with the outfit. It was tight, clingy like a second skin, and alluring. But she knew her big-breasted, hourglass figure, long legs, and cascading dark brown hair that draped over her shoulders, made it a dress that suited her.

  As hard as she tried to steal herself away from the surgeon, he moved in a drunken stupor around her, blocking off every opportunity to step away from him. Finally, her eyes were drawn past his shoulder towards Scott, as she made that silent “come and rescue me” plea.

  Scott was grateful for a small table that he’d found in the corner, away from the many conversations that rumbled and reverberated around this majestic room. They both slumped in their chairs, Scott the worse for wear, and Cara desperate to kick off her heels and soothe her aching feet.

  “I’m really sorry, Cara,” he said as he handed her a soft drink. “I thought we could show our faces, sympathise and agree with the new initiative, grab some free food and drink, and then scarper.”

  “You hoped that the chief constable wouldn’t hang around for long, and as soon as he had shown his face, and left, we could do the same.”

  Scott nodded as he dragged his hands down his face. “Something like that. Even Meadows is still lurking around. Not that it matters. I have to see him at some point.”

  The room silenced as the leader of Brighton and Hove Council stepped up onto the stage to deliver his keynote speech. He went to great lengths to describe the collaborative relationships that key stakeholders had in delivering this new initiative. He stressed the importance of sharing information and resources to tackle the growing crisis that the town faced.

  Despite not referring to it, some of his speech stressed the impact on the tourism industry. With over eight million visitors a year, tourism pumped around seven hundred million pounds into the local economy. The council had created many initiatives and partnership schemes with over four hundred businesses to promote the whole city as a visitor destination.

  The gathered dignitaries offered a wave of collective nods and rumbles of approval as the leader rattled off more stats and facts. He peered around his audience over the top of his glasses that perched on the end of his nose. The leader needed their approval. Many businesses represented at the event hosted annual conferences and meetings in Brighton. Such events brought in more than fifty thousand delegates and added a further forty million pounds of economic benefit to the town.

  Scott tried to stay awake, as his eyes travelled from one person to another, many of them with their backs to him. With a shiver of unease, his eyes fixed upon a man who openly stared back at him. Scott looked away for a few moments, before looking back. The man still stared, his hands coiled around the stem of a half-empty wine glass, he held more for effect than anything else. Scott sensed that the man appeared oblivious to everything and everyone around him, everyone except him; his stare was dark, intent and silently appealing for Scott’s attention.

  He was an elderly man, dressed in a pristine black tuxedo. His eyes were framed by thick, black glasses, his grey hair combed back, exposing a deep, thickly lined forehead.

  “Cara is it my imagination, or am I being watched?” Scott dipped his head.

  Cara glanced over her shoulder in a similar direction to where Scott’s eyes were trained. “No, definitely being watched. Do you not recognise him?”

  “No, should I?”

  “Well something’s up, because he’s heading over here.”

  The man strode over purposefully. An air of authority permeated the way he held himself, with his shoulders pinned back, a measured stride in his pace, and a fixed stare. “Detective Inspector Baker, I’m Councillor David Levy. I apologise for the interruption. Perhaps I should have introduced myself earlier rather than stand at the back of the crowd and stare at you like some moronic demon.”

  Scott stood and shook the extended hand and introduced Cara who remained seated.

  “I trust you’re both enjoying the evening? It’s always a pleasure when we have such events to meet with key members of the constabulary.”

  His question received nothing more than a nod of pleasantry as Scott studied the man. He put him around his mid-fifties, maybe older, well-spoken, with a tendency to clip his sentences which made his style rather abrupt and cold.

  Levy’s eyes darted between Scott and Cara, before he cleared his throat. “It’s not the best time to ask, but I wanted to find out a little more about your procedures in relation to finding missing people.”

  Any sense of light-headedness dissipated, as Scott’s
mind processed the random request, a question he had least expected. He’d shed work mode at the door, and with a few glasses of wine inside him, he had to give his head a solid shake to jolt it awake.

  “I appreciate the randomness of my approach is rather odd, but…I ask on a personal level. I’ve thought about whether to approach you all evening and toyed with my thoughts and sanity, if I’m perfectly honest. But, I needed Dutch courage,” he waved his half-empty flute glass, “to push myself into approaching you. I just don’t know what to do.”

  The air of authority that Levy had first emitted appeared to melt with each minute that passed, replaced with uncertainty, worry lines and a furrowed brow. His lips tightened, his eyelids twitched, and his jaw stiffened.

  Scott considered the man before offering him a seat at the table.

  Levy offered them both a humble nod as he pulled in a seat and crossed his arms and leant them on the table.

  “Can I ask for this conversation to be off the record for the time being?”