“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 naive. 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.”
