Vanished

Chapter 28

On Tuesday, life returned to normal. Jack kissed Maggie goodbye and she ran to work with a change of clothes in her backpack. Maggie had a locker at work where she left her uniform and work shoes, which gave her the freedom to run in whenever she felt the need — and after looking through all of the wedding photos and seeing herself next to some much younger, much more svelte nurses, she was feeling her age.

‘I’m not going to let myself go just because I’ve bagged my man,’ Maggie said, gently patting Jack’s stomach. Then she dashed off before he could spout some excuse about working long hours and eating on the run.

Once he was alone, Jack flicked the TV on. The last photo that he’d looked at the previous evening was still on the screen. Ridley being forced to give Jack some time off was now acting in his favour, but he had to find Julia Lawson fast, before Ridley expected him back on the Jenkins case.

For the life of him, Jack couldn’t figure why any of the women would risk coming back to the UK. But the more he thought about it, the more he realised that the only one who’d left something valuable behind was Julia. She’d left her children. The care home Julia had run looked after some of the most vulnerable kids in the north-west of England. She hid them from abusive parents and from violent lives. She gave them the respect they needed to understand that their lives actually meant something. She taught them that they were worthy of saving, worthy of a future and worthy of love. If she was back, it would be for one of them.

The problem Jack had was that many of the children from back then were under strict protection orders, so as soon as he started digging, his actions would show up. He wanted to remain below the radar so as not to have to explain why he was searching for a woman who, as far as the police were concerned, had gone to ground somewhere in Europe. Although he wanted to find Julia Lawson, it was certainly not his intention to start a trail that others could follow. Jack recalled three names of children who Julia had been particularly attached to: Sam, Suzie and Darren. He’d met each of them when he’d gone to her care home in Chester to interview her about the train robbery, but he never learnt any of their surnames.

Jack started his search with Julia; and with any child called Sam, Suzie or Darren, who was either sent to her from the Juvenile system, or who went into the Juvenile system after she disappeared aboard — it was a negative assumption to make, but an accurate one as many of the kids were indeed known to the police at some point. The dubious upbringings of these youngsters normalised things which should never be normal to a child — violence, abuse, crime. Jack found two boys from the Chester area named Samuel, and three named Darren... one of which immediately stood out. In November 2019, Darren Winstall, aged just 17, was found hanged in his room at the Juvenile Detention Centre. If this was the same ‘Darren’, then perhaps Julia came back for his funeral and stayed? There was a lengthy report detailing how Darren slowly retreated into his shell until he was nothing more than a mute, violent, pitbull of a boy who never let anyone get close to him. During his short stay in juvenile detention, Darren was visited numerous times by Daniel Karina, who Jack remembered being a carer at the home Julia ran. Daniel had seemingly tried to get Darren out of juvie and back into his care, but he’d failed. Darren had burnt too many bridges, meaning he had then been stuck in a system that saw him as a criminal rather than a damaged child.

Daniel Karina was still working in social care, and, from his annual DBS reports Jack was able to find his home address and contact phone number, but he couldn’t just call and ask if Daniel knew Julia was back in the UK. Nor could he ask for the surnames of Sam and Suzie. Daniel wouldn’t willingly give him any of that information. Whilst Jack pondered the best course of action, he absentmindedly searched the internet for Julia Lawson, Daniel Karina and Darren Winstall in the vain hope that something would pop up and trigger a lightbulb moment.

Sure enough, Daniel’s Facebook page was a mine of information. He was an avid photographer, posting snaps of his food, clothes, bike and, most importantly, his holidays. Daniel had posted discreet images of himself and Julia at Formby beach and nature reserve, which Jack immediately recalled was where they used to take the kids on holiday. These dated back as far as 2017, so weren’t useful, but Daniel’s more recent holiday snaps were.

In July 2020, as the country came out of lockdown, Daniel posted photos from Wales. He talked about an ‘old friend’, although he never gave them a name. A couple of the images were taken outside a rural property with horses roaming a field in the background. It was called Winstall Farm. Jack googled it and found the postal address. It was just outside Aberdovey in a small village called Cwmystwythe.

It was a five-hour drive, but he knew he had no choice. Once he was on the A40, he called Maggie, assuming she’d be furious that they hadn’t even been married a week and he was heading off to Wales. Instead, she launched into a moan about how she was now covering Wetlock’s surgery list because he had gone AWOL — something to do with his daughter. Maggie expected Tania had been off causing havoc somewhere again.

‘So long as she doesn’t come back to my house, offering my husband sex on a plate. Keep in touch, Jack. I’ll meet you on the sofa at nine for takeaway and wine.’

The bulk of the drive to Wales was motorway, giving Jack plenty of time to play out various scenarios surrounding Julia’s surprise return. Darren’s funeral did seem to be the most likely reason for her being back in a country where she was still in danger of being arrested and sent to prison for the rest of her life — she’d certainly risk her own freedom for one of her children and the fact that Jack was now heading to a farm possibly named after Darren supported his theory. But why had she been in London, at his wedding, watching him? That was deeply concerning to him.

Once Jack had crossed into Wales and begun hitting smaller country lanes, he began to rely on his sat nav to get him to Cwmystwythe. This was a stunning part of the world. Narrow, winding roads cut through rich green farmland, edged by drystone walls. The clouds created shadows that moved down the hillsides and through the valleys, changing the landscape from light green to dark green and back again. Occasionally, Jack would spot the ruins of a small stone building, which he presumed had belonged to long-ago farmers. Like much of rural Wales, there was an almost prehistoric feel to the place.

Eventually, Jack stopped at a small grocery shop in Llanidloes to grab a sandwich and make certain that he was on the right road for Winstall Farm. The elderly lady behind the counter knew exactly where he was heading.

‘It’s not a farm anymore. But you’re on the right road, yes. Past Devil’s Bridge. Past Pont-Rhyd-Groes. The next place you see on the right, will be Winstall. I tell you what...’ She dipped beneath the counter and reappeared with a white plastic carrier bag. ‘You can take this with you, if you don’t mind. Save either of them coming to get it.’ Jack took the bag of shopping and paid for his sandwich. ‘Lovely couple, she continued, counting out Jack’s change. ‘Both ladies, but that doesn’t matter these days, does it? Winstall is on a blink-and-you’ll-miss-it sort of road, so keep your eyes open for a gatepost with no gate, followed by a cattle grid.’

Within twenty minutes of driving, Jack passed over the cattle grid and saw a hand-painted sign saying WINSTALL FARM. A single-track road led to a decent-sized stone farmhouse with two corrugated metal outbuildings and a wooden stable block. The fields on either side of the track were home to several horses and Jack recognised this part of the property from the images Daniel had posted on Facebook, so he was now certain that he was in the right place.

Outside the main house was an old Jeep and a small tractor. There were children’s swings, bicycles and two scooters, as well as a large greenhouse beside a burgeoning vegetable patch. Looking at this place made Jack smile. It reminded him of the pictures he’d seen of the would-be children’s home owned by Dolly Rawlins back in the eighties. Julia had always said she wanted to fulfil Dolly’s dream and now, seemingly, she had. Jack parked next to the Jeep.

Through the net curtain of the kitchen window, Julia watched the unknown vehicle drive towards her. They rarely got visitors and strangers were a rarity. She began to feel frightened. But it wasn’t until Jack got out of the car that her legs gave way, and she had to grab onto the white Belfast sink to stay upright.

Jack Warr...

Instinctively her fingers closed around the handle of a small carving knife on the draining board.

Julia stepped out of the open front door. She looked stern, very wary and uncertain. Jack held out the white plastic bag. ‘I’ve brought your shopping.’

She wore a pair of scuffed boots and jodhpurs, with a heavy knit sweater. Her long, thick hair was now grey and she wore it tied back in a loose braid. To Jack, she seemed to have aged a lot in the three or four years that had passed.

Julia stared at Jack for a moment longer, trying to decide why the hell he’d come all the way out here. It certainly wasn’t to deliver a bag of groceries. ‘What are you doing here?’

‘I’ve come to ask you the same thing.’

Julia moved swiftly to Jack’s side, looking around as she moved. Regardless of the fact that she and Jack had bonded over weak parents and shitty starts in life, she remained highly suspicious of him. He seemed to be alone, but she’d learnt not to trust policemen. She took the shopping and told him to get inside. ‘The kids will be out trekking until three. You can’t be here when they get back.’

Julia’s kitchen was huge, spanning the depth of the property, and seemed to be split into zones. Kids’ toys were strewn all over the floor, but only in one corner. Baking was in mid-flow, but only on one bench. Herbs were being re-potted, but only by the back door. It was impressively organised chaos. And at the heart of the chaos was a long wooden table. Jack and Julia stood at either end. Both cautious, both needing answers.

‘Did you come back for Darren’s funeral?’ Jack asked. Julia lowered her head as the pain of losing him rose to the surface. ‘I’m sorry, Julia.’

‘I’m not Julia anymore.’ This short statement told Jack that their past was not up for discussion. This was as comforting to him as it was to her. ‘His death is my fault. I showed him what it was to be loved... and then I abandoned him. I knew I shouldn’t have named the farm after him, but I couldn’t help myself. I assume that’s how you found me? Is anyone else coming?’

‘No. And if they ever do come, it won’t be through me.’ Julia nodded. She flicked the kettle on, then pulled a tray of cookies out of the oven. Jack knew exactly how vulnerable Julia felt right now. His fellow officers were as dangerous to her as her fellow criminals were to him. Any one of them could ruin his life. ‘Have any of the others come back?’

‘I very much doubt it. We swore never to contact each other again, then went our separate ways. I hope they’re living the lives they deserve.’ Julia looked Jack square in the eye. ‘I know I am.’

Jack was genuinely pleased for her. As he held her stare, she sensed that she was still safe. He then brought the conversation swiftly around to the reason he’d travelled the width of two counties. ‘Why were you in London, watching me get married?’

‘I wasn’t.’ Julia put the hot cookies onto a plate. ‘I was buying horse blankets from the stables in Hyde Park that are closing down. I had an hour to kill, so I walked for a while. Weddings always draw your attention — congratulations, by the way. A group of guests were being ushered into position by your photographer and I saw someone I recognised. A bad memory from more than thirty years ago. Then I saw you and... well, needless to say, I ran for my life.’

Jack asked who it was that she saw, and she almost spat out the name of Elliot Wetlock. ‘We were medical students together. He was two years ahead of me, but he got invited to all the parties because... he could get forged prescriptions.’

Jack didn’t try and hide his surprise. ‘He was a drug dealer?’

‘Nembutal, barbiturates, steroids. Even chloral hydrate. He was into everything. And had no qualms about getting others into everything too. Once he qualified and started climbing the ladder towards surgery, he stopped all of that. Well, most of it. He was still addicted to demerol and heroin when I knew him. He’s not the reason I ended up in prison, that was all me, but he’s the reason I became addicted. Last I heard, he’d gone straight because he bagged himself a beautiful young girlfriend — titled, I think. Then I read that she’d OD’d on sodium pentothal.’ Julia shook her head in disgust. ‘Wonder where she got that from.’

‘How did he get away with it for so long?’

‘Do you know how many medical students drop out because of stress, tiredness, ill health, mental breakdowns? One of Wetlock’s specialities, when you were run ragged and dead on your feet, was to give enemas. It’s the fastest high and carries you through your shift. You’d see a junior doctor speed-walking up the corridor and you’d think, There goes another one of Wetlock’s clients. And if anyone opened their mouth against him, DC Warr, their career would be gone. Self-preservation kept everyone quiet.’

‘I’m a DS now,’ Jack smiled. ‘Just so you know.’ Julia glanced at the clock. Ten to three. She said that she’d give him another ten minutes, as long as they continued their conversation outside.

Jack opened his car door and leant in to retrieve something from the glove box. As he did, Julia noticed the clips for a baby seat in the back. ‘A promotion, a wife and a child. You’re going up in the world.’

‘Do you know anything about growing cannabis?’ he asked.

‘No comment.’

Jack opened Avril’s little red notebook at the page which seemed to show a detailed recipe for cannabis oil, and he asked Julia for her opinion. She took her time to decode all of the scribbles and crossings-out.

‘This person sounds pretty knowledgeable. And from the amount of alcohol in the recipe, they were making a serious amount. Back in the day, I tried this, but failed miserably. You can use a rice maker now — that keeps the heat nice and low as you cook the grass.’ Julia paused. ‘I assume this is connected to a case. Are you going to tell me more about it, or do you just want me to keep talking?’

‘Just keep talking please, Julia.’

‘Well, this would have to have been cooked somewhere with good ventilation. The resin glands contain CBD trichomes and they get you high. The buckets in this list must be for washing and rinsing as it thickens... and see, they’ve even listed coffee filters because you pour and strain through them so none of the seeds seep through. It looks to me like they were making decarboxylate cannabis oil. That’s why the rice maker’s temp control is great, ’cos the mixture must never boil. It’s got to stay between 210 and 230 degrees Fahrenheit.’

Julia slapped the book shut and handed it back to Jack, then gave a throaty laugh.

‘Take a photocopy. When you retire, get yourself a greenhouse and a rice maker, and you’ll have yourself a nice little cottage industry.’

She perched herself on the footplate of the tractor while Jack sat in his car with his feet outside. ‘From what I remember, you’re like a dog with a bone.’ She spoke in a low, calm voice, as though she was soothing one of her children. ‘Whoever you’re after, you’ll find them. You were the only one who found us.’

As they sat in the brilliant sunshine, being cooled by the breeze coming down from the surrounding hills, Jack felt a million miles away from the stresses of the case. He felt safe talking to Julia because they were mutually bound by silence. But they were also bound by an understanding that they both came from bad places and had beaten the odds by not succumbing to the dark side of life. They both knowingly and willingly existed in the vast grey wilderness of good people who had done bad things.

‘I’m obsessed with tracking this one guy who I think is the key to everything,’ Jack said. ‘He was a nomadic kid because of his mum’s lifestyle. He got dragged from country to country, person to person. His mum got into the habit of denying he was even hers. When she was younger, that was because the men she was with didn’t want someone else’s baggage. But when she was older, I think she denied him almost out of habit. She told the neighbours he was her odd-job man — even encouraged the gossip that he was her toy boy.’

‘Sounds like half the kids I’ve looked after over the years.’

Jack smiled. ‘Sounds like me if I’d not been adopted.’ Jack had told Julia about being a foster child when they’d met previously. But that’s all she knew. She didn’t know that Jack’s birth dad had turned out to be Harry Rawlins. Or that he had been shot to death by his wife, Dolly Rawlins, the very woman who happened to be Julia’s mentor and role model. Jack was the product of an affair with a woman by the name of Trudie Nunn, a weak and highly unstable woman who hung around in all the seedy clubs waiting to be rescued by someone half decent. She struck lucky with Harry, but it was short-lived. Trudie died of a brain tumour when Jack was too young to remember her, though her death was the ultimate blessing in disguise.

‘Being saved, as you were, is why you’re so good at your job,’ Julia observed. ‘You know the look. You saw it in each one of us. I see it in the ten kids I’ve got here right now. That pain of knowing that this life isn’t as good as it should be. We got out, Jack; me and you. But it leaves scars. My scars draw me to kids like these, your scars draw you to people like your missing man. We know them because we’re always seconds away from being them.’

The wind from the hillside carried the distant sound of children shouting and laughing down into the farm. Jack took it as his cue to leave. ‘It was strangely nice to see you again, Julia.’

‘You too, DS Warr.’ Over the crest of the hill at the back of the farm, a woman appeared followed by several children of varying ages. The youngest two rode ponies and were being led by the older children. ‘Jack? Please don’t come back.’

Jack smiled. ‘Take very good care of yourself.’ Then he got into his car and turned it round. As he drove away, he could see Julia in his rear-view mirror. The woman greeted her with a kiss and the children swarmed round her legs all talking at once as they relayed their adventures. Julia was a good soul. For her, freedom did not come from fleeing abroad with tens of millions of pounds — freedom came from coming home. Jack was sure that he would think of Julia often, but he’d never see her again. And he’d never tell a soul that she was home.