NO TRACE

  BY JANE HEAFIELD

  COPYRIGHT © 2022 JANE HEAFIELD

  One guy was certain, and the other was highly doubtful.

  The subject was a missing woman called Shauna Campbell, 19. Yesterday evening she’d left home to go to a party, but she hadn’t returned. The guy full of certainty was her husband, Kevin, two years her elder. And that certainty: something was wrong. Shauna hadn’t been home all night, and she hadn’t attended work this morning or called in sick, and she hadn’t contacted a single person by call or text or social media message. Totally unlike her and, in her husband’s view, evidence that something bad had befallen her. It was obvious, surely?

  The doubtful guy was a uniformed police officer twice Kevin’s age, who sat across from the younger man in the Campbell living room. Another officer was standing behind him and looking around the room. The doubtful guy said, ‘Okay, now let’s hear the tape.’

  An hour after his wife had missed her promised midnight home time, Kevin had called her. She had left her phone turned off all evening to save what little battery she had, but the call had been answered…although not by Shauna.

  A man had been on the other end. Shocked, Kevin had asked where Shauna was, and received a query about who was calling. Kevin had said he was Shauna’s husband. In response to learning he was speaking with the husband of the phone’s owner, the man should have put Shauna on the line. He hadn’t. He had instead said Kevin wasn’t getting his…

  No longer confused but wary, Kevin had accessed his phone’s voice recorder and put the call on speakerphone.

  ‘…girl back.’

  ‘What? Who the hell are you? Put my wife on. Why have you got her phone? Put her on.’

  ‘She’s mine now, fool.’

  ‘Who the hell are you? Where is she?’

  ‘Call me the abactor.’

  The man had then hung up. End of recording.

  Kevin looked at the officer, awaiting a reply. Kevin had tried to play the audio file as soon as the police arrived at his door, but the doubtful officer this guy had said We’ll get to that. Let’s have a chat first. Kevin had then had to endure this pair acting as if he was just another in a long line of paranoid, naïve fools - but no longer.

  ‘I get it,’ he said. ‘I’m sure the police get hundreds of calls about missing people. I bet there’s all manner of wind-ups and mistakes. Dementia sufferers reporting wives missing who’ve been dead years. Men calling because the wife is ten minutes late. Men who forgot the wife said she was going shopping after work. I bet you find missing people have just popped next door or they’re in the bath with headphones on. Well, this man right here is telling you that you need to take this seriously. Something’s happened to my wife. You heard that tape. Finally.’

  Not only was the officer unscathed by Kevin’s venom, he even gave a slight smile. ‘Yes, I heard the tape. And I heard that faint laughter in the background. I’m sure you did, too. It sounded like a woman, didn’t it?’

  He had. And it had. ‘You’re saying that was Shauna? You don’t know that. What are you saying? You think that means she’s okay? What about the man who-’

  ‘A friend of hers, possibly. Maybe Shauna saw your name on the screen and let him answer the phone.’

  ‘Why would she do that?’

  ‘Maybe she didn’t want to talk to you. You said the relationship is going a bit sour, that she’s stayed out overnight many times. And that you sometimes suspect there’s other men.’

  Marriage failings had been the very first subject the police had broached, even before they’d asked of possible places Shauna could be. Kevin wouldn’t be surprised if he learned the 999 operator had passed his complaint along as a runaway rather than a missing person. He would shut down that line of enquiry before it could gain traction.

  ‘My wife hasn’t left me, so let’s get that straight. You don’t know anything about us.’

  ‘You’d be surprised at what we see. Just last month we had a lady report her husband missing because he went to work and never came home afterwards. He called us two weeks later from London, where he used to live and where he was shacked up with an old girlfriend.’

  ‘I told you: she’s not been in contact with friends, and she missed work.’

  ‘As did the chap I just mentioned. He dumped his whole life and everyone in it. It’s not as rare or unlikely as you imagine. You said Shauna was originally from Scotland. Only moved down here to be with you a year ago, right?’

  Kevin sighed as a way to keep his frustration below the surface. ‘Why would she just run back up there? She’s got no ties. It’s not like she was dragged away from a great social life up there.’

  Kevin explained that Shauna had never known her dad and didn’t really get on with her mum. Aunties, uncles, cousins and grandparents were in Canada, where Shauna’s mother was from, and she hardly saw them. As for friends, she had only a handful, the girls she shared a university dorm with. When Kevin had met Shauna online, she’d immediately told him of her desire to get away from Scotland. They’d long-distance dated for half a year before she asked him if she could move to Sheffield. ‘She asked me,’ he stressed. ‘She couldn’t wait to move down here.’

  ‘She finished her course first?’

  ‘No. She decided to get a job down here. She was gone from there within weeks. That’s how eager she was.’

  Kevin thought he’d fortified his position, but the officer was on another track. ‘Yet do you see how that shows Shauna has previous form in abandoning her life and moving on? Shauna is a grown woman. She’s been living in this city for less than a year. You admit your brand-new marriage has problems. You told us Shauna is a party animal who often stays out overnight. And now we have someone who could be her laughing in the background of a phone call.’

  Kevin shook his head. ‘This is all wrong. That’s just words out of my mouth. Words spoken in the last ten minutes is all you know about her, about us. So you’re going to do nothing about this?’

  ‘There’s another word I heard that I know, Mr Campbell. That word the man on the phone said: abactor. It means a cattle thief. Cattle is slang for a woman, albeit usually derogatory. Sounds a bit like this guy on the phone was winding you up about stealing your wife, if you want my opinion.’

  Kevin paused to prevent his mouth saying something he’d regret. ‘You’re saying I should just move on and forget her?’

  ‘Sir, I’m not suggesting that. But the majority of missing people are usually fine. Some run away and have a change of heart. Others abandon their old lives and start over, especially if they’re now living in a new city but still have an attachment to their original home. Yet more, as you say, are simply erroneous claims. My point is that very few people reported missing have been abducted or killed by some lunatic roaming the night. And even amongst those legitimate cases where people have come to harm, it’s actually more common for a spouse like yourself to have killed and disposed of her.’

  Kevin couldn’t believe his ears. ‘Is this a joke to you?’

  ‘No joke, sir. We-’

  ‘Listen to me,’ Kevin snapped. ‘I believe you. Crimes of passion and all that crap. Husbands kill wives, wives kill husbands. Spouses report spouses missing and it turns out one killed the other. So most murders of women are by their husbands – so what? Can’t you see how that doesn’t mean or prove anything? This default suspicion game you play must have distressed so many innocent men genuinely worried about their wives.’

  He was silenced by a raised hand, as if this guy began his law enforcement career as a traffic warden. ‘I’m not winding you up and I’m taking your claim seriously. Look, by all means let’s do a missing person report if you want to. We can see what happens over the next few days. She’s been out of contact with you just for one night. My own daughter… Look, keep calling her friends and family. Watch her social media for activity. I’d bet the house you’ll find she’s fine. Sound good?’

  Not really, but Kevin nodded. He knew he couldn’t hope for the cavalry to mobilise for an adult missing for such a short period, especially one with a history of unannounced overnight vanishings. The missing persons report would have to do for now.

  Hopefully, Shauna would waltz in the door soon and he’d be exposed as the paranoid, naïve fool this officer thought he was.

  *

  NINE DAYS LATER

  Bonanza Bingo was a place Detective Inspector Liz Miller knew well. A short while back, she’d followed a clue and arrived at the bingo club’s doors, to arrest a known burglar for double-murder. That case had seemed cut-and-dried, but following the arrest she had been led on a wild hunt unlike anything she’d experienced before. Today she was back to snatch the same guy, same kind of offence, same sense of finality, but she had a funny feeling that events were about to unfold another bizarre journey before her.

  The car stopped by large bins in the rear car park. Liz was riding with a fifty-something sergeant called Boeson, a jovial and overweight former soldier who’d recently been transferred to Woodseats police station. She didn’t know him well yet, but he had an enthusiasm for the job and a satirical manner that could lighten bleak times. He also didn’t mind having a younger female as his boss.

  Two more cars contained another two detectives and four uniformed officers. The suspect was back at work this morning and had been yesterday, so he clearly felt the police weren’t on his tail and he would be unprepared for an arrest. Because of this, her boss, DCI Bates, had refused a riot van full of armed officers.

  Now, Liz went one step further and told the assembled team that she would head in with just Boeson and make a quiet capture. Bingo was in full swing and hopefully they could avoid a scene in front of a hundred customers, and thus avoid sending the story across social media even before the suspect was booked into custody.

  Nobody objected, but it was clear the officers weren’t over the moon. They couldn’t disobey a superior, but heads would roll if Liz got hurt while they stood around outside. She slapped Boeson’s shoulder. ‘Our guy is no match for big, grizzled Boeson here.’

  Who punched his own palm. ‘I hope the sod resists. I really do.’

  They entered via reception, where the lady behind the counter asked if they were members. Outside, Liz had looked in her purse and been surprised to find a pair of membership cards: she’d had them made up when they’d arrived to arrest their suspect last time. The other card was for DCI Liam Bennet, a good friend she’d met for the first time back on that day. She wondered if she should ask him out to play bingo one night.

  She swiped her card and Bennet’s for Boeson and they passed through reception, into a bar area and the main playing floor beyond. Just like last time, customers moved here and there, buying drinks, gambling on fruit machines, and chatting in groups. It was busy for a Monday afternoon. From the main bingo floor came a voice calling numbers, and it was one she recognised. It made her smile. Their suspect was going to get a serious whack of Deja-vu when for the second time he was pulled from bingo calling to be arrested for murder. This time, though, there was no mistake.

  She told Boeson to watch the caller while she got a staff member to escort her to the manager’s office. The plan, as before, was to have the suspect pulled into the office, under the pretence of seeing the boss, where he’d be arrested.

  Last time, the manager had been a middle-aged lady and Liz hoped to speak with her again, but the suit behind the desk was a young man. ‘Are you here about Shauna Campbell?’ he immediately said.

  ‘No, sir. Lewis Carter. The man currently calling bingo numbers. I can’t say why. Can you have someone swap with him and get him in here?’

  The manager sent two staff: one to continue the bingo calling, the other to bring Carter to the office. Liz warned them not to mention that the police were here. As soon as they were gone, the manager said, ‘So have you got any news about Shauna?’

  Liz stood behind the door so Carter wouldn’t see her until he was in the office. ‘I don’t know a Shauna Campbell.’

  ‘She went missing over a week ago. She just didn’t turn up for work. Not like her. I mean, she’s had some sick days, which I suspect were from hangovers. But if she’s off or late or whatever, she always calls. No word. But the police haven’t come to see us yet.’

  ‘I’m sorry, I don’t know anything about that investigation. You should call a police station for updates.’

  When Lewis entered the office and saw Liz, his shoulders slumped. Clearly he remembered her, and that she was a murder detective. He turned as if to run, but Boeson had followed him and was now blocking the doorway.

  ‘You know this is a mistake again, whatever you’re here for,’ Carter said.

  ‘Not this time,’ Liz told him.

  After Lewis had been cuffed and escorted out via a fire exit to avoid nosey eyes, Boeson and Liz handed him to awaiting officers and walked back to her vehicle. As he drove, following the car bearing Carter, Liz was silent, unable to shake a niggle in her head. She pulled her mobile and accessed the internet. After five minutes, and two unacknowledged questions, Boeson swerved the car to get her attention.

  She looked at him and he said, ‘What’s wrong? You’re giving me the silent treatment, and I’ve known you a month. Took my wife twenty years to get to that stage.’

  She shook her head: nothing. He left it, but she was unable to. After another half minute of silence, she said, ‘There’s a missing girl, a Shauna Campbell. Missing nine days. She works at that bingo club. The manager mentioned the name. She’s not been at work. But the manager seemed to think Shauna had already been reported missing.’

  ‘Doesn’t sound familiar.’

  ‘And it won’t. She’s not on the Missing Persons Unit website. There’s nothing in the news.’

  ‘Could be low risk.’

  Liz nodded. The MPU was a department of the National Crime Agency. Police had to request help from them, and such liaison was not always warranted if a missing person was deemed low risk, meaning there was little likelihood of the subject coming to harm or harming others. Similarly, Liz’s unit, Major Investigation Team 2 - one of four covering the South Yorkshire boroughs of Rotherham, Sheffield, Doncaster and Barnsley - would only field a missing person’s case if there was very serious cause for concern.

  It was possible Shauna Campbell’s file was with a local police station, but something about this whole thing troubled at her. ‘Shauna’s case is probably with local detectives,’ she said.

  ‘But you don’t know. And not knowing is something you hate.’

  So true. Liz snatched up the car radio. Shauna’s file would have a designated officer and, low-risk or not, she would have been inputted onto the Police National Computer, so that officers across the country would know of her plight if they came across her. Liz called in a check and got zilch. Even Boeson was showing interest now.

  ‘It’s not our investigation, and we’ve got a killer to interview,’ Boeson said. ‘But I sense you’ve got a plan and we’re going to end up doing it.’

  He had his answer soon afterwards. Liz called the bingo club and asked for the manager, to whom she reintroduced herself and said, ‘Can I get Shauna Campbell’s address off you?’

  *

  Shauna Campbell had worked part-time at a bingo club in Stobswell, Dundee, which was where she met her future husband. 21 year-old Kevin had travelled up from Sheffield with friends for a stag do. He and Shauna had a long-distance romance until Shauna’s workplace closed its doors forever. Jobless and unhappy with her university course, she decided to relocate to Sheffield to be with her boyfriend. Her friends were young and socially experimenting and puzzled by Shauna’s desire to settle down in a new city, but they wished her well.

  She got a job at Bonanza Bingo and six months later married her new sweetheart. Sheffield was cool, she had new drinking buddies, Kevin was a dream man, and she loved life. It was all a fad. Eleven months later the buoyancy had gone from everything and Shauna talked of moving back to Scotland. That was four weeks ago and now she was gone. On paper, one could argue Shauna had simply returned home after a ‘holiday’, except no one considered her the sort who’d do so without at least a goodbye hug to her friends.

  ‘So why didn’t you report her missing?’ Liz asked after hearing this story.

  The address was Fraser Road, just a third of a mile west of her station in Woodseats. The house was the last before the residential street turned into one lined with trees on the left and a football pitch on the right. When the car had pulled up outside, Liz had told Boeson to wait in the car.

  He’d been unhappy with this idea. ‘Really? What if the husband killed her and he kills you as well? I could be out here all day.’

  ‘Kick the door in if I’m not back in fifteen minutes,’ she’d replied. Like his remark, it had been a joke. But only just, they’d both understood. Part way through Kevin Campbell’s story of failed young love, Liz had spotted Boeson exiting the car and had had to give him a thumbs-up out the living room window.

  Kevin Campbell had answered the door in his pyjamas even though it was mid-day. The young man was tall and handsome, but he had sleep-deprived, baggy eyes that aged him. As soon as he’d opened the door and spied a suited woman with a police ID held up, his neutral face had turned to one of annoyance.

  ‘Finally got round to me, eh?’

  ‘I guess that means you know I’m here about Shauna. Your wife, right?’

  He calmed. ‘Yes. Why has this taken so long?’

  ‘Let’s talk inside, please.’

  Now, following her question of why he hadn’t reported Shauna’s disappearance, the reason for Kevin Campbell’s annoyance was laid bare. He told her that he had indeed reported his wife missing and an officer had been sent out to take details. Although that officer and his partner had had a look around the house, the man had virtually fobbed him off and definitely not taken Shauna’s disappearance seriously.

 

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