‘Yes, he works as Aubrey’s too. Didn’t I tell you?’
‘I think you may have mentioned it outside,’ said the young Constable beside Cori, smiling sympathetically.
‘He got Thomas the job. He used to know old Mr Aubrey.’
‘And do they work in the same area?’
‘Oh no, Philip’s on the floor.’
‘Sorry?’
‘He’s on the factory floor, where they make the parts for the heaters. Always been a practical man, has Philip. I think that’s why he never really understood Tom; they’re so different.’
‘And so what job does Tom do there?’
‘Oh, he could never work on the production line. He’s not delicate, you understand. He works just as hard; in fact he comes home even more shattered that Philip. They are just different men. The office suits Tom. I think that’s why he doesn’t socialise much with the others; I think their humour’s just too rough and ready for him.’
‘And what do you do, Mrs Lane?’
‘Oh I don’t work, I have my hands full looking after that pair.’ She said this with a glowing pride, and also a return of her upset, it perhaps coming home to her that the chances were her boy would not be there for her to look after again this evening, as he wasn’t the last.
Knowing there was basic information yet to be asked after, Cori ground on with the interview,
‘Mrs Lane,’ she resumed, ‘when on Tuesday did you first realise there was a problem?’
‘When he didn’t come home.’
‘And this would have been when?’
‘He likes to walk home if it’s bright weather, otherwise he gets the bus and gets in a bit earlier. So I didn’t start to miss him until about… six thirty maybe?’
‘And does he have a phone with him, and would he call you if there was a problem?’
‘Yes, he has a phone, but he never needs to call me much.’
‘If you could give us the number, and we can check it out.’
The lady took a small address book or diary, from her bag and dutifully recited the number for the Constable.
‘And does he have a computer? Does he use the Internet?’ These days this was as important a question as any, but in this case yielded few clues,
‘He did have a computer when he was young, for playing games you know? But he prefers to use the one at work now. He said it was faster. He sometimes orders books, they come in the post.’
‘Right. So he is never on a computer at home?’
‘No, not any more.’
Well, Cori thought, that didn’t entirely rule out email contacts and social networking sites,
‘So,’ she reiterated, ‘he does have a phone, but he doesn’t need to call you very often because he rarely stays out after work?’
‘Yes. Apart from on Monday.’
‘What, this Monday?’
‘Yes, but not just this week. The Monday before the last Friday of every month. He has an important task that day, something to do with their finances. He tells me about it, but I’m so busy when he comes in. Sometimes it keeps him there late, and he gets so stressed before and after.’
‘So, he was late home on the Monday of this week, and that was last night you saw him?’
‘Yes. But he is always late that day, so I wasn’t worried about that. I leave his tea in the oven, cook him something that can stay warm and won’t go funny.’
‘And so what time was he home?’
‘Oh, getting on for nine it must have been. He didn’t want his tea in the end, he said he had grabbed something in town, which didn’t sound like him.’ The woman looked as if she was about to start crying again.
‘And how did he seem to you?’
‘Well, tired; and if I am honest, a bit snappy — he hardly gave his father the time of day when he came in. He went up to his room like I haven’t seen him do since he was a teenager.
‘So he seemed stressed. Would you say uncommonly so?’
‘Well, maybe a bit. But he has that in him, that snappiness, when he is asked to do more than usual at the office, when he feels pressurised.’
‘So that was Monday, and then he didn’t come home on Tuesday. Was your husband working that day? Was he due to come home with Tom?’
‘The factory work different shifts. They don’t do nine to five, so he wouldn’t be getting ready to go home till eight.’
‘You must have been very worried. Were you at home alone?’
‘Oh yes, there’s just the three of us there.’
‘You don’t have any other children?’
‘No, but not by design. I’d have loved a couple more, but, well, sometimes it just doesn’t happen.’
‘So you waited for your husband?’
‘Yes. I thought that if anything had happened at the plant, if Tom had had to stay behind again, or whatever had happened, then Philip might know about it.’
‘And did he know anything?’
‘No. He didn’t even know Tom hadn’t already come home as usual.’
‘Is that common, that they don’t speak much at work?’
‘The factory and the office don’t always have much to do with each other. I often know more about what each are up to than the other.’
‘And then what?’
‘Well it was near on nine o’clock by that time; I hardly knew who to call or what to do. I called the office, even though Philip said it was daft and that there would be no one there. Which there wasn’t.’
‘What about friends, relatives, people he might have gone to?’
‘Well we don’t have many relatives in the area; all mine are in Leicester, and we don’t see them very much. Philip’s family are a mixed bag, and scattered to the four corners. I couldn’t imagine Thomas would have gone to any of them, even in the direst straights.’
‘But friends?’
‘Yes, I was just getting to those. There are a couple of lads he knows, or knew, I should say; old school pals he would go for a drink with sometimes. I had to hunt their numbers down, and then I wished I hadn’t: one of their mothers told me her son didn’t even work in the area anymore; and the other one I tracked down hadn’t seen Thomas for months. I tell you what, Sergeant…’ she floundered for the name.
‘Smith,’ added Cori.
‘…Sergeant Smith, I felt so low at that point, pestering these people getting ready for bed who hadn’t a clue about Thomas’ whereabouts these last six months or more, let alone that night.’
‘Oh, dear Mrs Long, please take a tissue,’ the Constable jumped in upon seeing the lady’s distress. Cornelia sat back a moment, as Mrs Long wiped her eyes and blew her nose, wondering what she herself made of all this; and what Grey would think when she reported it back to him; and whether it was something like what he was expecting, if only to justify whatever sixth sense he had of trouble at the plant?
‘So, all avenues exhausted after your enquiries last night, you left it at that?’
‘Well I didn’t want to trouble the police unnecessarily; and I didn’t know how long he had to be missing before you’d, you know…’
‘Before we’d class him as a missing person? I understand. And I suppose,’ offered Cori as a stab at leavening the saddened tone, ‘there was always the remotest chance he could still roll in at some late hour?’
However not even the boy’s poor mother seemed to think this very likely, although at least it made her smile in reminiscence,
‘You know, you wouldn’t think it to see him now, but my Philip was a devil to his old Mum when he was young; he used to come in at all hours, half the time after stopping out with me! I tell you, had this been him gone missing back then, his mother wouldn’t even have been worried about him yet.’ But no sooner had her flashback taken Mrs Long to something like what Cornelia imagined might have been her old self, then the floodgates opened afresh, requiring from the Constable another tissue. But nearly done now, Cori thought, and then the lady could cry her heart out.
‘Well, for the record,’ began Cori, to break the silence, ‘you can call us any time, day or night, and at the very least we can advise you or refer you to someone who can help. But you did call in this morning? What time was that?’
‘Well,’ she resumed, her attempts at composure at best intermittent now, ‘I called his office first, as soon as I though anyone would be in.’