by M. D. Archer
Paige and Sophie exchanged glances. Perhaps sleepy time tea was code for sleeping pill and Carolyn didn’t want to admit this. The wealthy suburban version of a good time—a wine and sleeping pill combo to keep your troubles at bay.
“The next day I woke up late and everyone had already left, or so I thought. Polly usually left the house before eight in the morning, and Tyrone usually even earlier. We were unaware anything was amiss until Polly didn’t come home at the end of the day and didn’t text us at all.”
“But she did text eventually?” Roman asked.
“She sent a very brief message on Saturday saying she was fine, just off clearing her head. When I tried to call, her phone was off.”
“You mentioned she’d gone away without telling you before...?”
“Last year, yes, we had a fight and she was away for a few days, but... it was different,” Carolyn asserted.
“Where did she go?”
“A friend’s house a couple of hours up north somewhere, a farm I believe? One of those Greenie type collective commune places.” Carolyn shook her head as if she couldn’t believe she’d produced a hippie daughter.
“Okay, thank you,” Roman said, finishing up with his notes and flipping his notepad shut. “That’s all I need.” He gave Carolyn a sympathetic smile and squeezed her shoulder.
“Thank you Roman. I do appreciate it. I realise this is probably eating into your spare time.”
“What spare time,” Roman said with a hapless grin.
“Oh, one more thing. I saw something... on TV,” Carolyn said with a sheepish smile. “Could you trace Polly’s Eft-Pos card? To find where she is?”
Roman took a loaded breath. Sophie got the impression he had to deal with a lot of such TV-inspired questions.
“It’s tricky because there are privacy laws. You can do those kinds of things if a crime has definitely been committed. However, if she is just away somewhere, having a break, it’s a violation of her rights. She’s an adult.”
“But I just want to know she’s okay.”
“Yes, but imagine a scenario where a young woman was trying to get away from an abusive situation, and the abuser used the police to trace her cards—” Roman broke off when he saw Carolyn’s horrified expression. “Of course that’s not what’s happening here,” he added quickly, “but there are rules in place to protect people’s privacy. The fact of the matter is we don’t know a crime has been committed, or even that anything is wrong.”
“But—” Carolyn said.
“I know,” Roman soothed. “I’ll do the best I can.” He stood to leave and Carolyn rose with him. Paige and Sophie glanced at each other then stood up too.
Sophie cleared her throat and stepped forward. “Sorry, Mrs Dixon, can I ask... your husband mentioned you argued with Polly that night?”
Roman looked at Carolyn with interest.
“Oh... he did?” A brief flash of anger crossed her face. “I guess we did exchange words.” She looked apologetically at Roman. “I’m sorry I didn’t mention it; I didn’t want you to get the wrong impression.”
“And what would that be?”
“That I...” She shook her head, wringing her hands again. “Because I didn’t want you to think we fought and she left because of that, I just know... it’s not the reason.”
“That’s okay.” Roman placed a reassuring hand on her arm. “I’ll still look into this, I promise.”
“Thank you,” Carolyn said earnestly.
“And there’s nothing else?” Roman said one last time. Carolyn shook her head. “Okay, I’ll be off then.”
Paige said. “We’ll go too, but could I use the loo first?” she asked Carolyn.
“Absolutely, I’ll show you.”
“You haven’t received a ransom note or anything, right?” Paige said bluntly as they walked out. “Or her finger in the mail. At least that’s something,” she added cheerfully.
Oh God, Sophie winced at her friend’s bluntness, looking at Roman to see if he’d heard Paige’s comment. The small smile on his face suggested he had. Sophie gathered up her coat and bag as Roman slipped his notepad into his pocket. It was just the two of them and the room suddenly felt small.
“Sophie, before you go.” Roman crossed to the room to her. Her heart rate increased with each step. “Would you please give me Dominic and Talia’s last names?”
Roman was standing only a couple of feet away. He was a few inches taller than her—perfect kissing height, Sophie thought. Normally invasions of her personal space bothered her, but she found she wanted him to move closer. And then he did, edging his weight forward as he retrieved the notepad from his pocket. Sophie also stepped in, leaning over him as if to check he was writing the name down correctly. He smelt faintly of sandalwood. They huddled together, the angles of their body pointing toward each other until Carolyn returned, breaking the spell.
9
“I can’t believe we’re actually doing this,” Sophie said as she pulled up a few doors down from Mary Burmeister’s house.
“I know right?” Paige grinned, misinterpreting Sophie’s tone. “I’ve got us set up with everything we need. Chips, chocolate, Red Bull, beer, water...”
“Red Bull, beer and water? Did you hire a porta-loo as well?”
“Oh right... what do they do in the movies?” Paige was seriously asking.
“Uh... they call cut and the actors go to their dressing rooms?”
“You’re not getting into the spirit of this.”
“Sorry.” Sophie didn’t want to ruin Paige’s fun. It was going to be a long uncomfortable night and Paige would realise this at some point. Better to enjoy her good mood for now.
“What are the odds of the police pulling up and asking us what we’re doing?” Sophie eyed her friend.
Paige tilted her head. “Given the crappiness of your car—”
“Hey. My car is not crappy!” Sophie loved her car, a dark grey Volkswagen Jetta, bought second-hand six years ago and cherished ever since. It was solid, sound, and when she was driving it Sophie felt as if she could do anything, go anywhere. Sure, you had to depress the brake about three seconds before you wanted to stop, and you would not want to be manoeuvring around corners at high speeds, but it was hers and it had served her faithfully.
“In this neighbourhood it’s considered crappy,” Paige continued, oblivious. “One of the residents will probably dob us in. Loitering while not wealthy.” Paige laughed. “But once they see how sweet and innocent we are it will be fine.”
“Sweet? Innocent?”
“Speaking of which,” Paige said, opening the chips and handing Sophie a bottle of water. “Was a certain Mr Panty Dropper there when you got home today?”
Sophie rolled her eyes and nodded. She’d stopped at home after the visit with the Dixons to change her clothes and pick up supplies. Declan was not in the living room, but her brief spark of hope had been extinguished when she found him snoring away in her bed. At the sound of Sophie’s exasperated sigh Myra had shuffled into view, emerging from the corridor.
At least, Sophie hoped that’s where Myra had come from.
“Myra, can you tell him I’ve gone out for the night, and that he needn’t stay and wait for me?” Sophie had said, knowing there was no way on earth Myra would relay this passive-aggressive message. Sophie couldn’t manage it, so how could Myra?
“Sure.”
But just at this moment Declan had roused and grinned sleepily at Sophie. He looked more adorable than irritating, but Sophie had had a long day and was looking ahead to an even longer night. Declan, not being nearly as clueless as he made out, had leapt out of bed and turned the charm on to full.
“You are such an angel... to let me stay here,” he’d said, kissing her cheek. “You’d tell me if it wasn’t okay, wouldn’t you?” Declan took a step backward and clutched his heart dramatically. “Although I’m not sure the old ticker could take rejection from a sweetheart like you.”
Sophie had
sighed. Those puppy dog eyes had gotten him out of tricky situations in the past, and they hadn’t let him down tonight.
“So he’s still at your house now?” Paige said, wriggling in her seat to get more comfortable.
Sophie dropped her head. “I don’t think he has anywhere else to go.”
A FEW HOURS LATER, Paige finally came to the same realisation that everyone who engaged in this activity did. Stakeouts were much, much less fun than they looked on TV.
They were taking turns getting out of the car to stretch their legs and let some fresh air in, and doing everything in their power to break up the monotony, but it was still painfully dull and they potentially had hours to go.
“What’s the time?” Paige asked.
“Just after one a.m. I think it’s time to start taking turns napping,” Sophie said, taking in the droopiness of Paige’s eyes. “I’ll let you go first, but only forty minutes, okay? We don’t want you to get into a deep proper sleep, it’ll be really hard to wake up and you’ll feel like crap.”
“Yep, sure.” Paige was already reclining the seat.
Sophie was astounded to see that in less than a minute, Paige was fast asleep. It wasn’t fair. She usually spent what felt like forever trying to quell her racing thoughts, before finally drifting off. She settled back into her seat and kept her eyes trained on Mary’s letterbox. Was this really going to happen? Were they really going to catch the Pet Napper in the act? It seemed far too easy. She hoped it would work, she really did. The last thing she wanted to do was desert Paige and go work for Richard, but if she couldn’t pay her rent, what else was she supposed to do?
Sophie continued to watch and fret until her phone alarm went off forty minutes later, rousing Paige.
“Really? That felt like, one second.” Paige’s words were slurred.
“Are you awake? Properly? Is it okay for me to take a turn?” Sophie said, looking with doubt at Paige’s barely open eyes.
Paige sighed. “Yes, yes. You go.”
Sophie set her timer for another forty minutes, shut her eyes, and tried to get comfortable. She took slow controlled breathes and tried to clear her mind but it was difficult. Then finally, just as she started feeling the delicious pull of sleep, she was jolted into full alertness. She peered out her window into the darkness.
“Paige. Was there a noise? Is someone there?” Yes, a car had arrived, a few doors down, on the other side of the road. “Paige?” She looked over to her friend. Paige was fast asleep. “PAIGE!”
“What’s going on?” Paige rubbed her eyes.
“Look.”
A hooded figure was creeping to the mailbox.
“Oh my God!” Paige sat up.
“Can you make out the licence plate number?”
“No,” Paige said. “We have to follow him. Start the car.”
Sophie turned the key, and—going into automatic pilot—turned on the headlights.
“What are you doing?” Paige shouted.
“I don’t know,” Sophie shouted back.
The car, they could now see, was an old-model red Toyota and the licence plate was covered with masking tape. They could see this all very clearly because the car was now accelerating directly toward them.
“Drive Sophie, Drive!”
Sophie did her best to get the car into gear, but it was too late. The Toyota slammed into the front right corner of the Jetta, smashing the headlight and stalling the car. Tires squealing, the Toyota did a manic U-turn and raced off into the night. Paige and Sophie sat in their seats, frozen with shock.
“Well, we were right about the location and timing of the note drop-off,” Paige said to an ashen Sophie.
10
“These triple-cooked fries are insane,” Paige said, taking another and washing it down with a swig of the house Pinot Noir.
They were at the pub having a strategizing-slash-sorrow-drowning session. Last night had been a disaster, but Paige was not going to let it get her down. Yes, the Pet Napper had got away, possibly never to be seen or heard from again, but it wasn’t over until it was over.
Sophie sipped her wine glumly, thinking about her beloved car, currently at the panel beaters. She doubted she would even be able to get insurance to cover it—with an excess of $750, it probably wasn’t worth the increase in premiums.
Paige took in her friend’s expression and grimaced. “I’m really sorry about the car. You have to let me pay for half of it. Or we should claim it as a business expense.”
“Claim it? Claim it against what?”
“I don’t know, it’s something people say.” Paige shrugged.
“Which people?”
“It was a business cost, so the business pays for it?”
Sophie brightened but sagged when she remembered there was no money in their business account either. Her stomach made a weird noise.
“Tuck in,” Paige said, misinterpreting this as a hunger rumble.
Sophie knew it was a stress rumble, but she took a chip anyway. Now that the Dixon case was in Roman’s (beautiful) hands, her car was with the mechanics, and she had somehow acquired an adult dependent waiting for her at home, the list of pros and cons was most definitely favouring Richard’s job offer. The bottom line was she needed a source of income. If this didn’t work out, and it looked as if it might not, she didn’t have rich parents to fall back on, or a boyfriend with a stable job. Her mum and Kevin existed on a meagre income and she didn’t have anything close to a boyfriend. An image of Roman popped into her head. She had yet to find out what Paige knew about Roman. It was so strange that he knew Paige’s dad. Well, not so strange, it was one of those coincidences you get in Auckland. Largest city in NZ but in some ways still a small town.
“What’s up Soph? You’ve been kind of quiet or distracted or something all day.”
“Uh, just thinking about... everything.”
“Yeah.” Paige nodded, acknowledging there was a lot of think about. “But let’s just have a drink and not worry about it for now,” Paige said, clinking Sophie’s glass before taking a sip.
“Eye contact!” Sophie admonished Paige.
“Okay, fine.” She made pointed eye contact with Sophie and took another sip. “Oh yeah, it means seven years of bad sex if you don’t make eye contact, right?” Paige grinned. “Worried you might be heading into that with Declan?”
“Not being able to get rid of him for seven years seems about right.”
Paige chuckled. She’d gotten the chance to meet Declan earlier tonight when she’d dropped by Sophie’s and convinced her to come out for a Friday drink. Declan had been very keen on coming with them—he was “gasping for a pint” as he said—and for a moment it had looked as if his resilient mooching might surpass even Paige’s bluntness, but in the end she’d stared him down and they had left him sitting dejectedly in front of the TV. Myra had hovered in the shadows of the hallway, her eyes darting back and forth from Sophie to Declan as she absorbed the whole exchange like she was watching her favourite TV show. It seemed as if Myra didn’t know whether she wanted to go for a drink with Sophie or stay there with Declan. Probably both.
“So...” Paige pulled out the petnapping file from her large tote bag. “Your follow-up with Mrs Myerson was a bust?”
Sophie had gone to see her today to try and get more clues about the Pet Napper because Paige had insisted they should carry on as normal. Trying to intercept the Pet Napper’s note had been just one avenue of pursuit.
“She isn’t coping very well.” Sophie grimaced. “Poor thing. I couldn’t ask her about the description, she was too upset, but she gave me the ransom note.” Sophie’s eyebrows knitted together as she watched Paige flip through the file. “Do you think we should be going through client files in a bar?”
“Why not?”
“I don’t know.” Sophie shrugged. “Confidentiality?”
Paige scoffed and shook her head. “Hey, did you bring it? The note.”
“Yep.” Sophie smoothed it
out on the table. They had a transcribed version already sitting in the file but they both studied it as if there might be extra clues buried within, the handwriting perhaps, or even a hidden code.
“You know what strikes me?” Sophie said after reading it again. “This was written by an educated person.”
Paige nodded. “I agree. But what does that mean?”
“I don’t know, except that combined with the vet drop off, the whole thing seems kind of amateur, right? I mean, like he isn’t a professional criminal.”
“Like, he’s just someone who took advantage of an opportunity to make some money.” Paige nodded.
They both sat back, unsure how this information helped them.
“Can we do, like a profile of him?” Paige said.
“I guess.” Sophie shrugged, “I don’t know that we have enough information, but we can try.”
With a fresh sheet of paper, Paige wrote down everything they knew. He was (probably) a tertiary educated white male, possibly hefty and with glasses, who was caring enough to deliver a dog to a vet clinic in the middle of the night. He was possibly a Quentin Tarantino fan—unless that was just a random towel he happened to have.
“But what motivates him,” Sophie mused. “Just money?” She tapped her pen on the table and looked around. A couple of guys at a nearby table smiled hopefully at her. “Have we hit a dead end?” Sophie said, bringing her eyes back to the file in front of them.
“We have some good information,” Paige said enthusiastically. “We just have to hope he hasn’t dumped the cat already.”
Sophie’s mouth twitched as she thought about the possible horrible fate Mr Minx had already met. “No, I don’t think the Pet Napper will, um, get rid of Mr Minx. But he’s probably panicking at the moment,” Sophie said. She knew the feeling. “The question is what do we tell Mary Burmeister?”
Paige looked at Sophie with a blank face. “Tell her?”
“Are you kidding?” Sophie said. “You don’t think we should tell her at all?”