Squirrel & Swan Precious Things

by M. D. Archer

  “Not sure. I’ll let you know what I find out. Thanks.” Sophie hung up, her chest tight. Why did Polly meet Jay/Jason at the café the night she disappeared? And where was Jay/Jason now? Things were clicking into place in a worrying way.

  “I think we should phone the police... or at least,” Sophie looked at Paige and bit her thumbnail. “We should probably call Roman.”

  “But we won’t get the credit,” Paige complained.

  “Paige. We are talking about a missing nineteen-year-old girl.”

  “Yes, but all we know is what Talia thinks. It might not be accurate.”

  “I guess,” Sophie agreed. “But it’s too much of a coincidence, that he has a bach in the Coromandel, he saw Polly the night she disappeared—”

  “According to Dominic.”

  “Okay, but Jason lives across the road from her and he’s been away for roughly the same amount of time as Polly has been missing. That’s too much to ignore.”

  “We should go to Opoutere and find out for ourselves.”

  Sophie started the car. At the end of the street Sophie signalled left, heading toward the southern motorway.

  “Leo,” Paige barked into her phone. “We need an address.”

  “Who for?” Leo scrawled down the name and turned his attention to his computer. “This is about Opoutere, right? You want to know whether he has a property listing in Opoutere? I’m on it. I’ll call you back.”

  AN HOUR LATER, PAIGE’S phone rang. It was Carolyn.

  Paige answered on speakerphone. “S & S investigations.”

  Sophie glanced at Paige, suppressed a smile, and checked the rear-view mirror. Traffic was light but it was getting dark. She switched on her headlights. They were halfway to Opoutere and they had an address. The clench of worry in Sophie’s chest had turned, at least in part, to hopeful excitement.

  “I saw three missed calls. Do you have news for me?” Carolyn was wary and it was understandable—she probably didn’t know whether she wanted them to find evidence of her husband’s infidelity or not.

  “Yes, we do.”

  In the ensuing silence Carolyn took a shaky breath. “He’s doing it, isn’t he? He’s cheating on me. Again. That bastard. Who is it? I bet it’s that Miranda from work. He’s always working. I know he’s busy but he’s there too much. Overnight too, a few times. I knew it.”

  “Mrs Dixon?” Sophie raised her voice. “We’re not calling about your husband.”

  “You’re not? Tyrone isn’t cheating on me?”

  “Honestly? He probably is,” Paige said.

  Sophie glared at her and said quickly, “We have no evidence of that.”

  “We’re calling about Polly,” Paige said. “We’ve been looking into her disappearance.”

  “You have?” Carolyn said. “Why?”

  “Because... we don’t believe that she’s just off somewhere taking some time out,” Sophie interrupted again. There was no way she was giving Paige a chance to tell her they wanted the publicity.

  “You said you have a lead?” The hope in Carolyn’s voice made Sophie wince.

  “Possibly,” Paige said. “Someone logged onto Polly’s account and posted something just now, and we’ve been able to trace the location from the brief time her account was active,” Paige added, thinking how cool it was that she could utter those kinds of sentences.

  “Where is she?” Carolyn gasped.

  “Mrs Dixon,” Sophie said, her voice firm. “Please listen. To be clear, we’re talking about Polly’s Facebook account, not Polly necessarily. Do you understand?”

  Having a phone conversation on speakerphone was even worse than normal calls but Sophie was not going to let Paige’s blunt tactlessness make Carolyn feel even worse.

  “What?” Carolyn clearly didn’t understand.

  “It’s possible someone is just posting on her page, so finding the location of the source of the post, her phone for example, may not be the same as finding Polly herself,” Sophie said gently.

  “Oh, God.” Carolyn whispered.

  “But it might be her. Of course,” Sophie added. The rawness of Carolyn’s emotion was painful.

  “Where?”

  Sophie signalled so she could overtake a Fiat slowing down the fast lane.

  “A small beach town in the Coromandel called Opoutere,” Paige said. “We think she might be at the bach of your neighbour—Jason.”

  There was a shocked silence at the end of the phone.

  “Yes... he’s a bit of a greenie too... I’ve seen them talking. Do you think he... he... abducted her?” she whispered.

  “We don’t know,” Paige said.

  “Mrs Dixon, Polly could be there completely voluntarily, so you shouldn’t assume the worst,” Sophie added.

  “But we’re on our way there now so we are going to find out,” Paige said. “If you want us to, that is. On your behalf... if you know what I mean?” Paige added. Sophie cringed.

  “Yes, of course. You’re hired. I’m hiring you. I’ll write out a cheque right now. Please, just find my daughter and bring her back.”

  ANOTHER HOUR LATER they pulled up outside a small, tidy looking bach, with a neat lawn and compost bins to one side. The driveway was empty.

  “Is that a light on at the back?” Sophie said, craning her neck.

  “Let’s check it out.”

  Paige’s phone rang, loud angry peals piercing the still country air. “Shit.”

  They both looked up at the exterior to see the soft glow emanating from one of the rear rooms, suddenly go dark.

  “Double shit! Come on,” Paige whispered, hurrying toward the small path running down the side of the house.

  “Paige, what are you doing?” Sophie hissed. “We should call the police...”

  “There’s someone here. There’s no time.” Paige moved to continue her quick but stealthy progress down the side of the house but suddenly stopped, imagining Sophie crashing about in the dark behind her. “Actually, you wait back there, just in case okay.”

  Sophie, who had been frozen to the spot with no intention of following Paige, now baulked at the idea of being left alone. “Hang on!” she whispered, but Paige was gone. It was so incredibly dark. Moving back toward the front of the house, Sophie’s foot caught on something and she staggered forward, catching herself on the railing. This was ridiculous. She got out her phone, turned the light onto full, and carried on to the front. Maybe there was a key hidden somewhere—under a pot plant or under the mat. People still did that.

  Sophie started up the stairs to the front door, but again caught her foot, this time on the edge of the top step, and she catapulted forward until she was sprawled on the doormat. Just as she was righting herself, retrieving her phone, her peripheral vision caught a shape bolting down the path to her left.

  “Hey!” She scrambled up and peered into the inky night, but could not see anything. “Dammit!” Sophie took a few tentative steps in the direction she thought the person had fled, but in the near distance she heard a car start up and squeal away.

  Behind her, the front door opened and Paige stood there, illuminated from behind. “Did I just hear a car?”

  “Yeah. Someone came racing down the side and disappeared. He’s gone.”

  “Did you see him? Anything?”

  “No. Nothing.” Sophie shook her head. Some investigator she was.

  “Come on,” Paige said, turning back into the recesses of the house. Sophie hurried behind, following her down the hall that led straight into a small open-plan living and dining room. Beyond French doors, Sophie could just see the outline of a deck extending out onto a grassy area and to what probably was an amazing view of the water.

  “Check it out, Soph.” Paige tugged her arm.

  On the table sat a phone, a large container of water, two bananas, a muesli bar and a bag of rubbish.

  “Is that Polly’s phone?”

  “It’s got to be. I didn’t want to pick it up because of prints and stuff. You know
, contaminate the crime scene.”

  Sophie thought it likely they’d already contaminated the whole case, but didn’t say so. “If this is her phone, then where’s Polly?” she said instead.

  “I already checked the back of the house, including the two bedrooms there.” Paige pointed to the two, slightly ajar doors leading off the hall. “But I haven’t been into the front one yet,” she added. “Come on.”

  Sophie followed Paige down the hallway and into a room that turned out to be the master bedroom. The bed had been slept in, the sheets were rumpled and there was even an indent on the pillow. By only one person, it looked like, but there was still no sign of Polly. Paige checked under the bed, just in case, but no. They looked at each and shrugged.

  “We’ve checked all the rooms now,” Paige said. “Where is she?”

  Sophie swallowed and shook her head.

  “She’s here, I know she is.” Paige’s eyes glinted with determination. “Come on.” She marched back down the hall, eyes zipping back and forth, up and down. They had to be missing something. Sophie went back to the French doors and peered out into the night.

  “Paige? What’s that shape back there? When you came around the side of the house, did you see another structure... a shed or something?”

  “No, but there doesn’t mean there isn’t one there.” Paige took out her phone and activated the torch. They exited the house via the side door that Paige had entered, and cautiously stepped their way through the grass, which needed to be mown. Sure enough, to the left, tucked under an overgrown bush, was a small unit. It looked like a shed that had been converted into a granny flat. The two windows, one at the front and one on the side had been boarded up. Paige tried the door. It was locked.

  “Pick the lock,” Sophie whispered.

  Paige, who was leaning down peering at the lock, straightened and turned to her friend. “Who am I, Veronica Mars? I don’t know how to pick a lock.”

  Sophie shrugged. “I thought you might.”

  They both turned back to the door.

  “What do we do?”

  “Polly? Are you in there?” Paige shouted, banging on the door. “Polly! Polly!” Paige continued banging.

  Sophie grabbed her hand, preventing her next thump. “Wait. Listen.”

  A very faint cough, then a moan. They turned to each other just as a powerful torch swept over them, illuminating their wide-eyed expressions.

  The police had arrived.

  18

  Paige and Sophie were sitting in the Dixon’s living room while Carolyn paced anxiously in front of them.

  “And you’re sure she’s okay?” Carolyn asked. Again.

  “She was groggy, but she seemed fine,” Sophie said with a smile.

  The local police unit, consisting of a tired-looking older sergeant and a keen young officer in training, had luckily already known who Paige and Sophie were.

  Carolyn, panicking when neither Paige nor Sophie were picking up, had called Roman and then gone across the road to get Jason’s address from Wendy. After a ten-minute search Wendy had located her address book and a neat entry in spidery handwriting had informed Carolyn of Jason’s holiday bach address. With this information, Roman had called the local police and asked them to check on Jason’s bach.

  When Paige had explained to the officers they thought Polly was being kept against her will in that room, the younger officer had immediately sprung into action and broken down the door. Inside the sparsely furnished granny flat, Polly was lying on a single bed, looking pale and weak. She’d groaned and mumbled in response to her name but fallen back asleep again, clearly under the influence of some sort of sedative. The gruff older officer had shooed them away, told them to go home and that they would take things from here. Paramedics would arrive soon to check her out and transport her back to Auckland.

  Paige and Sophie had driven directly back to Carolyn’s house to let her know what had happened—they were officially on the case after all—but Roman already knew and had already passed the information onto Carolyn. Still, she was grateful they were there, because they were the ones who had actually seen Polly, and Tyrone, having been held up in meetings with his phone switched off until only recently, had not quite made it home yet. Apparently, the business deal he was brokering was more important than his missing daughter.

  While they waited for Tyrone to come home or for Roman to call with news of Polly or Jason, Carolyn, Paige and Sophie sat in the living room in awkward silence. Finally, a car pulled into the drive. Carolyn raced to the window. “It’s Tyrone,” she said, running to the door.

  “Where’s the Mercedes?” Paige and Sophie heard her say in the hallway.

  “Getting serviced. I borrowed a company car.”

  “You’re covered in grease.”

  “Flat tyre.”

  “You didn’t call AA?”

  “Carolyn, that isn’t important, tell me what is happening with Polly. When will she be home?”

  “She’s okay. They’re bringing her back now. They might take her directly to the hospital, just in case, to run some tests. They’ll call soon and tell us. She seems to be fine, they tell me.”

  After a moment of silence, peppered with sniffles, both Dixons appeared around the doorway.

  “They found her, Tyrone.” Carolyn clutched her husband’s arm as they entered the room.

  “Thank you,” Tyrone said, mostly to Sophie, his voice strained with emotion. When he shook Sophie’s hand, she noted the sweatiness of his palm, the tension in his shoulders, and the bags under his eyes. Sophie wondered if he was cheating on Carolyn. Is this what a cheater looked like? Her father had been one, her mother admitting this to her only a few years ago—one of the reasons their relationship had fallen apart. Was Tyrone Dixon telling the truth? He had borrowed another car from work, thus evading their scrutiny. He could have easily come and gone without Sophie noticing, and been off gallivanting with his lady friend all afternoon. But was he really callous enough not to return home when he got news about his daughter? Could he really just stay in bed with his mistress for another hour? He’d have to be some sort of sociopath. Sophie eyed him. He was not a sociopath, but he was definitely carrying a burden.

  Tyrone paced the living room. Carolyn just sat on the couch, her mug clasped to her chest, staring at her phone. Finally, it rang.

  “Roman, yes?” Carolyn reached out again for her husband’s arm. “Oh good, thank you.” She lifted the phone away from her mouth to convey the message to her husband. “They’re taking her to City Hospital. We’ll meet them there.” Carolyn turned back to the phone.

  Tyrone moved across to the drinks cabinet and poured himself a large vodka. He stood there, hands on hips, facing the wall. His shirt was half-untucked at the back. His slim fitting charcoal pants had creases along the back of the legs. Tyrone pushed his hips forward and stretched briefly before running a hand through his hair and downing the rest of his drink.

  Sophie frowned.

  “Can I get anyone anything?” he said, not bothering to turn around.

  Carolyn hung up. “She’d been sedated, so she’s groggy, but physically she appears fine.”

  “And Jason?” Paige asked.

  “Nowhere to be seen.” Carolyn stepped toward Paige and Sophie and gripped their hands. “Thank you,” she said, her eyes wide with intensity, full of relief, and brimming with tears. “We wouldn’t have found her without you and I’m eternally grateful.”

  “You’re welcome,” Sophie said.

  “Would it be okay,” Paige said on the doorstep as they turned to go, “if you kept us updated with everything? They still have to catch Jason, after all.”

  “Yes, of course. Roman said he’d come by tomorrow afternoon. He wants to question Polly when her head is clearer. I’ll call you when we know what time. You should be there. And you can forget about the other job I hired you for,” she lowered her voice, “I don’t care about that anymore. But please, I insist that you bank both of those c
heques I gave you. You’ve earned that money. Absolutely.”

  “Will do,” Paige said cheerfully.

  Paige and Sophie walked out to the car.

  “So, this is great news,” Sophie said.

  “About Polly or the cheques?”

  “Both,” Sophie admitted. “But Paige? This isn’t over.”

  “I completely agree.”

  THE NEXT DAY, SOPHIE arrived at work early, hours before Paige would arrive. Paige liked her lie-ins and they were not expecting any news from the Dixons until later in the day. Sophie’s sleep, affected by worry and doubt in a way that Paige’s would never be, had been interrupted this morning by the sound of Victoria’s hairdryer. Sophie had put in earplugs and tried to drift back off but her mind had already revved up and starting racing in a continuous figure of eight. There was something hovering beneath the surface, and she needed to write it all down. Putting everything that had happened into words might solidify the currently amorphous epiphany she felt was in there somewhere.

  “Welcome back. How was your trip?” Sophie had asked Victoria, now in the kitchen making a thermos of coffee to take to work. Victoria had recently switched to the thermos from buying takeaway coffees on the way to work, but it wasn’t to save money, Sophie suspected. It was more likely that Victoria had seen it on a TV show and thought it looked cool. Or maybe it was Gwyneth Paltrow’s latest advice on GOOP. Although she couldn’t imagine Gwyneth advocating caffeine.

  “Great!” Victoria had said, a little too enthusiastically. “Such a blast!”

  Sometimes Sophie felt sorry for Victoria. She was naturally prickly, and if at work she was anything like she was at home, she probably didn’t have many friends in the office.

  “So, the washing machine...” Sophie had begun, still unsure about how much to admit.

  “Thanks for sorting that.” Victoria had been uncharacteristically relaxed. “I spoke to the repair guy and he said it was a minor issue. A piece had worn out or something, so he replaced it. Barely cost anything. Pretty much what I’d thought,” Victoria said, in direct contrast to the dire situation she’d painted to Sophie over email.