by DS Butler
DC Collins put his pen down on the table, leaned back in his chair and frowned at Henryk. “She has only been missing one night. Perhaps, you’re worrying unnecessarily. Maybe she met someone, spent the night with them?”
“Anya is not like that!”
The detective exhaled slowly. Then he asked a succession of horrible questions about Anya. Did she have many men in her life? Was she a drug user?
Henryk was at boiling point. He told DC Collins that Anya had been a straight-A student back in Poland. She was a good girl, only interested in dancing.
The detective listened with a bored look on his face. “Maybe she doesn’t tell you everything about her personal life.”
Henryk jumped to his feet. DC Collins began to stand, but Henryk moved faster. He reached over and grabbed the detective by the lapels of his jacket and then shoved him back against the wall. There was a loud thud as DC Collins’ head hit the plasterboard.
DC Collins scrambled to his feet as two other officers slammed their way into the room.
“What’s going on here?” one of the police officers asked, glaring at Henryk.
DC Collins straightened his tie and his suit jacket. “It’s all right. Everything’s fine, Leonard. It was just a misunderstanding.”
The other officers hovered by the door, but DC Collins waved them off. Then he turned back to Henryk, who was breathing heavily.
“Sit down in that chair now.” DC Collins pulled the chair forward. “Do you realise what you just did? Do you want me to arrest you for assaulting a police officer? Do you want to go and personally check out the cells?”
Henryk gritted his teeth. What the hell was the matter with him? He had to calm down. Maybe he misjudged this detective. Maybe he would be able to help. In any case, Henryk didn’t have anyone else to turn to. He needed DC Collins’ help.
As his fury and adrenaline trickled away, Henryk slumped into the chair. “I’m sorry. I just want you to find Anya.”
Collins sat back down and picked up his pen. “Don’t you ever behave like that again. Next time, you won’t be so lucky. Now, tell me why you think something has happened to your sister.”
Henryk tried to explain. He tried to tell the detective that his sister was not like those other girls. She would not have taken a job abroad without telling him. She had not taken any of her clothes. What normal girl would leave home and not take any clothes?
Despite his best efforts, he could tell DC Collins remained unconvinced. He felt his hope slipping away as the detective gave him statistics, talked about giving her time and told Henryk his sister was behaving like a normal teenager.
But it wasn’t normal. Not for Anya.
***
Later that day, Detective Sergeant Jack Mackinnon sat in the wide, open plan office at Wood Street Police Station. He was nearing the end of his shift, but rather than looking forward to knocking off for the day, he was dreading it.
His mobile buzzed and vibrated its way along his desk. He looked at it for a second or two, delaying the inevitable, then snatched it up. The message was from Chloe, his girlfriend of just a few months.
See you in an hour x
Mackinnon pulled at the collar of his shirt. He was sweating. He looked at his watch. In an hour, he would be meeting Chloe’s kids for the first time. Was it normal to feel this nervous?
A muttered curse made Mackinnon look up. Sitting at the desk opposite, DC Nick Collins hung up his phone before slumping forward with his head in his hands. Collins was in his mid-thirties, close in age to Mackinnon, but unlike Mackinnon, Collins was already married with two kids.
Collins ran a hand over his tightly cropped, fair hair.
“What’s up?” Mackinnon asked.
Collins looked up. “Henryk Blonski. He’s back in reception. That bloody man won’t leave me alone. He only reported his sister missing this morning. He must think I’ve got magical powers.”
“Maybe he wants to tell you that she turned up.”
Collins shook his head. “Apparently not. That was Jim Dobson, on the front desk. He said Blonski has taken up residence in reception, and isn’t budging until he talks to me and finds out what I am doing to find his sister.”
“Do you want me to speak to him? I’ll tell him we’re working on it, and we’ll tell him as soon as we have any news.”
Collins dropped his pen on his desk and sighed. “No. It’s all right. I’ll tell him myself.” Collins stood up. “She’s only been missing since last night, for God’s sake.”
“How old is she?”
“Nineteen.”
“Suspicious?”
“No more than any other nineteen-year-old who stayed out for the night. It’s only been one night. She probably stayed over at a friend’s.”
“But her brother doesn’t think so?”
Collins shrugged. “He seems the overprotective type. I told him people are reported missing all the time and normally show up after a day or two.”
Mackinnon nodded. A quarter of a million people were reported missing in the UK every year. Mackinnon looked down at the mobile phone on his desk. These days, with millions of CCTV cameras, registered mobile phones and credit cards, it was hard to believe people could just slip off the radar without anyone noticing, but they did. All the time.
Collins was right. In the majority of cases, the missing person returned of his or her own accord, in their own good time.
“She told a friend she had a new job,” Collins said. “To be honest, it sounds like she was just getting a bit sick of her overbearing brother. And I’m starting to share that sentiment. He launched himself at me this morning. All because I suggested she might have a boyfriend she hadn’t told him about.”
“Are you sure you don’t want me to have a word with him? You shouldn’t see him on your own if you think he might turn violent.”
“He won’t. He only went for me this morning because I provoked him. If something has happened to his sister, chances are, it’s someone she knew; so I was pressing his buttons, aiming for a reaction. I just got a little more than I bargained for.”
Mackinnon nodded. He remembered a case a few years back where a father reported his daughter missing. He was distraught, hysterically accusing anyone who had ever so much as spoken to her. It turned out, he’d strangled her in a fit of rage during an argument over a missing packet of cigarettes.
Collins had been testing Henryk Blonski. In the majority of cases, the missing person turned up eventually, unharmed, but in misper cases where foul play was suspected, the family and closest friends are always the first suspects. Most murders are committed by someone known to the victim.
“Anyway, I can handle him,” Collins said.
“If you’re sure?”
“Of course, I’m sure. It won’t take long. It’s not as if I have anything new to tell him. I only spoke to him this morning. I’ll tell him I’m checking it out, along with the fifty other things I’m meant to be doing. She’s only been missing for a day and a half.”
Collins looked at his watch. “Anyway, I’ll be back in ten minutes if you still want a lift.”
3
“How did it go with Blonski?” Mackinnon asked as they left the back entrance of Wood Street Police Station.
Collins pressed the remote on his key ring, unlocking the car, and shrugged. “He was calmer this afternoon, but he’s still really worried.”
“Do you think his sister has gone off on her own somewhere?”
“God knows. She’s nineteen, so what do you reckon?” Collins sighed. “I think I might be wasting my time looking for her. She probably went out, had a good night, drank a bit too much and right now, she’s sleeping off a hangover at a mate’s place, lying low because she doesn’t want to get nagged by her brother.”
Mackinnon nodded. “More than likely.”
“So where am I dropping you?” Collins asked as they climbed inside his silver Vauxhall Astra.
“Garfunkles,” Mackinnon said.
>
Collins screwed up his face. “Why are you going there? Bit early for dinner, aren’t you?”
“I’m meeting Chloe and her daughters, they’ve been in London today.”
“Ah, school holidays, every parent’s nightmare. Still, at least the traffic’s lighter.”
As Collins drove out of the car park, Mackinnon pulled at his seatbelt, and then started fiddling with the air-conditioning vents.
“What’s wrong with you, Jack?” Collins asked, glancing over at Mackinnon before stopping at a set of traffic lights. “You’re sweating.”
Mackinnon wiped a hand over his forehead. “It’s your driving. It makes me nervous.”
Collins ignored the dig. “Is this the first time you’ve met Chloe’s daughters?”
Mackinnon nodded.
“Teenagers?”
Mackinnon nodded again.
Collins laughed. “Good luck, mate. You’ll need it.”
“Cheers, Nick. That boost of confidence was just what I needed.”
Collins turned to Mackinnon. “You’re really worried, aren’t you?”
“I’m fine. Just worried I’m never going to get there at this rate. You’ve gone from driving like a lunatic to pootling along like a granny.”
Collins smirked, but he put his foot down.
Mackinnon scowled at the streets and the people they passed. He wished he could wait a little longer before meeting Chloe’s daughters. All he really wanted to do now was go back to his flat and have a nice hot shower and a cold beer.
He’d only been seeing Chloe for a couple of months. She was older than him, and he’d known she had kids from the start. He understood why she didn’t introduce them to every man she went out with. She said she didn’t want to confuse them by introducing them to anyone she wasn’t serious about.
Now she’d asked him to meet them.
Mackinnon guessed that meant they were getting serious.
He didn’t know which part made him more nervous: getting serious or meeting her kids. Christ, what if they hated him? They probably would. They’d probably resent him for…
“Are you getting out, or what?” Collins asked.
Mackinnon looked out of the passenger window, surprised to see the garish Garfunkles’ yellow and red sign in front of him.
“All right. I’m going. See you tomorrow,” Mackinnon said, climbing out of the car.
“Have fun.” Collins smirked.
Mackinnon waited until Collins pulled away, then stepped through the revolving door onto the red carpet and stood beside a sign asking customers to wait to be seated.
Inside the restaurant, it was still quiet. Mackinnon took a moment and scanned the room, looking for Chloe. There were only one or two occupied tables, both with kids. It was that time of day.
A teenage waitress, with bouncy, black, curly hair wandered over. “Table for one?”
Mackinnon shook his head. “I have a reservation, name of Jack Mackinnon, table for four.”
The waitress bent down over the reservation book and put a tick by his name. Then with a cheerful smile, she led him into the restaurant. “We’re not very busy at the moment. So you can pick any table.”
Mackinnon pointed to a table over in the corner where he could watch the door and asked the waitress for a Coke. When the waitress walked off, he went back over to the entrance and picked up a free copy of the Metro from the rack by the door.
Over the next twenty minutes, Mackinnon flicked through the pages of the Metro and sipped his ice-cold Coke. They were late, which gave him even more time to worry over the idea that both Chloe’s daughters were going to hate him on sight.
Five minutes later, he spotted the three of them. They entered the restaurant with their arms entwined like best buddies, giggling as they tried to fit into one section of the revolving door. Mackinnon exhaled a long breath and stood up to greet them.
Chloe’s pretty, heart-shaped face lit up when she spotted him. She was dressed in dark blue jeans and a red, fitted top, casual, but still smart. She looked great.
“Jack.” Chloe kissed him on the cheek and squeezed his hand. She turned to her daughters. “I’d like you to meet Sarah and Katy.”
The two girls stared up at him. They weren’t smiling. Not a good sign.
Chloe leaned towards him. “Don’t look so worried,” she whispered.
The girls didn’t look alike. Sarah favoured her mother, fair and slim, almost skinny. Katy, the younger of the two, was dark-haired and at least five inches shorter.
Mackinnon knew both girls had different fathers. Chloe divorced Sarah’s father when Sarah was only a baby, but Sarah still saw him on the third Saturday of every month, sometimes more frequently, depending on his work schedule. How much longer that would go on was anyone’s guess. He dropped a bombshell last week, telling Chloe he was moving to New Zealand.
Katy’s father hadn’t wanted anything to do with his daughter. Chloe told Mackinnon they only had a short fling, nothing serious, and Katy’s father ditched Chloe shortly after she found out she was pregnant.
Mackinnon smiled at the girls. “Hi, I’m Jack.”
Both girls mumbled, “Hello,” as they moved toward the table.
Mackinnon pulled out a chair for Chloe. “Did you have a nice day?”
Chloe nodded. “Fantastic. We hit the shops, then went to see the Wicked matinee at the Apollo. I’m thoroughly worn out now, though. I’m starving too.” She looked around and waved to get the waitress’ attention.
The girls both ordered Cokes, burgers and fries. Chloe asked for the Italian-style chicken and a coffee, and Mackinnon went for the twelve-ounce sirloin steak.
After the drinks arrived. Katy took a sip of Coke, then looked up at Mackinnon. “Mum said you’re a policeman.”
Mackinnon nodded. “I am.”
“Have you seen any dead bodies?”
“Katy!” Chloe shook her head. “That isn’t an appropriate question to ask when we are about to eat. Sorry, Jack.”
Katy gave Mackinnon a smile that looked more like a grimace. “Sorry.”
Sarah looked down at her fizzy drink and used her straw to bash up the ice cubes. Coke sloshed over the sides of the glass.
“Sarah, stop that,” Chloe said.
Sarah dropped the straw, slumped back in her seat and stared down at the table.
Chloe, who seemed oblivious to the fact both girls seemed to hate Mackinnon on sight, launched into a detailed description of their day shopping in London.
Mackinnon was glad. He had no idea how to make small talk with two teenage girls who wanted to be here even less than he did.
4
Henryk Blonski was still reeling from his out-of-control reaction to the detective this morning. He remembered how the detective’s shiny suit fabric had felt screwed up in his hands when Henryk had grabbed him. He couldn’t understand where the anger had come from. It had risen up inside him, crushed his ribs like a boa constrictor, and set his blood alight.
He felt a flush of mortification when he considered the fact he could be in prison right now, locked up, instead of looking for Anya. What good would he be to his sister then?
Still, on the plus side, maybe he had convinced DC Collins to take Anya’s disappearance seriously. If not, then Anya still had Henryk. He would never give up. He would find his sister.
No matter what the police officer said, he knew there was something wrong. Anya would never make him worry like this.
Henryk called home this morning and spoke to his parents in Poland to check if Anya had been in touch.
As he usually rang home once a week, on Sunday evenings, his mother immediately suspected something was wrong. He didn’t want to worry his parents, so he didn’t dare tell them Anya was missing. He told them she was fine, working hard and doing well with her dance classes. He said he just wanted to check if she had been in touch because he was working late this week and hadn’t seen much of her over the past few days.
Unfortunatel
y, his mother knew him too well. She could tell he was keeping something from her and asked him over and over again to tell her what had happened. He spent twenty minutes trying to convince her that everything was fine, that he just wanted to see if Anya had called home, and made a feeble joke about the phone bill.
He finished the phone call feeling even worse. Anya was missing. Their parents hadn’t spoken to her since last week, and now Henryk had made his mother panic. He could tell from her voice she didn’t believe him when he said everything was okay. And he knew his mother. She wouldn’t let it rest. She would call him again tonight, and he didn’t know if he had the energy to make up more lies.
If something had happened to Anya, his parents would want to know immediately. But if she turned up tomorrow, and he had upset them for nothing, Anya would be furious.
Now, Henryk Blonski paused outside a narrow door with peeling, red paint. He raised his hand to knock, then lowered it again. He needed to collect his thoughts first.
As he stood outside Victoria Trent’s flat, he tried to plan what he would say. Victoria was a student with Anya at the Star Academy, and Henryk had found her telephone number in Anya’s notebook.
When he spoke to Victoria on the phone, she insisted Anya had been offered a great career opportunity, and told him she was sure Anya would be in touch soon.
Of course, Henryk didn’t believe it.
Anya had stars in her eyes. She had dreams of being a singer or on the stage. She may have been tricked by a job offer that sounded exotic. She could have been fooled into working as a lap dancer. Or worse…
Anya didn’t have many friends in London. There were a few people she knew from her dance classes. She mentioned them now and again, but there was no one Anya was really close to. All of her friends were back in Poland. That was a problem. Henryk couldn’t think who Anya might have confided in.
He wasn’t convinced that Victoria Trent was a close friend of Anya’s, but as he didn’t have much else to go on, Henryk wanted to speak to her in person. Maybe Anya told her something, some clue that Henryk could use to find his sister.