by Julie Howlin
‘Yes?’ he said, without looking up.
‘Inspector Swan, I presume?’
‘No, love, I think you’ve made a mistake. Sorry.’
‘Sorry,’ I mumbled and backed away, cheeks burning. I must have looked as red as cherry vodka. So he wasn’t here yet. Not quite as eager as he’d sounded on the phone, then. I ordered myself a gin and tonic and found a table where I could watch people come in.
The next likely candidate was a tall, bespectacled man with a high forehead and Roman nose, carrying a beige raincoat and a briefcase. He went straight to the bar without looking at anyone and ordered a short of some kind. He looked intimidating. Over-confident. Expecting me to do all the running. Again, I had to steel myself to approach him. As I got close, a polished looking woman in a power suit pushed past me just as I opened my mouth to ask him if he was Inspector Swan. She looked at me as if I were pond life, and said, ‘Hello, Vince’, and kissed the guy on the cheek.
‘Veronica. Darling. Usual?’
‘Yes, please,’ Veronica said, shooting another withering look at me. I turned to go back to my table, only to find it had now been occupied by a gaggle of young women in short skirts, and the drink I had left there had been removed by the staff. It was standing room only in Rumours now.
I bit my lip and edged back towards the bar. Any one of these men could be him. I'll give him another twenty minutes, I thought. I'll get another drink, and if Inspector Swan hasn't materialised by the time I finish it, I'll leave. I’m not going to approach any more strange men. If he doesn’t show up on time, then that’s his hard luck.
It wasn’t easy, getting to the bar - everyone from every office for miles around seemed to have just arrived. Eventually, I squeezed into a tiny gap in the front, and after the barman had served everyone else in the vicinity, including a couple of people who had got there after me, I ordered another gin and tonic.
I was about to hand over ten pounds when a voice behind me said, ‘No, let me get that - and another one, if you don’t mind, please.’
I turned round to see who this generous person was, and found myself looking into a pair of friendly green eyes with a twinkle in them. ‘You’re Tabitha, aren’t you?’
‘Er. Yes,’ I said. My heart did an odd little double flip as I saw who it was. The man with the floppy fringe and the leather jacket from Gran's funeral. He'd survived the King's Arms incident, then. I was glad, and not just because he’d bought me a drink. He smiled at me, a warm smile, and the corners of his eyes crinkled with the faint beginnings of laughter lines. He was wearing a denim jacket tonight, and an earring in each ear.
‘You know my name?’ I said. It sounded rather lame and I wished I had come out with something a bit more witty and pithy.
‘Yes, I do,’ he said, with a grin. ‘It’s a bit crowded in here, isn't it? Why don’t we go and find somewhere quieter? There’s a more traditional pub around the corner that’s not usually so busy.’
He was nothing if not forward, I thought. I’d only met him once, very briefly, and he wanted to whisk me away to his local. I was tempted. Very tempted. Then I thought of Daniel. Then the Ice Queen I had seen this man with. ‘Sorry, I can't. I’m waiting for someone.’
‘I know you are. In fact, I think you’re waiting for me.’
‘Yeah, right,’ I said. ‘That's the corniest line I ever heard.’
‘Oh, I’m sorry,’ he said. ‘I haven’t introduced myself, have I? I forgot, your gran probably didn’t have any pictures of me to show you.’ He held out his hand. ‘Detective Inspector Jamie Swan.’
‘You?’ I gasped, shocked. ‘You’re a policeman? You don’t look like one.’
He laughed. ‘Plain clothes. If I looked like a policeman it would defeat the object somewhat. But I am the real deal.’ He fumbled in his breast pocket and brought out an ID card, which he held out to me. It had a photo on it, unmistakeably of the man standing in front of me, a Metropolitan Police logo and his name.
I felt my cheeks go red and hoped he hadn't noticed. ‘Right,’ I said. ‘I’m sorry. Pleased to meet you.’ We shook hands.
‘Now would you feel safe coming to another bar with me?’ he asked.
‘I guess. Let's just drink these and go.’
A few minutes later I was sitting in a booth in a darker, quieter, more sedate bar, opposite Detective Inspector Swan and another gin and tonic. I hadn’t really pictured what he would look like, but if I had, the man in front of me was nothing like any image I might have conjured.
I stirred my drink nervously and bent the plastic straw back and forth at the ridged, bendy bit in the middle. I hardly dared look at him.
He took a drink and sat back with a confident, self-assured air. He was used to this, I thought. Talking to strangers and being persuasive.
A barperson in a black apron with a pocket in the front came up and removed the tonic bottle from the table in front of me, slipping it into the pocket. She placed a lighted tea light in a ceramic holder on the table between us. No doubt she thought we were on a date.
Hardly, I thought. Attractive as he was, I was only here to tell him to leave me alone, and I realised I had better get on with it.
‘Inspector Swan, I…’
‘Call me Jamie, please. I do my utmost not to look like a cop and you’re blowing my cover!’
‘All right. If you insist, Jamie. I hope you don’t think that by coming here today I’m agreeing to do this.’
‘I was hoping you were,’ he admitted, ‘but one of the first things a detective learns is never to make assumptions.’
‘Good,’ I said, ‘because I came to tell you, to your face, that my answer is no, seeing as telling you so on the phone, and not returning your calls didn’t seem to work.’
‘That’s a real pity,’ he said, ‘because Maggie was such an asset and if you’re even half as good as her...’
‘Well, I’m not. I’m nothing like as good as her. Sorry to disappoint you, but that’s how it is.’
‘That’s not what Maggie told me. Okay, so you may not have the years of experience she had, but she assured me your gift was as strong as hers.’
‘Oh, she did, did she?’ I said shortly, annoyed that Gran had apparently been talking about me behind my back to this man and making me out to be something I wasn’t. ‘Well, she was wrong.’
Even if she wasn’t wrong, I had let her down so badly that, had she been able to make Inspector Swan hear her from the other side she would be telling him not to bother with me. Tears welled up in my eyes and I blinked them back, furious with myself for letting my feelings get the better of me. I sure as hell did not want to cry in front of Inspector Swan a second time.
‘Right now, any psychic ability would be better than none at all,’ he said.
‘There must be other, better qualified, more experienced psychics,’ I said. ‘Why don’t you ask one of them?’
‘I don’t have any other contacts, and most of my colleagues would put up a vote of no confidence in me if I even asked for any. Look, Miss Drake, I can see you’re reluctant, and I can’t force you to do anything, but perhaps you could at least tell me why? If there’s some misconception that I can put right; something I can reassure you about?’
He peered at me, his head tilted to one side, the beginnings of a cheeky smile on his lips.
I looked down at my drink, not wanting him to see how my eyes were brimming over. I didn't want to tell him I was an abject failure as a psychic. I didn’t want to tell him Maggie Flynn had disowned me.
He waited. A fleeting image came to my mind of Inspector Swan sitting in a brightly lit room with a hardened criminal, someone with a lot more resolve and much more to lose by answering his questions. Detective Inspector Swan had the patience and the skill to break that man down and find out whatever he wanted to know.
‘I’m too squeamish,’ I said, still not meeting his eyes but intently watching a rowdy stag party that had just come in.
‘What do you mean by th
at?’ he asked, gently. He was handling me more carefully than he would the criminal, but I could tell he intended to get answers from me.
‘I pass out at the very thought of seeing a dead body, even one that’s died of natural causes in a hospital. So I couldn’t cope with grisly murders and rotting...’ a hot, stomach churning feeling came over me as I even spoke about it. I took a mouthful of gin and tonic to wash it away.
‘Can I tell you a secret?’ he said. ‘You never quite get used to that. I’ve seen real tough, experienced blokes throw up or burst into tears at crime scenes. There’s nothing wrong with that. It’s normal. But you won’t be expected to attend crime scenes, or look at bodies, or even photos of bodies if you don’t want to. Your grandmother would work with a photo of the victim that was taken while they were still alive, or something that belonged to them. Or she’d look in her crystal ball or just try and link in with them in the spirit world. Can you do that?’
‘Sometimes,’ I admitted. ‘Not always, though.’ While Gran always linked to someone, every time she tried, there were times when nothing and no one came to me. And when they did, what they said could actually be dangerous.
‘Sometimes would be fine, you know. Honestly, your grandmother couldn’t recommend you highly enough. I think it’s what she wanted.’
I felt a surge of anger. ‘I don’t think you have any business telling me what my gran wanted,’ I retorted. ‘You hardly knew her. You couldn’t possibly know.’
‘She told me, actually,’ he said. That hurt. Gran had told this stranger about her plans for me, but had not mentioned a single word to me. ‘She gave me your number,’ he went on, ‘and told me to call you if anything happened to her.’
‘So she told you she was going to die and she didn’t tell me?’
‘She said she was going to die someday. I honestly didn’t think it would be this soon. I suspect she didn’t, either, or she would have told you, I’m sure. She just didn’t get the chance.’
That stung. Perhaps if I had not unplugged my phone and if I had been there to say goodbye, Gran would indeed have told me. I was going to regret that for the rest of my life. I felt jealous that Jamie Swan had been told things by my grandmother that I had not. Suddenly, I actually hated him, sitting there so smug. He hadn’t lost the most important person in his life - what did he know?
I didn't want to be here. I wanted to go home. I played my final card. ‘Anyway,’ I said, ‘my boyfriend doesn’t approve of me doing this sort of stuff.’ Surely he wouldn't have some smart arse answer to that.
‘Your boyfriend doesn’t approve?’ he sounded incredulous. ‘You mean you’d waste an amazing, useful talent because some man says you shouldn’t get involved? I don’t believe it! Don’t you have a mind of your own?’
‘Of course I do!’ I flared back. I noticed the barperson in the apron glancing over at us. No doubt thinking this was a lovers’ tiff. I lowered my voice. ‘How dare you! I just want to keep my relationship going.’
‘My God,’ Inspector Swan said. ‘After seeing all those pictures of you graduating and Maggie telling me how bright you were and how proud she was of you, I can’t believe I’m hearing this!’ He glared at me.
I had no idea what to say. He was wiping the floor with me. Fury rose from the pit of my stomach. I was not going to sit here and let him talk to me like that! ‘Well, I don’t suppose you’d know. I doubt any woman would have you anyway,’ I snapped. I noticed him wince slightly. That was below the belt, Tabitha, I thought. Not to mention wrong. The Ice Queen had been all over him like a rash in the King’s Arms. Nevertheless, I could see my comment had hurt him. But he’d asked for it.
He recovered quickly. He put his glass down, angrily. It was still half full and some of his drink slopped over onto his fingers. ‘I can see I’m wasting my time here,’ he said, standing up and slinging his jacket over his arm. ‘People are dying. You could help stop it, but you won’t, all because your boyfriend wouldn’t like it. I’m disappointed, frankly. Very disappointed. You don’t live up to the picture Maggie painted of you at all. I’m going to leave now.’
With a flick of his wrist, he sent a business card spinning across the table. ‘Just in case you come to your senses,’ he said. ‘If you get any useful information. If you change your mind, call me any time. But I won’t hold my breath.’
I watched him walk out of the door without looking back, and as he passed the window, he put his jacket on and crossed the street with easy, confident strides.
My hands shook as I wiped tears of anger and shame from my eyes. I saw the barperson looking at me sympathetically.
I’d let Gran down again, I thought. Then the anger took over. Jamie Swan was simply the rudest, most disrespectful and insulting man I had ever met. And to think I had actually thought he was attractive!
I downed my drink and looked at his card on the table. I certainly was not going to change my mind when he’d spoken to me like that. I didn’t pick it up. I huffed into my coat, hefted my bag over my shoulder, and walked away, leaving it there.
As I pushed open the door, I heard someone calling out, ‘Excuse me, Miss!’ The barperson in the pocketed apron was running towards me. ‘You left this on the table.’ She held out Jamie Swan’s card to me.
I almost snapped at her to throw it away, but something stopped me. Dakota’s voice in my head.
‘She just flunked her exams, her boyfriend left her for her best friend, and to top it all, her dog just died. She doesn't need angry customers throwing her favour back in her face. Just take the damn card and throw it away when you get home.’
I looked at the woman. She did look tired and harassed.
‘Thanks,’ I said, with a tight smile and took the card from her. I dropped it into the black hole that was my handbag and promptly forgot about it.
17 molly baker
‘A child has been missing for three days after vanishing from her Colchester home. Molly Baker, 6, was playing in the garden of the family home when her mother Lorraine, 30, went into the house to answer the phone.
When Lorraine came back after a five minute chat with her sister, Molly had disappeared. Frantically, Lorraine searched the immediate area, but Molly was nowhere to be seen.
Fears that Molly has been abducted are being investigated by police.
“We’re appealing to anyone who might have seen something that afternoon to come forward,” John Baker, 31, Molly’s father, said last night. “She’s our little girl and we miss her desperately. I also appeal to whoever has her to give her back to us.”’
Mum called me. ‘I was wondering if you'd mind having Amber again on Friday night,’ she said.
‘I'd love to,’ I said.
‘Good. You know, I'm glad the two of you are getting to know each other at last. Amber hasn't stopped talking about you. She keeps asking when she can stay with you again, and the Robinsons have invited us for dinner on Friday. We'll drop her off at six, if that's okay with you.’
‘That's absolutely fine, Mum; I'll look forward to it.’
‘I'd better warn you, though, this news story about that little girl that's gone missing...’
‘Molly something... Molly Baker?’
‘Yes, that one. Amber's quite distressed about that – they're the same age and she's terrified that someone will come and carry her off. Of course, it means she doesn't wander off on her own when we're out at the shops, so it's a good thing in a way... what I'm saying is it might be wise not to let her watch the news. If, God forbid, they find that poor girl dead, it will really upset Amber, and that won't be easy for you to handle.’
‘Okay. I'll bear that in mind.’
‘Good. See you on Friday, then.’
**
‘I want to see the news,’ Amber announced as soon as Mum had gone. ‘I want to know if they found Molly yet.’
‘Mum didn't think you should watch it,’ I said. ‘In case there's bad news about her.’
‘Please, please let me watch
it,’ Amber said, and I gave in. If the news was good, it would put Amber's mind at rest to hear it. If the news was bad, I felt I could handle things better than Mum. I could reassure Amber that Molly was in the spirit world with Gran rather than purely and simply dead.
I turned on the TV, and we watched together. There were no further developments, only speculation as to what might have become of the girl. When the story changed to the Prime Minister and the US President having a meeting in Washington, Amber turned to me and asked, ‘Where do you think Molly is?’
‘I don’t know,’ I said. To be honest, I hadn’t paid much attention to the story before Mum had brought it up. I’d had other things on my mind; it was just one depressing news item among many.
‘Do you think she’s dead?’
‘I don’t know, Amber.’ I began to feel quite guilty for not caring. Molly was Amber’s age, and I knew I’d be going crazy with worry if she had been missing for three days.
‘If she’s dead, do you think she’s with Gran?’
‘She’d be with her own gran, I expect, or someone else she knows who’s died.’
‘Do you think our gran could have a look round Heaven and let us know if Molly’s there or not?’
‘I’m sure she would. Look, Amber, I think it’s time you went to bed. Before you go to sleep, why don't you ask Gran if she’d do that? Perhaps she'll tell you what she finds out in a dream.’
I figured that would make Amber feel she was doing something useful even in her sleep, to help find Molly. Perhaps she would even get an answer.
With Amber sound asleep, I went back to watching TV, idly flicking channels. Another news bulletin was talking about whether Molly could have been taken by the same person who had been killing young women over recent weeks. I was glad Amber had not heard that. I knew it couldn’t be the case. That killer only went for adult women. I knew he wouldn’t target a small child, although I had no idea how I knew.