Most Gracious Advocate (Terrence Reid Mystery Book 4)

by Mary Birk

  * * * * *

  Allison arranged her notes for the interviews neatly in her notebook, waiting for Shelton to come out of the Superintendent’s office so they could leave to do the nanny family interviews. The interview with Maria Ragnarsdötter yesterday had gone well. If the rest went as well, maybe Shelton would mention to the guv what a good job she’d done.

  Allison ducked into the lav, brushed her hair, put on fresh lipstick, and checked her teeth to make sure she hadn’t gotten any lipstick on them. She wore her serious navy pantsuit, which she thought made her look professional, but also stylish. Her short black boots had enough of a heel to give her a little more height, but not enough to make it hard for her to move quickly, though it was unlikely she’d have to break into a sudden pursuit today.

  She made her way back to her desk, trying to pretend like she wore lipstick every day in the office. Harry gave a low whistle, and when she looked at him, he winked and motioned to his lips. She felt herself flush, and ignored him. Trust him to notice when she didn’t want him to.

  She looked at her watch; it was already half ten. They were supposed to be at the Gundersons’ in an hour. She riffled through the files she’d put together on each girl’s disappearance.

  The Gundersons, Lizzie Frost’s employers, had been interviewed by the local police after the missing person’s report was made. They’d given little information, insisting that because her suitcase was gone, she’d obviously left of her own volition. But now that it looked like Lizzie had been kidnapped, the Gundersons would have a lot more questions to answer.

  Finally, the door to the Super’s office opened and the two of them emerged. The Superintendent’s voice was clipped. “DS Ross, Special Agent Shelton has had something come up and he needs to leave straightaway. I’ll need you to accompany Allison on the interviews.”

  “Yes, sir.” Harry’s voice was distant, totally different from the way he usually was. Something was off between the guv and Harry. Allison had never seen them act so formally with each other. It was like they’d had a row, but she couldn’t figure out when it could have happened. They’d been fine yesterday. When she’d come in this morning, though, she’d immediately sensed there was a problem.

  The Superintendent and Harry were generally thick as thieves all day, one knowing what the other one was going to think or say before he did it, but this morning Harry and the guv had barely spoken a word to each other. Harry had nodded when Jack Shelton came in, and gone right back to his work. And the Superintendent, who generally would’ve had Harry in with him while he was talking to someone like Shelton, hadn’t even looked at Harry.

  Allison went over to say goodbye to Jack Shelton, and surreptitiously studied Harry and the guv. Yes, something was definitely off. What had happened?

  After Shelton left, and the guv and Frank retreated to discuss the quarterly reports, Allison said, “We’d better get going, Harry. Mr. Gunderson said they’d be ready for us at half eleven, and we’ve only about thirty minutes to get there.”

  Harry cocked an eyebrow at her. “A bit full of himself, our Mr. G, telling us when and how to do our jobs?”

  Allison wished she could do that with her eyebrow. Her eyebrows always moved together, no matter how much she practiced trying to get one to go up by itself. “He was ticked at us interviewing him at all. He said he’s already told the police everything he knows, and that we were wasting our time and his by making him go through it again.”

  Harry clucked his tongue. “Whatever happened to cooperation with the filth? We’ll have to make sure it takes more time than it would’ve if he’d been a nicer bloke.”

  She got her notebook, trying to hide her worry about what was going on between Harry and the guv. Was something going on with their team?

  Harry must have sensed her unease, though he misunderstood the cause. “Disappointed to be teaming with me and not the feebie?”

  She decided this wasn’t the time to ask him why he and the Super were on the outs. “I thought maybe I’d learn something new from working with an FBI agent.”

  “Police work is police work, sweetcakes. No fancy American agency does it any better.”

  “Probably not.”

  “I’ll buy you an ice cream afterwards, how’s that?”

  “I’m not a kid.”

  “Then I’ll buy you a pint.” He nodded toward her desk. “Grab your notes and your lists and let’s go.”

  Chapter 13

  THE GUNDERSONS LIVED about six miles from City Centre in a neighborhood that looked to Harry like it was trying desperately to imitate its betters: the stone lions sitting in front of a house that didn’t need lions, the fake Victorian façades, undersized gardens, and the gateless gateposts guarding the driveways. He couldn’t afford this house in a million years, but in truth, he wouldn’t want it, much as he wouldn’t wear a fake Rolex watch. He parked in the house’s small driveway behind the car already occupying it, a lower-end Mercedes. He glanced over at Allison. She didn’t seem impressed, either.

  The doorbell chimed out a formal bell sequence that would have been more appropriate for Westminster Abbey, and a woman answered the door, introducing herself as Britta Gunderson. Harry assessed her quickly, and he thought, accurately, but then, assessing women was one of his favorite hobbies. According to the file, she stayed home with the kids, five in all, ranging in ages from thirteen to two. She wore her brown hair long, making her look younger, and had a way better-than-tolerable figure considering she’d had five children.

  After no more than a cursory greeting, the woman ushered them into the lounge where a man with hair combed back neatly and dressed in crisp tan trousers and a navy blazer, sat in a high-backed upholstered chair behind a polished wood desk. According to the interview the local police had conducted of the man after the nanny’s friend, Maria Ragnarsdötter, reported Lizzie missing, Gunderson was Director of Information Services for a local pharmaceutical company.

  Douglas Gunderson reminded Harry of the father in the old Mary Poppins film. Harry’d hated that film since he’d been forced to watch it during a doomed date, back before he learned his lesson about dating women with children. He’d spent more time that night than he cared to remember trying to figure out how to unfasten the mother’s bra from underneath her wool jumper while the kids’ attention was on the telly. His memory of the film was permanently soured by how the evening had ended. After his patience in limiting himself to furtive touches while dancing penguins and cheerful chimneysweeps filled the screen in front of them, the youngest kid had vomited. Harry had gone home, so frustrated he could have chewed rocks. That was the last time he’d dated a woman who had children.

  Douglas Gunderson stood up, came around the desk and shook their hands. He returned to his throne behind the desk, directing them to take a chair across from him. Allison and the wife complied, but Harry, feeling contrary, remained standing. Gunderson was clearly uncomfortable with Harry standing while he and the women were seated, but couldn’t seem to figure out how to manage standing back up again without making himself look foolish. In fact, both the Gundersons seemed more uncomfortable than they should under the circumstances, but that could be due to their less than punctilious adherence to regulations regarding non-sanctioned labor, and not because they’d had anything to do with Lizzie Frost’s disappearance.

  Harry began the questioning. “You’ve both seen the footage of Lizzie’s abduction on the news?”

  “We did.” Gunderson answered for both of them. “I’m not sure it looked like an abduction.”

  “Why do you say that?”

  “She didn’t struggle, or try to get away.”

  “Mrs. Gunderson, what did you think?”

  “I don’t know. I guess I think what Douglas said.”

  “Right.” Harry resisted the urge to say something sarcastic. “Did either of you recognize the young man she was with?” Harry nodded to Allison, who passed the Gundersons a still photo taken from the video. Gunderson gave
it only a quick glance, but Britta Gunderson studied the picture more closely. Finally, she shook her head and handed the photo back to Allison.

  “I’m sorry, no.”

  Harry hadn’t really had much hope for an identification. Presumably had the Gundersons recognized the man from the CCTV video, they would have already notified the police. “We’re convinced the film shows an abduction. Lizzie appears surprised, and is pushed into the car. She doesn’t have a suitcase with her.”

  Neither Gunderson said anything.

  “That being the case, we need to go through every detail you know about Lizzie and her time here in Scotland. Even if you don’t think it’s important, it might help us find her. Why don’t you start by telling us how you happened to hire Lizzie?”

  After receiving a nod from her husband, Britta Gunderson began.“We don’t actually need full-time child care, so we didn’t want to go through all of the bother of an agency. We needed someone more like a big sister than a child care provider, so it was fine with us Lizzie being just sixteen. Our oldest child is thirteen, and the youngest is two.” Her voice was thin and reedy, her manner nervous, and put Harry in mind of a young child reciting in Sunday School for the first time.

  Harry thought that getting a sixteen-year-old au pair for a thirteen-year-old boy seemed a little barmy. Of course, he hadn’t grown up in a family that had au pairs, hadn’t even known what an au pair was until he was fully grown. In his family, a thirteen-year-old, whether boy or girl, would have been expected to look after their younger brothers and sisters, and not have the cheek to expect any pay for it.

  “Why didn’t you just hire a local girl?”

  The woman turned to her husband as if she didn’t feel qualified to answer the simple question, and Gunderson cleared his throat. “We put an advert out saying we needed someone to help with the children. She answered it.”

  “You weren’t looking specifically for an American girl?”

  “Yes,” Britta Gunderson said, at the same time her husband said, “Not particularly.”

  “Which is it?” Harry pretended confusion. “Were you, or weren’t you?”

  Gunderson sent his wife a withering look. “Britta means we were interested in getting a foreign girl to broaden our children’s horizons, but not necessarily one from the States.”

  “I see. Which one of you prepared the advert?”

  Gunderson blustered in this time before his wife could answer. “I take care of those sorts of things. Britta’s busy with the house and the children.” The arsehole couldn’t have been any more lord-of-the-manor if he’d actually had a manor or been a lord, rather than an overpaid something-or-other living in a faux mini-mansion and ruling over a cowed wife and a bunch of kids.

  “Where did you place the ad?”

  “The paper. Online version.”

  “Which paper?”

  “The Herald.”

  “Could I see a copy of the advert?”

  Gunderson looked momentarily flustered. “I’m not sure I kept a copy.”

  “Please look.” Harry kept his voice flat in an implied command. His mood was south of pissed off for a variety of reasons: the pretentiousness of the man, the wife’s total lack of backbone, and, he had to admit, he was still torqued at Reid, and more than happy to take it out on this pissbag.

  “Now? I need to get back to work. If you’d come on time . . .”

  “Now.” If they didn’t get it from him now, Gunderson would brush them off when they tried to follow up. Better to stay planted until they got everything they could. “Is it on your computer?” Harry gestured to the sleek silver laptop sitting on the desk.

  Gunderson wavered, but seemed to regain his courage. “As a matter of fact, I’m sure I don’t have it anymore. I would have deleted it after we hired the girl.”

  Harry moved toward the desk, indicating the computer with his chin. “Let me have a try. I’m good with computers. I’m generally able to find all kinds of things that have been deleted.”

  The other man’s face went red, and he moved the laptop close to him, as if to protect it from Harry’s prying eyes. But his bluff called, he reconsidered. “I may have saved it in a file. Let me check.”

  Harry went around to stand behind Gunderson. “I’ll watch.”

  Gunderson shifted in his chair. “It might take a while. Britta, take the detectives upstairs and show them Lizzie’s room while I look for the advert.”

  His wife moved toward the door, but when neither Harry nor Allison followed, she stopped, waiting for her next order.

  Harry said, “While you’re looking, we also need Lizzie’s response to your advert.”

  Gunderson frowned. “I’m not sure I have it anymore.”

  “But she contacted you by email?” Harry could almost see Gunderson’s tiny mind whirring around, trying to decide the implications of any answer. If he said she had emailed her inquiry, Gunderson knew Harry would want the email.

  “No, now that I think about it, I believe she phoned.”

  “Was that to your home number?”

  “Yes.”

  “When would that have been?”

  “December.” Gunderson was obviously starting to feel more comfortable.

  “Great, you can pull your December telephone records for us.”

  Gunderson looked trapped. “Actually, I think I had the calls come to my work number so Britta wouldn’t be bothered.”

  Harry smiled. “Even better. Get us those records. Your employer wouldn’t mind, I’m sure. Not when a young girl’s safety is at stake.”

  “Let me find the advert first, and see what number is down there.” Gunderson gestured to his wife. “Britta, take the detectives upstairs.”

  But Harry wasn’t ready to leave the man just yet. “So you talked with her for the first time in December. When did you decide to hire her?”

  “I offered her the job after we finished talking. Then her mother called, and we discussed the position. I sent the airline ticket, and that was it.”

  “Do you still have the other half of the ticket?”

  “What do you mean?”

  “I assume it was round-trip.”

  “No, it was one-way.”

  “One-way?”

  “I find you can often get special offer rates if you wait to book a flight.”

  Harry nodded. “How long was she supposed to be with your family?”

  “Until July.”

  “How many other applicants did you talk to?”

  “None. She answered our advert immediately and her application seemed acceptable. We hired her right away, so I just withdrew the advert. I didn’t want to be bothered with dealing with other inquiries.”

  Harry made a note. “When exactly did Lizzie start working for you?”

  Britta Gunderson shot an uncertain glance at her husband. “Around the middle of January?”

  Gunderson nodded. “The twentieth.”

  Harry indicated Gunderson’s laptop. “Have you found the advert yet?”

  Gunderson shook his head in annoyance. “I can’t talk and look. As I said, I need a few minutes. Britta will take you upstairs while I look for it.” He made a go-on gesture to his wife.

  His wife moved to the door, waiting for Harry and Allison to follow. Harry signaled to Allison with his eyes not to budge.

  “A few more questions before we go upstairs, if you don’t mind, Mr. Gunderson. Just in case you might remember something else you have on your computer that might help us.”

  “Like what?”

  “Her references.”

  “References?”

  “Sure. I mean, you’re having a girl come live in your house and take care of your young ones. I’m assuming you asked for references?”

  “She was sixteen. What kind of references would she have?”

  “So you didn’t?”

  “No. Britta, for the last time, take the detectives upstairs.” If the man’s teeth were clenched any tighter together, they’d
lock his mouth shut for good.

  Mrs. Gunderson nodded, and her voice anxious, said, “Please follow me.”

  Harry gave a nod to Allison, and she followed the wife up the stairs. Harry brought up the rear, upgrading his opinion of Britta Gunderson’s figure. Not bad at all. He was a bit partial to women with a nice posterior. A good front was nice, but a cute rear end was irresistible. He glanced at Allison’s arse as well, but that felt faintly incestuous. Still, Allison’s arse was prime, perfect if she hadn’t been a cop. What a waste. He gave it a little pat and she turned a murderous glance back at him, flipping two fingers up. He widened his eyes, feigning innocence. Allison didn’t seem fooled.

  The room was all the way up on the third floor. It was fitted out with plain white curtains and an equally plain white counterpane. Without asking permission, Allison went over to the bureau and began opening drawers, while Harry gravitated to the closet, disappointed to find it completely empty. He looked at Allison, who shook her head, indicating the drawers were also empty.

  “I’m not sure what you’re looking for, but the police already went through this room.” Britta Gunderson stood by the door of the room, as if unable to cross the threshold.

  Harry ran his hand along the top shelf of the closet, checking if anything could have been overlooked. “It helps give us a sense of her, which can in turn, give us a sense of what might have happened. She left nothing behind?”

  “No. She didn’t bring much with her. Just one big suitcase, so she didn’t have a lot of things here, but she took everything with her when she left.”

  “When did she pack?”

  She shrugged. “I’m not sure.”

  Harry wanted to shake the woman. “When did you last see her things here?”

  Another shrug.

  Harry was about to speak when Allison stepped in. “Try to remember. Did you come in to clean the room or bring up laundry, for instance?”

  “She kept her own room clean and did her own laundry.”

  Allison said, “Walk us through the day she disappeared.”