by Mary Birk
Reid motioned for the two of them to sit down. Harry took a chair, and Allison followed suit.
“I assume Frank’s told you I’ll be going out of town.”
“He did,” Harry said. Allison could tell whatever had been off between the guv and Harry was still off. She hoped Harry telling him about them sharing a house wouldn’t make things worse.
“For how long?”
“I expect to be gone all week.” Without any further explanation, the Superintendent said, “Bring me up-to-date quickly on the nanny investigation. I assume there’s been no news on any of the girls’ whereabouts.”
Harry took the lead. “No, but we’re getting close with something else.”
“Yes?”
“These girls all fit a certain profile. White, American, lower middle class, religious, and none of them had boyfriends back home. And,” he nodded toward Allison, “as DC Muirhead pointed out the other day, they were all bonnie and none older than sixteen.”
Reid twirled his pen slowly between his fingers. He was listening, but Allison could tell he was preoccupied with something else. Was it his trip to Paris, or maybe whatever he and Harry had been arguing about?
“What DC Muirhead and I were discussing, is that the families they came here to work for all had certain similarities, as well. First, they all advertised for an au pair in online papers, next, the adverts were almost spookily similar—they wanted a Christian girl, the age range they asked for was sixteen to eighteen, photograph mandatory.” Harry was ticking off the items listed in the adverts on his fingers as he went. “No experience needed, all travel expenses paid up front, the wages were top of the scale, with a flexible start date and length of employment. And on each one, they specified no agency inquiries.”
Reid didn’t seem impressed. “Maybe they simply didn’t want to pay an agency fee.”
“Maybe, or maybe they didn’t want anyone watching over what happened to the girl when she got here.” Harry’s voice had an edge to it, and Allison could tell he was about to snap at the guv.
She decided to pipe in. “What seems odd to us, guv, is that all three adverts were almost exactly the same even though the people didn’t know each other. Also, all three were posted by the husband, not the wife like you’d expect for something like childcare, and then, and this isn’t something concrete, but all three families seem, odd. Well, actually, not the families so much as the marriages.”
“Some would say all marriages are odd.”
“I don’t know, guv, maybe so,” Allison said, uneasy at the Superintendent’s flat, mirthless tone. Was he referring to his own marriage?
“What was odd about them?”
“Not the same odd things. They were all odd in different ways. The Gundersons, where Lizzie Frost worked, have one of those families where the husband is the almighty boss, and the wife is meek and subservient. He makes lots of money, and she stays home. When he says jump, she jumps.” Allison took a breath, then continued. “The family Kristen Daly worked for was super-weird. First, they didn’t look like they could really afford paying an au pair’s salary, let alone her travel expenses. Second, the wife didn’t want an au pair; she works but had childcare under control. It was the husband who insisted.”
Harry took over. “Allison’s right. It was weird shite. Cassandra Conrad and her husband Tim Brighton, who hired Susan Clark, the first au pair to go missing, are another wacko couple. Conrad’s the star of that marriage and she’s not shy about making that clear. She’s had four bairns in ten years, but she’s all about her career. She treats her husband like a servant. It’s clearly his job to make sure nothing about them interferes with her work.”
“Why does this make some kind of pattern? I’m not seeing it.”
Harry said, “For one thing, none of the families seem very religious. Why do they want a Christian girl? Why do they want them so young? Why do they need a photo before even seeing their application?”
“I give up, why?”
Allison could tell the Superintendent was finally engaged, in spite of himself.
Harry said, “That chat room Lizzie Frost and Susan Clark were in, I’ll bet anything we’ll find Kristen Daly was in it, too.”
“And?”
“I think that’s the starting point. When the right kind of girl shows up in the chat room, she’s cut out of the herd. Then someone lets her know about this great opportunity in Scotland, and where to find the advert.”
“Go on.”
“You see, this chat room is for a very particular kind of herd, only for a particular kind of girl.”
“Which is?”
“Virgins. They’re all virgins.”
Chapter 24
ANNE WENT DOWNSTAIRS holding Michael, and found Sebastian in the kitchen.
“Is there coffee or have I gotten up too late?”
“You missed the first pot. I brewed this one when I heard you stirring upstairs.” He poured her a cup.
She shifted Michael to her hip, and took the cup. “Thanks, I need this desperately. Did Terrence leave for work already?”
Sebastian glanced at the clock. “About three hours ago. He had a trip come up, and will probably be gone all week. He said he was leaving you a note on your desk.”
She looked up in surprise. “A trip? Where to?”
“Paris.”
“Paris? Why?”
“He didn’t say.”
Her initial relief that she and Terrence wouldn’t have to discuss last night’s debacle this morning, evaporated into alarm. “We should turn on the TV, see if something’s on the news. Something must have happened to make him take off like this.” She switched on the television remote, and handed Michael to Sebastian. “Here, hold him and try to find a channel with news on. I’ll get the note and be right back.”
Anne grabbed the note on her desk and hurried back to the kitchen. As she opened the note to read it, she glanced up at the television. Nothing seemed to have happened, or at least, nothing that was public knowledge. She read the note and frowned. He wanted her to have dinner with Andrew? What had prompted that crazy idea? She’d been almost relieved at Terrence’s ultimatum last night, knowing it would give her an excuse to not have to deal anymore with Andrew’s constant calls and texts. Andrew had made no secret of the fact that he was still in love with her, and it had been difficult to maintain the distance of a friend with him so obviously wanting more.
Though maybe it wouldn’t be a problem anymore. Not if, as Darby seemed to imply, Andrew and she were a couple now. Anne couldn’t say she liked the idea of Andrew with Darby, someone who hated Anne’s guts. But, Anne decided she couldn’t have it both ways. If she was free to move on, so was Andrew, and it wasn’t up to her to say who he should or should not be with. Her more immediate problem was what was going on with Terrence, and whether he was in any danger.
“His note doesn’t say anything about why he had to go all of a sudden. You’re sure he didn’t say anything to you?”
“Not a word.” Sebastian nodded at Michael who was reaching toward the counter where a bunch of bananas sat in a pottery bowl. “I think he wants a banana. Maybe he needs some real food.”
“Not necessary yet, according to his doctor, but she said I could start him on rice cereal if he seemed to want it.” She lowered two pieces of bread into the toaster.
“Just in case, I’ll pick some up when I’m at the store. I’d guess the baby food section?”
“Probably. Did Terrence say what time his plane leaves?”
“No.”
“Was he going to the office first?” What happened to their agreement to communicate better? Then she remembered the trip he’d mentioned earlier. But wasn’t it supposed to last more than a week? He must have decided to come home weekends since she wasn’t going to be joining him. Still, he should have told her he was leaving.
“He didn’t say.”
Anne picked up the kitchen telephone and dialed Terrence’s cellphone. She let it ri
ng until it went to voicemail. She left him a message to call her. “No answer. I’ll try the office.” The toast popped up, and Anne put some of Jack Shelton’s peanut butter on it before making her next call.
Frank Butterworth picked up on the second ring. After he confirmed Terrence was there, she asked to speak to him, but Frank said he was in a meeting, and had specified no interruptions. Frowning, she tried Harry’s cellphone, but got voicemail. Maybe Harry was in the same meeting.
“I’d better get to work. I’ve got to get these plans done today.” Anne refilled her coffee cup, and grabbed her plate of toast. “Come get me if Terrence or Harry calls. Oh, and don’t forget Tabby’s coming this afternoon. Send a car for her, and when she gets here, have her take over with Michael, but keep an eye on her to make sure she doesn’t have any problems. I’ll try to break away from my work as soon as I can.”
“Lord Reid said you might be going out for dinner?”
“I’m not.”
“Then I’ll prepare something. Fancy a steak and kidney pie?”
“God, no. Don’t even joke about it.” Anne could tell by his face he wasn’t serious. He knew she despised the dish. Whenever she tried to eat kidneys, she could swear she tasted urine. “Tabby’s American. Can we have something American?”
“Such as?”
“Chili dogs and onion rings? And chocolate milkshakes?”
He gave her a thumbs-up. “You’ll have it. Though I’ll not answer for how they’ll translate into your milk.”
“Michael’s half-American—he’ll love it. Thanks, Sebastian. I’ll be in my studio if you need me or Terrence calls.” They were going to have to have a talk about him not waking her up to tell her he’d be going out of the country. He didn’t seem to have embraced the concept of mutual communication. Or was he still upset about seeing Darby and Andrew last night? Was that why he’d not woken her up to make love this morning? No, that couldn’t be it. Otherwise, he wouldn’t have told her he didn’t mind if she and Andrew met for dinner.
Later, back in her studio, Anne examined the samples of her other work that she planned to include in her proposal. The absence of current photos from the Lynstrade Manor job was still a problem, as the snaps she’d gotten of Lynstrade Manor by night were worthless. With only the before photographs and the immediately-after-completion photographs, there was no way to get the finished effect of the gardens.
She needed some current photos, ones taken in the light of day, to give prospective clients a better idea of what she could do. She’d met the estate manager last year with Walter. What harm could it do to put in a call to the manager, if he was still working there, and get permission to get photographs? Walter didn’t live at Lynstrade Manor anymore, in fact, from what Terrence said, no one lived there, so she couldn’t imagine there being any danger, especially if she had Sebastian and a professional photographer with her.
If she got the photos while Terrence was gone, she wouldn’t even need to bother him about it at all. Besides, it would serve him right for leaving without talking to her. If they’d had a chance to talk, she’d have told him about her plan.
Maybe.
* * * * *
Tabby breathed a sigh of relief when the MacTavishes piled into the taxi to go to the airport, though she was going to miss Peter’s enthusiastic lovemaking. It was nice to be appreciated. He’d even snuck upstairs during the party last night for a lovely bout of quick, hot sex. She’d stripped down like he’d told her, and was waiting for him in her room. He hadn’t even been able to wait long enough to take off his tux. She shivered, remembering. And before he’d left the house this morning, when the rest of the family was already outside, he’d kissed her hard, then, looking at her with an intense, private longing that thrilled her, said they’d talk when he returned. Tabby was sure he was going to propose.
She’d have been more upset with him leaving her behind, except so many other exciting things were happening. She was all packed, and still had half an hour before the cab was supposed to pick her up to take her over to the Reids. She’d packed her cutest clothes, including her new apricot top that showed off her figure. Lady Anne was beautiful, sure, but maybe Lord Reid was ready for someone younger, and he’d see Tabby and fall instantly in love. If not, she’d still have Peter.
Fred and her mother could stick it up their butts.
Tabby went to the computer. Her news wasn’t as exciting as Lizzie getting married, but it was still worth writing about, though she wouldn’t mention Peter. She messaged Lizzie, telling her a little bit about where she was going, and that she’d be back Thursday night, and then, this weekend, before the MacTavishes got back, she’d go visit Lizzie. She smiled, thinking about how anxious Peter would be to see her when he returned after a vacation with his pudgy bran muffin of a wife. He’d told her he’d be thinking about Tabby the whole time he was gone, imagining her in a bikini, and out of it. He’d promised he wouldn’t sleep with, or even touch, his wife.
Tabby shut down the computer, and took a long, slow tour of the house that might someday be hers. Going through the master bedroom, she got a wonderful idea. She hurried back to her bedroom, unzipped her suitcase, and took out a lacy hot orange bra and panty set. She’d hide them in Peter’s dresser drawer for him to find later.
* * * * *
Harry was trying to make sense of Reid’s sudden, still unexplained, trip to Paris. Reid had kept close to home ever since he’d gotten back together with his wife. Before, sure, he’d often gone off to various meetings in Paris, or Italy, or London, or the States, but he always gave more notice and some explanation about why he was going. Harry had fielded a call from Lady Anne, who seemed as puzzled as Harry was. Apparently, Reid hadn’t given her any notice or explanation, either. If they hadn’t had a row, Harry would have pushed Reid for details, hell, if they hadn’t had a row, Reid would have given details. As it was, Harry decided he didn’t give a toss what the arsehole was up to.
He looked over at Allison, who was busily making notes and scrolling down her computer. Her head bobbed as she worked, the little gold earrings she wore glinting in the beam of sunlight that came from the window.
“Finding anything?”
She flashed him a big smile. “You’re going to flip out.”
“That’s a yes, then?”
“That’s a fuck yes.”
He clucked his tongue. “Language, sweetcakes. What’ve you got?”
“Language, yourself, and quit calling me that.”
“Sorry, sugar. What did you find?”
She frowned. “Don’t call me that either.”
“Are you going to tell me what you found?”
She nodded. “I’m almost positive our third missing nanny was in the chat room.”
Harry stood up and went around to Allison’s screen. “Kristen?”
“Yeah. I think she’s the one that called herself Misty.”
“How can you tell?”
“For one thing, the timing is right. This Misty starts showing up just before the Websters start advertising for a nanny. For another thing, later, when she says she got a nanny job, it’s exactly when they hired Kristen. Also, the posts stop right before Kristen disappears.” Allison pressed her lips together as she pointed to the file open beside her. “But the final clincher is that Kristen Daly’s cat back home is named Misty.”
“Get on with you.”
She beamed up at him. “S’truth.”
Harry whistled. “So all three girls were there. You’re a little star, aren’t you?” He tousled her hair. “That deserves a treat. Fancy a cup of tea?”
“I wouldn’t say no.”
Harry brought two mugs of strong tea back from the kitchen, handed her the one with milk and sugar. “Print out what you have.”
She gestured toward the printer. “Done. Help yourself.”
He picked the pages up off the tray. “I’ll have Frank work on getting a subpoena for the chat room’s internet provider. We’ll need the re
cords of everyone who’s been on it. We might be able to find other victims, or stop there from being more.”
“Did you hear back from the families yet?”
“All but Kristen Daly’s father, but I left him a message. Both Lizzie Frost’s mother and Susan Clark’s mother confirm the girls used to visit the chat room, and believe that’s where they first heard about the job openings.”
“They knew their daughters were doing that? How could they think that was a good idea? It’s so easy for predators to find victims on the internet.”
“They both said they thought it was a safe site, a place where they’d be talking to other girls with the same values. In theory it makes sense, though I agree with you, no one should be sharing that kind of intimate detail with cyber-friends.”
“Harry, did you get a chance to tell the guv about our living arrangements?”
“How could I? He took off like a scalded cat.”
“You have to tell him before he finds out on his own.”
Harry held up a placating hand. “I will. I promise. Next time I talk to him.”
“You’d better.” Allison’s desk telephone rang. She glanced at it, then looked away. It continued to ring.
Harry leaned over to see the phone’s caller i.d. screen. No name, just a mobile number.
“Want me to answer it, pet?”
She shook her head.
Harry raised his eyebrows. “I think it’s your boyfriend.”
“I don’t have a boyfriend.”
Harry reached over and picked up the handset. “DC Muirhead’s desk.”
There was a short silence. Then, “Can I speak to her, please?”
He mouthed the word “Michaud,” and tilted his head in a silent question.
Allison shook her head.
“She’s in a meeting at the moment. Can I tell her who’s calling?”
“Harry, you arsehole, you know it’s me. Is she there?”
“Sweet talk will get you nowhere.”
“Is she there?”
“DC Muirhead is in the middle of something and can’t be interrupted.”