After Alyssa agreed, I reluctantly signed off and debated whether to try to go back to bed or give up on the idea of rest and go have a shower to get ready for the day instead. By the time I reached the bed, it was clear I wasn’t going to be able to turn my mind back off again long enough for sleep.
While I was drying off after my shower, I heard the Skype notification again. I raced to the table, pulling on my boxers as I went. When I saw it was Alyssa again, I pushed to answer it without worrying about putting on anything else.
Alyssa was paler than during our first call, and her breaths came fast and hard. “Phoebe was getting gifts from someone.” The words burst from her before I could ask why she was calling back.
I sank into the chair. “What?”
“I couldn’t get hold of Angel, but I just spoke to your mum. She said that while she was there, there was a red rose left on Phoebe’s doorstep. Apparently, Phoebe had been getting a few gifts—roses and chocolates—and wasn’t worried about it.”
“Do you think—” I couldn’t even finish the sentence. Not when Xavier’s warning about Beau’s behaviour toward Phoebe ran through my head so loudly.
In the end that didn’t matter because Alyssa understood what I wanted to say. “Who knows?”
“Why didn’t Mum say something?”
“Phoebe wasn’t concerned, so by the time Kelly left, she wasn’t either.”
“Fuck.” What could we have done differently if we’d known about the gifts? Would it have changed anything or could we have convinced Phoebe to be more careful? I buried my head in my hands before curling my fingers into my hair. “Where did we go wrong, Lys?”
“Wrong?”
“She has this whole other life over here. Things we don’t know about. Why didn’t she tell us about any of this shit?”
Alyssa’s frown twisted into a straight line. “Because you told your parents everything you did when you moved to Sydney.”
“That was different.”
“How? Dec, you might not like it, but she’s an adult now.”
“But these secrets . . . they’re the reason she’s not here. I’m sure of it.”
Her expression fell again. “I’m just saying it’s unrealistic to expect her to tell us everything.”
“Do you think she’d tell us if someone was stalking her?”
Alyssa’s eyes widened. “Stalking?”
“Yesterday, Xavier said that Beau was stalking her. That he wouldn’t take no for an answer. What if she told him no?” I tugged my hands through my hair and sat back against the chair.
“What about what she said on the interview?”
“You’ve watched it already?”
“Enough. She looked . . . happy when she was talking about Beau. How could that turn around in a day?”
“Maybe he hurt her.”
Alyssa looked at her hands. “You’ve spoken to him. Do you think he’s capable of that?”
I buried my head in my hands again. “I wish I knew what to think. There’s only one way to find out though, isn’t there? I’m going to call him.”
“Okay. I’ve gotta go do the final lights-out run around here. Let me know how you go at her apartment today.”
“I’ll send you an email so you can check in the morning.”
She shook her head. “Just call me, Dec. I’m not going to be getting any sleep anyway.”
“You have to look after yourself,” I cautioned.
She raised an eyebrow at me. Her thoughts were as plain as day, as though they were printed across her face. I wasn’t looking after myself, why should she?
“For the kids,” I added.
Her eyes narrowed as I played dirty. “Call me when you’re done. Please.”
I scoffed and gave a mock salute. “Yes, ma’am.”
As soon as I disconnected the session, I turned off the laptop. With my phone in hand, I searched the pockets of the pants I’d worn the day before to find Beau’s business card. I punched in the number and waited for him to answer.
When he did, his voice was full of sleep. “Good mornin’, sir.”
I rolled my eyes at the Boy Scout attitude. Who had time for that shit so early in the morning? “Declan. Please.”
“Yes, sir. How can I help you?”
I decided to ignore the second sir and launch straight into the important questions. “Do you know anything about the gifts Phoebe was receiving?”
“Gifts?” His voice was intense, all trace of sleep washed away, and surprise coloured his tone. Once more, I was convinced he was either genuinely concerned or he was a fucking good actor.
The concern didn’t leave his voice as he ran through the list of people who might have had access to Phoebe’s apartment building. As he continued, it became clear that his information wouldn’t narrow down a damn thing. There was a company-owned apartment in the building that practically any fucking person in management, and probably half the other people at Richards Racing, could access. Any of them could have given their friends access codes.
When he told me he was at the team’s apartment and asked to see Phoebe’s apartment with me—giving me the excuse that he might recognise something out of place—I figured it was best to agree so that I could keep an eye on him. If he was acting, and it was nothing but a sick game to him, it would be easier to catch him out in a lie having him close at hand whenever possible.
NOT EVEN TWENTY minutes after getting off the phone with Beau, I was in front of Phoebe’s apartment building preparing to meet the superintendent, Mr Smyth. When I climbed from the car and strode to the door, I tried to project an air of authority—like I wasn’t seconds away from losing my fucking mind.
It took Mr Smyth a fucking age to make his way to the secured gate to let me in. I was just about ready to force my way in when the door swung open to reveal a huge guy looming in the doorway. He was at least half as big again as Alyssa’s brother, Josh, but older—weathered like he’d seen far too many days in the sun. I was certain if I studied the tattoos that lined his arms there would be at least one that had some link to one of the armed forces. He wasn’t a guy to be fucked with, even though he was probably twice my age.
“Mr Reede?”
I stuck my hand out, hoping he didn’t fucking snap it in two when he accepted. “Good to meet you. I hope I haven’t inconvenienced you?”
“Not at all.” We ran through our discussion on the phone once again. I hadn’t told him all of the details, but enough to make certain he knew how serious the situation was and how desperately I needed access to Phoebe’s apartment. “This way.”
He led the way to a small elevator and as we waited, I held my breath and wondered what I might find upstairs. Would her apartment be clean and tidy? Or would someone have ransacked it?
The ride up was awkward. It was clear Mr Smyth wasn’t the sort for small talk, and I was in no fucking mood to talk either. While the lift rumbled up to her floor, I wondered what level Beau was on. Where the team apartment was. Was it near hers? Would someone have been able to spy on her from there? Was that why Beau was in that apartment now?
The elevator doors slid open and I followed Mr Smyth onto Phoebe’s floor. My stomach twisted as I considered what I might be walking into.
“That’s odd,” Mr Smyth said before quickening his pace.
I followed his faster steps, needing to almost trot to keep up.
“The door is open,” he continued.
My heart leapt and I rushed forward, eager to see why the door was open. If it had been open since she’d disappeared, surely at least one of the neighbours would have reported it by now?
As I neared, I heard someone sobbing inside. My breath caught and I surged forward.
Beau’s voice came from within. “Hey, now, Angel. She’ll be okay.”
Angel?
“You don’t know that.” Angel’s voice followed straight behind.
Why is Angel here?
I hit the door just in time to see Angel shove
at Beau’s chest. “Why didn’t you look after her? She went back to you when you needed her. Where were you when she needed you?”
Beau’s expression was enough to wipe away the last of my doubt. The guilt I saw buried in the downward curl of his lip was something familiar to me—it was what I’d worn in the days after learning about Emmanuel and the way I’d let Alyssa and Phoebe down.
Knowing that laying blame unnecessarily wasn’t going to help anything, I interrupted the conversation. “Angel, you can’t say that. You don’t know what happened. Blaming Beau isn’t going to fix anything. I’m sure he feels guilty enough as it is without you adding anything more to it. We all do.”
She leapt from the couch and rushed to me. Without stopping, she threw her arms around my middle and pressed her face against my chest.
I wrapped my arms around her in return, my entire focus on her. No wonder Alyssa hadn’t been able to get in contact with her. “What’re you doing here?”
She explained why she had to come. “I needed to be close to her, in whatever way I could. I should’ve stayed longer and watched out for her. Maybe things would be different if I had.”
I did what I could to calm her, using a trick I’d learned from comforting Phoebe and Alyssa over the years. “Phoebe had her own life here, you can’t blame yourself either.”
She wrapped her arms tighter and held me as if she thought I was going to disappear too.
After thanking and dismissing Mr Smyth, I tried to comfort Angel, but also tried to draw what information I could out of her. Phoebe had disappeared just a couple of days after Angel had left; maybe Angel had seen something in the days leading up to her flight home that could shed some light on it.
“D’ya mind if I have a look around?” Beau asked, pulling me from the conversation.
“Just don’t touch or move anything,” I instructed. If there was someone involved in Phoebe’s disappearance, it was possible their fingerprints were somewhere in the apartment. Although how we’d have a clue that they were there, or that they weren’t there innocently, I had no idea. I just didn’t want to disturb the place too much until the police would finally believe me and do something to investigate.
As Beau moved away, I drew Angel to the couch. “What happened while you were here with Phoebe?”
She launched into a story about her time in the USA, starting with a movie and a date with Phoebe’s boyfriend, Xavier, through to spending a few days down at a hotel and resort Beau owned in Georgia.
I lifted my eyes to where Beau trailed around the apartment. “So Phoebe’s with Xavier still?”
Angel frowned at the question. “Yeah. Not that I agree with her choice, but what can I do?”
Nodding to show that I understood, I asked the next most important question I had. “Do you know how much medication Phoebe had with her down in Georgia?” I asked.
Angel leapt out of her skin, no doubt not expecting me. “What? Oh, um . . . a week’s worth maybe. She refilled her pill boxes before we left, said she had enough to last until she got home for the Racing Hub feature.”
“Do you know where her medication is here?”
“In the cupboard over the fridge.”
I wanted to check the stock, but Beau was wandering around the kitchen and I still wasn’t sure how much to share with him. Particularly with Angel’s words about Xavier continuing to shift the sediment in my mind, muddying the waters again. I’d been so certain Beau’s reaction to her words had been proof that he was telling the truth. Maybe the guilt I’d seen had nothing to do with a belief that he’d failed Phoebe and everything to do with him having hurt her. “So . . . Beau. How well do you know him?”
Her eyes cut to Beau before meeting mine again. “Not very. But I can say that whatever was going on between them, Phoebe still cared about him. Even if she couldn’t admit it to him.”
“Do you think it’s possible that he was stalking her?”
“Stalking? Beau? Why would you think that?”
“It’s just a question I need to ask.”
She chewed on her lip for a while, watching her own hands twist and twine with one another. It seemed like there was some sort of internal debate raging, and I could guess why.
“I know you might not want to share Phoebe’s secrets, especially not to her parents, but I need to know. It could be important.”
She sighed. “No. I didn’t see anything to suggest he was. In fact, when I made Phoebe go to Georgia, he didn’t seem happy to see us. At least, not at first.” She went on to tell me how he’d reacted to their arrival, but how he and Phoebe had been the rest of the trip. “On the way to drop me off at the airport, we found out about Abby, Beau’s foster sister. She . . . passed away and Phoebe took it hard when she found out.”
For the most part, her version of the events leading up to the day she flew home were pretty much in line with what Beau had told me, and even what Xavier had said. It felt like I was slowly starting to peel back the layers of everyone’s stories and get to the heart of the truth.
Glancing around, I wondered where Beau had gotten to. Excusing myself from Angel, I went to investigate. I might have let him join me and allowed him to help, but that didn’t mean I wanted him to be free to roam Phoebe’s building completely unchecked.
It didn’t take me long to find him. He was in Phoebe’s bedroom with a familiar frame in his hands. That frame—and the family photo within—had been beside her bed for a good year. The strip of photos over the top was a newer addition, but still one that had gone unchanged in the whole time she’d been back at home after her holiday in the States.
When I said as much to Beau, he leapt to his feet and swiped at his face. The pain present seconds earlier was swept away by a frown and a hard-set mouth. Without a word, he dropped the frame onto the bed and left. I picked it up and took a good look at the strip of photos added after her holiday. It was her and Beau in a photo booth. They looked so happy and carefree. Was it the truth of things between them, or was he an obsessed stalker? How could I get to the truth of the matter?
I returned the frame to the nightstand and headed back to the living room. Angel sat on the couch, her knees drawn up into her chest and her arms wrapped around them.
While she was distracted, I used Beau’s absence from the apartment to check on the medications. When I opened the cupboard over the fridge, I expected to see the numerous boxes that would normally litter Phoebe’s medicine drawer in her room back home. Only, it was empty.
“You’re sure she keeps them in here?” I asked.
Angel turned to watch me. “Yeah. Definitely. Why? Are they gone?”
I dragged a chair over and climbed on top to check right to the back of the cupboard. “There’s definitely nothing in here.”
“Wh-what does that mean?”
It could have meant a couple of things. That Phoebe had indeed chosen to go away and had taken the lot to be on the safe side. Or that whoever had hurt her knew about her medication and had ensured they’d taken it to hide suspicion. Who knew about her condition though? Dale did for certain, but who else might have?
“It means there’s a chance she’s still alive.” The words left me before I could think about how thoughtless they might sound to Angel. She might’ve seemed strong, and she might’ve had to deal with shit in her life no one deserved to deal with, but she was still only nineteen. Far too young to be dealing with the thought that her friend might have died. That was the reality of Phoebe’s situation though—the reality that had been torturing me. If she missed a day or two of her tablets, her body could reject Emmanuel’s kidney, and that could very likely be deadly.
I spun to Angel just in time to see her hand clamp over her mouth as her eyes filled with tears. “You—you thought she was dead?”
“No, I—” I couldn’t finish because Angel had retreated to Phoebe’s bedroom and shut the door behind her. After climbing down from the chair and putting it back in place, I went to knock on the bedroom door. “An
gel, can you come out please?”
“Leave me alone!”
I was torn between wanting to comfort her and feeling frustration bubbling inside me that not only was I in a foreign country trying to find my daughter, but now her friend was having fucking hysterics on my watch—because of something I’d said.
Before I could figure out which emotion was the dominant one, Beau walked back into the apartment, looking significantly calmer than before.
“Wherever she is, it’s possible she’s got her medications with her. Angel said that Phoebe had left a stash here and they’re gone now.” Relief flooded my tone, as the words were a reminder that at some point, someone had taken the time to pack up her medication. She’d taken her medication herself or someone wanted her to be safe. Those were the only explanations.
Beau breathed out in an audible sigh.
Did he understand more than he’d let on?
With the new information from the interview, and this new revelation over her medications, I decided it was time to revisit the police and see if I could get them to take action now.
UNFORTUNATELY, THE second officer I spoke to was just as unhelpful as the first.
“We have video evidence that she was fucking happy,” I seethed.
“And three phone calls after that which state she was fixing to go away,” the young officer said. She wrung her hands together before continuing. “I understand your predicament, I really do, but we have to follow procedure. You admitted yourself there was no sign of any forced entry to her home and she’d taken clothes and her supply of medication that should last a number of weeks. That alone suggests she was planning a lengthy trip.”
“Isn’t there anything you can do?” I buried my head in my hands. “Please?”
“I’m sorry, but my hands are tied. The best we can do is send out the Be On the Lookout notices, which we’ve already done.”
I clutched at my hair. “You don’t understand. I know there’s something wrong.”
She flinched and I could see that it wasn’t her choice not to act. “I can give you the name of a private investigator if you’d like? He’s the husband of a friend. He’ll be able to help.”
Decay (Phoebe Reede: The Untold #3.2 Declan Reede: The Untold Story #6) Page 7