Fractured

by Dani Atkins

  ‘Doesn’t look like anyone is home,’ Jimmy eventually declared. ‘Perhaps it’s not even occupied. There wasn’t a name on the doorbell downstairs.’

  I was surprised at the disappointment that filled me at his words. To have come this far without finally being able to access the flat was beyond frustrating. Even though the evidence we had already uncovered told me what to expect, I still needed to see the proof with my own eyes. If I was ever to have any peace of mind, I needed to get inside the flat and verify there were no hidden traces within of my missing life.

  And then I remembered something. Abandoning the front door, I crossed swiftly over to the window which was a short distance away down the corridor. I ran my fingers around the faded wooden sill, seeking a handhold. Gripping the yellowed wood firmly in both hands I began to pull, thrusting up against the sill with my knee when it resisted my efforts.

  ‘Er, what are you doing?’ queried Jimmy, coming quickly to my side.

  I gave a grunt at my efforts but just kept trying to release the sill from the window cavity. Jimmy put his hands over mine, stilling my attempts to lift it.

  ‘Rachel, if you don’t want me to arrest you for vandalism, would you please explain what you’re up to?’

  I sighed and straightened up.

  ‘The guy who had the flat before me, an American chap, told me about this dodgy sill when I moved in. Apparently he was always locking himself out, so he found this neat place to keep a spare key. If it’s still there, we can let ourselves into the flat and check it out.’

  ‘Now that is breaking and entering,’ Jimmy confirmed. ‘Not exactly the best career move on my part, do you not think?’

  I looked up at him. He was right. This could get him in serious trouble with his bosses. I couldn’t be responsible for that. I couldn’t jeopardise his career.

  ‘OK. You wait for me down in the car. I’ll do this by myself. It won’t take long.’

  He sighed deeply.

  ‘You really are hell-bent on a life of crime, aren’t you?’

  Then, despite his words, he gently pushed me to one side and took hold of the sill. It lifted easily from its resting place in one smooth move. Little flurries of plaster dust puffed up at the removal of the wooden base, which for a second or two obscured the bricks upon which the sill had sat. As the dust settled, we both leant forward as though to take a closer look. But really there was no need. A front door key, safely encased in a clear plastic bag, was plainly visible, nestled in a gap between two bricks. Jimmy gave a small exclamation of surprise.

  My hand was already halfway towards the key when behind us came the unmistakable sound of a latch being released and the rattling of several door chains. In one hurried manoeuvre Jimmy replaced the sill upon the bricks, thumping down firmly on the wood to secure it in position, just as the front door to my old flat opened behind us.

  ‘Hello there,’ trilled a male voice. I spun around, hoping my features were devoid of guilt, to face the tall, slimly built man standing in my doorway. ‘Sorry I couldn’t get to the door straight away. I was on the phone. Can I help you?’ He was smiling engagingly but I noticed it was being directed at Jimmy and not me. He really was proving to be a big hit today.

  ‘Good morning, sir,’ began Jimmy, his voice adopting a smooth professional tone. ‘I’m sorry to disturb you but I wondered if we could have a moment or two of your time.’ As he spoke, Jimmy slipped his hand into his jacket pocket and produced his warrant card for the young man to peruse.

  His reaction was interesting to observe, for his face paled a little under the expensive fake tan, and he ran his hand nervously through his immaculately highlighted hair. I wondered what he might have been involved with to make him so uncomfortable at finding a policeman at his door.

  ‘May we come in for a moment?’ Jimmy asked, still the consummate officer of the law.

  ‘Oh yes, of course, of course,’ flustered the flat’s new occupant. ‘Please excuse the mess. I wasn’t expecting visitors; the place is an absolute tip!’

  We followed him through the hallway which I had painted bright yellow to lighten it. It was now covered in smart blue and white striped wallpaper. The lounge too was far from being the disgrace its owner had described, being stylishly and minimalistically furnished in sleek white and navy blue. It really did look so much bigger with all my furniture removed.

  ‘Please, sit, sit,’ flapped the man. ‘Can I get you something to drink? Or eat?’

  ‘No, thank you, sir. This really won’t take more than a few minutes.’

  The man was beginning to relax slightly now at Jimmy’s encouraging smile. He was really quite good at this policeman stuff. If he had been here to question the man about some misdemeanour, he would totally have lulled him into a false sense of security.

  ‘Could I have your name please?’ asked Jimmy smoothly, even withdrawing a small notebook to complete the illusion of an investigation. God, he was really good.

  ‘Maximilian MacRae,’ informed the man, perching on the edge of a white settee which contrasted strikingly with his black leather trousers. He leaned towards Jimmy with a twinkle. ‘But everyone just calls me Max.’

  Could he be any more blatant? I bit my lip which was threatening to quiver slightly. Jimmy, on the other hand, seemed impervious to anything inappropriate.

  ‘Mr MacRae,’ he began, putting the interview back on a more formal footing, ‘we are making enquiries today about a missing person. Do you know anything of a Miss Rachel Wiltshire?’

  My head flew up at my name.

  ‘Nooo. I’ve never heard of her, I’m afraid. Why, has something happened to her?’

  There was an almost ghoulish curiosity to his tone; a desire to hear every last grisly detail. If I really was missing, this guy would be high up on my list of suspects!

  ‘We hope not. We’re just trying to trace her whereabouts. We have this flat listed as her last known address.’

  I almost applauded then at the skilful way Jimmy had manipulated the conversation to find out what we wanted to know.

  ‘Really? That’s very odd. You see, I’ve lived here for three years now, and before me there was some young American man, who’d been here for even longer. So if this – what was her name? – Rachel girl did live here, it must have been a really long time ago.’

  ‘I see,’ Jimmy replied. He looked over to me with a question in his eyes. Have you seen enough? I looked around the room that was mine, and not mine at all. I was everywhere and nowhere. I gave a small nod.

  Jimmy got to his feet and I followed suit.

  ‘Well, thank you very much, Mr MacRae. I apologise again for disturbing you.’

  ‘Please: just Max.’

  ‘Thank you, Max,’ corrected Jimmy already heading towards the hallway. ‘You’ve been extremely helpful.’

  Max smiled doubtfully at Jimmy’s words.

  ‘I do hope you find this missing girl. And please, if you have any more questions, anything at all, just pop in anytime. I’m always here.’

  The invitation was directed totally at Jimmy: I was so completely excluded from that one, I might as well have been invisible. I turned away and pretended to be examining my shoes, afraid it wasn’t going to take much more before I was actually laughing out loud. I glanced briefly at Jimmy and saw the hint of a tremor to his shoulders.

  Max followed us both all the way to the hallway and stood lingering by his open door as we began to walk away.

  ‘By the way…’ began Jimmy, turning back towards Max when we had taken only a few steps, ‘that key you have hidden under the window sill: it’s really not such a good idea.’

  It was highly amusing to see the change in Max’s expression from coy flirtatiousness to absolute astonishment.

  ‘How did you know… No one else… How…?’

  ‘First place a burglar looks,’ assured Jimmy, taking my arm to guide us towards the stairs. ‘Good day to you, sir.’

  We held it together until we were safely out
of earshot, then the laughter came, a blissful and welcome temporary escape from the tension. I actually had tears rolling down my cheeks when we opened the main door and tumbled out of the house into the cold December day.

  ‘Boy, you’re on fire today, aren’t you?’ I said at last, when my ability to speak had returned.

  Jimmy gave a self-effacing shrug. ‘What can I say? When you’re hot, you’re hot.’

  Back inside his car once again, his mood sobered a little.

  ‘Do you know exactly how many laws I broke just then?’

  I bit my lip guiltily. ‘Quite a few?’ I hazarded.

  ‘Yeah.’

  ‘Sorry,’ I murmured.

  He reached over to pick up my hand, sliding it comfortingly within his own. I looked down at his fingers laced so easily around mine, knowing I shouldn’t keep misinterpreting his intentions, but it was so hard not to. Perhaps it was time for a reality check.

  ‘Come on then. Let me have it. Give me your explanation for what just happened in there.’

  ‘Ah well, Maximilian naturally fell under the spell of my not inconsiderable charms and—’

  I gave a very unladylike response, before steering him away from humour.

  ‘You know what I’m talking about. Explain to me how I knew everything that I did: how to get here; the names of the landlady, the tenants, past and present – not to mention the hidden key.’

  He was silent for so long I almost thought he wasn’t going to answer. When he did, his words came out on a long sigh.

  ‘I can’t.’

  I swivelled in my seat then, to study his expression more clearly. I wasn’t used to him sounding so uncertain. I almost felt sorry for the dilemma I was putting him in, knowing how his logical policeman’s mind must be struggling with something that made no sense at all.

  He turned the engine on then, finally releasing my hand from his.

  ‘Can you try directing me a little less aggressively this time?’

  ‘Directing you where?’

  He looked at me as though I was being deliberately dumb.

  ‘Andersons Engineering. That was the name of the place you worked, wasn’t it?’

  I nodded, unable to help a smile of pure gratitude being my response. Not only had he remembered the name, but more importantly he knew and understood that I needed his help in this impossible quest, without my having to ask for it. And suddenly the journey to seek out the answers didn’t seem nearly so daunting and scary, not now I realised I wasn’t facing it alone.

  Forty-five minutes later we were back in central London.

  ‘There’s a small car park tucked away down this side street,’ I indicated.

  Jimmy followed my directions and no longer looked surprised when the small compound was exactly where I had said it would be.

  I scoured the faces of passers-by as we walked the short distance to the engineering company, looking out for any of my colleagues, but I saw no one I recognised; nor, more importantly, did anyone recognise me.

  The building’s access was at the top of a broad flight of concrete steps, and I hesitated for a moment on the pavement before turning to Jimmy.

  ‘Thank you,’ I murmured quietly, my words almost whipped away on the December wind.

  His responding smile was all the encouragement I needed to begin to climb the steps to the large plate-glass entrance door.

  When we reached the top, Jimmy went to press the doorbell which was sited beneath a sign reading Visitors please ring for admittance.

  ‘Wait,’ I urged, nodding my head in the direction of a small silver keypad set into the aluminium frame. My fingers were chilled by the cold weather, but they still flew without hesitation over the buttons, punching in the eight-numbered entry code for staff.

  Behind me I heard Jimmy’s sharp intake of breath as the door responded to the command and opened for me.

  I looked at him then, unable to keep from my expression the gauntlet of challenge I was throwing down in the face of all logical explanations.

  His face was still a picture of doubts and questions as we entered the building, but once inside the foyer I was the one who drew to a hesitant halt.

  ‘Rachel?’ Jimmy queried. ‘Are you OK?’ I looked around at my familiar work place and gave a helpless sigh.

  ‘What are we doing here? What am I going to do now? Go up to my desk and haul whoever is sitting there out of my chair? Keep insisting I belong here until someone calls security and throws us out?’

  It was as if my words had actually summoned them up, for we were both taken by surprise by the arrival of a security guard, who’d walked over to us with such speed and stealth neither of us had seen him coming.

  ‘Can I help you?’ the man enquired, his tone sounding anything but helpful. I could only guess that he had seen us access the building, and failing to recognise us as employees he’d wasted no time leaving his work station to challenge our entry.

  I tried to give a small guileless smile, which didn’t work at all at thawing out the frostiness in his eyes. I recognised the man vaguely, but could see no reciprocation in his slightly hostile stare. I could only hope he hadn’t already pressed some hidden alert button.

  ‘Oh, hello there. I wonder if you can help us, actually. We’re meeting a friend of mine for lunch; she works here. It was a bit too cold to wait outside. I do hope it was OK to come in?’

  The guard’s attitude relaxed the merest fraction, his body language turning down the aggression from boil to simmer. Clearly he now believed my ‘friend’ had given out the company’s entry code to random non-employee members of the public. I think I’d just got my new imaginary friend in a whole heap of trouble.

  The guard gave a small non-committal grunt, which could possibly have been his response or just him clearing his throat. I continued to smile broadly at him, thinking if he didn’t stop scrutinising us in that suspicious way very soon, my jaw might actually break from the effort. Fortunately Jimmy interjected at that moment, adding plausibility to our charade.

  ‘Is it possible to call up and let our friend know we are here?’ He really lied most convincingly for an officer of the law, which was somewhat alarming. However his comment seemed to add enough validity to our story that the guard turned to walk back to reception, motioning that we follow him.

  Behind his desk once more, with visitors separated by the appropriate barrier, he clearly felt that order had been restored, for he was far more civil when he inquired, ‘Your friend who works here, could I have her name, please?’

  Without even thinking I interjected, ‘Rachel Wiltshire.’

  I saw Jimmy’s eyes close briefly in disbelief, even as the guard began running his finger down the W section of the staff list, looking for a name that no longer belonged on that particular sheet. Too late I realised the stupidity of my comment.

  With his stubby index finger coming to rest at the foot of the directory, the guard looked up at us both, his distrust instantly returning.

  ‘Rachel Wiltshire, you said? We don’t have anyone of that name working here.’

  I looked at Jimmy to see if he was going to extricate me from the mess I had just made, but he just flashed me the merest flicker of a smile, which clearly said you dug this hole – now get out of it!

  I narrowed my eyes meaningfully at my companion, and resigned myself to having to play the blonde card.

  ‘Oh, sorry, that’s my name!’ The guard’s look spoke volumes. ‘My friend is called Emily. Emily Frost.’ I plucked the first name I could think of from one of my colleagues. ‘But, actually, you know what, I think we’ll just wait outside after all and then we can… surprise her. Sorry to have bothered you.’ I grabbed Jimmy’s coat sleeve and began to drag him towards the exit.

  ‘Smooth,’ pronounced Jimmy, allowing himself to be steered towards the doorway. ‘That certainly didn’t make him suspicious, did it?’

  I could still feel the guard’s eyes following us all the way across the foyer. As we reached
the door I heard him speak, and thought at first he was about to call us back, but he was only bidding goodbye to a fellow guard who was going to lunch.

  ‘See you later, Joe.’

  Hand already on the door handle, I turned back to see a second security guard crossing the foyer, also heading for the exit. He was a man of about my father’s age, with greying hair and a deeply ruddy complexion. My mouth automatically turned up to greet him with a warm smile.

  ‘Hi, Joe. How are you?’

  Bafflement was his first emotion, but neither Jimmy nor I had expected how that would change to disbelief, when I made my next remark. ‘And how is your wife doing? Is she out of hospital yet?’

  All colour drained from Joe’s face as his eyes flew from Jimmy and me and then back over his shoulder at his colleague. He bustled through the door, forcing us along with him. It wasn’t until all three of us had crossed the threshold and were out of the building that he turned sharply to me, questioning almost belligerently, ‘Excuse me. What did you just ask me?’

  I wasn’t used to hearing him speak to me in that way, forgetting for a moment that to him I was a complete stranger.

  ‘I just asked how Muriel was doing. Her latest round of chemo must be finished now, mustn’t it? You said you were hoping she would be out of hospital by Christmas.’

  Jimmy had taken a small step back, standing to one side and watching our strange interplay with curiosity.

  Joe, on the other hand, seemed totally shaken by my words.

  ‘I don’t understand… who are you?’

  ‘I’m Rachel. Rachel Wiltshire.’ If I was hoping for anything resembling recognition, I was going to be waiting a very long time.

  ‘I don’t know you,’ Joe announced, shaking his head from side to side. It was a familiar chorus: everyone appeared to be singing it these days. I couldn’t think what to say to him that wouldn’t sound completely deranged.

  ‘But what I really want to know,’ Joe continued urgently, ‘is how the hell you know about Muriel. I’ve not told anybody at all here about her illness. Not one word.’