Sarah glanced at her left hand and acknowledged that indeed there wasn’t a ring on her finger, but couldn’t help but giggle at thinking there very well could be a ring there tonight.
‘Is it serious between the two of you?’ he asked, knowing that he had managed to convince other women to drop their boyfriends for him in the past.
‘Pretty serious, yes.’
‘And you won’t change your mind?’ he asked, smiling as broadly as he could.
‘I am flattered, Johan, really, I am, but there is no way you can convince me to change my mind. Even if I wasn’t in a relationship, I’m not sure we would have much of a future.’
Mistakenly, sensing that she was softening, he asked, ‘And why not?’
Sarah noticed that he didn’t seem to be getting the hint so blurted out, ‘I’m gay, Johan. I am in love with another woman, so your smile, as cute as it is, just isn’t going to work.’
Relieved that it wasn’t that she found him unattractive, Johan held his hands up in mock surrender again and said, ‘Okay. I understand. You can’t blame me for trying, can you?’
‘Not at all. As I said, I’m flattered that you would ask.’
‘Well, I should go,’ he said, as he started to walk towards the door, before turning back and saying, ‘you are not offended?’
‘No,’ she said, smiling.
‘Good,’ he replied and disappeared out of the door.
Sarah smiled to herself at the thought she had just been asked out on a date by a famous celebrity. She imagined herself as a footballer’s WAG and shuddered at the thought. It would make a great story to tell Erin later. Sarah reached down and picked up her handbag. She really didn’t fancy eating the cheese sandwich, but knew it was a good idea to eat something, even if it was just to soak up the remaining alcohol in her system. She rose and left the classroom, heading for the staff room.
13
Erin pulled her car into a marked bay in the car park, beneath the Central Police Headquarters building. It had been a long day and, in fact, it felt like it had been a long week, even though it was only Tuesday. She knew Vincent would sort it, so that she got credit for the additional hours worked over the two days, but she was upset that she had missed out on the birthday meal Sarah had been attempting to cook for her, the previous evening. Even though she had promised to be home by seven tonight, she knew there was a danger she wouldn’t be able to keep that promise.
Erin glanced up at her reflection in the rear-view mirror. She didn’t look as tired as she felt, and she thanked the miracle-workers, in factories across the globe, that churned out the various moisturising creams she applied daily, to keep her skin taut and fresh. She felt the vibration of her mobile phone in her pocket and pulled it out to see that she had received a text message from Sarah. Erin laughed as she read it; apparently Johan Boller had visited the school and made a pass at Sarah, but she had let him down gently. Erin knew how lucky she was to have found Sarah, and really appreciated their relationship: It didn’t matter how bad things got at work, Sarah was always there to comfort her. She had considered proposing to Sarah, to cement their love, but after the death of Sarah’s mother three years ago, she had wondered whether Sarah would ever wish to get married. It didn’t bother Erin if they didn’t marry, as she was certain of Sarah’s feelings for her, but, like most women, she had dreamed of her big wedding day since she was a child.
The digits on the dashboard clock showed that it was just coming up to six p.m. Erin was back at the station to file a report of what she had learned that afternoon. She had managed to eventually track Jimmy Barrett down and in hindsight she probably should have checked that location first: The Swan pub, where Marsden had mentioned seeing him. Naively, Erin had spent an hour trying to get hold of Neil and Melanie Barrett to see if they knew his whereabouts, but both had been rather dismissive in their responses, Melanie more so than Neil, indicating that perhaps there was something more to Sarah’s theory. Clearly, Melanie was not her brother-in-law’s biggest fan.
Neil Barrett had named a handful of local pubs that his brother was likely to frequent, assuming he wasn’t at the bookies. Neil didn’t paint a particularly pleasant picture of his brother and yet he had not seemed to be doing it out of malice; if anything, it was pity.
Erin had found the pub in question and sure enough, as she had entered, she saw Jimmy Barrett sitting on a stool at the bar, nursing what looked like a pint of lager. Erin had walked straight up to him and offered to buy him a drink. She had decided that her approach should appear friendly, and she told him that she just needed to check a few background details of his whereabouts on Friday afternoon. When he looked up at her with an expression of anger, she quickly re-assured him that it was just a formality, and that she knew he had nothing to do with Natalie’s disappearance. Even though she was in a public place and was the figure of authority in the exchange, he was a bulky man and if he were suffering some kind of post-traumatic stress, she didn’t want to be on the receiving end when he lashed out. Given what Mrs Norris had told her earlier that afternoon, she knew he was capable of violence.
He accepted the drink and told her that he had been at a bookies in nearby Woolston, until four thirty on Friday, and had then come down to The Swan to spend his winnings. Erin estimated it was probably a fifteen minute walk from Woolston to The Swan, and that the bookies would have witnesses capable of validating or contesting Jimmy’s alibi.
Vincent had told her to look into the background of Jimmy Barrett, as well, to identify if he could indeed be the monster from Natalie’s picture, but neither Neil nor Melanie Barrett had been particularly forthcoming with the reasons that Jimmy had left the armed forces so suddenly. This meant Erin would have to ask him outright, but without appearing threatening. She ordered herself a soft drink and pulled up a stool to sit on, next to Jimmy. His defensive body language showed that this was going to be a cagey conversation. Erin lied that her father had served in the Falklands, but had left the service when she was born, as he was too worried about missing her growing up. Erin’s father had in fact worked for a bank, but she saw the untruth as the best way to open Jimmy up. It worked.
Jimmy asked about what unit her father had served in and she made out that she wasn’t certain, as he had rarely discussed his years in uniform with her, before his early death. She sounded just vague enough to pass as believable. She asked tentative questions, such as what had made Jimmy join the army to begin with and how much of a culture shock he had found it. He explained that he had signed up with a couple of friends, as he had not done very well at school, and the army didn’t seem to care about his past. He actually smiled at times and Erin continued to buy him drinks to keep his lips moving. The more he drank, the more he opened up. The smell of his alcohol-stained tongue made Erin want to retch, but she smiled through the pain, pretending she couldn’t smell it. It was a smell she knew all too well, as a recovering alcoholic herself.
After the fifth pint she had bought him and his umpteenth cigarette break, he confided that he had been asked to leave the army after an incident with his superior officer. A court martial hearing had been convened after he punched the officer during an argument at the barracks bar. A psychiatrist at the hearing ruled that Jimmy was indeed suffering from PTSD, following his stint in Afghanistan, and the decision was made not to dishonourably discharge him. However, it was decided that Jimmy would be unable to continue serving with his present condition. Having spent the last fifteen years serving, leaving the army and returning to a ‘normal’ way of life had actually been a greater culture shock than when he had first signed up.
Before she left the pub, Erin had had a private word with the man behind the bar, to see if he could remember what time Jimmy had come in on Friday afternoon, but he had explained that it had been his day off but could confirm that Jimmy was a regular. Erin left her telephone number and asked him to arrange for someone to call her and confirm what time Jimmy arrived on Friday afternoon. The bartender ind
icated he would see what he could do.
Erin left the pub with lingering doubts in her mind about Jimmy Barrett. In one way she pitied him for his fish-out-of-water status, but at the same time he had admitted to having a violent streak, and she could easily imagine that he was indeed the dragon in Natalie’s painting. But did that mean he was capable of taking her? Mrs Norris would probably think so, but she wasn’t so sure. She had left The Swan at the wrong time really, as she had hit rush-hour traffic over the Itchen toll bridge and had literally crawled back to the station. She determined that she would file her report with Vincent, as quickly as she could, and get herself home. If she worked it right, there was still a chance she could make it home by seven.
Erin found Vincent in his office, pouring over witness statements that had been produced by the team over the course of the day. Erin’s face at the door was a welcome relief and, as she entered, he offered her a drink of the scotch that he kept hidden in the bottom drawer of his desk, for those occasions when he deemed it necessary. Erin declined, but told him she wouldn’t be offended if he wanted one. Vincent poured a generous measure into his own glass.
Erin proceeded to tell Vincent everything that she had learned from Mrs Norris, the Barretts and then Jimmy. When she had finished Vincent asked, ‘What does your gut say?’
Erin had known he would probably ask this question and that whatever response she offered, would be taken, as salient as fact, so it was important that she felt comfortable with her conclusion.
‘I have to be honest, Guv,’ she began. ‘I think Jimmy Barrett warrants further investigation. Do I think he abducted Natalie? No. Do I think it’s possible that he collected her from school as a kind gesture for Neil and Melanie and that something could have gone wrong and he stashed the body? Maybe. I definitely think there are question marks over his mental state.’
Vincent seemed to ponder her response for a moment and Erin took advantage of the silence to plough on, ‘How did this afternoon’s interviewing of potential witnesses go? Any leads?’
The question worked and threw Vincent’s attention back to the reams of paperwork in front of him.’
‘Not yet,’ he responded, picking up various bits of paper in his hands to show how much he had already reviewed. ‘Nobody else has mentioned a red car, or seeing Natalie walking, so it’s a bit of a dead end. Seems everyone was too busy, watching that footballer, to notice a little girl walking alone.’
‘What about the crossing guard?’
‘Didn’t notice a thing, she told me,’ he replied, sighing.
‘Maybe we just need to take a break from it all; look at it with fresh eyes in the morning,’ suggested Erin, conscious that she had been with Vincent for half an hour already and was keen to get home.
‘Maybe you’re right, Cookie,’ he said, accepting defeat. ‘Have you got plans for this evening?’
‘Sarah’s cooking me a birthday meal,’ she replied, smiling.
‘It’s your birthday? I can’t believe I forgot,’ Vincent replied, feeling incredibly guilty.
‘That’s okay, Guv. You’ve had a lot on with the case and all.’ She didn’t have the heart to tell him it had actually been her birthday the day before, and that he had caused her to miss the celebration.
‘Well, I’m sorry, anyway,’ said Vincent, offering an apologetic smile. ‘You better get yourself off home.’
As he said it, a thought struck Erin. It was so ridiculous that she almost laughed out loud, but then, the more she thought about it, the more the thought grew.
‘Something funny?’ Vincent asked, when he saw her smiling to herself, lost in her own little world.
‘No, Guv,' she said, quickly realising where she was. ‘Just a theory.’
‘A theory? About the case?’
‘Mmm,’ she replied as she continued to work through the angles.
‘Care to share it?’ Vincent asked, ever hopeful for a breakthrough.
‘It’s probably stupid,’ she answered, not wishing to get herself booted off the team. ‘Let me check something out on the way home and if I think it has legs, we can chat about it in the morning. It’s just a feeling at the moment, too circumstantial.’
‘Okay,’ said Vincent, not wishing to prohibit his young star’s creativity. ‘Don’t spend too long on it; I don’t want you to miss your birthday dinner.’
‘Don’t worry, Guv,’ Erin said standing and heading towards the door. ‘There’s no danger of that.’
Vincent smiled and then added, ‘By the way, Cookie, you might want to take a shower. You smell like a brewery.’
‘Thanks, Guv,’ she replied. ‘That’s Jimmy Barrett for you. Good night.’
With that she disappeared through the door, closing it behind her. Vincent took a sip from his tumbler and allowed his eyes to re-focus on the paperwork in front of him.
14
Sarah sat bolt upright as she heard the distinct sound of a car pulling up outside. It took her a moment to get her bearings. The room was dark and the limited light emanating from the translucent curtains only revealed dark shadows instead of objects. She certainly wasn’t on her bed, which ruled out her being in the bedroom. She blinked several times as she tried to encourage her eyes to adjust to the darkness. She felt exhausted and assumed she must have been in quite a deep sleep when the sound of the car had disturbed her. It was very dark, which would suggest it was quite late, so why was she not in bed?
As her eyes adjusted to the darkness, she recognised her television, coffee tables, lamps and the sofa she was stretched out on: She had been asleep in the living room. She swung her legs from the sofa, so that she was in a sitting position, and then leant forward so that she could run her hands over the carpet in an effort to locate her mobile phone. Despite her efforts, her fingers merely brushed the fibres and found nothing. She decided to put the light on and reached over to the coffee table, beside the sofa, pressed the switch on the light cord and the room illuminated. She quickly spotted the mobile phone on the coffee table, and pressed a button to display the time. It was nearly midnight, which explained why it was so dark outside.
Where was Erin? The plan had been for Erin to be home at seven. But Sarah had not been surprised to receive a brief text message explaining that she was running late again. She had been disappointed, as usual, but Erin’s message had indicated that she would be home by eight at the latest, so Sarah had poured a glass of wine and put the television on. Clearly she must have dozed off. Sarah noticed the empty wine glass on the table, along with a packet of painkillers and a new memory popped into her mind. She had taken a couple of pills to help clear that lurking headache, which had returned once school had finished. It must have been a mixture of those and the wine that had knocked her out.
It still didn’t explain where Erin was and why she had not returned home at eight, as indicated. Sarah flicked through her mobile phone until she located Erin’s mobile number and she pressed the screen to call the number. It went straight through to voicemail, which suggested Erin’s phone was turned off. Sarah screwed up her face; this was very odd, as Erin never turned her phone off, even at night. It was possible that the battery had gone dead, if she had been using the phone all day, but if it had, it would have been the first time. Besides, Erin had a charger for the phone in her car and surely would have plugged it in, if the battery were nearly dead.
Sarah checked through her text messages and emails, and the only thing she had received from Erin was the text message saying she would be home by eight. Sarah started to worry. It wasn’t out of character for Erin to be late home, and to not tell Sarah in advance, but even Erin was usually home by this time. Sarah thought about calling Erin’s desk phone but the last thing she wanted to do was phone up and embarrass Erin at work. Sarah knew Erin had worked hard to win over her colleagues and a panicked call from ‘the little lady at home’ would probably lead to ridicule.
Sarah went to the kitchen and filled her empty wine glass with cold water from the tap
and took a big gulp. At least the headache had passed. She moved back to the living room and retook her seat on the sofa, willing her phone to ring. She heard car doors open and slam shut outside and assumed they belonged to the same car that had pulled up earlier. She moved to the window to see if she could identify who might be moving about outside at this late hour, but she couldn’t really see from the angle her apartment window faced.
Sarah jumped and nearly dropped her glass when she heard the door buzzer go. She was filled with relief: Erin must have left her keys at home but at least she was here. Sarah moved across to the door and opened it.
‘What have you done with your key?’ Sarah said as she swung the door open, but she was unable to finish the sentence, as it wasn’t Erin in the doorway. Instead, there were two men in dark uniforms with bright yellow, high-visibility coats on. Both men were wearing flat caps, and Sarah’s heart skipped a beat as she realised they were police officers.
‘Miss Jenson?’ said one of the officers.
‘Yes?’
‘Miss Sarah Jenson?’ said the officer again.
‘Yes,’ Sarah replied as her mind raced with a thousand terrible thoughts about why the police were standing at her doorstep so late at night.
‘May we come in, please?’
‘What’s this about?’ challenged Sarah. If only Erin was here, she thought; it was Erin who was best at handling these types of situations.
‘It would be best if we could come in, please, Miss Jenson.’
Sarah decided not to argue, as she pulled the door open wider, and allowed the two men to enter. They seemed to find the living room instinctively and sat down on the sofa opposite where Sarah had been perched, moments earlier. The officer, who had been doing the talking, removed his hat and indicated for his colleague to follow suit.
‘What’s this all about?’ asked Sarah, failing to hide the obvious fear in her voice.
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