by Tom Weaver
'Not any more.'
'Divorced?'
I paused. Maybe he could sense something in me, like I could sense something in him. A connection between us. A sadness that bubbled below the surface of the skin.
'My wife died of cancer,' I said finally.
He nodded, seemed almost relieved, as if he'd started to doubt his initial feelings. 'My father passed away two months ago. The only person I ever really cared about.'
'I'm sorry.'
A sad smile wormed across his face, and then he was quiet for a moment. Take the DVDs and see if you can find anything. I hope you do — for that family's sake.'
* * *
Chapter Nine
Just before 3 p.m., Caroline Carver buzzed open the front gates of her house and watched me pull into the gravel driveway. She smiled. But, as at the restaurant a couple of days before, it was only a smile in name. Before Megan vanished, I imagined she had turned a lot of heads, but as she led me into the house, gaunt and drained, I realized she was only a partial reflection of that woman now.
We moved through to the kitchen, where Leigh was sitting cross-legged on the floor, pushing cars across the lino.
'Would you like something to drink?' she asked.
'Just water would be great.'
She nodded but made no effort to say anything else, and as she filled a glass from the tap, I realized I was finding it difficult to get a handle on her. Normally I was pretty effective at reading people. I could see through to what made them tick. I wasn't sure whether it was a natural talent, or a skill cultivated through years of watching politicians lie through their teeth. But, either way, Caroline Carver was different. She wore herself the way you'd expect a grieving parent to: distant, fragile, the disappearance pulling at the seams. But sometimes I saw someone else. A woman of strength and steel who could bury her feelings as deep as they needed to go.
'How are things going?' she asked finally, as she led me into the living room. She touched Leigh's head on the way through and got no reaction in return.
I seated myself opposite her. 'At the moment I'm just following the same leads as the police. I need to make sure they haven't missed anything.'
I placed my pad down on the table between us and flipped it open. She looked down at it, back at me and nodded, seeing I was ready to start.
'Maybe you could tell me about those last few weeks.'
She paused, shrugged. 'I'm not sure there's a lot to tell. Jim was on a job up in Enfield, at a new contract there, so I took Meg into school for most of that last fortnight. Certainly the morning she disappeared.'
'She seemed all right to you that day?'
'Yes,' she said. 'perfectly fine. She was always such a positive force. I'm not sure where she got it from, because both Jim and I can be a bit… well, temperamental, I suppose.' She smiled a little — a proper smile for the first time since I'd met her. Then it vanished again. 'That was why she was such a good student, I think. She just maintained an even keel the whole time. Never got over-excited or depressed. She was just an amazing girl.'
'What can you tell me about Charles Bryant?'
Caroline glanced at me. I wasn't sure whether she was telling me she never liked him, or was surprised I had brought him up in the first place.
'Megan dated him for a while.'
'Did you meet him?'
'Only once.'
'How long did they go out for?'
'Not long. Maybe two or three months.'
'What was he like?'
She shrugged. 'He seemed okay. It was a tough time for him.'
'Megan didn't love him?'
'Definitely not,' she said, shaking her head. 'I think that was the problem. She went out with him because she felt sorry for him. Felt sorry that he had lost his mother like that. And also because she was a good person. She looked at him and saw that he needed someone to help him through the grieving process.'
'How did he take the split?'
'What do you mean?'
I looked at her. She wasn't playing ball with me, even though she could see where I was trying to drive the conversation. Perhaps the idea of her daughter dating someone wasn't one she liked to think about, especially if it had somehow initiated her disappearance. 'I mean, I'm trying to work the angles here,' I said to her.
'He was upset.'
'Did he try to talk her round?'
'Not really. I think, in his heart of hearts, he knew the relationship wasn't built to last. He knew why Meg was around for him. He definitely had a thing for her, a very strong affection, but he seemed a level-headed boy. I think…' She paused, looked at me. 'I think if you're heading down that road with Charlie Bryant in mind… well, it's the wrong direction.'
'The police talked to him?'
'Yes. I think they had a similar theory to you.'
'Did she start seeing anyone else after that?'
A slight hesitation. 'No,' she said, but didn't look at me.
'Jim and I talked to her about it and suggested it might be better if she concentrated on her studies. She was three good grades away from getting a place at Cambridge. That was worth a little sacrifice.'
I nodded, but didn't write anything down.
Something was definitely up.
'What about the names Anthony Grant, or A. J. Grant — do they mean anything?'
She shook her head. 'No.'
I reached into my pocket and took out a printout of the photograph I'd found on Megan's camera. I'd blown it up on the computer.
'Do you recognize this photo?'
She took the printout. 'Yes. It's on her camera.'
'Right. Any idea where she is there?'
She brought the picture in closer to her. 'No. I remember this is one of the photos we looked at right back at the start, because Jamie Hart asked us the same thing.'
'Did he find anything out?'
'No. The police went through all her photos, all her friends' photos, everything they could lay their hands on.' She paused, a flash of a tear in one of her eyes. 'But they got nowhere.'
'So they never found out who took this one?'
She glanced at the photo again, then back up. 'No. Why?'
'Don't you think her face looks different there?'
'Her face?'
I pointed to Megan. 'Her smile.'
'In what way?'
'I don't know. You know her best. But this smile, and the smile in some of the other photos… they seem different to me.'
'Different how?'
I shrugged. 'I'm not sure. Maybe it's nothing. I just think it would be helpful to find out who took this, that's all.'
Something passed across her face.
'Are you okay?' I asked.
She frowned at me. 'Of course. Why?'
Because something’s up with you. You just seem a little… distracted, I guess.'
'I'm fine.'
I let it go. 'Just backtracking for a second, she definitely never made mention of being in any relationship after Charles Bryant?'
Another small hesitation.
'Caroline?'
'No.'
'She never made mention of one?'
Movement in her eyes. 'No, she definitely -'
'Caroline.'
She stopped. Looked at me.
'Do you want your daughter found?'
'Of course. What sort of question is that?'
I glanced at a photograph of Megan, in a frame on a small glass table at the end of one of the sofas. 'I'm just asking because I get the feeling I might be missing something here.'
'What do you mean?'
'I mean, I'm not sure you're being totally honest with me. I need you to tell me everything. Even if it's just a suspicion, a hunch.'
She paused, looked down at my pad, then dabbed a finger against her eye. If I was wrong, I'd have to apologize to her - but I had to be sure. I couldn't be working the case if one of the two people in the world who knew Megan the best wasn't prepared to give me everything she had.
* * *
Chapter Ten
By the time I got home it was almost dark. Autumn was moving in quickly now: once the sun faded from the sky, the night washed in and the temperature went with it. I put the football on in the living room, then turned the radio on in the kitchen. One of the things you dread the most when you've been left on your own is the silence.
After showering, I went through to the kitchen and started preparing some dinner, emptying a packet of stir- fry vegetables into a wok along with some sliced chicken. As I watched it brown, I kept coming back to Caroline Carver. I couldn't shake the feeling that she was holding something back. Even if I couldn't read her as clearly as I would have liked, I knew I wasn't mistaken. Something sat there between us, just as it had the first time we'd met at the restaurant. A secret. A half-truth. A lie. Something.
I was sitting down in front of the TV, twenty minutes into the match, when my phone started buzzing. I set the plate aside and hit Answer.
It was James Carver.
'Caroline told me about what you accused her of today,' he said, cutting to the chase. 'You think she would hold back something important? You seriously think she would do that? What planet are you on?'
'Hold on a min-'
'No, you hold on a minute.' He lowered his voice. He must have been in another room, trying to keep the conversation away from her. 'Don't ever accuse my wife of trying to get in the way of finding Meg'
'I didn't accuse her of —'
'Don't tell me you didn't. I know you did. I'm paying you to be an investigator, not some amateur-hour psychologist.'
'Just let me explain.'
'You really believe Caroline doesn’t want her found?'
'Of course not.'
'Then what the hell are you playing at?'
I paused, let him calm down for a moment. 'She seemed hesitant.'
'About what?'
'About everything'
'Our daughter has been missing six months. You know what that's like? You know what that Does to you? No, you don't. You've got no idea.'
I didn't reply. Let him feel like he'd had his victory.
'Are you going to apologize?'
'Listen, James… I don't know either of you well, but I went with a gut reaction and if it turns out to be wrong, then I'll apologize.'
'You insulted her. Do you understand what I'm telling you?'
'It won't happen again.'
'No, it won't.' He cleared his throat. 'I think we should call it a day.'
'What are you talking about?'
'I want you off this. We entrusted you with the most precious thing in our life, gave you money, all you'd need to get the job done. But you've destroyed my confidence in you, David. And you've insulted my wife. I won't have that. I won't have you speak to her like that.'
'This is ridiculous.'
'Put Megan's things in an envelope and mail them to us. Whatever you have found out so far, please put it down on paper and include that too. The last thing Caroline needs now is to see you at the house again. I will pay you for the three days you have done, and an extra day as a goodwill gesture. Not that you deserve any goodwill from us.'
'Don't you think this is a little extreme?'
He hung up.
* * *
Chapter Eleven
At 2 a.m., something woke me. For a moment, the noise was distant and distorted, just a sound on the edge of my sleep. Then, when I opened my eyes, I saw my mobile was gently vibrating on the bedside cabinet. I reached over and scooped it up.
'Hello?'
'David?'
I rubbed an eye. 'Yes.'
'It's Jill.'
It took me a couple of seconds to realize it was Jill from the support group.
'I'm so sorry to call you like this.'
'Uh…'I looked at the clock again. She really is calling me at two o'clock in the morning. 'Uh, no problem.'
'I tried Aron, but he's not answering. I think he's away with work tonight. I tried a police friend of Frank's too, but he's not answering either. I didn't know who else to call. I guess I just thought, because of your job, you might know what to… to, uh…'
I sat up in bed, still feeling a little woozy. 'Are you okay?'
'I'm so sorry to wake you.'
'No, no - don't worry.'
'It's just… I don't know who else to…'
'Really,' I said, flicking on a bedside lamp, my brain working over the reasons she might be calling, 'don't worry. What's the matter?'
'I'm, uh…' She paused. The more awake I became, the more distressed she started to sound. There's, uh…'
'What?'
A pause. 'I think someone's watching my house.'
'What are you talking about?'
'There's someone across the street. He's just been sitting in his car all evening, looking across at my house. I don't know what to do.'
'Is he still there?'
'Yes.'
'Okay,' I said, and turned around in bed, flipping back the sheets. She wants you to come over. 'Uh, would you like me to come over?'
'Oh, thank you?
Her voice wobbled. She was scared.
'Where do you live?' She gave me the address. 'Make sure all the doors and windows are locked. If you're unsure, at any time, call the police. I'll be there as fast as I can.'
The night was cool. On the drive over I had the heaters on full blast, rain spattering against the windscreen the whole way. Her road was narrow, cars parked on either side. She'd told me she had a black door, but in the darkness every door looked black. I found a space about halfway down the road, got out and saw I was about ten houses away. I scanned the street for any sign of someone watching her place, but it was difficult in the rain. Gutters were filling. Water pelted off glass and bodywork. Visibility was low.
There were no lights on in her house. I knocked twice, then turned and looked up and down the street again, this time from under the protection of her porch. Lots of cars. No sign of anyone sitting inside one.
The door opened.
Jill was dressed in tracksuit trousers and a big baggy fleece. Her eyes wandered past me, to a spot on my right. I turned and followed her gaze. There was no one there. When I looked back at her, I could see the confusion in her face.
'He's gone,' she said quietly.
I looked back out at the street again.
'Seems that way.'
'But he's been there all night.' She looked at me, then out into the street. 'He was sitting there in a red car. I think it was a Ford.'
I didn't say anything. She wasn't crazy, and I doubted she was seeing things. But being on your own changed things. Small things. Knowing someone else was in the house with you was a security blanket, even if — ultimately — you were just as vulnerable as ever. She looked at me and tears formed in the corners of her eyes.
'I wasted your time.'
'No,' I said. 'Not at all.'
'I must be going mad.'
'No,' I repeated, and touched a hand to the top of her arm. 'You aren't mad. He could have been watching another house. He could have been a cop. Or a government agent. Or maybe they think you're a terrorist.'
A smile. 'That makes me feel much better.'
She glanced at me, brought her hand up to her face, then looked down at herself. In her eyes, now the tension had passed, I could see what she was thinking: Why the hell did I answer the door dressed like this?
'Would you like to come in for some tea or a coffee or something?'
'Sure,' I said. 'Coffee would be great.'
Her house was small but modern; a show home ripped from the pages of a magazine. There were beautiful wooden floors running through to the living room, where a thick rug sat beneath a bee
ch-and-glass table piled with glossy books. An original brick fireplace dominated one wall, a wood-burning stove perched in it. Opposite were two bookcases, filled with classics, either side of a black flatscreen TV. DVDs were piled up underneath, most of them foreign language. It didn't look like we'd be discussing the action scenes in Predator any time soon. She pointed to one of two cream leather sofas, and disappeared into the kitchen.