Authors: Kevin Brooks
‘Sorry to keep you waiting,’ I said as I came in and shut the door. ‘I got held up with something.’
She looked across at me, flashing a quick nervous smile, and I saw her take in the state of my face, but she didn’t say anything. She just tightened her smile for a moment, then leaned down and put the mobile away in her handbag.
I went over to my desk. ‘I’m afraid my secretary didn’t get your name.’
‘It’s Mrs Gerrish,’ she said. ‘Helen Gerrish.’
‘John Craine,’ I said, offering my hand. ‘Pleased to meet you, Mrs Gerrish.’
She gave me that tight little smile again and shook my hand. Well, I say she
shook
my hand – it was actually no more than the briefest brush of her fingertips. It felt like the frightened touch of a very frail and very cold child.
As I sat down at my desk, I was trying to remember where I’d heard her name before. Gerrish … Gerrish … it definitely rang a bell, but for the moment it just wouldn’t come to me.
‘So, Mrs Gerrish,’ I said. ‘What can I do for you?’
She hesitated for a moment, looking down at her hands in her lap, and then – without looking up – she said, ‘It’s my daughter … Anna. She’s missing.’
‘Anna?’
She nodded.
And now I remembered the name. It had been on the front page of all the local newspapers about a month ago, and maybe in one or two of the nationals too. Anna Gerrish, a woman in her early twenties, had gone missing after leaving work one night. She’d simply put on her coat,
walked out of the door, and no one had seen or heard from her since.
‘Anna Gerrish …’ I heard myself mutter.
‘I expect you read about it,’ Mrs Gerrish said.
‘Yes … yes, I did.’ I looked at her. ‘How long has it been now?’
‘Four weeks and two days.’
‘Have the police made any progress?’
She let out a bitter little laugh. ‘Progress? No, the police haven’t made any
progress
. As far as I’m concerned, they haven’t done anything at
all
.’
‘I’m sure they’re doing their best –’
‘No, Mr Craine,’ she said firmly. ‘I don’t believe they are.’
‘Really? What makes you say that?’
She shrugged. ‘They haven’t found her, have they? They haven’t found
any
thing. And they don’t even seem to be trying. They haven’t made a televised appeal or a reconstruction of her last known movements … they haven’t done anything like that. And they keep telling me that this kind of thing happens all the time … that if someone over eighteen
wants
to disappear without telling anyone, there’s very little they can do about it.’
‘Well,’ I said, trying to sound sympathetic. ‘It
is
quite common for young people to simply –’
‘No, Mr Craine. Not my Anna.’ Mrs Gerrish’s eyes were fixed firmly on mine now. ‘She wouldn’t do that to me. She just
wouldn’t
. She’s not that kind of girl.’
I didn’t bother asking her what kind of girl she imagined
would
do that to her mother. Instead, I asked her what she thought might have happened to Anna.
She shook her head, and I could see her eyes beginning to moisten. ‘I just … I really don’t know. All I know is that if Anna
was
safe and well, she would have let me know.’ She took a tissue from her handbag and wiped daintily at her eyes. ‘She would have let me know, Mr Craine … believe me. I know my daughter. She wouldn’t just … she wouldn’t …’
There was a knock at the door then, and Ada came in carrying two cups of coffee on a tray. She came over and put the tray on the desk. The coffee was in proper cups and saucers, not the usual chipped old mugs, and Ada had also provided a bowl of sugar, teaspoons, a little jug of milk, and a plate of biscuits.
‘Will there be anything else, Mr Craine?’ she said, smiling obsequiously at me.
I looked at her, shaking my head. ‘That’s all, thanks, Ada.’
She gave me a little curtsey, then turned round and walked out, glancing over her shoulder and wiggling her fat arse in a sexy-secretary kind of way as she went.
I waited for her to close the door, then I turned back to Mrs Gerrish. She’d stopped crying now and had gone back to staring at her hands. They were in her lap again, obsessively twisting and tearing at the tissue.
‘So, Mrs Gerrish,’ I said. ‘What is it you’d like me to do, exactly?’
She looked up at me, frowning almost disdainfully, as if I’d just asked her the most unnecessary question in the world. ‘I want you to find my daughter, Mr Craine.’
‘Why me?’ I said.
‘I beg your pardon?’
‘Why did you choose me? There are plenty of other investigation agencies, bigger companies with more resources …’
‘You were recommended,’ she said.
‘By whom?’
She looked slightly uncomfortable for a moment. ‘Well, to be honest, Mr Craine … I did try some other agencies, but none of them were willing to help. The last one I went to, a company called Mercer Associates, they suggested that I contact you.’ She smiled thinly. ‘No offence meant, Mr Craine, but if
you’re
not able to help me, I really don’t know what else I can do.’
I nodded, smiling. ‘No offence taken, Mrs Gerrish. None at all. Do you remember who you spoke to at Mercer?’
She shook her head. ‘I can’t remember her name … it was a young lady. She said they don’t handle domestic cases, only corporate work … whatever that is.’
I nodded. ‘And do you mind me asking why you came here in person without making an appointment first?’
‘Does it matter?’
‘No, no … of course not. I’m just curious, that’s all. Most of my personal clients either contact me by telephone first or get in touch through my website.’
She looked down at her lap again, and when she spoke again I knew she was lying. ‘Yes, well … I
was
going to call you, but I happened to be in town today getting some shopping, and when I passed your office …’ She shrugged. ‘Well, I just thought I’d call in.’ She looked up at me. ‘I didn’t think you’d mind.’
I smiled. ‘I don’t.’
‘So will you help me?’
I don’t know why I didn’t say no. I didn’t
need
the work, for a start. And even if I did, the prospect of working for this strangely unappetising woman didn’t exactly fill me with joy. There wasn’t even anything particularly interesting about the case. It would probably involve a lot of fairly tedious work without much hope of success. And if, as Helen Gerrish had claimed, the police really hadn’t made any progress, that either meant that there wasn’t anything to find, or that they were fairly sure Anna had simply gone away of her own accord.
But, despite all that, I didn’t say no.
And, even now, I still don’t know why.
I just opened my mouth and found myself saying, ‘If I do decide to help you, Mrs Gerrish, you’d have to understand that there’s very little I can do that the police haven’t already done. No matter what you think of them, I can assure you that the police have far greater resources for finding people than I have.’
‘Yes, I understand that.’
‘And, unlike the police, my services aren’t free.’
‘Money isn’t a problem, Mr Craine. My husband and I have sufficient funds.’
‘Does your husband feel the same way as you? About hiring a private investigator, I mean?’
‘Yes, of
course
,’ she said, just a little too forcefully. ‘He’s as desperate to find Anna as I am.’
Yeah?
I thought.
So how come he’s not here?
‘All right,’ I said, removing a writing pad from the desk
drawer. ‘Let me take a few basic details first, and then we’ll see about getting a contract drawn up. Is that OK?’
She smiled, the first genuine smile I’d seen from her, and reached into her handbag. ‘This is the most recent photograph I have of Anna,’ she said, passing me a 6
"
x 4
"
colour print. ‘It was taken about a year ago. You probably remember it from the newspaper reports.’
I thought it slightly odd that she just happened to have a photo of Anna in her handbag, even though she claimed that she was only in town to do some shopping … but I let that pass and concentrated on studying the photograph.
Helen was right, I did remember it from the newspaper reports. It was a posed picture, a head-and-shoulders shot, and it looked as if it’d been taken in a studio. Anna was trying to look sultry and mysterious – her head turned demurely over her shoulder, all pouting lips and come-to-bed eyes – and she seemed to be reclining on a red leather divan. There was nothing unprofessional or overly tacky about the photograph, it was simply that the intended effect just didn’t work. Anna was trying too hard, for a start, and although she was reasonably attractive – almond eyes, long black hair, a nice face, pretty mouth – there was something about her, something indefinable, that robbed her of any allure.
She looked hollow to me.
Haunted.
Used up.
‘She was a model,’ Mrs Gerrish said proudly. ‘Well … she was
hoping
to be a model. It’s what she always dreamed of.’
I nodded. ‘She didn’t make her living from it, then?’
‘No … it’s a very hard business to break into. And, of course, you have to make certain sacrifices if you’re really determined to make it.’
‘What kind of sacrifices?’
‘Modelling is the kind of work that requires you to be available all the time, just in case something suddenly turns up. So Anna was forever turning down excellent job opportunities because she didn’t want to tie herself down.’
‘I see … so where was she working when she disappeared?’
Mrs Gerrish hesitated. ‘Well, it was only a temporary post, a part-time catering position …’
I looked at her, my pen hovering over the pad. ‘I need the details, Mrs Gerrish.’
‘The Wyvern,’ she said quietly. ‘It’s a restaurant …’
I knew The Wyvern, and I knew that it wasn’t a restaurant. It was a pub. And a shit-hole pub at that. The only menu you were likely to be offered at The Wyvern was a menu of Class A drugs.
‘I don’t know the address, I’m afraid,’ Mrs Gerrish said. ‘But it’s –’
‘It’s all right,’ I told her. ‘I know where it is. Was Anna living at home?’
‘No, she has her own little flat down near the docks. Do you want the address?’
‘Please.’
She gave me the address and I wrote it down.
I said, ‘Is it a rented flat?’
‘Yes.’
‘What’s happening with it at the moment? Is Anna’s stuff still there?’
Helen nodded. ‘The rent was due last week … we’ve paid it up for another month.’
‘Does Anna live on her own?’
‘Yes.’
‘She’s not married?’
‘No.’
‘Boyfriend?’
‘No …’
‘Are you sure?’
‘Anna would have told me if she had a boyfriend.’
‘What about old boyfriends?’
‘Well, yes, of course … she was always a very popular girl. I can’t think of any names offhand at the moment …’
‘Didn’t the police ask you for their names?’
‘Well, yes … but I told them I couldn’t remember. I think they got them from somewhere else.’
Somewhere else?
I thought.
What the fuck does that mean?
‘OK, Mrs Gerrish,’ I said. ‘I’ll need Anna’s phone numbers – landline and mobile, please.’
She gave me the numbers, I wrote them down.
‘Have you got any other recent photos of Anna?’ I asked. ‘Anything a bit more … natural?’
‘There’s a few more at home, I think. They’re not
very
recent –’
‘OK, don’t worry, we’ll sort that out later. How about a key to her flat?’
‘The police have Anna’s keys, but I’ve got a spare at home.’
‘Well, I’d like to take a look round her flat as soon as possible. Could you drop the key off later?’
She looked slightly pained. ‘Well, it’s a bit difficult … you see, I don’t drive, and my husband has the car all day –’
‘How about later on this evening?’
‘He’s working this evening.’
‘All right,’ I sighed. ‘Where do you live, Mrs Gerrish?’
‘Stangate Rise.’
I nodded. ‘How about if I drive out later on and pick up the key myself? Would that be OK?’
She hesitated again. ‘Well, yes … I suppose …’
I sighed to myself again. This was already beginning to feel like hard work.
‘Would six o’clock be convenient?’
‘Yes … six o’clock, that’s fine.’
‘Right. Perhaps it’d be best if we leave any more questions until then.’
‘Yes … yes, of course. Would you like my address –?’
‘My secretary will take all your details before you go. Just one more thing … do you know the name of the officer in charge of the police investigation?’
‘Yes, it’s Detective Chief Inspector Bishop.’
I paused, momentarily taken aback. ‘Mick Bishop?’
‘Yes. Do you know him?’
‘My father …’ I began to say, but I had to stop to clear my throat. ‘My father knew DCI Bishop … they used to work together.’
‘Your father’s a policeman?’
‘He used to be.’
‘But not any more?’
‘No.’
She looked at me, waiting for me to go on, but after I’d stared back at her for a while, letting her know that I didn’t want to talk about it, she eventually got the message and reluctantly lowered her eyes.
‘I usually charge by the hour,’ I told her, clearing my throat again. ‘But I think it’s probably best in this case if we agree on a set rate for a limited period of time – say, three days – and then we’ll both see how it’s going and take it from there. How does that sound?’
‘Yes, thank you, Mr Craine. That’s perfectly acceptable.’
‘And we’ll need a retainer from you, if that’s all right.’
‘Of course. How much would you like?’
‘My secretary will detail our rates for you. If you’d like to go through to the main office, she’ll explain everything you need to know and draw up a contract.’
Mrs Gerrish got to her feet. ‘Well, thank you again, Mr Craine. Really … thank you very much.’
‘You’re welcome. I’ll see you at six o’clock.’
She smiled her humourless smile again, turned round, and started walking out. I watched her go. She was one of those women who scuffle across the ground with small, quick steps, barely lifting their feet, as if they’re somehow embarrassed about the process of walking.