Martin Edwards - Suspicious Minds

“Worse?” Again the harsh laugh. “And will they be better if I’m charged with killing her as well as bloody Alison?”

“Nobody’s going to charge you. No way. Any fool could tell you’d never harm a hair on her head.”

“No more I would.”

Stirrup shut his eyes. He looked like a sick, sleeping old man who had no wish to wake again. Harry wanted to sympathise, to assure him that everything would turn out right in the end. But it was a promise no one could make.

After receiving his client’s telephone message, Harry had driven straight over from Liverpool. To abandon Valerie as soon as she had arrived dismayed and embarrassed him. If only they had left the flat before the call came. At least she understood at once that he could not let his client down. His apologies she waved away with a philosophic smile.

“There’ll be other times.”

The promise cheered him on the journey, but he forgot everything when he arrived at the house. Stirrup was pacing up and down outside the front door, kicking at the gravel. As he explained what had happened, he wheezed as if on the verge of a coronary.

Claire had left the house at nine-thirty, saying that she was going down into West Kirby to change her library books. She often did that on a Saturday morning, according to her father, catching the bus which stopped on the main road, a short walk away, at twenty to ten. She had mentioned that she would make lunch for twelve because Peter Kuiper was coming round to see her later that afternoon and she had wanted to blow-dry her hair before he arrived.

Noon came and went and Stirrup began to worry. At half past, he got out the car and drove slowly down the road to West Kirby to see if he could spot her if she had decided to stroll back on foot. No sign at the library. People he spoke to couldn’t recall having seen a girl matching her description.

Increasingly frantic, he tried one shop after another. Nothing. Walking the length of the promenade, he scanned every inch of yellow sand but saw no Claire. Convinced that he must have missed her in coming down the hill from Caldy, he raced back along the winding road to Prospect House. It remained as he had left it, locked and undisturbed. At that point, in desperation, he rang Harry.

“Any problems with her lately, Jack? Was she worried, depressed, sulky? Had you quarrelled?”

“Course not. All right, she acted a bit off colour Thursday afternoon and evening. Time of the month, for all I know. Or maybe she was mooning over that feller at — whatsit? — Balliol Chambers. Anyway, she went out to see some schoolfriend that evening and yesterday she was as right as rain. That young turd Kuiper came to see her, but he didn’t stop more than a couple hours. She and I watched the late night movie on the box. Then she kissed me as usual and went up to bed.”

“And this morning?”

“No different. She pulled my leg as I was reading the paper. You know, I still read the Mirror, though it’s a Labour rag. Force of habit, my old man used to take it when I was a kid. Claire said when she came into money, she’d insist on having quality newspapers. Nothing but the best for her. And that was it. Next thing I knew, she was sauntering down the drive without a care in the world. Matter of fact…”

“Yes?”

Stirrup frowned. “No, it’s gone. Something odd struck me a moment ago, but I’ve lost it.”

“Have you rung her friends? She may have bumped into one of them unexpectedly in the town. They could have wandered off together without giving their parents a second thought.”

“Claire wouldn’t do that. She’s an only child. I know it sounds corny, but there’s a special bond between us.”

It did sound corny, but Harry merely said, “Have you checked?”

“She hasn’t many friends,” said Stirrup reluctantly. “At least not what I’d call real friends. But yes, I rang a couple of people. Karen Lawler’s folks. Pam Macdougall’s. They’d not seen her. All they said was — phone the police.”

“What about this meeting with Peter Kuiper? If…”

The roar of a motorbike interrupted Harry, seizing the attention of both of them. It grew louder before suddenly cutting out. The two men exchanged a glance.

“That’s him!” Stirrup jumped to his feet. “By God, if he’s done anything to her…”

“Jack.” Harry rose and laid a restraining hand on his client’s arm. “One step at a time. There’s nothing to suggest the lad had any connection with Claire’s disappearance. Before you inflict any grievous bodily, shouldn’t we establish a few facts?”

“Let go of me.” Stirrup shrugged himself free. But he had become sulky rather than violent.

Harry followed him outside. Kuiper had stopped his bike next to the old stable block. The young man looked over his shoulder at them.

“You!” shouted Stirrup. “Come here!”

Kuiper approached, wary as if confronting a rottweiler. He had forgotten to affect a swagger and his expression betrayed puzzlement at the older man’s naked hostility.

“Yes?”

“I want to talk to you.”

“All right. Here I am.” Cocky again. “Talk away.”

“Where is she?”

“What are you on about?”

“Don’t give me that, smart-arse. Claire. My daughter. The girl whose boots you’re not fit to lick.”

“I never thought of licking her boots .” With a scarcely suppressed snigger, Kuiper laid heavy emphasis on the final word.

“You dirty little shit!” Stirrup lunged forward with unexpected speed and yanked Kuiper’s arm behind his back, forcing a yelp of startled protest mixed with pain.

“Jack! Leave him.”

Harry grasped his client by the shoulder and Stirrup let Kuiper go, though not without one last wrench of his captive’s arm to send him spinning to the ground.

“Whose side are you on?”

“Be quiet, Jack.” Breathing hard, Harry stood astride the fallen youth. “Now listen to me, Peter. Claire has been missing for hours. Jack is worried sick. Do you know where she is?”

Kuiper blinked. “Missing?”

The lad sounded mystified. Harry’s heart sank. Until that moment he had hoped that a childish elopement of some kind would explain Claire’s sudden departure. If the boyfriend was equally in the dark, the puzzle became more sinister.

In his frustration, he yanked Kuiper back to his feet. Not gently.

“Why did you come here this afternoon?”

“To see Claire, of course. We’d fixed to meet. Look, what’s going on?”

“You heard. She’s nowhere to be found. Said she was going out to the library, but never came back.”

“Shit.” Dismay spread across Kuiper’s face. If he was faking it, Harry thought, he deserved to tread the boards at the Playhouse.

Harry turned to Stirrup. “He’s telling the truth.”

Stirrup glowered. “Is he? I don’t know. Claire was never a moment’s bother till he turned up.”

“She’s not a child,” said Kuiper. “Even if you’d like her to stay that way. She’s a person in her own right. Intelligent. Ambitious. And far more…”

“Shut it, both of you,” said Harry. “This is getting us nowhere. Time’s ticking by and none of us has any idea where Claire may be. Jack, I don’t mind what you say. I’m going to phone the police myself.”

Stirrup started towards him. “I told you…”

“What matters most, Jack? Of course there’ll be tough questioning. But you can take it, when Claire’s safety may be at stake. Can’t you?”

“She’s all I care about. You know that.”

“Yes,” said Harry. “Shall we go inside and make that call?”

The two of them walked towards the house. As they reached the kitchen door they heard the motorbike engine flare into life again. Stirrup spun round and ran to where Kuiper had been. Long before he reached the stable block, however, the bike had gone and with it the young man. Stirrup shook his fist at the emptiness. An absurd gesture of defiance and yet, Harry thought, strangely moving. He felt a surge of pity for his client and went to join him.