McDermid, Val: Trick of the Dark

But it you looked at it from the perspective of someone investigating Jay Stewart's past for possible murder victims, the case took on a different appearance. Because the one thing that leapt out from the pile of pages was that the version of that Friday morning that appeared in Unrepentant was very different from the one contained in the police records. According to what Charlie had read, Jay had gone to the flats to confront her mother and Rinks. But the building had been locked up and the caretaker had told her the work was finished. She'd gone home, convinced she and her mother would be leaving Roker behind for a new life with Rinks. But she hadn't found Jenna and she'd never seen her again.

Charlie recognised that Jay might have tweaked reality for a more dramatic narrative, though in this instance, it didn't seem to have improved the quality of the story. Relating the visit to the dentist might have slowed the pace, however. And of course, the great advantage of the version in the memoir was that it gave Jay a more dynamic role. Rather than going to the dentist and coming home, where her mother never returned, it inserted her into the narrative, taking her to the very site of her illicit meetings with Rinks.

The crucial point remained that Jay had no alibi for the day her mother disappeared. She'd gone to the dentist, but she hadn't carried on to school. She claimed she'd been in bed all day following her visit to the dentist, but there was no corroboration. Come to that, there was no evidence that she'd actually been to the dentist at all since nobody had thought to check. If you discounted Jay's evidence to the police or to her readership, there was no reason to believe that Jenna had ever left the house.

'Get a grip,' Charlie said aloud as she replaced the paperwork in the box. Even if Jay had killed her mother in the family home, it was beyond belief that a sixteen-year-old could have disposed of the body without a trace before Howard Calder got home from work. Charlie knew from her own experience of dealing with killers that getting rid of a corpse is far from simple, especially in a country as densely populated as the UK. Unless Charlie could come up with another scenario, Jay remained off the hook.

She rang the bell and waited for Hester Langhope to release her. There was only one other person who might have some insight to offer. But Charlie didn't hold out much hope of Howard Calder shedding light on the mysterious disappearance of his wife. If he'd had anything to say, he'd have said it years before to the police. But at least she had an address, thanks to the police files.

As she drove back down the A1 towards Roker, Charlie called Nick. 'Not quite a waste of time,' she told him. 'There's a discrepancy between what she says in her book and the police statement.' She outlined the problem. 'But it's academic, really. Because either way Jay doesn't have an alibi from about ten in the morning till five in the afternoon.'

Nick was straight on to the problem. 'So where's the body? She was a kid. She wouldn't have the strength or the knowledge to get rid of it.'

'My conclusion exactly. But since I'm up here, I might as well pay Howard Calder a visit. You never know, he might have the mythical piece of knowledge whose significance he's never understood.'

Nick laughed. 'You've been reading too many bad novels.'

'Guilty as charged. I know it's a long shot, but any news from the phone company?'

'No joy so far. I'll let you know as soon as I hear anything. Good luck with Howard.'

As she passed the Angel of the North, its massive aircraft wings spread in benediction, Charlie thought it was more than luck she needed.

There was nothing prepossessing about the house where Jay Stewart had spent her adolescence. It sat in the middle of a long terraced street of dirty red brick, neither the best nor the worst on view. The black door and white paintwork were grubby, a combination of city grime and tiny grains of sand carried on the wind from the nearby beach. The curtains seemed to droop, as if all the spirit had gone from them, and the light that showed behind the fanlight above the door was the discouraging pale yellow of a bulb whose wattage was too low for the space it had to illuminate. If this was how it had been twenty years ago, Charlie wasn't surprised that Jay had chosen to get out as soon as she could.

She rang the doorbell, which gave a loud angry buzz. As she waited, she looked around. Four o'clock on a cold Tuesday afternoon, and not a soul stirring. No kids playing football in the road, no youths hanging around on a street corner smoking, no knots of pensioners gossiping. No sense at all of the lives being lived behind those doors. It didn't feel like a community, which surprised her. Maybe it was just because she didn't know the area, didn't know how to read the signs.

The door opened behind her and she spun round. The man framed by the door looked irritated, thick grey eyebrows drawn down over deep-set eyes magnified by his steel-rimmed glasses. He seemed to be an assembly of sharp angles — thin face, nose like a blade, skinny shoulders, bony hands — all compressed in a tight, narrow space. He had a full head of grey hair, cropped so close at the sides that Charlie could see the greyish pink flesh of his scalp. His skin was pale and lined, the contours those of a face that seldom smiled. 'Are you the woman from the council?' he demanded, his voice still strong and overbearing.

Charlie smiled. No point in beating about the bush with this man. 'No. I'm Dr Charlotte Flint. I work with the police. I wondered if I might talk to you about the disappearance of your wife.'

His scowl deepened. 'A doctor? From the police? I've never heard anything like that before.'

'I'm what's called an offender profiler. I help them build cases against people suspected of serious offences like rape and murder.'

'Have you found Jenna? Is that what you're trying to say?' His eyebrows lifted and he looked almost happy.

'I'm sorry, Mr Calder. We haven't found your wife. What I'm doing just now is examining some cases where the missing person fits some of the criteria for a known offender to see if we might be able to clear up some outstanding disappearances. ' She gave a quick smile, hoping the lie would stand up to doorstep scrutiny.

Calder frowned. 'What do you mean, criteria? What sort of criteria?'

'I'm sorry, I can't tell you that. It's confidential. Possible contempt of court down the line, you see?' Wrap things up in enough verbiage and people would fall for anything. She hoped.

'I'll need to see some ID before I let you in,' he said, thrusting his jaw out defiantly.

'No problem.' Charlie produced her Home Office ID.

'You've come a long way,' Calder said, opening the door and signalling she should enter. The hallway was as bare and cold as the street outside. Plain varnished floorboards without even a rug to enliven them, walls painted cream too long ago. There was a faint ancient smell of cooked meat. The room he showed her into was short on comfort. There was a wooden-framed three-piece suite that looked like it had been a G-plan copy back in the sixties. The cushions were thin and depressed. Half a dozen hard dining chairs stood against the wall. The only decoration was three elaborately embroidered samplers with biblical texts. Even from a distance, Charlie could see the work was exquisite. 'What beautiful samplers,' she said, stepping closer to one to take a look.

'My mother's work.' Calder spoke abruptly, as if the subject was already closed. He waved Charlie to a chair but didn't sit himself. Instead, he stood in front of the unlit gas fire, hands balled into fists in the pockets of his loose grey cardigan. There was no offer of tea or coffee. 'I must say, I'm glad to see Jenna hasn't been completely forgotten by the police. The locals frankly couldn't care less.'