Ali Harper - The Disappeared - A gripping crime mystery full of twists and turns!

‘Do you know anyone who might know where he is?’ I asked.

Bill continued to stare at Jo. ‘You want me to ring his mother every time he don’t turn up for work?’

I felt genuinely sorry for Bill. He’d ended up on the wrong side of Jo, and when that happens you’ve got no chance.

‘Did you ring him even?’

‘Dint need to. His housemate came here. Said he’d done a runner and took his Xbox.’

‘Pants or Brownie?’ I asked.

‘Come again?’

‘The housemate?’

‘The guy with the piercings. Dint catch a name. Carly’ll know.’

‘Who’s Carly?’ I asked, but Bill clearly considered the conversation over.

He lifted up the part of the bar that snapped to the wall, allowing him an exit route, and picked up the two empty crates. He strode off back across the dance floor without saying goodbye.

I put my hand on Jo’s arm. ‘Steady tiger,’ I said. ‘Doesn’t help to get people’s backs up.’

‘It was a PlayStation last time we got told that story.’ She turned round and leaned against the bar.

The blonde girl returned, the one who’d let us in originally, and took over the space behind the bar that Bill had left. Jo persuaded her to sell two bottles of Tiger beer and asked her to point Carly out to us. She glanced around the cavernous space then gestured towards a young woman coming out of the women’s toilets. She carried industrial-sized toilet rolls, wearing them like bracelets. I led the way across to her, Jo still swigging her ice-cold beer. Leastways, I assumed it was ice-cold. Ice-cold and smooth as honey.

‘Hi,’ I said to Carly.

She frowned, an I-don’t-think-I-know-you kind of a frown. She had green eyes, and freckles splattered across the top of her nose like paint drops.

‘Bill says you might be able to help us?’ I waved in the direction of the bar even though Bill was long gone. ‘We’re looking for Jack.’

A burst of noise splintered through the sound system, bringing the place to life. Sound echoed off the walls as the lights dimmed. The DJ had obviously arrived.

‘What you want?’ Carly shouted to be heard.

Jo raised her voice to compete with the music. ‘We’re looking for someone and Bill says—’

‘You found him?’ Even in the dim light I could see her face grow pink.

Jo was still shouting out the remainder of her sentence: ‘know where his mate is?’

‘You know Brownie?’ I asked, my throat feeling the strain. Was the music always this loud in clubs? I haven’t been in one since I gave up the booze. I’ve somehow always managed to persuade Jo to get out of town before last orders. I realized as we stood there that I’d never come clubbing again because nightclubs are not intended for sober people. Being out of it is part of the deal.

‘How?’ Carly shouted.

‘What?’ yelled Jo.

We all frowned at our separate conversations. My eardrums pounded. Carly beckoned us into the toilets she’d just stepped out of. A hundred memories assaulted me. I always end up in the toilets, no matter what club I go to. In fact, most of my happiest memories of nightclubs are in the toilets. There’s something safe about the confined, women-only space. The volume decreased by a decibel or three as the door closed behind us.

‘You know Jack?’ I asked.

At the same time as she said: ‘Who are you?’

‘We’re looking for him. Know where he is?’ said Jo, offering her one of the bottles of beer she’d just bought.

‘Oh.’ Carly’s face fell. ‘No. Wish I did.’ She stacked the toilet rolls on top of the counter next to the sink, and I caught sight of the watch on her wrist. Almost nine.

‘When did you last see him?’

‘What’s it to you?’ she said, taking the bottle of beer Jo held out and putting it down on the side, next to the sinks. ‘I’ll get sacked.’

‘We need to find him.’

‘Why? Who are you?’

‘Do you know where he is?’

‘No.’

I didn’t trust her. There was something about the way she refused to make eye contact.

‘We need to find him,’ said Jo. ‘We believe his life is in danger.’

Carly turned away from us and sank her face into her hands. Silence. I watched her run her fingers over her skin like she was washing her face. Finally, she peeled her fingers from her eyes and said: ‘He’s disappeared off the face of the earth.’

I stared at her. She reminded me of someone, but I couldn’t think who. She looked like she might cry as she picked the beer back up. ‘I shouldn’t really.’

‘Do you good. You’re upset. Not heard from him then?’ said Jo.

‘No, not a word,’ she said. ‘Who are you?’

‘Friend of a friend,’ said Jo, as I wondered where she was going with this.

‘What friend?’

‘One of his mates. From college. She’s worried about him. What about you?’

‘I work with him, is all,’ she said. ‘“Friend of a friend”? Who?’

‘She doesn’t want people to know,’ I said.

Carly turned to stare at me. ‘I don’t believe you.’

‘You don’t have to believe us,’ said Jo.

‘Is it Liz?’

I glanced at Jo and we made a face at each other, like maybe we were nervous that Carly was on the right track.

‘You can tell her to get lost. He’s not interested.’

‘Because he’s interested in you?’ Jo asked, her voice sceptical.

A silence followed; well, as silent as you can be when there’s drum and bass throbbing in the background. Don’t be afraid of the silences, someone once told me, they tell you more than the bits in between. Sure enough, she cracked.

‘We’ve been seeing each other, a bit. On and off. You know.’

‘Fuck, yes,’ said Jo, with heartfelt meaning. She checked her lipstick in the mirror. I love that Jo wears make-up. I’ve never got further than black eyeliner, which I can’t live without. But beyond that, I’ve never understood how women know what goes where. Jo’s an expert. Watching Jo get ready for a night out is to watch an artist at work. She can paint herself into a whole different person. ‘When was it last on?’ she asked Carly.

Carly took a mouthful of beer then turned to the mirror so that she was side by side with Jo. I stood back, observing their mirror reflections from a distance. Carly tugged at her curls, like she was trying to get them to stay in one place. They disobeyed her immediately, springing back into their own chaotic arrangement. She sighed and gave up. Carly looked about nineteen, cute in an Annie kind of way. If I had to guess, I’d say she was one of those students who probably came from some poxy little village in Cumbria or Northumberland and was thrilled to be living it up in the city. She pulled a stick of mascara out of the back pocket of her jeans.

‘That’s the weird thing, you know?’

I felt like a voyeur – didn’t know what to do with my hands, so I turned and studied the signs on the condom dispenser.

‘We’ve been, like, seeing each other nearly four months. Always more off than on. His choice.’ She stuck out her tongue at her own reflection. ‘He’s got … issues. Wouldn’t walk down the street with me when we first got together.’

‘Been there,’ said Jo.

I tried not to let anything show on my face, but inside I marvelled at what women put up with. Carly went out with someone who didn’t want to be seen in public with her? And Jo had too? What the fuck?

‘But then, lately,’ Carly continued, ‘we’ve been more on than off. I thought we’d turned a corner. Even talked about going travelling together. Said he wanted to get his head sorted.’

‘Heard that too,’ said Jo, cynic to the core. ‘They never mean it.’

I abandoned the condom dispenser and watched for Carly’s reaction. Her eyes grew brighter in the mirror.