Tim Weaver - Vanished

‘What else?’

‘There’s never any sign of a break-in, which suggests he knows the victims, or has at least befriended them prior to taking them. They’re both men, both about the same age – late twenties to early thirties – and they’re both homosexual. There are text messages from the suspect on the victims’ phones, but nothing we can use: he purchases a new SIM card and phone each time, in cash, giving a bogus home address, then he dumps the phone somewhere we can’t find it. He never uses email, social networking or picture messaging.’

‘Anything else about the victims?’

‘They’re both small men. I think I read one of them was only five-five.’

‘So?’

He studied her. She wasn’t asking because she didn’t know the answer. She was asking because she was testing him. ‘So, smaller men fit his fantasy.’

‘And?’

‘And they provide less resistance. He’s probably bigger than them, which is how he’s able to overpower them.’

‘What else?’

‘The hair.’

‘What about it?’

‘He shaves their heads before he takes them and he leaves the hair in a pile at the end of their beds.’

‘Why do you think he does that?’

Healy paused. ‘Maybe he’s trying to dehumanize them.’

‘In what way?’

‘Perhaps he feels that, by removing their hair, he’s removing their dignity. Forcing them further into a position of inferiority. That’s how he would want them.’

She started turning her mug, her mind ticking over. ‘You seem to know the case pretty well for someone who’s been working burglaries for five weeks.’

‘I’ve just overheard things.’

A smile drifted across her face. She didn’t believe him. She’d seen right through the lie: with no one to go home to, he’d used the late nights to go through the Policy Logs and the HOLMES data. ‘Tonight, I want you to take copies of the victims’ files home with you – officially. I want you to read them, and I want you to know them better than anyone else out there.’

‘Yes, ma’am.’

‘Because tomorrow morning I want you in at 6 a.m. on the dot. If you’re even one minute late, you’ll be back to working burglaries.’

‘I won’t be.’

She looked up at him. ‘You’ve got a lot to prove, Healy.’ He didn’t respond, because he didn’t agree with her, but he let her know he was willing to play ball. ‘I need you to be better than everyone else. You make one mistake and we’re both in the shit. So bring your wits with you, and whatever it was that used to make you good. Because from tomorrow, you’re working the Snatcher. And you’re going to help nail him to the wall.’

20

An hour later, there were only two members of I2 left to interview. The first, Iain Penny, was one of the dominant numbers on Sam’s records, and Julia had listed him as one of Sam’s best friends. He was in his late thirties, pale and tubby, but well groomed.

I reintroduced myself to him and told him what I did. It was basically an exercise in making him feel good: how, because of his relationship to Sam, he was my best hope of finding him, how the rest of the office had said he was the person to speak to. He wasn’t much of a challenge to read: when he spoke it was without hesitancy, his eyes reflecting the words coming out of his mouth, all of which was a pretty good sign. I’d interviewed plenty of liars and eventually a secret started to weigh heavy, even for the good ones; Penny didn’t look like he had much to hide.

‘How long have you known Sam?’

‘He joined I2 before me,’ Penny said, ‘but when I started, I was put on the desk next to him and Ross asked Sam to kind of take me under his wing. We pretty much hit it off from the start. Sam was like the unofficial boss on the floor, so we all looked up to him and respected him, but he would muck in and help us out, and he’d always be there for you. That’s why we liked him.’

‘He was universally liked at I2?’

‘Yeah, definitely.’

No one had said otherwise in the interviews that morning. In fact, the standard response, pretty much from the beginning of the case, was that Sam was a lovely guy.

A lovely guy who lied to his wife .

‘You were his best mate at I2?’

‘That’s how I saw it,’ he said. He shrugged. ‘But then he upped and left without saying anything to me. This is a guy I’ve known for four years, a guy I used to socialize with, talk to and text all the time. My girlfriend and I used to get together with Sam and Julia on weekends; be round there for barbecues or out on the town. We went away for weekends with them, helped them move house when they bought that place in Kensington, looked after it when they were away. I thought we were pretty close. It always felt that way. But, like I say, maybe he felt differently.’

‘So it was a surprise when he disappeared?’

‘A complete shock.’

‘You never saw it coming?’

‘No. Not at all.’ He paused, but I sensed there was more to come. ‘He did change a bit towards the end. Not massively. I’m sure most people at I2 didn’t even notice. But I knew him better than most – and I could definitely see it.’

‘What do you mean by “change”?’

He shrugged. ‘Just got quieter, you know? Sam always used to joke around, join in with the banter.’ He smiled. ‘He used to do a cracking impression of Ross, actually.’

‘And he wasn’t like that at the end?’

‘No. Definitely not.’

‘Did he ever confide in you as to why?’

‘No. Like I say, maybe he just felt differently to me.’

After Penny disappeared back to his desk, I watched the last of I2’s employees come across the floor towards me. She was attractive: five-eight, slim, dressed in a tailored skirt suit, with shoulder-length black hair and dark eyes. She introduced herself as Esther Wilson, another name on the list, and when she said she was from Sydney, I put her at ease with some talk about the city’s beaches.

After a few minutes I returned to Sam.

‘I didn’t know him that well,’ she said. ‘We used to go out – a big group of us – and I’d chat to him, like I’d chat to any of the guys on the floor. We texted a few times, mostly about work stuff. I knew him as a colleague, but I wouldn’t be able to tell you anything about him as a person; any family stuff. Only what I’ve heard about him since.’

‘Which is what?’

‘Obviously everyone talked about him a lot when he went missing. Everyone had a theory on where he might have gone, and why.’

‘What was your theory?’

‘I didn’t really have one. Like I said, I didn’t know his personal circumstances, so I’d just be speculating.’

‘So what would you speculate?’

She shrugged. ‘I know Sam was pissed off when the pay freeze kicked in. We all were. It affected us all. But I think it got harder for Sam when his wife was made redundant.’ A pause. ‘Iain said she was laid off some time last year.’

‘Do you and Iain talk a lot?’

‘We work together. We both do a lot of business in Russia, so it’s not unusual for us to chat over coffee and after work. Him and Sam were good mates – I think he felt like he needed to offload on someone after Sam left. I was just around.’

I made some notes. ‘What was Iain’s theory, then?’

Movement passed across her face, and I could see the answer: that Iain had had a theory, but not one he’d shared with the other people on the floor. ‘You’d really be better off speaking to Iain,’ she said. ‘I don’t like getting involved in stuff like this.’

‘Stuff like what?’

She shifted in her seat, her eyes flicking to me, then out through the window behind me. For the first time she looked uncomfortable. But then, a second later, she managed to completely change her expression, as if she’d raised a disguise. I wasn’t sure whether she was hesitant because she genuinely didn’t like office gossip, or because I’d strayed close to something and now she was trying to back away from it.