Tom Weaver - The Dead Tracks

After showering, I went through to the kitchen and started preparing some dinner, emptying a packet of stir- fry vegetables into a wok along with some sliced chicken. As I watched it brown, I kept coming back to Caroline Carver. I couldn't shake the feeling that she was holding something back. Even if I couldn't read her as clearly as I would have liked, I knew I wasn't mistaken. Something sat there between us, just as it had the first time we'd met at the restaurant. A secret. A half-truth. A lie. Something.

I was sitting down in front of the TV, twenty minutes into the match, when my phone started buzzing. I set the plate aside and hit Answer.

It was James Carver.

'Caroline told me about what you accused her of today,' he said, cutting to the chase. 'You think she would hold back something important? You seriously think she would do that? What planet are you on?'

'Hold on a min-'

'No, you hold on a minute.' He lowered his voice. He must have been in another room, trying to keep the conversation away from her. 'Don't ever accuse my wife of trying to get in the way of finding Meg'

'I didn't accuse her of —'

'Don't tell me you didn't. I know you did. I'm paying you to be an investigator, not some amateur-hour psychologist.'

'Just let me explain.'

'You really believe Caroline doesn’t want her found?'

'Of course not.'

'Then what the hell are you playing at?'

I paused, let him calm down for a moment. 'She seemed hesitant.'

'About what?'

'About everything'

'Our daughter has been missing six months. You know what that's like? You know what that Does to you? No, you don't. You've got no idea.'

I didn't reply. Let him feel like he'd had his victory.

'Are you going to apologize?'

'Listen, James… I don't know either of you well, but I went with a gut reaction and if it turns out to be wrong, then I'll apologize.'

'You insulted her. Do you understand what I'm telling you?'

'It won't happen again.'

'No, it won't.' He cleared his throat. 'I think we should call it a day.'

'What are you talking about?'

'I want you off this. We entrusted you with the most precious thing in our life, gave you money, all you'd need to get the job done. But you've destroyed my confidence in you, David. And you've insulted my wife. I won't have that. I won't have you speak to her like that.'

'This is ridiculous.'

'Put Megan's things in an envelope and mail them to us. Whatever you have found out so far, please put it down on paper and include that too. The last thing Caroline needs now is to see you at the house again. I will pay you for the three days you have done, and an extra day as a goodwill gesture. Not that you deserve any goodwill from us.'

'Don't you think this is a little extreme?'

He hung up.

Chapter Eleven

At 2 a.m., something woke me. For a moment, the noise was distant and distorted, just a sound on the edge of my sleep. Then, when I opened my eyes, I saw my mobile was gently vibrating on the bedside cabinet. I reached over and scooped it up.

'Hello?'

'David?'

I rubbed an eye. 'Yes.'

'It's Jill.'

It took me a couple of seconds to realize it was Jill from the support group.

'I'm so sorry to call you like this.'

'Uh…'I looked at the clock again. She really is calling me at two o'clock in the morning. 'Uh, no problem.'

'I tried Aron, but he's not answering. I think he's away with work tonight. I tried a police friend of Frank's too, but he's not answering either. I didn't know who else to call. I guess I just thought, because of your job, you might know what to… to, uh…'

I sat up in bed, still feeling a little woozy. 'Are you okay?'

'I'm so sorry to wake you.'

'No, no - don't worry.'

'It's just… I don't know who else to…'

'Really,' I said, flicking on a bedside lamp, my brain working over the reasons she might be calling, 'don't worry. What's the matter?'

'I'm, uh…' She paused. The more awake I became, the more distressed she started to sound. There's, uh…'

'What?'

A pause. 'I think someone's watching my house.'

'What are you talking about?'

'There's someone across the street. He's just been sitting in his car all evening, looking across at my house. I don't know what to do.'

'Is he still there?'

'Yes.'

'Okay,' I said, and turned around in bed, flipping back the sheets. She wants you to come over. 'Uh, would you like me to come over?'

' Oh , thank you ?

Her voice wobbled. She was scared.

'Where do you live?' She gave me the address. 'Make sure all the doors and windows are locked. If you're unsure, at any time, call the police. I'll be there as fast as I can.'

The night was cool. On the drive over I had the heaters on full blast, rain spattering against the windscreen the whole way. Her road was narrow, cars parked on either side. She'd told me she had a black door, but in the darkness every door looked black. I found a space about halfway down the road, got out and saw I was about ten houses away. I scanned the street for any sign of someone watching her place, but it was difficult in the rain. Gutters were filling. Water pelted off glass and bodywork. Visibility was low.

There were no lights on in her house. I knocked twice, then turned and looked up and down the street again, this time from under the protection of her porch. Lots of cars. No sign of anyone sitting inside one.

The door opened.

Jill was dressed in tracksuit trousers and a big baggy fleece. Her eyes wandered past me, to a spot on my right. I turned and followed her gaze. There was no one there. When I looked back at her, I could see the confusion in her face.

'He's gone,' she said quietly.

I looked back out at the street again.

'Seems that way.'

'But he's been there all night.' She looked at me, then out into the street. 'He was sitting there in a red car. I think it was a Ford.'

I didn't say anything. She wasn't crazy, and I doubted she was seeing things. But being on your own changed things. Small things. Knowing someone else was in the house with you was a security blanket, even if — ultimately — you were just as vulnerable as ever. She looked at me and tears formed in the corners of her eyes.

'I wasted your time.'

'No,' I said. 'Not at all.'

'I must be going mad.'

'No,' I repeated, and touched a hand to the top of her arm. 'You aren't mad. He could have been watching another house. He could have been a cop. Or a government agent. Or maybe they think you're a terrorist.'

A smile. 'That makes me feel much better.'

She glanced at me, brought her hand up to her face, then looked down at herself. In her eyes, now the tension had passed, I could see what she was thinking: Why the hell did I answer the door dressed like this?

'Would you like to come in for some tea or a coffee or something?'

'Sure,' I said. 'Coffee would be great.'

Her house was small but modern; a show home ripped from the pages of a magazine. There were beautiful wooden floors running through to the living room, where a thick rug sat beneath a beech-and-glass table piled with glossy books. An original brick fireplace dominated one wall, a wood-burning stove perched in it. Opposite were two bookcases, filled with classics, either side of a black flatscreen TV. DVDs were piled up underneath, most of them foreign language. It didn't look like we'd be discussing the action scenes in Predator any time soon. She pointed to one of two cream leather sofas, and disappeared into the kitchen.

There were photographs of her husband on some of the bookcase shelves, and again on the mantelpiece above the fire. I walked over and picked one up. They were at a police get-together somewhere. She was in a flowery summer dress, her hair up. He had his arm around her, and was dressed in full uniform, two silver stars on his shoulder. I put the photograph back on the mantelpiece just as Jill brought two cups of coffee through, setting them down on the table. She perched herself on the other sofa.