Tom Weaver - The Dead Tracks

What am I overlooking here?

For a second time, I stared at the printouts on my desk. The date. The way it was written: 27-03-11. That same feeling blossomed. Maybe it was something I'd seen, or heard, and not fully taken in at the time. Or maybe it wasn't even the date.

Maybe it was the format.

Ripping a piece of paper from my notepad, I wrote down the dates the girls had gone missing — 3 April 2011 and 3 January 2011 - then, underneath that, the numerical equivalent: 03 04 11;03 01 11. I leaned back in my chair, rolled my pen back and forth across the desk. Listened to the clock on the far wall ticking over. The whole time I didn't take my eyes off the numbers. There was something in the date.

Something I'd missed.

I leaned forward, pressing a finger against the date of Megan's disappearance: 03 04 11. Grabbing the pen, I scribbled out the zeros and the year: 3 4.

Three and four.

Or thirty-four.

Then it hit me. I pulled my phone across the desk and went to the photos. There, right at the top, was the last one I'd taken: the wall in the police station, the first time I'd been in. slightly blurred, Megan's picture looked out at me, pinned to a board in the CID office. Next to that was the map and more photographs. And then seven stickies, running in a vertical line, a separate number on each.

I could only make out three of them, the first, sixth and seventh: 2119, 3111 — and 34. They hadn't been numbers. They'd been dates.

The first one - 2119 - was four digits. They'd included the year after it, so they'd know all the others followed in sequence, through 2010 and into 2011. I turned back to the computer and this time typed '2 November 2009 missing' into Google and hit Return.

Four links down I found what I was looking for. It was a missing persons site, profiles of men, women and kids decorating the front page. Picture after picture. Face after face. So many missing people, all of them lost somewhere - or worse than lost. The Google search had taken me straight to the page corresponding to the people who'd vanished on 2 November 2009. I was thirty-two pages and almost three hundred profile pictures in. And bang in the centre was the woman I was looking for.

In her photograph, she was smiling at the camera, her blonde hair cascading down her face in long, thin strands. She was pretty. Slim but not skinny.

And she looked like Megan and Leanne. I clicked on her profile.

Missing | Case Ref: 09-004447891

Isabelle Connors

Age at disappearance: 28

Isabelle has been missing from Finchley, north London, since 2 November 2009. She was last seen in Lemon Street in Islington getting into her car after a work function. She later spoke to a friend on the phone to confirm she had got home. It is believed she disappeared that evening or the next morning as she failed to turn up to work, where she was employed as a graphic designer.

There is great concern for Isabelle as her disappearance is out of character. She is 5 ft 8in tall, of slim-to- medium build with blue eyes and blonde hair. When last seen she was wearing a pair of blue jeans, black heels, a white vest and a long black coat.

Another missing woman. And she was the same as Megan and Leanne. Same hair. Same eyes. Same shape. The only difference was their age. I looked away and tried to picture the list of numbers on the wall of the office. Tried to recall the second, third, fourth or fifth stickies. I'd taken the dates in, but not realized their importance. They were just a random list of numbers then. A blur among the maps and the photographs and the paperwork.

I slowly started tabbing back through the pages, closely examining every female picture. Six pages later, I found her. Blonde. Blue eyes. She'd disappeared on 8 January 2010.1 looked at the picture on my phone: although it was blurred, I could instantly make out what looked like 8110. The second number on the wall.

Missing | Case Ref: 09-0044479 5 8

April Brunei

Age at disappearance: 45

April has been missing from Hackney, east London, since 8 January 2010. Her whereabouts remain unknown.

She called friends on the evening of 7 January to say she couldn't join them for a drink as she was feeling unwell. There is growing concern for April as her disappearance is out of character. She is 5 ft 6in tall, of slim build with blue eyes and blonde hair. She was last seen at work that day, where she was employed as an accountant.

In the pit of my stomach, there was a growing sense of unease. Four missing women now, and it was obvious there were three more to come. It took me ten minutes to find them, and another five to scan their profiles. Jayne Rickards, thirty-three; 4 April 2010. She had been number 44. Kate Norton, twenty-nine; 12 July 2010. She had been number 127. Erica Muller, twenty-three; 4 October 2010. She had been 410. All slim-to-medium, with blonde hair and blue eyes. All gone.

And all connected.

Chapter Forty-one

The pub was small, with low lighting and ambient music. A series of booths, decked out in black leather and walnut, ran along one side, next to windows that looked out over Camden High Street. I found a seat right at the back with virtually no lighting and only a partial view in and out. The barman said, as it was so quiet, he'd come to my table. I ordered two beers and waited.

Ten minutes later, Healy arrived.

He squinted and scanned the room. Then his eyes fell on me. He cast a glance around him - making certain there were no faces he recognized — and made his way across. He slid in at the booth without saying a word.

I pushed one of the beers towards him. He scooped it up and emptied it in about half a minute. When he was done, he swivelled in his seat, trying to catch the barman's eye. 'Just do me a favour,' he said when he'd finally put his order in for a second. 'Keep your eyes on the door. Because if anyone even vaguely familiar comes in, we're both in the shite.'

'I don't think anyone you know will be coming in here.'

He studied me, a frown forming on his face. Then he looked back over his shoulder and took in the room for a second time. Four men at the bar. Two in the booth a couple down from us. Two more beyond that, hands touching on the table. He turned back to me. 'Is this a gay bar?'

'Looks like it.'

'Then you're probably right.'

A silence settled between us.

He got out his phone, placed it on the table and watched the barman bring over his drink. He scooped it up immediately. By the time he was finished, it was half empty. He pushed it aside and leaned forward. 'So, what did you call me for?'

'I think you know.'

He eyed me. 'Look, I couldn't say anything to you earlier. It was too risky. If they found out I was telling you about…' He stopped.

'Telling me about what?'

He didn't reply.

'The five other women?'

A flitter of surprise on his face. 'I don't know what -'

'Save the circus act, Healy.' I reached into my jacket pocket and placed a folded piece of paper down on the table between us. He picked it up and unfolded it. In front of him were photographs of the five missing women I'd discovered on the site, as well as Megan and Leanne. 'I've found them. I know they exist. I've seen them on the wall of the incident room, so I know they're linked. Question is, why doesn’t the public know about them?'

His eyes flicked to me but he didn't say anything.

I leaned forward, pushing my beer aside. 'Do their families even know they've been linked? Do their families know anything. ?' I paused and waited for him to answer. He didn't. 'You want to know what I really don't understand? Why you're happy to play along with this bullshit cover story when your daughter's one of them.'

He looked up at me, his fingers resting on the beer bottle now.