by Linda Coles
“I’m wondering if her luggage and handbag have been located. If her bag still has her wallet and passport in it, at least we’ll know she’s still in the UK. Or she’s stowed away somehow, most likely on a boat rather than a plane. People do it all the time coming into the UK, surely one woman can do it going the other way?”
“We haven’t considered the ferry, have we?” Julie said slowly. “It might be easier to board. I’m thinking about Home Alone 2, you know, when a large group went through ticketing in a hurry, and Kevin McCallister got left behind and ended up getting on the wrong flight.”
“That was a movie, Julie. It wouldn’t really happen.” Chrissy was tempted to roll her eyes but it gave her a thought. “But, you know, maybe that’s not such a crazy idea,” she said, sitting bolt upright and running a scenario through in her head. “If you were intent on getting through, you’d find a way, wouldn’t you, and that might be to tag along with a large group.”
“Or perhaps you could use the passport of someone that was a similar build and look to you?”
“Possibly, yes. But not on a plane. Too hard. And the trains weren’t running so that leaves a car ferry or a foot passenger on a ferry. It has to be one of the two and I’m going for foot passenger. Or she’s still in the UK.”
Julie shook her head, no. “She was going away anyway and now she’s run off. So something’s bothering her. If that’s the case, she wouldn’t stay here, she’d keep going south. That’s what I’d do too. Maybe she has gone to Greece.”
“Have you been on a ferry recently?”
Julie wrinkled her perfectly powdered nose up in disgust.
Chrissy received the answer loud and clear. “No, I guess you’re more of a plane kind of girl. So, I’m saying, unless she had another passport of some kind – and we have no way of knowing, but assuming she hasn’t – she couldn’t get on a flight, but there’s a slim possibility she got on a boat or ferry. Shall we test it out?”
“You mean, get on a ferry and cross the Channel?” By the look of horror on Julie’s face, you’d think she’d been asked to swim in a muddy bog.
“You wanted to tag along, sis. If Susan hadn’t planned to leave and has for some reason chosen to on a whim, she has few options to choose from, so let’s get creative and try and think how it could have worked for her. We have nothing else to work with, nothing. Now, I’m going to grab a bag of clothes, and if you’re dead set on coming, you’d better do the same.”
Julie looked a little unsure. Could she leave Richard on his own for a day or two? The shop could manage, no problem there. She oversaw things rather than being scheduled on the staff rota anyway and everything was running smoothly in that respect. Could she be tempted?
“What’s it to be, coming or not?” Chrissy stood with hands on her hips while she waited for Julie’s response. Instinctively she knew the answer, but she wanted to hear her sister say it. Would she be game? Slumming it on a stinky diesel ferry could be an amusement in itself. When Julie stood, she knew she had her. “And one other thing before we get going,” said Chrissy. “We play by my rules, okay? No nipping off shopping or getting a chipped nail fixed. Neither of us know where this little jaunt will take us and the more I think about it, the more I’m inclined to take a couple of days’ worth of clothes. I suggest you do the same – but travel lightly. You’ll have to carry or lug around what you pack so bear that in mind. You won’t need your stilettos, but you will need your comfy walking shoes.” Chrissy watched Julie’s face drop. “What is it?”
“I don’t possess any walking shoes.”
“Really? And you a shoe-shop owner?”
“Yes, really.” There was a moment’s silence between the two women. “But I can get some quick enough,” she said, her face brightening.
“Great. Now, why don’t you nip home, pack, and drive back over. I’ll pack while you’re gone and organise things here for the boys. I’m sure you’ve got stuff of your own to sort out. Oh, and don’t forget your passport.”
“Yes, ma’am. Anything else?” Julie said in mock salute.
“I don’t think so. I’ll look up the ferry timetable while you’re gone.” Chrissy checked her watch. “By the time you’re back, it will be lunchtime, so we’ll leave straight away. It’s got to be quicker by car so we’ll press on without the train. You just concentrate on yourself, and get back here as soon as you can, all right?” Chrissy was watching Julie intently, looking for signs of nerves or excitement, neither of which showed.
Then, “Right, I’ll get off and get back.”
The two women headed back downstairs in silence, each thinking about the journey ahead, their search to find a missing woman, one who it appeared didn’t want to be found.
Once Julie had waved goodbye from her Mercedes, Chrissy stood for a moment to enjoy the morning air. The temperature had risen a handful of degrees since her sister’s arrival and the sun warmed her bare arms.
“The continent should be nice at this time of the year,” she said to herself, closing the front door behind her and heading back upstairs to pack. “So, Susan Smith, where did you head to if you did go by ferry?”
It was a question she didn’t have the answer to – yet.
Chapter Thirty-Five
Chrissy was standing on the doorstep and looking on in amusement at the size of the bag Julie was pulling from the boot of her car. Her earlier instruction on travelling light had gone in one ear and out the other.
Julie glanced at Chrissy’s bag and pointed, “Is that it? How can you pack so little?”
“I could ask you the opposite,” Chrissy quipped as she gathered her own up. “Let’s get going, because we have a couple of stops to make on the way. And some calls. So you can be PA while I drive, okay?”
“PA? I can do that,” she said, brightening. Julie watched as Chrissy easily lifted the bigger bag into her own car and tossed her own much smaller bag on top, closing the lid with a satisfying clunk.
They were both ready to go. Chrissy asked, “What did Richard say? What did you tell him?”
“I left him a message; he was in a meeting. He’ll be fine,” said Julie, waving a dismissive hand. Chrissy glanced at her sister. The news wouldn’t go down too well with Mr Dour when he found it. Adventure was not a word the man understood.
“Are you sure about that?” she asked as they pulled out of the drive and the gates closed behind them. “What will he do for food?” Chrissy couldn’t help the light-hearted dig at the man. There would be no way he could survive on a desert island, though he’d be all right making money if there was internet access. Perhaps he could order a takeaway.
“Already taken care of,” Julie said smugly. “Ordered to deliver later today. He’ll never know I’ve gone.” She looked as smug as a child with a bar of chocolate, mischief shining in her eyes. “Anyway, you mentioned a stop on the way. What’s the plan?”
“Glad you asked,” Chrissy said as they picked up speed, heading out towards the M25 and the south. “My thinking is this: when that train crashed with Susan on board, and we can assume she was on board, for some reason she got off it. That journey from Ashford is straight through to France so, unless she jumped from a highspeed train, she got off at the crash site a way south of the town. Agreed?”
“That makes sense, yes.”
“So she mustn’t have been badly hurt. There are no hospital records for Susan Smith attending for treatment so, unless she’s still lying dead in a ditch, she managed to get away unscathed and hide out. Agreed?”
“Yes. I’m hoping so.”
“So, if you were her, what would you do to get away unseen?” Chrissy gave Julie a moment to come to the same conclusion she’d reached earlier while packing her clothes.
“You’d keep away from CCTV,” Julie said. “So that means off public transport, though it would have been bedlam that day in the town. So, if I had the funds, I’d grab a taxi out of there pronto because car hire would leave a trace…” Chrissy didn’t fill the
silence but let Julie think. “But taxis have cameras too. I’d flag a lift, which would be better still. But there’s no way of finding a member of the public that might have been her good Samaritan, is there?”
“My thoughts exactly! Not without a nationwide hunt, no.”
Julie beamed at Chrissy, pleased she’d had the same thought as her sister. “So we’re headed to the taxi rank in Ashford? And you’ve got a photo of Susan to ask around with?”
“Private investigator 101. There can only be one place she got off and keeping a low profile means one witness. The taxi driver, I’m hoping. We need to find out where they dropped her.”
“It sounds simple enough. But what if it was a member of the public, not a taxi?”
“We have to try the taxis first, then cross the next bridge when we come to it.”
“Okay. So, what can I do while you drive?”
“You can find the detectives that went to see Marcus then confirm where Susan’s bag and luggage are being stored. My guess is she hasn’t got them with her because they’d have been flung all over. And a bag would slow her journey down. And we know she hasn’t used her credit cards or phone. And, while you’re at it, ask him to see if her passport has pinged anywhere yet.”
Julie thought for a moment about where to start, who to call first. Marcus would know the detective’s name but she didn’t fancy calling him. She decided to start with the casualty bureau that had been set up. She hoped the call centre operators would be less likely to follow police procedure when it came to giving info out. Hopefully the telephones would be staffed by civilians and not officers. She dialled and prepared her best tearful voice.
The trembling she mustered was an Oscar-winning performance and Chrissy drove open-mouthed as she listened to the sob story that Julie relayed about her missing ‘sister’. By the time she’d finished and hung up, she had the name of the detective working the misper case and the location of where all belongings had been sent after the accident, though she wouldn’t be able to retrieve them herself. Julie turned triumphantly to her real sister, Chrissy.
“You can close your mouth now, you’re not a goldfish in a bowl. I told you I’d be of use.”
Chrissy had to concede the point and, steering with one hand, pulled on her drink-bottle nozzle with her teeth before taking a long pull – more for something to do with her mouth than a need to quench her thirst. Perhaps Julie had other hidden talents she could make use of during the investigation.
Chapter Thirty-Six
After a slow journey around the notorious M25 then the M20, Ashford loomed in the distance nearly two hours after leaving Chrissy’s place. By the time they’d parked up in the town centre, Julie’s bladder was almost bursting.
“There’ll be a loo in McDonald’s,” Chrissy said helpfully, but judging by the look on Julie’s face, it wasn’t a place she frequented. Not now and not ever. “Suit yourself,” Chrissy added with a shrug. It wasn’t her bladder.
“I’ll head to M&S. Then we can perhaps get a cup of tea and a sandwich?” Julie was already craning her neck to figure out which way the shop would be. Though she had no clue, she set off anyway, heading in the direction that most people appeared to be walking in. Chrissy locked the car and fell into step with Julie, who teetered in wedge heels and a rather restricting skirt hem. Neither were a match for Chrissy’s shorts and sandals, but she hung back to walk alongside her sister. Trying to be helpful, she searched for the store on her phone to check directions.
“Well, the bad news is M&S closed down a month or so ago.”
Julie groaned to a standstill. “But the good news is there’s a public toilet not far,” said Chrissy helpfully, reading the PeePlace web page, and steering a now near desperate Julie around the corner in the right direction. “I’ll wait here, it’s on your left.” Chrissy watched her scurry off as fast as her hemline would let her and took the opportunity to find out where the taxi ranks were located from her phone. If Susan had indeed jumped in one from the crash site, there were five to choose from. The one directly outside of the station probably wasn’t going to be it since the accident happened downline several miles. With no trains entering the station, there would be little point in a taxi driver sitting there waiting. She picked the most likely based on position alone and figured out the best way to get to it. It wasn’t far but, for Julie, it could be a mission. A moment later, the blonde hair of Julie could be seen approaching slowly.
“You can’t hobble around like that for the rest of the day. What’s in your bag that’s more appropriate?”
“More of the same, I’m afraid,” she said, somewhat embarrassed.
“Then I’m taking over,” Chrissy said matter-of-factly. She spotted Debenhams – there’d be something more suitable in there – and the two headed over. Thirty minutes later, Julie was wearing shorts and flat sandals similar to Chrissy, though with her lacquered hair she didn’t look quite as casual. Still, she’d be able to walk a hell of a lot easier. Julie had refused a T-shirt and opted for a pretty, floral, short-sleeved shirt instead. Heads would still turn. Chrissy grabbed the same shirt in a different colour for a spare and paid.
“Let’s drop your clothes back at the car, then we’ll tackle the taxi ranks. Here’s a picture of Susan,” she said, passing her a copy. “I suggest we take a rank each and see what we can find out. Let’s hope the drivers today were working at the time of the crash.” It was a long shot, but what else did they have to work with? In most missing-person cases, those searching for them knew little to nothing of their movements but had to start somewhere. For them, that somewhere was the town nearby the scene of the accident. With a little more speed, Chrissy and Julie each headed off to separate ranks, each hopeful of finding the driver that could have taken Susan on somewhere. They had two ranks each and agreed to check in when they’d done both. That left one more to approach for whoever finished first or they’d go together.
It was an easy story to recite because it was true. A friend of theirs had been missing since the crash, had they seen her that day? She could be wounded and needing help, overlooked and frightened. Maybe they’d taken her, disorientated, to a clinic or chemist, perhaps? Which of their driver mates were on that day, could they ask them? There was no need to sugar-coat the story or extend the truth. They were looking for their friend and since the police’s resources were stretched, they were looking for the woman themselves.
“Are you the police?” asked a driver with a strong accent that could have come from somewhere in Africa. The man’s skin was the colour of liquorice, his teeth bright like Polo mints.
“No, I’m not, no need to worry. I’m only interested in finding my friend from that day. Were you working?” Chrissy asked, as she pressed the photo back under the man’s nose. “She’s got shaggy blonde hair, nice-looking, do you recognise her?”
“Sorry, lady. I was here, but I didn’t pick her up. She sure is pretty though. Good luck in finding her.” It was a story she was getting used to hearing and when she’d finished with the handful of drivers waiting at the rank, she asked the last man about their control centre. He was halfway through what looked like a steak pie, a blob of gravy on his ample chin. Chrissy motioned with her finger on her own chin and he wiped it off with his handkerchief.
“Thanks.”
“Would your controller have a record of who was working around that time? There’s got to be a way of finding the driver.”
“I expect they do. I’ll radio in, hang on.” Chrissy waited patiently as he placed his pie in his lap and relayed the information back to base. And when they asked, no, she wasn’t the police. The radio was loud and clear and Chrissy heard every word so she wasn’t surprised when the answer came back that they weren’t giving her that info. The dark man shrugged an ‘I tried’ look and Chrissy thanked him for his time. “If you hear anything, call me,” she said, scribbling her mobile number on the back of a taxi business card she’d grabbed from the man’s top shirt pocket. “I’m extremely w
orried about her. She could be hurt,” she added and handed it him. It was all she could do before leaving and heading off to the next rank. She wished she’d brought more of her own cards to hand out, but she had already used the ones in her bag.
She hoped Julie was faring better than she was. She didn’t need to wait long before she found out.
Chapter Thirty-Seven
By the time Chrissy had joined back up with Julie at the rank she was investigating, she was almost out of breath from jogging over. She could see her sister in the distance, chatting to a man, seemingly deep in a serious conversation. Chrissy approached the driver’s door, which was open. The man’s long legs stretched out in front of him, resting on the tarmac, casually crossed at the ankle as the two chatted. Julie spotted her and excitedly introduced the man.
“This is Joe, and he thinks he had Susan in his car that day,” she said, beaming as if she’d won the prize, which maybe she had. “She’s definitely still alive, Chrissy!”
Joe turned to Chrissy and locked her with his intensely dark eyes, though they were tuned in friendly. Like a chocolate Labrador’s only darker.
“Can you tell me what you know, please?”
“I will, missy. Like I just told your sister, it was about lunchtime and I was working up at the hospital. We rotate, you know? Anyway, I took your friend to the bank, the HSBC on the high street, then on to the ferry at Dover later that afternoon. She paid me by credit card and looked really tired. Said she’d had a nosebleed, and I told her of my daughter and her nose bleeds, though my daughter didn’t get a black eye at the same time like your friend had. A real shiner that’ll be. I dropped her off at the ferry terminal and came back home. That’s about it.” He beamed at them both, glad to help.
