by P. F. Ford
Slater looked at the now dead phone in his hand. What is it with these women? It’s supposed to be men who think about sex all the time, isn’t it?
Then another thought occurred to him, and this one would occupy his mind for some time that evening. Suppose it’s me? What if I’m getting so old I’m losing interest in sex?
For a single man of 38, this could be a very worrying idea indeed.
Chapter Six
His appointment with Camilla Heywood, owner and editor of The Magazine, was fixed for 3.30pm, so Slater had a leisurely morning to effect some sort of recovery from the previous night’s exertions before catching an early afternoon train up to London.
He was surprised to find the offices of The Magazine were quite small. He had been expecting some sprawling open-plan building, but what he found was a small, compact group of offices in a shared building. He thought it was hardly Fleet Street, then realised how stupid it was to think like that, remembering that most of Fleet Street’s finest were no longer anywhere near it.
Slater had done his research, and knew that Camilla Heywood was a great example of what hard work and forward thinking could achieve. Being young and inexperienced when she had started The Magazine, she had not been entrenched with preconceived ideas about glossy paper and circulation figures. She had quickly realised the opportunity offered by the increasing use of the internet and had started her venture online. This had given her a head start over many rival publications, whose much older editors had scoffed at the very idea that a magazine could work online. They were also rather put out that she had the audacity to call it “The Magazine”. They regarded her as crazy. People just wouldn’t read a magazine online no matter what it was called, they agreed behind her back.
Now, as the others saw their circulation figures falling and struggled to catch up and match her online performance, Camilla had the luxury of being regarded by the industry as the “go to” person for advice about online magazines. To her credit, though, she never seemed to gloat, and freely shared her thoughts with anyone who cared to listen. The upstart had come good, and was now well respected in her own right.
Slater had liked her straight away. She had the sort of cut glass accent that might have led him to describe her as a posh bird, and her clothes suggested no shortage of money in her life. There was no doubt she was both successful and busy, but she had welcomed him into her office, put everything else on hold, and given him her complete attention. Another thing he liked was the fact that she was happy to lead him across to a pair of comfy chairs either side of a coffee table and didn’t use her desk as a barrier between them. The coffee and biscuits (chocolate hobnobs were a favourite of his) were like icing on the cake.
She told him she was willing to help him in any way she could, so he had started as if with a blank canvas and asked her to describe how Ruth had managed to secure her position at the magazine. This was to be the first of a number of surprises.
“Ah, yes.” She laughed. “It’s not often I get caught out, but Ruth certainly pulled the wool over my eyes. Normally I wouldn’t give house room to any sort of fraud, but the thing was I genuinely liked her, and so did everyone else, especially visitors to the office.”
Slater was puzzled, and he was obviously doing a poor job of hiding it.
“You look confused, Sergeant.”
“Totally,” he conceded. “According to her sister, Ruth had sent samples of her writing and you had taken her on as a clerk/receptionist with a view to developing her talent as a writer.”
“Oh she sent samples,” agreed Camilla. “And they were very good, but they weren’t written by Ruth, and it became obvious within the first week that Ruth couldn’t write for toffee.”
“She couldn’t?” Now Slater really was confused, but he chose to keep quiet for the moment.
“Sadly,” said Camilla, shaking her head, “Ruth was dyslexic. But it wouldn’t have made any difference because she just couldn’t string a few sentences together on paper.”
“So how come you kept her?”
“That was a no-brainer decision.” Camilla flashed a smile. “It sounds terribly sexist, I know, but with her looks and dress-sense she was a different sort of asset to this place. She had a gift for making people feel welcome and she could talk to absolutely everyone no matter what their background. Having her as the first point of contact here was just perfect. I was seriously disappointed, as were many of our male visitors, when she asked if she could go part-time.”
“Part-time?” Slater slumped in his seat. He thought Camilla must surely be describing another girl altogether. This couldn’t be the same girl, could it?
“Is there a problem?” asked Camilla. “Only I get the feeling I’m not telling you what you wanted to hear.”
He didn’t want to give too much away, so he said nothing as he reached into his pocket and produced one of the photos of Ruth given to him by her sister. “We are talking about the same girl, aren’t we?” he asked, passing the photograph to Camilla.
She smiled as he handed over the photo, but the smile disappeared as she glanced down at it. She looked closer, squinting to get a better look.
“Goodness,” she said, sounding surprised. “I suppose it could be her.” She walked over to her desk, returning with spectacles in place. They gave her a more serious air as she studied the photo again. After about 30 seconds, she looked up at him again.
“Yes, it is her,” she agreed. “But where on earth did she get these awful clothes, and that old-fashioned hairstyle? I’ve never seen her looking anything like that! She’s always looked like a million dollars as far as I can recall. And super sexy. That’s why all the men liked her so much.”
“Whoa, whoa, whoa!” said Slater. “Are you telling me she was some sort of sex bomb?”
“Let’s put it this way, Sergeant. If I could be half as sexy and sassy as Ruth was, I would have been a very, very happy girl.”
From where Slater was sitting, he reckoned Camilla was already a very attractive lady. And yet she thought Ruth Thornhill was the epitome of sexiness. Oh boy, what had he stumbled upon here?
“I don’t want you to think I don’t believe you, Miss Heywood, but I’m having a great deal of difficulty making sense of this. You see, the picture you’re painting of Ruth is almost exactly the opposite of the picture painted by her sister.”
“Now I’m intrigued,” said Camilla. “What’s her sister been saying?”
“I’m not sure I should be telling you,” began Slater.
“Come now, Sergeant. You’ve almost accused me of being a liar. At least tell me why.”
She walked across to her desk and picked up the phone.
“Amber?” she said, “More coffee please, and can you find me a couple of the photos from the Christmas party? The ones with you and Ruth together would be good. Thank you.”
She replaced the phone and walked back to her seat.
“Now, Sergeant,” she said, smiling. “Your turn to talk, don’t you think?”
“I’m sorry,” he replied defensively. “I didn’t mean to imply you’re not telling the truth. Let me explain and you’ll see why I’m somewhat confused.”
“According to Ruth’s sister,” he continued, “Ruth got the job here on the strength of her writing. She started as a receptionist/clerk and began to work her way up. She had been appointed as a staff writer not long before she disappeared, and she got the odd credit under the name of Ruby Rider.”
At that moment, there was a knock on the door.
“Come in,” called Camilla.
A young girl with striking red hair came in, looking nervous and carrying a tray of coffee. She looked about 16, but Slater guessed she was probably 19 or maybe 20. She walked across and placed the tray on the coffee table, then handed an envelope to Camilla.
“This is Amber,” said Camilla. “Amber, this is Sergeant Slater. He’s looking into Ruth’s disappearance.”
Amber obviously wasn’t used to dealing wit
h police officers. She regarded Slater with wide eyes, as though he were so different from the rest of them he was perhaps a Martian.
“I thought she’d run away,” she said, “with some bloke.”
“That may well be the case,” agreed Slater, “I’m just trying to prove it.”
“Thank you, Amber,” said Camilla. “That will be all for now.”
Then, as Amber turned to walk away, she added, “One more thing, please. When you get back to your desk, could you ask Ruby if she would pop her head around the door?”
She waited for the girl to leave before resuming their conversation.
“It’s a funny thing,” she said, “But Ruth never mentioned anything about a boyfriend. You’d think she might have mentioned it if she was keen enough to run away with him.”
She pondered the thought for moment.
“Then again,” she mused. “Now I think about it, she never really told anyone anything about herself.”
“I thought you said she was good talker,” pointed out Slater.
“Oh, she could talk alright,” said Camilla. “She could talk for England. But she never actually told you anything about herself. She had that gift for getting others to talk about themselves, so she never needed to tell anyone anything about herself.”
She suddenly seemed to realise she was still holding the envelope Amber had given her. She pulled the three photos out and took a quick look before handing them over to Slater.
“Admittedly these were taken at our Christmas party, so everyone was dressed up, but this is the Ruth we knew here. Now what would you say? Frumpy? Or sexy?”
He took the photos and studied them carefully. Each one showed two girls. One was obviously Amber, with her long, flowing red hair and pretty face. On her own she would have made a pretty picture, but the girl beside her, being ten years older and about a hundred years more sophisticated, was the one who caught the eye.
The dress she wore accentuated a fabulous figure and she had the classic face of an English rose, framed with fashionably styled, glossy hair. Slater thought Ruth Thornhill looked absolutely stunning. He looked again at the photo he had been given by her sister. If you looked closely you could see they might be the same girl, but just as obviously they weren’t the same person.
“Wow!” was all he could say.
“Wow, indeed,” agreed Camilla. “Who do you think all the men had eyes for? There were a lot of jealous wives that night, that’s for sure.”
There was another knock on the door. This time it opened just enough for a woman to appear. She was obviously well into her late 40s, with the well-worn look of a harassed mother. “You wanted to see me?” she asked.
“Ah, Ruby. Thank you for coming by. The sergeant here wanted to see the real Ruby Rider for himself.”
Slater had more or less seen that one coming as soon as Camilla had asked Amber to send Ruby along, but even so, he still managed to feel embarrassed.
“Err, yes. Right,” he said, uncomfortably. “Hello, Ruby. Thank you for coming down. I just wanted to eliminate you from my inquiry.”
“Does that mean you won’t be arresting me?” asked Ruby, with a smile.
“I’m afraid so.” He smiled back.
“Damn.” She grinned. “I never get to have any fun.” She winked amiably at him, then closed the door and was gone.
Camilla turned to Slater.
“I’m sorry if I’ve made your inquiry go all pear-shaped,” she said with a half-smile. “But is there anything I can do that might actually help?”
“Pear-shaped is more interesting,” he said, jokingly. “Can I have a copy of this photograph? That would help.”
“I can do better than that. I’ve got some with her dressed for work rather than for a party. That would be better, wouldn’t it?”
“Yes. Yes it would,” he agreed, “Thank you. You’ve been very helpful.”
“I’ll get onto that right away,” she said heading for her desk. “I’m sure I’ve got them in my desk. Is there anything else?”
“There is one thing, although as she wasn’t a staff writer it probably won’t mean anything to you. Do you know of a hotel in London called The Mistral? Apparently you paid for her to stay in this hotel now she was a staff writer.”
Her face told him her answer before she spoke.
“I’m sorry. I’ve never heard of The Mistral hotel, and I certainly don’t pay for my staff writers to stay in hotels. We’re an online business. That’s why this place is so small. It serves mainly as a place for me to meet clients to discuss advertising. Most of my writers work from home and just come in once a week. On any other day you would have missed Ruby.”
“Oh well. I had to ask,” said Slater, unsurprised to have drawn another blank.
She rummaged in her desk, finally producing two photographs of Ruth immaculately made-up and finely dressed.
“She could have been a great model.” Camilla sighed, handing the photos over. “She had everything.”
Slater looked at the two photos. He had to agree with Camilla. Ruth certainly appeared to have everything.
He had just one last question.
“Is there anyone here she might have confided in?”
Camilla thought for a moment before answering.
“The only one who might know anything would be Amber. They used to share reception and Ruth taught Amber how everything worked. Maybe they shared gossip.”
“Is it okay if I talk to her?”
“Of course, but you might find it easier after work. She’s very busy and conscientious. You’re welcome to try, but if you try to talk to her here she might tend to be distracted. And, you should know that she’s not very worldly. Being a police officer, you’ll probably intimidate her.”
“I’ll ask her on the way out. Thanks for these.” He waved the photos in the air before putting them carefully in his pocket.
She led him to the door and shook his hand warmly as he left.
“If there’s anything else I can do, or if you have any more questions, just let me know,” she said.
Just as Camilla had predicted, Amber seemed to be totally overwhelmed by, and engrossed in, her work. Slater figured that maybe it would be better to meet her in a different environment, and she agreed to meet him outside, after work at five o’clock.
He had half an hour to kill, so he sauntered across to investigate a small park which nestled behind the buildings opposite. He took a quick look around. This really was a nice little park. It would be a good place to have a quiet chat with Amber. There was even a coffee shop just two doors down from The Magazine. He could meet Amber, buy them coffees, and then bring her across to the park. Perfect.
He ambled slowly back to the offices and sat on a bench nearby to wait, slowly becoming lost in his thoughts about the case. There was no doubt it was getting more complicated by the minute, and his instincts were telling him he was beginning to open up a whole can of worms – and who knew where that was going to lead?
No matter what Ruth’s sister might believe, it seemed there was no doubt Ruth had been leading a double life. She was the dowdy, forgiveness-seeking prayer-monger at the weekend, but the sassy, sexy, complete opposite during the week. So what, he wondered, had she really been up to?
The possibilities this double identity offered made him feel uneasy. In his experience, people who led such lives rarely did so from good intentions. Whatever was really behind Ruth’s behaviour and disappearance, he had the uncomfortable feeling it was going to be a whole lot more complicated than a simple runaway.
He was roused from his thoughts by a tap on the shoulder.
“Amber! I’m sorry. I meant to come and stand by the door.”
“That’s ok,” she said, sounding shy. “You weren’t exactly hard to find.”
He jumped to his feet.
“Come on, I’ll buy you a coffee. We can talk in the park over the road, if that’s ok?”
“Yeah,” she said, falling into step al
ongside him. “Great.”
She insisted on waiting outside while Slater queued for two coffees. She was wearing a light waterproof coat which hung open to reveal a short blue skirt and a sensible white blouse. Watching her through the window, he could see her fidgeting and fiddling with her skirt under the coat. It was a good six inches above her knees to start, but as he watched, it seemed to lengthen until it stopped just above her knees.
Observing her, he thought she was a bit on the skinny side, and she obviously lacked a bit of confidence which made her stand small rather than tall. He thought about the photos he had seen of her with Ruth, and how happy and confident she had looked then. He guessed Ruth had given her that confidence. Camilla had said Ruth had that ability to make people feel good.
“Amber. It’s a pretty name,” he said, as they walked slowly over to the little park.
“My mum chose it. As soon as she saw what colour me hair was,” she explained.
“It was a good choice. Do you get on with your mum?”
“Oh, yeah. She’s great. It’s me dad who’s hard work.”
“He doesn’t like the short skirt, then?”
She looked embarrassed.
“I watched it growing longer while I was waiting for the coffees,” Slater explained.
“He says it makes me look like a tart,” Amber said. “He seems to think fashion’s a crime. He’d wrap me up in cotton wool if he had his way. He never lets me go out with boys or anything.”
Slater thought that would explain her lack of confidence.
He led her to a bench and invited her to sit with him.
“Are you sure you don’t mind talking to me?”
“I don’t mind,” she began. “But I’m not sure I really understand why you’re asking questions. I mean, I told ‘em what I knew before. They said she ran away. She did, didn’t she? That’s what the other policemen said back then.”
“I understand,” Slater said. “And I know you spoke to them before, but sometimes you remember things after the event, you know? We just want to make sure we got it right and didn’t miss anything back then. You’re not in any trouble or anything like that. Ok?”
