by Mary Birk
“Not a clue.”
“What can you tell me about what she brought with her from the States?”
“All I know is what I saw her wear when we got together.”
“What about things you remember seeing in her room?”
“I was never in her room. I’ve never even been to the Gundersons’ house. They didn’t let Lizzie have company.”
“Is that usual?”
“No way.”
“The MacTavishes let you have guests?”
“Sure, just not overnight.”
Allison thought that sounded reasonable. “Do you know the names of any of Lizzie’s other friends?”
“Just Maria.”
“Maria Ragnarsdötter? The girl that reported Lizzie missing?”
Tabby nodded. “I never met her; I just saw her name in the paper.”
“Lizzie never mentioned her?”
“No.”
“Did she mention any other friends?”
“Not to me.”
“How did you and Lizzie meet?”
“The Gundersons know the MacTavishes. The MacTavishes are Catholic like me and Lizzie, and the Gundersons aren’t, so Lizzie came to church with us.” She leaned down and dabbed a tissue underneath the toddler’s mouth to clean up some sugary drool. “Lizzie’s super-religious.”
“In what way?”
“She prays all the time, carries a rosary, talks about saints.” Tabby rolled her eyes. “It gets to be a little nauseating, to tell the truth.”
“Why aren’t you in school? Sixteen is still school age in the States, isn’t it? Or have you graduated already?”
“No, I’m supposed to graduate next year. But I heard about the job, and convinced my mom taking it would be an educational experience. She didn’t have to pay for anything, so she let me come.”
“Educational?” Allison couldn’t hide her skepticism.
“I know, right? Babysitting doesn’t seem very educational, but I’m getting credit from my school for doing it, living in a different country, experiencing another culture, that kind of thing. And Mrs. MacTavish takes us educational places sometimes.”
“Like where?”
“Museums and historical places.”
Allison nodded.
“She took us to Stirling Castle, and to Edinburgh. We went to an art museum where they had a picture of one of her friends. Lady Anne something. She’s beautiful and American. Not Mrs. MacTavish, the friend, I mean. Mrs. MacTavish is Scottish and kind of chubby.” Tabby motioned to the toddler. “Like Melly.”
Allison decided this could be a teaching moment. “The woman whose picture you saw, that’s the wife of my guv, the man we passed coming in here.”
Tabby’s face fell. “Not the gorgeous man?”
“The very one.” Allison got a zing of satisfaction from crushing Tabby’s hopes. “How about Lizzie? Did her mother let her take off school as well?”
“She already has enough credits to graduate, but her mother thinks she’s too young to go to college. Lizzie said she asked her mother about coming over here, and they prayed about it, and her mother let her come.”
“You said you didn’t have to pay to come here. Who paid for it?”
“The family I was supposed to be with, the Kingsleys, sent me my airline ticket, and I get room and board, and a little bit of money for being a nanny.”
“What do you mean, the family you were supposed to be with?”
“I came to watch the Kingsleys’ kids, but the father got a job in Australia, or New Zealand, or something, and they had to move all of a sudden, so they fixed it up for me to go to the MacTavishes.”
“When was that?”
“About two months ago. That’s when I first met Lizzie, almost right away after I came to the MacTavishes.”
“When did you see Lizzie last?”
“The weekend before that happened.” Tabby jerked a thumb at the screen where the recording of Lizzie’s abduction had played. “She probably would have asked me to go to the movies with her, but I don’t have Wednesdays off.”
“Aren’t the MacTavish children in school during the day?”
“Not Melly.”
“You were at home with her all day?”
“Not all day. She had a birthday party to go to for one of her friends.”
Allison heard Harry’s voice in her head. Don’t forget the electronic stuff. “How did you and Lizzie usually communicate with each other? Did you call Lizzie on her mobile? Or text her?”
“She didn’t have a phone. I called the house when I needed to talk to her, but usually she called me, because the Gundersons were jerks about her using their phone.” Tabby looked down at her charge. “Melly, you’re getting all messy, sweetie.” She reached in a brown leather purse, pulled out a pre-moistened wipe, and proceeded to clean the little girl’s hands and face.
“Do you have a phone?”
“Sure. The MacTavishes got me one so we can be in touch in case anything comes up with the kids when I’m out with them.”
Allison got the number. “How about email? Did you and Lizzie email?”
“Sometimes, but the Gundersons wouldn’t let her use their computers, so she could only use email once in a while.”
“You have her email address?”
Tabby rattled it off, and Allison made a note. What else would Harry ask?
“Did you ever see Lizzie with any guys?”
“No.”
“Did she ever talk about any guys she met over here?”
“Never.” Tabby played with her little charge’s hair. “It’s hard to meet guys when you’re staying in houses so far away from the shops and things. Mostly all we see are the kids we watch and other kids they play with, and the parents of the kids.”
Allison nodded.
“You’re lucky you get to work with so many guys. You must have tons of dates.”
Allison was not going to have this kind of discussion with a witness. “Let’s talk about Lizzie.”
Tabby went on as if Allison hadn’t spoken. “Maybe you could introduce me to some of them.”
“What else can you tell me about Lizzie?”
Tabby pushed the child’s stroller back and forth with her foot. “Nothing. I really should get Melly home.”
Just then, the door opened, and Harry poked his head in. “Do you mind if I join you, DC Muirhead?”
Allison realized Harry must have been watching the interview through the camera feed. How dare he come in right now? He’d made it plain he didn’t want to be in on the interview. Of course, that was before he’d seen Tabby.
“By all means, join us.” Allison gave him a look to let him know she was on to him. “Tabby, this is Detective Sergeant Ross.”
Harry grinned and sat down. “I confess I was listening in. I have a few more questions to ask you, Tabby, if you don’t mind.”
Tabby beamed. “I don’t mind at all.”
* * * * *
Peter MacTavish’s assistant led Reid into his friend’s office at the investment bank where the MacTavish men had worked for generations. Claudia was there with him, having come over from her law chambers, as Reid had requested.
“You’re looking good, Peter.”
Peter patted his stomach. “I’ve started working out.”
“Good for you.” Reid nodded toward Claudia. “Thank you both for fitting me in your busy schedules.”
“Of course. Sit down, Terrence.” Peter indicated a chair next to where Claudia sat across from Peter’s desk. “I told Claudia you wanted to talk to us about the Gundersons’ nanny.”
Reid sat. “You know she’s missing, of course. I wondered why you hadn’t called the police about giving a statement.”
“What could we possibly add? We barely knew the girl.” Claudia asked, obviously affronted.
“I’ve been told she went to church with you Sundays.”
“Yes, nine o’clock Mass.”
“Did you go along as well, P
eter?”
“Sometimes, when work didn’t interfere.”
“What about last Sunday?”
Claudia said, “I took the children, and picked up Lizzie. Peter had to work, and Tabby said she wasn’t feeling well.”
“Was she sick?”
“I think she just didn’t want to go to church.”
“Did you generally pick Lizzie up from the Gundersons’ house, or did they bring her over?”
“I picked her up over there.”
“Did she ever say anything to you about her life at the Gundersons? Whether she liked working for them, anything like that?”
Claudia shook her head. “Not really.”
“Peter?” Reid turned to his friend.
“I can’t remember ever saying two words to her, or vice versa.”
Reid nodded, directing his next question to Claudia. “Did she ever mention wanting to leave her position?”
“Never.”
“Did she mention any friends, anyone she’d met over here?”
“No, she wasn’t very chatty—unlike Tabby. Tabby talks enough for both of them.”
“Did she say anything about her life back in the States?”
“Not then, but other times she’d mentioned her mother, where she lived, her school, things like that. She visited Tabby a few times at our house, and if I was there,” Claudia said, “she’d make polite conversation.”
“Did she seem unhappy?”
“Not especially.”
“Did she and Tabby ever go places together?”
“Sometimes. Shopping, for a walk, to the park with the kids. Things like that.”
“Can you think of anything that might help us figure out where she went?”
“Not a thing.”
“When’s the last time either of you saw her?”
Claudia said, “The Sunday before she disappeared.”
Peter nodded.
“I thought you didn’t go to church that day, Peter.”
“I worked from home. I saw Lizzie later that day when she came over after church to hang out with Tabby.”
Claudia made a wry face. “Tabby made a miraculous recovery.”
“We’ve had two other American girls who were working as nannies here that have gone missing. Susan Clark and Kristen Daly. Any chance you know either of them?”
Claudia said, “I don’t think so. Who were they working for?”
“Susan Clark worked for Tim Brighton and Cassandra Conrad, and Kristen Daly worked for a couple by the name of Mac and Mo Webster.”
“I don’t know the Websters,” Claudia said, “but I’ve met Cassandra Conrad. She designs wonderful clothes, though they’re frightfully expensive.”
“What about her husband?”
“I may have seen him at parties with her, but I don’t remember him. Peter, you remember Cassandra Conrad, don’t you?”
“Yes, of course, and I’ve met Tim Brighton, though I wouldn’t say I know him well. Between you and me, he’s in some financial trouble. He came to us recently for a line of credit, but I don’t think he got it. I wasn’t the one who met with him, but I can check for you.”
“Any chance you could you do that right now?”
“Certainly.” Peter pulled up some information on his computer, and after studying it, said, “Yes, that’s right. He applied for a large loan, but his collateral is already borrowed against, so he was turned down.”
“When did that happen?”
“A few weeks ago.”
“Do you know what he needed the loan for?”
“The application says he planned to use it to upgrade his shipping facilities and machinery.” Peter appeared puzzled. “You’d think he could get a loan from his wife. Her company’s on solid ground.”
Claudia glanced at her watch. “If you don’t have any other questions for me, Terrence, I need to get back to the office.”
“Certainly. Thanks again for your time.”
After she left, Peter said, “Have you heard from Stirling lately?”
“Can’t say as I have. We’ve been too busy with work and settling in.”
“Do you ever envy him his freedom?”
“Not a bit of it. I had too much freedom. I like married life.”
“It’s great at the beginning.”
Reid gave his friend a questioning glance. Were Peter and Claudia having problems?
“I just meant the early days are different. Enjoy them while they last.”
“Aye, I intend to.”
Chapter 7
LIZZIE LAY ON the bed in the windowless room, her arms and legs bound to straps attached to the four corners of the black wrought iron bed. She’d made the woman mad and now she was paying for it. She tried to ignore the video camera pointed at her, but she knew the men watching it could see her, naked and splayed out on the bed. She tried to concentrate on her prayers, and thought about the martyr Saint Maria Goretti, the young Italian girl who had died rather than let herself be raped.
At first, the drugs Lizzie had been given helped block out the reality of the horrible situation she was in. But after that first injection when she was kidnapped, the woman said Lizzie could only have more drugs if she was good, if she did what she was told with a good attitude. Not that Lizzie would willingly take drugs, but a good attitude? These people were crazy; they seemed to think she was supposed to accept this as her fate. Saint Maria Goretti wouldn’t have accepted it, and Lizzie wasn’t going to either. They’d taken her rosary away with the rest of her things, and told her to quit asking for it. But she didn’t need a rosary to say the prayers. She said the Apostles’ Creed, and the first three Our Fathers, and went through all five decades of Hail Mary’s until she mentally reached the center medallion where she prayed the Hail, Holy Queen, her most cherished prayer.
Hail, holy Queen, Mother of Mercy, our life, our sweetness and our hope. To thee do we cry, poor banished children of Eve; to thee do we send up our sighs, mourning, weeping in this valley of tears. Turn, then, most gracious advocate, thine eyes of mercy toward us; and after this our exile, show unto us the blessed fruit of thy womb, Jesus. O clement, O loving, O sweet Virgin Mary. Pray for us, O holy Mother of God, that we may be made worthy of the promises of Christ.
After she finished praying, she felt calmer. When she’d first gotten there, she’d been examined by a disgusting doctor who’d exposed himself to her and touched himself in front of her. She’d had to look away in disgust. After he finished, he’d pronounced her a virgin. The woman who insisted upon being called “Mistress” seemed pleased, as if that was what she’d wanted to hear.
“Mistress” had explained that Lizzie would be treated well if she behaved, and if she wanted a little something to take the edge off, meaning drugs, Lizzie would have to earn it by being what they called good.
But Lizzie had not been good. She’d resisted during the whole film session that was apparently supposed to be an advertisement for whoever was going to buy her. Lizzie wouldn’t do any of the things the woman told her to do, wouldn’t pose or smile seductively. She dredged up every prayer she knew and chanted them into the camera. She’d kept her legs together and covered her breasts with her arms.
The woman had taken Lizzie’s face between her hands and put her own face close. “Acting like this won’t do you any good. Some men prefer a girl who isn’t a willing participant. Those kinds of men are much more likely to mistreat you. If that’s the kind of man you want to buy you, keep acting the way you are. It’s your choice.” The woman had called the two guards in, and now Lizzie was chained in this humiliating position.
She had to think of a way to escape. She drifted in and out of sleep for what must have been hours, and was finally awakened when the woman returned.
“I need you to cooperate. Just make an effort. Once we have a film we can use, you can have a little more freedom.”
Lizzie turned her head away. “I’d rather die.”
“We aren’t going to kill y
ou, no matter what you do. You’re worth too much. Eventually, you’ll do exactly what we want you to do. Meanwhile, you’ll stay like this. You’ll get nothing to eat or drink until you cooperate.”
“I need to go to the bathroom.”
“Go ahead.”
Lizzie motioned with her legs. “I need to be untied.”
“Not until you cooperate.”
“But what you want is wrong. It’s a sin.”
“You’re making this harder than it needs to be.”
“Please let me go. It’s not too late to save your soul.” Lizzie tried to make her voice calm and compassionate. “God will forgive you if you repent.”
The woman moved to the door. “I can’t help you if you won’t cooperate.”
The lock clicked behind the woman and Lizzie was left alone.
* * * * *
Allison sat at her desk, long after everyone else had gone home for the night. She missed the old days when the guv would stay late every night, before he got back together with his wife. Now, he almost always went home at six, regular as clockwork. Without him there, no one else stayed late. No one but her.
Frank left at half five and went directly to his physical therapy sessions. Oscar left at about the same time as the guv, though he never said what his plans were for the night, or even if he had any. Harry, in contrast, made no secret about what he was up to. He had a date almost every night, work night or not. Some woman was always either cooking for him or he was taking one out for a meal. Knowing Harry, it would be a cheap meal. Harry was nothing if not careful with his money.
Allison could go home, but when a girl is twenty-three and living with her parents in a flat the size of a shoebox, going home as seldom as possible was the goal. If she didn’t get away from her parents soon, she’d go crazy. She’d tried to save enough to move out, but she hadn’t made much headway, what with paying her parents something for rent and chipping in for food, on top of all her other expenses.
It wasn’t so much not having any space she minded so much as the utter lack of privacy. Her closet served double-duty as the family’s linen closet, so everyone felt free to go in and out of her room whenever they needed, or pretended to need, something in there. Her parents insisted on knowing if she was going out, who with, where, and what time she would be home. Even worse, they broadcasted everything to her beastly brothers, who, although they’d all moved out, felt no compunction about shoving their interfering noses in her business, offering unwelcome advice and what they seemed to consider hilarious commentary.
