by Mary Birk
Mrs. Gunderson bit her lip, obviously worried she’d say the wrong thing. “We already told the police this.”
“Tell us again.”
She heaved a breath before starting. “It was a normal day, except Douglas decided to work from home that morning, and the children were annoying him. It was Lizzie’s day off, so he told me to take them to the park or to the shops or something.”
“And did you?” Allison continued her questioning, while Harry took another look around the room. He poked his head under the bed, but saw nothing.
“I took them to the library. After, I took them to a restaurant and gave them burgers. We didn’t get home until half two.”
“When did you realize Lizzie was gone?”
“That afternoon after Maria called to see if Lizzie was here. I came up here to see if she was in her room. That was when I saw her things were gone.”
Allison asked, “Did you see her that morning before she left, Mrs. Gunderson?”
Harry pushed the bed away from the wall.
The woman nodded in response to Allison’s question, then looking worried, addressed herself to Harry. “The cleaners have been in here since she left, so I doubt if you’ll find anything back there.”
“Doesn’t hurt to check.”
Allison went on. “You saw her leave the house?”
Mrs. Gunderson had to think about that. “Not actually go out the door. I was busy with the children, but she came to the kitchen to tell me she was leaving.”
“Did Lizzie have her suitcase with her?”
“Not then. I would have asked her about that. And she didn’t say anything about not coming back.”
“Could she have left her suitcase by the door and picked it up on her way out?”
“I suppose so.”
“How was she getting to the films?”
“She took the bus.”
Allison screwed up her face as if she were puzzled, though Harry knew none of this was news to her, as it was all in the file. Moreover, the bus driver had been interviewed, and remembered Lizzie riding the bus that day. He’d been unsure about whether she had a suitcase with her.
“Why didn’t you offer to give her a ride?”
“She always took the bus.”
Harry signaled Allison with a look, telling her he’d take over. “Did Lizzie have a mobile phone?”
“No.”
“What if she needed to get in touch with you, in case anything came up with the children when she had them on an outing?”
“I don’t know.”
“Didn’t it occur to you that it would be safer if she had one?”
“We couldn’t be expected to buy her a mobile phone. We were only planning to have her here for a few months.”
“You’re sure she didn’t bring one with her or get one while she was here?”
“I never saw her with one.”
“How did she keep in touch with her mother?”
“Email, I think.”
Harry knew from Lizzie’s file that she’d been in regular contact with her mother by email until her disappearance. “She had a computer?”
“No.”
“You have computers in the house?”
She nodded. “Yes, but none that she used.”
“Why not?”
“Douglas doesn’t like the au pairs to use our computers.”
“Why not?”
“Excuse me?”
“Why doesn’t your husband want the au pairs to use your computers?”
Again the shrug. “He’s afraid they’ll get them contaminated with a virus or something. Or that they’ll get on some inappropriate website. Too much temptation, he says.”
“Your children have access to the computers?”
“Yes, of course. For schoolwork, things like that.”
“All the children?”
“Just the three oldest. Greg has his own computer; the others share ours but only with our supervision.”
“But you said Lizzie kept in touch with her mother by email.”
“She must have used a computer someplace else.”
“Such as?”
“I don’t know, internet cafes, library, places like that.”
“Do you know which places?”
“The local library, maybe.”
“Any place else?”
“No.”
“You mentioned internet cafés. Do you know of any internet cafés she might have used?”
“No.”
“How was Lizzie as an au pair?” Harry asked the question, knowing another shrug was on its way.
Mrs. Gunderson didn’t disappoint, but this time the shrug was a little slow, as if her shoulders were getting tired. “She was fine.”
“What was she like?”
“Nice enough. Quiet.”
“Did she have any mates?”
“Pardon?”
“Friends?”
“Yes, Maria, and Tabby, who works for the MacTavishes.”
“Did they visit her here?”
Now the head shake. “My husband doesn’t like them doing that. It’s a job, he says, and you don’t have friends coming over when you’re on your job.”
“Where did she see them, then?”
“The park, I guess. Church . . .”
“Church?”
“Lizzie was Catholic, and very religious.”
“Was that a problem?”
“Only once. Douglas caught her teaching the children how to use those beads the Catholics like. He told her not to do that anymore, and, as far as I know, she never did it again.”
“A rosary?”
“Yes.”
“Why didn’t he want her to do that?”
“Douglas doesn’t approve of the Catholic religion.”
“Which church do you go to?”
“Not any one in particular. We’re Church of Scotland, but we don’t actually attend services very often.”
“Christmas and Easter?”
“Sometimes.”
“But Lizzie went to church?”
“Every Sunday, with Peter and Claudia MacTavish, and their nanny, Tabby. They’re Catholic, too.”
Harry moved away from Britta Gunderson and lifted the mattress up from the bed. “Have a look, Allison, while I hold it up.”
Allison hurried over. She reached her hand under and brought out a paperback book with a picture on the front of girl in a white dress kneeling, and holding a rosary.
Harry put the mattress down, took the book from Allison, glancing at its title and the summary on the back. Modern Saints: Their Lives and Faces, Book One, by someone named Ann Ball. Stories about saints and martyrs. He zipped the book into a plastic bag.
“Have you seen this book before, Mrs. Gunderson?” Harry held up the bag.
She gave a nod, “It was Lizzie’s.”
“You saw her with it?”
“Yes, she was always reading it when she wasn’t busy.”
Allison took out her notebook. “Mrs. Gunderson, we need to get a list of your children’s names and ages.”
Mrs. Gunderson nodded, on more comfortable ground now. “Greg’s thirteen, Kitty’s eleven, Chantal’s ten, Petula’s four, and Dominique’s two.”
“Lizzie got on well with all of them?”
“Yes. Even Greg, though when we hired her, he wasn’t happy, said he was too old for a babysitter. But he got to like having an older-sister-type around.”
Behind Britta Gunderson’s back, Harry raised his eyebrows meaningfully toward Allison. What thirteen-year-old boy wouldn’t like to have a sixteen-year-old girl around? Instant and convenient fodder for a teenage boy’s hormonal fantasies. And if those fantasies had been thwarted, might the boy have had something to do with Lizzie’s disappearance?
Allison flicked a glance at the boy’s mother. “Mrs. Gunderson, have you asked your children if they had any idea where Lizzie went?”
“How would they know?”
“So, you h
aven’t?”
“No, of course not. We didn’t want to upset them.”
“I’d like to speak to your oldest. Greg, isn’t it?”
“Greg? Why?”
“To see if he remembers her saying anything about any friends of hers, or anything he heard her talk about, things like that.”
“I doubt my husband would agree to that.”
“Ask him.”
“Now?”
“Yes, now.”
Mrs. Gunderson looked around as if to give herself time to think of a way to refuse, then gave up. “I’ll be right back.”
Harry called after her. “Tell him to give me a shout if he needs my help with his computer.”
Allison scoffed. “As if.”
“I’ll bet you a fiver he’s been on with his lawyer while we’ve been up here.”
“I’m not taking that bet. I thought he was going to wet himself when you were looking over his shoulder.”
“Something was making him nervous. I’d like to take a stroll through his hard drive.”
“We need to talk to him without his wife.”
“You bet. After we finish up here.” Who knew if the staid man downstairs was secretly into young babysitters? “The kids should be out of school for the Easter holiday, right?”
“Should be.”
“Spooky quiet for a house with five children.”
“If they’re here.”
“They’re here.”
“Then I’d guess they’re in front of the telly. Well, hello there.” Allison inclined her head to the doorway behind Harry.
Harry followed the direction of her gaze, and saw a young teenage boy. He held up a hand in greeting. “You must be Greg.”
“Yeah. You’re the detectives who are looking for Lizzie?”
“Aye.”
“Lizzie didn’t just take off like my da said. She would have told me if she was going to leave.”
“You were friends.”
“Yeah.”
“Your mum said Lizzie didn’t have a mobile or a computer. Is that right?”
“Yeah.”
“She also said she didn’t think Lizzie used any of the computers here. Did she get that right?”
The boy hesitated before answering. “I let Lizzie use my computer.”
Harry nodded, not letting his face show his excitement. Finally, a break. He decided to proceed slowly, not to scare the boy off. “What about your phone?”
“She never asked to use that, but I would have let her.”
“What did she use your computer for?”
“I dunno.” He shrugged. Family habit or a genetic defect?
“Yeah, you do.” Harry gave his best knowing smile.
The boy blushed. “Yeah, maybe. She used it for email and for a chat room she liked.”
“A chat room?” Harry dredged up in his mind how chat rooms worked. Who still used those things?
“Aye, where you can go to a site and IM each other. Some of them do the webcam thing, too. Lizzie liked one that was for girls like her.”
“Girls like her?”
“Religious. That’s how she heard about this job.”
Harry took out a pack of gum, offered the boy a piece, took one himself. “I thought she answered an advert your parents put online.”
“Maybe she did, but after one of the girls in the chat room mentioned it.”
“Do you have the web address of the chat room?”
“I can get it. It’s on my browser.”
Just then Britta and Douglas Gunderson appeared. The mother’s face turned ashen when she saw her son, but her husband’s face went an unhealthy beet-root red.
“Go to your room, Greg.”
“I want to help find Lizzie.”
The furious stare Douglas Gunderson gave his son didn’t bode well for the kid. “We’ll discuss this later, Greg. Go to your room.”
Greg didn’t move, just shook his head.
Harry said, “We need to see Greg’s computer.”
“Absolutely not.” Gunderson said. “You are not involving my children in this.”
“Greg told us Lizzie used his computer.”
Greg said, “Da, we have to help find Lizzie.”
Harry tried to be patient. “Mr. Gunderson, please. We need to see what sites Lizzie visited and get any other information we can find about any email messages she sent or received.”
“You’ve taken advantage of a minor. I’m tempted to file a complaint.”
“It’s critical we see Greg’s computer today.” Harry resisted the urge to throttle the arsehole. “A sixteen-year-old girl has been abducted. Every moment you delay helping, makes it less likely we’ll find her before it’s too late.”
“I called my solicitor. He said I didn’t need to let you do anything, not without a search warrant.”
Harry sighed. “If you force us to get a warrant, we’ll get it not just for Greg’s computer, but for yours, as well.”
“That’s ridiculous. She never used my computer.”
“So you say.”
Gunderson looked exasperated, but also trapped. “Can’t you get that information another way?”
“Not quickly. This is the best lead we have right now.” When Gunderson didn’t say anything, Harry added, “How would you feel if it were your child and the people you’d trusted her to acted the way you’re acting when the police tried to find her?”
“Dad, you have to let them. Lizzie could be in trouble.” Greg Gunderson sounded close to tears.
Douglas Gunderson gave a frustrated huff, and gestured to his wife. “Britta, take them to Greg’s computer. Greg, you stay here with me.”
Harry tried to make his voice placating, not wanting the man to change his mind. “Mr. Gunderson, I need Greg to come with us. After that, I’ll need to talk to you alone. And I still need that advert.”
Gunderson started to protest, but seemed to change his mind. “Greg, show the detectives your computer. Sergeant, we can talk in my study after you’re finished. I’ll be waiting there.”
“We appreciate your cooperation.” Harry tried to sound sincere. “One more question, Mr. Gunderson.”
“Yes?”
“Did Lizzie date? Have a boyfriend?”
“We didn’t keep track of what she did. We weren’t legally responsible for her . . .”
Harry held up his hand to stop Gunderson from going on. “Mrs. Gunderson?”
“Not that I know of.”
Harry bet Greg Gunderson knew.
Chapter 14
GREG GUNDERSON sprawled on his bed, his trainers discarded in deference to his mother’s obsession with keeping the navy-blue counterpane clean. After Lizzie had come, he’d shoved the ship-themed junk his mother had decorated the room with into the closet, and replaced them with things that reflected his real interests—posters of rock bands and some electronic equipment he’d built himself from kits. Things that would let Lizzie know he wasn’t a kid.
Right now, though, he felt as powerless as a kid, and he was worried sick about Lizzie. But if he told the police his father knew more than he’d admitted about the day Lizzie disappeared, they’d think his father was involved, and arrest him. Greg’s whole family could be destroyed. Greg didn’t want to believe his father had anything to do with Lizzie’s disappearance, but at the very least, he’d tampered with evidence. That, in and of itself, was probably enough to get him into serious trouble. On the other hand, if Greg didn’t tell, the police wouldn’t have all the facts, which would make it harder for them to find the girl he loved before something bad happened to her.
From the beginning, Greg had known Lizzie was special. It wasn’t that Lizzie was beautiful, though she was. There was a special glow around her of . . . goodness, he thought, or maybe peace. He’d once gone to her room to talk to her and seen her kneeling by her bed, her head bowed against praying hands that wrapped a rosary between their fingers. She’d looked up when she heard him, and smiled. He’d wan
ted to kiss her, to touch her hair, her arms, her body. She’d beckoned him inside, getting up from her knees. He’d hoped she was going to take him into her arms, but she hadn’t. They’d just talked, but it had been grand.
The next Sunday, while Lizzie was at church, Greg set up a surveillance camera in her room. He’d learned how to do it from his father, who was an expert on surveillance equipment, though his father hadn’t known why Greg was so interested. He’d shown Greg in detail how he’d gone about setting up cameras at his work to keep an eye on the employees. His father didn’t mention he’d also hidden cameras all over the family’s own house, inside and out. Greg had found every one of them. He’d been relieved there hadn’t been one in Lizzie’s room; he didn’t want anyone but himself watching Lizzie.
Greg spent hours watching Lizzie. Watching her sleep, watching her read, watching her pray, watching her dress and undress. In the beginning, the highlight of his day, when he wasn’t actually with Lizzie, was watching her take her clothes off under the nightgown, then seeing where the nipples of her breasts, freed from their bra, poked against the fabric of her nightgown. That had been enough to put him to bed happy many nights.
He’d probably have been content with watching her do that, at least for a year or two. He’d almost given up on ever seeing her naked. But then, one morning she’d undressed completely, her back to the camera. He couldn’t believe he was seeing her bare buttocks, but he was, and when she turned toward the camera, he thought he’d die. He’d scanned his eyes quickly down her body, thinking he’d never be lucky enough that she wouldn’t turn around before he got the chance to really look at her. But she hadn’t turned, and he’d seen everything.
Her breasts were high and perfectly round, and she was blonde between her legs, something he’d never even seen before in magazine photos. When he’d seen that, he’d exploded before he could even touch himself. Afterwards, as he watched her put on a pink bra and panties, he’d sworn undying love to her through the screen.
He didn’t consider what he was doing as violating her, it was more like worshiping her. He’d never let anyone else see Lizzie like that, so even if he didn’t need to protect his father, he couldn’t tell the police about the camera. They’d want to see all the surveillance recordings from Lizzie’s room, not just the last one. But as Greg kept the surveillance app on an external hard drive, and routinely cleared off all temporary files from his computer, the police shouldn’t be able to find any of the recordings, and definitely not that final recording, the recording that could implicate Greg’s father in Lizzie’s disappearance.
