by Mary Birk
“I’m not a child. I don’t need their say-so if I want to rent a room somewhere. Anywhere.” But she decided not to mention it to them until Harry actually bought the place. If the deal fell through, they didn’t need to know she’d even been considering it.
“I know, sweetcakes, but things will be smoother if they’re on board with it from the beginning.”
“Don’t call me that.” She thought about how wonderful it would be to move out of her parents’ flat, ignoring the scary somersaults in her stomach. “If you get it, when would we move in?”
“Friday.”
Allison cut her eyes at him suspiciously. “Friday, this week? As in two days from now?”
“Aye. As the guv’s closed the office for Good Friday, we’ll have a long weekend to get settled.”
“You bought it already?
“Aye.”
“You lied to me. You said you hadn’t bought it yet.”
“I didn’t lie. I said I couldn’t afford it without a renter. I can’t.”
Now, she felt nervous. “Why didn’t you ask a bloke to take the rooms?”
He screwed up his face as if he’d bitten into a lemon. “I’m too old to be sharing digs with another bloke. What would the ladies think?”
She laughed in spite of herself. “What will they think when they find out your housemate is another bird?”
“A female work colleague, if you please. It can’t do anything but make me look good. Shows that some female finds me not entirely obnoxious to live with—not in the traditional way, but that I’m housebroken, so to speak.”
“I won’t sign any long-term lease. If it doesn’t suit, I’m moving out.”
“Six months?”
“Four.”
“Six. I’ll need time to find a replacement if you decide to move back home.”
She thought for a long moment, hoping she wasn’t acting too rashly. “Right, then. Let’s go look at the place. If I like it, you can talk to my mum and da when you drop me off.” It would definitely be easier if he were there to explain things.
The freckled face almost split itself in a grin. “Sounds like a plan.”
“And, Harry?”
“Yes, pet?”
“You’ll tell the guv, as well?”
“Not to worry. He’ll be fine with it.”
THURSDAY, APRIL 1
Chapter 17
“MRS. CONRAD will see you now.”
Allison felt a little intimidated even though she was wearing her second-best work outfit today—trousers and a jacket in an aubergine wool-linen blend and a mauve silk blouse. She glanced over at Harry. He winked at her. He didn’t seem to be one whit intimidated by meeting with the woman who was probably the most famous fashion designer in Scotland. His confidence immediately buoyed up her own.
Cassandra Conrad rose from a sleek rosewood desk, which, besides her dark hair and red lips, provided almost the only spot of color in an otherwise all-white room. “I’m sorry we couldn’t come to your offices, but I’m getting my collection ready for a show in London, and I expect to be here working until midnight at the least.”
Allison registered the word “we” and looked around the room. An overweight mustached man who looked to be in his early forties stood over by the floor-to-ceiling windows at the far end of the room, his hands behind his back. That would be Conrad’s husband, Timothy Brighton.
Brighton owned a small shipping business that was, from what Allison had read, struggling. At one point, he’d been expected to become one of the movers and shakers of modern Scotland, but his career had turned out mediocre at best. His wife, conversely, although five years younger, already had risen to the top of her field, while also popping out four children along the way.
Harry moved forward, introduced himself and Allison. Brighton shook hands with them both, but Cassandra Conrad simply gave them acknowledging nods.
Brighton played the host, offering them drinks.
Harry asked for black coffee, and Allison echoed his request, even though she detested coffee without cream and sugar, not wanting to seem too demanding.
Cassandra Conrad turned melting eyes to her husband. “Darling, I’d love a skinny cappuccino.”
Brighton went over to the sideboard where an upscale coffeemaker sat. It was one of those machines that made individual hot beverages from pods. Bollocks, she could have had something she liked with no additional trouble.
He brought over the tray, and passed around their cups before taking his own drink, a crystal tumbler half full of whiskey. He was starting early. Allison caught his wife eying the whiskey as well, giving her husband a quick, disapproving look.
After they were all seated, Harry said, “As you’re aware, we’re here to talk about Susan Clark.”
Ms. Conrad nodded. “Has there been any news?”
“None. I take it you haven’t heard from her?”
Brighton shook his head. “Nothing.”
His wife’s eyes glanced down to her watch. “What can we help you with? We’ve been interviewed twice now.”
“Sometimes going through it again triggers people to remember something new.”
“I doubt it.”
“Do you remember the exact date Susan disappeared?”
She pursed her lips. “I believe it was January 27th. Tim, do you remember?”
“Seems right to me.”
“Did she leave a note, or a message with anyone?”
Ms. Conrad looked at her husband, who shook his head. “No, nothing.”
Allison took a drink of her coffee, forcing herself not to cringe at the bitter taste. “That must have put you in a bind. Four children and no nanny.”
“I was in the middle of finishing my collection. Terrible timing.”
“What did you do for childcare after Susan disappeared?” Harry knew his question seemed innocuous, but if the couple had been in on Susan’s disappearance, presumably they would have had advanced knowledge they’d be out a nanny, and would have taken steps ahead of time to cover the gap.
Cassandra Conrad lifted an elegant hand toward her husband. “I rely on Tim to make the childcare arrangements. Tim’s work isn’t as demanding as mine.” At his annoyed face, she said, “You have to admit it’s true, Tim. You don’t spend near as much time working as I do.”
“I can’t, what with dealing with child care and school for four children, not to mention doctor and dentist appointments, birthday parties, and the rest of their social life. Someone needs to parent our children.”
Harry intervened. “You two can argue about that later. What did you do for childcare after Susan disappeared?”
Brighton shook his head, as if trying to shake off his wife’s needling. “My mother came to stay with us, to take care of the kids until I found someone else.”
“Does she live nearby?”
“Close enough. Paisley.”
“When did you find someone else?”
“Still haven’t.”
Harry pushed his coffee away and took out his notebook. “When did you ask your mother to ask her to come help out?”
“The day after Susan left.”
“You didn’t consider that Susan might just have stayed over at a friend’s or something and gotten delayed coming back?”
“No. All her things were gone. I thought it was pretty clear she didn’t have any intention of coming back.”
“How did you happen to hire Susan in the first place?” He held up his pen. “I assume it was you who hired her, and not your wife?”
“It was me. I posted an advert in the newspaper and Susan answered it.”
“Online or paper version of the news?”
“Online. Susan sent an email, and we did a phone interview. I spoke with her parents, we sent the money for her ticket, and they sent her over.”
“We need copies of the advert and any emails.”
Brighton went over to his wife’s desk, picked up a small file, and brought it to Harry. “It shou
ld all be there.”
Harry handed the file to Allison, and she began going through it while Harry continued the questioning.
“Why didn’t either one of you report Susan missing?”
Brighton drained his glass of whiskey. “We thought she’d just taken off. Her suitcases were gone when I went to look for her. I assumed she got sick of child minding and was too nervous to tell me she was quitting. Our four can run a person ragged.”
His wife shook her head in disagreement. “Any competent nanny should be able to handle them.”
Brighton got up and took his glass over to where the whiskey decanter sat. “Detectives, can I get you something stronger?” He poured himself another portion. Cassandra Conrad gave him a disgusted look which he pointedly ignored.
Allison shook her head to the offer, but Harry nodded.
Brighton brought a glass over to Harry. “Her parents called after a couple of weeks. They said they hadn’t heard from her and were getting worried. After we talked, I did go over and make a report. But as I couldn’t say she didn’t leave on her own volition, the police didn’t seem any more concerned than we were. We all thought she’d packed her belongings and snuck out of the house early on her day off. I’m still not sure that isn’t what happened.”
Harry picked up his whiskey. “Did Susan ever use any of the family’s computers?”
Brighton thought. “She might have done. There’s one in our lounge. I seem to remember her checking email on occasion.”
“Would you mind if we had a look at it?”
“Not if it would help.”
“I’ll send someone over later today to copy the hard drive. That way we won’t have to take the computer away or set someone up to work on it at your home.”
“Just call my mobile with what time to meet them at the house. My mother might get spooked at the sight of a police officer.”
Allison, who’d been going through the file, took advantage of the break in Harry’s questions to ask one of her own. She held up Brighton’s nanny advert, which was eerily similar to the Gundersons’.
“Mr. Brighton, I see you advertised for a Christian nanny. Are you a religious family?”
“Not really. I thought it would send the message that we didn’t want a girl who was coming here to party and generally run amuck. I wanted someone quiet and reliable.”
“Is this photo the one she sent of herself?” Allison held up a snap of a fair, auburn-haired girl with an upturned nose and laughing green eyes.
Brighton nodded.
“Did Susan have a boyfriend?”
“Not that I know of.”
“Any girlfriends?”
“Not that I know of.”
“Ms. Conrad?”
“Frankly, I didn’t deal with her much. I doubt if we exchanged four sentences the whole time she was here.”
Allison held out the photo of the man who’d pushed Lizzie Frost into the car. “Do either of you recognize this man?”
Brighton studied the photo for a moment, then shook his head. His wife gave it a cursory glance before shaking her head and standing up.
“I’m terribly sorry, but this is a crushingly busy day for me. If there’s nothing else I can do for you…”
Tim Brighton downed the rest of his whiskey and stood up as well. “I’ll walk out with you, detectives. You can ask me any more questions you have.”
As soon as they got outside the building, Brighton offered them both a cigarette. After they declined, Brighton lit one for himself. He inhaled deeply then exhaled, looking down at the cigarette in his hand. “Nasty habit. Cassandra hates it. She used to smoke when I met her. Candy Conrad, she was then. Now she gets furious if anyone calls her Candy. She’s the great Cassandra Conrad.” He took another drag.
Harry said, “Mr. Brighton, I need to ask—was there anything sexual between you and Susan?”
Brighton didn’t look surprised at the question. “Nothing at all. She minded the children and kept to herself.”
“Did she ever mention frequenting an internet chat room?”
“No, but we rarely discussed anything besides the children.”
They thanked him for his time and his cooperation regarding the computer. When they got back to the car, Harry said, “Not terribly enlightening.”
“Not to mention depressing. What a horrible woman.”
“She’s a piece of work. We’re due at the Websters next?”
“Right.” After Allison got her seatbelt buckled, she said, “Harry, why did you tell him you wanted a whiskey? You don’t drink on the job, and you never took a sip.”
Harry started the engine. “Male solidarity. She’s got his balls hanging from her fingers, and doesn’t miss an opportunity to squeeze them. He can put up with it if he wants, but I’m not tolerating her doing it in front of us.”
Chapter 18
WHAT SURPRISED Allison about the house where Kristen Daly had been an au pair, was that it didn’t look like the house of people who’d have an au pair. The brick two-story in the least desirable edge of Milngavie, was strictly middle-class. No frills. A plain front garden, with a couple of skinny-trunked trees.
The couple inside matched the house in plainness. Mo Webster, a serious young woman in her mid-twenties, worked in the local library. Her husband, Mac, ran a small pharmacy right there in Milngavie. He was at least fifteen years older than his wife, and looked every bit as serious as she did. They both wore dark-rimmed glasses and unremarkable clothes. Their twin six-year-old girls, on the other hand, were adorable: blonde curls, big blue eyes, and dimpled cheeks. Their matching pink fuzzy dresses with white tights made them look like they were wrapped in cotton candy, their black patent shoes too fancy for everyday wear.
Mac Webster sent the children to their room to play, then showed Harry and Allison into the lounge, a dismally utilitarian room furnished with a television, a brown sofa, two brown chairs, and the requisite side and coffee tables. Allison wondered if the couple had thought about how their names would sound together before they got married: Mac and Mo Webster. Actually, Mackenzie and Maureen sounded fine, but Mac and Mo sounded like two of the three stooges. Though these two didn’t look like they knew how to make anyone laugh, or like they ever laughed themselves.
Mo Webster brought in a tray of coffee, with, to Allison’s relief, milk and sugar on the tray. With the woman’s thin body and flat chest, along with her short-cropped hair, and wearing that unisex outfit, she could have passed as a teenage boy, except that her face was exquisitely feminine.
As they gave their introductory spiel about the missing girls, Mrs. Webster poured the coffee, and passed around the cups, after doling out the sugar and milk as requested. “I know one thing for certain. We’ll never get another au pair.”
Allison stirred her coffee. “Have you had many?”
“No. Kristen was the first and only.”
“Why never again?”
Her husband answered for her. “Mo says our house isn’t big enough to have someone who isn’t family living with us.”
“It isn’t. We’ve only the one extra room, and with her here, all my sewing things had to be crammed into our bedroom. It was terribly inconvenient.”
“What do you do for child-minding now?”
“What we always did. The girls go to school most days, then to an after-care program for an hour. My hours aren’t long. I can easily collect them at the school and bring them home to make their tea.”
Allison shot a glance Harry’s way, but he motioned for her to continue the questioning. “Then why did you get an au pair in the first place?”
Mac Webster spoke up. “It was my idea. I thought Mo could use the help.”
“She was more trouble than she was worth. I was relieved when I came home that day and found she’d packed up and left.”
“Why do you say she was trouble?”
“Not trouble, exactly, but it was like having company all the time. I felt as though I was supposed to en
tertain her, and I don’t have time for that.”
“How old was she?” Allison knew, but wanted to keep the conversation going.
“Sixteen, but young for her age. I had a feeling she’d never been let out of the house before.” Mo sniffed. “I had the girls when I was seventeen.”
Cor, Allison, thought, the woman was the same age as she was. She looked older, worn out.
Mrs. Webster gestured to the table next to where Allison sat. “That’s our wedding photo. We got married right after I turned seventeen, but I was worlds more mature than Kristen.”
Allison studied the photo. She hadn’t paid any attention to it when she first came in because she assumed it was a photo of two entirely different people. Now that she knew, she could see that the man was a slightly younger Mac Webster. The bride, who was apparently Mo Webster, looked completely different, more like her twin daughters: blonde hair, big eyes, dimples, and a fluffy white dress.
Mac Webster said, his voice impatient, “The detectives didn’t come to talk about you, Mo.” Directing himself to Harry, he said, “I’m not sure what we can add to what we’ve told the other police who were here before.”
Harry looked at Allison, silently telling her to take charge.
Allison nodded. “We understand, Mr. Webster. But we’d like you to go back over it with us, starting with the day she disappeared.”
“We’d given her a day off. It was in late February, I don’t remember the exact date, but it was a Friday.”
Mo said, “It was the twenty-sixth. I had the day off from work and Mac suggested I tell Kristen she could have the day off. He knew she was starting to get on my nerves. So I told her to do whatever she wanted and I took the children to a film and to a late lunch.”
“Did she tell you what she planned to do?”
“No. I just popped my head in the door of her room and told her about taking the day off. I didn’t stay to chat. To tell the truth, I was afraid she’d ask if she could come with us.”
“Who left the house first, you or Kristen?”
