by Mary Birk
“The children and me. When we got home, she wasn’t here and her things were gone.”
“What time was that?”
“About four.”
“What did you do then?”
“I called my husband. He asked if she left a note. I looked around, but she hadn’t.”
“What did you do then?”
She shrugged. “Nothing.”
“Did you make any other calls, or do anything else to figure out where she’d gone?” Allison tried to keep her voice nonjudgmental.
“No. To be honest, I was relieved she was gone.”
“Did you tell her family she’d left?”
“No, I assumed, incorrectly, as it turned out, that she would have done that.”
“But she didn’t?”
“Apparently not. Her father called about a week later. Her mother’s dead, so she lives with her father.He said he hadn’t heard from her. I told him she’d left, and that she hadn’t told us where she was going.”
“What did he say?”
“He was upset, and asked me what exactly had happened. I told him, and he said he didn’t believe Kristen would do something like that. He thought we should call the police. I told him he would be the better person to do that, as he knew her much better than we did. He did, then they called us, and we told them the same thing we told you.”
Mac Webster nodded. “Until this week, that was the last we’d heard about it, other than a few more phone calls from her father asking if we’d heard from her.”
Allison mentally went down her list of interview questions. “Did Kristen have a computer?”
Mo shook her head. “No, at least not here.”
“Did she use any of yours?”
Mac Webster said, “We don’t have a home computer. I have a laptop, but I take it to work with me. I never let her use it.”
“Did she ask to?”
“No.”
“Did she ever mention anything about a chat room?”
“A chat room?”
“On the internet.”
“No, not to me.” Mac Webster looked at his wife, who shook her head.
“Did she have any friends in Scotland?”
“The police asked us that before. She didn’t have any friends we knew of.”
“What did she do on her days off, Mrs. Webster?”
Mo Webster started gathering up the empty coffee cups, and putting them on her tray. “Went to the library, visited the shops around here. Sometimes she took a walk. Sundays, she went to church.”
“With you?”
“Yes, when we went. Otherwise, she went by herself.”
“How did you happen to hire her?”
“I put an advert in the paper online and she answered it,” Mac Webster said.
“Do you have a copy of the advert?”
Mac Webster looked questioningly at his wife, as if asking her, and she stood up. “I have a copy in my file.” She quickly returned, holding a thin file. She took out a piece of paper and handed it to Allison.
Allison looked it over, then handed it to Harry. Replies were to go to an email address that Mac Webster identified as his.
“Why did you specify a Christian girl?” Allison asked.
Mac Webster said, “We didn’t want to get a crazy Muslim girl who might want to come here to commit some terrorist act.”
“Why didn’t you just hire a local girl? You wouldn’t have to worry about room and board.” Allison gestured toward his wife. “If the girl didn’t live in, you wouldn’t be crowded out of your sewing room.”
Mac Webster said, “A local girl would have required more of a salary. I thought this would be cheaper.”
“Didn’t you have to pay her airline ticket? That can’t be cheap.”
“It’s not hard to find inexpensive tickets if you can be flexible on dates.”
“So you put the advert in, and what happened?”
“Kristen sent an email saying she was interested, and we read her qualifications. She seemed adequate, so I hired her.”
“I see you asked for a photo from any applicants. Why was that?”
“I don’t know. Mac put it in.”
Mac Webster looked uncomfortable. “I just thought it seemed I should ask for a photo, make sure she looked like someone we wouldn’t mind living in our house. I’d never hired an au pair before.”
Allison waited, knowing he hadn’t told her everything.
Finally, he said, “I didn’t want a black.”
Allison didn’t resist giving him a scathing look. “She sent a photo, I presume?”
“Yes.”
Allison said, “Do you have a copy of her response in your file, Mrs. Webster? I’ll need to see the photo, too.”
The woman took out another piece of paper and a small photo.
Allison took a minute to examine them. The photo was a duplicate of the one in the case file. In Kristen’s email response, she’d set out her qualifications, and said she’d be able to start whenever they needed her.
“I assume you had other communications with her after that?”
Mac Webster said, “Just a brief exchange saying we’d get her ticket. Later, I sent her the reservation information.”
“Did she ever mention having any relatives or connections here?”
Both Websters said no, and Allison’s brain froze momentarily, trying to come up with another question. She looked at Harry, who picked up the ball.
“As you know, Kristen’s not the only girl to have gone missing lately in similar circumstances. Do you know any of the other missing girls?” He listed their names, and the Websters denied knowing any of them. “What about the families they were working for?” Again, he listed them, and again, got a negative response.
Harry gestured toward Allison’s notebook, and she brought out the photo of Lizzie’s abductor, taking back the questioning.
“Have either of you ever seen this man before?”
After both said no, she shot a quick glance at Harry, and got his signal to end the interview. Allison thanked them for their time, but knew she had one more question she had to ask. “Mr. Webster, why don’t you walk with us to the car?” When they got outside, she braced herself, then asked, “I didn’t want to ask in front of your wife. Did you have any kind of sexual or romantic relationship with Susan?”
“Of course not.”
“Would you be willing to take a lie detector test?”
“Are you asking me to take one, or just if I’m willing?”
“Right now, just if you’re willing.”
“I’ve heard they’re not that reliable.”
“We find they can be helpful.”
“Then, yes, of course.”
GOOD FRIDAY, APRIL 2
Chapter 19
ALLISON UNPACKED her things in her new bedroom, setting them out where they seemed to go best. It still seemed a bit bare. When she was buying the odd bit here and there in preparation for some day having her own place, she’d thought she’d accumulated quite a lot of things. But as she looked around, the things that had made her small room at home feel cramped, barely filled up the space she had here at Harry’s.
She’d had to buy a bed as she didn’t feel right taking the furniture from her old room. Her parents would need it for guests who came to visit. Besides, she wanted everything possible in her new life to be different. The bed was to be delivered tomorrow, so tonight she’d sleep on the floor. She’d buy a chest of drawers when she found one that she liked and could afford—and a bookcase and chairs for the landing. Eventually maybe, even her own telly. She looked around and hugged her arms to her chest. She finally had her privacy. What’s more, she had her freedom. Woo hoo! She could actually have a man sleep over.
As promised, Harry had charmed her parents into giving their blessing to Allison’s becoming his tenant. Allison smiled, thinking about it. She’d had her doubts even Harry could pull that off, but it had gone beautifully. No tears, and no recri
minations.
She went upstairs to explore the kitchen. Looking around, she decided it wasn’t half bad. Harry already had a table and chairs. Nothing fancy, but perfectly adequate. She wondered if he was considering painting the walls. A pale yellow for the kitchen would be nice, and it needed curtains. She opened the door to where the washer and dryer lived, and ran her hands over the machines. Yes, this should work out quite nicely.
He must really be a saver, to have bought this place, and be able to buy all the new things to furnish the lounge. She could sit on the sofa and watch the telly and put films on his DVD player if she wanted. Harry was going out tonight, so she’d have the place to herself. If he went out every night, she’d have a lot of privacy, which would be great. She picked up the remote, turned the telly on, but the sound came out so loud, it startled her, and she switched it off.
Maybe she wouldn’t watch television tonight. It might be awkward if Harry brought his latest girlfriend home and she was sitting in the lounge. Later, maybe, after she’d been here longer, but for now, it was probably best to take things slowly. Was her name Bernice? Allison couldn’t remember if this one was Bernice and the last one was Siobhan or if it was the other way around. Anyway, tonight she would finish getting settled in downstairs and organize her surprisingly roomy closet. Maybe she’d run down to the shops and pick up some supplies to stock her part of the cupboards. Tea, coffee, as well as something for dinner tonight and breakfast tomorrow.
She tamped down her guilt about not going into the office today. Yesterday she’d been able to confirm Susan Clark had accessed the same chat room Lizzie had been in from the computer at the Conrad-Brighton house, and from that, she’d figured out Susan’s online name. How had the girls ended up in the same chat room?
Just then, Harry came leaping down the stairs, whistling. He was all cleaned up in nice jeans and a tan shirt that looked good on him. He smelled of cologne. Subtle, but she could tell.
“Settling in all right?”
She nodded.
“Are you staying in tonight?”
“I’m still unpacking.”
He grinned. “But tomorrow night, you’re out. Michaud, right?”
“Landlord-tenant boundaries, if you don’t mind. You’ll notice I’ve not asked what you’re all dolled up for.”
“Excellent point. You’re a model tenant so far, sweetcakes.”
“How’d you get such a fantastic showerhead in my bathroom? That wasn’t there when we came here the other day.”
“My da’s a plumber. He said a girl would want one that gave off more spray than the one that was there when we did the inspection. The seller let me in early and I rigged it yesterday.”
“Your da’s right.”
“I told him you weren’t really a girl, but he didn’t listen.”
“Then I owe thanks to him, not you. Can I use your telly tonight?”
“You don’t have to ask, sweetcakes. I may bring birds home, but never to watch telly. My policy is to have them out after a cup of morning tea. They’ll never be in your way.”
“You’re a true romantic.”
* * * * *
Tabby logged in on the computer the MacTavishes had given her to use while she was staying with them. The kids had gone with their mom to the park, and Tabby knew she didn’t have much time before Peter came to find her. The bank was closed today, and if the last few days were any indication, he’d be in her room any moment. They must have done it five times yesterday, but just quickies. Risky, but exciting. Today, they’d have more time. If he kept this up, she’d be pregnant any day now. She didn’t feel one bit guilty about telling him she was on birth control. He could have insisted on using his own protection, if he wanted to be sure. Typing quickly, she instant-messaged Lizzie, gratified to see her friend was on-line.
the police talked to me
what did you say?
nothing
good
your mother is worried, maybe you should tell her
i will after wedding
is Sean nice?
yes. He’s glad I’m a v. i’m glad you are too, tabby.
Tabby didn’t know what to say to that, so she settled for something noncommittal. Tabby wasn’t going to tell Miss Goody-Two-Shoes she hadn’t been a virgin for years, nor did she have any regrets. She loved sex, and adored the sense of power it gave her. Was something wrong with her? Was she oversexed like her mother said when she’d caught Tabby giving Tommy Knutson a blow job? She hadn’t told her mother the only reason he was in her mouth, and not between her legs was because he’d forgotten to bring a condom. Another message from Lizzie beeped in.
i want you to meet Sean.
k
when can u come
I have job with some friends of the mac’s but back thurs nt
sean will pick u up
Hearing her bedroom door open, Tabby quickly logged off the computer. She turned to smile as Peter MacTavish came up behind her, cupped her breasts with his hands, and leaned down to give her an open-mouthed kiss.
Chapter 20
REID HELD THE BABY in his arms, and Anne, balancing carefully on high heels, clutched his arm as they walked down the stone steps of the cathedral after Good Friday Mass. Daily Mass he usually attended alone, but Anne and Michael came with him Sundays and on Holy Days like today.
He’d thought carefully about what Harry had said, and about Anne’s suggestion they have a more active social life. He realized his sergeant had been at least partially right. He was afraid of losing Anne again. It wasn’t that he thought she’d meet someone new and leave him. No, his fear was more specific than that; he was terrified she’d decide she’d made a mistake in choosing life with him over life with Andrew Grainger. The incessant phone calls and texts between the two of them were a constant reminder of how precarious his hold on Anne was. He hated that she remained close friends with her former lover. Flat out hated it. It made his chest hurt, his stomach burn, and as wimpy as it sounded, it hurt his feelings that she continued to share part of herself with another man.
But if she wasn’t happy here in Scotland, she’d be more likely to start comparing their life to the one she’d had with the other man. Right now, Reid was pretty sure the comparison wouldn’t come down in his favor. Anne wouldn’t have brought up the subject of their lame social life if it hadn’t been bothering her. He knew he owed it to her to make more of an effort. She’d uprooted her life for him, leaving her family and career in the States to come to another country where the sun played hide-and-seek most of the time. The least he could do was to try to make it more agreeable for her. Though, truth be told, he’d still rather stay home.
They reached the bottom step, and Reid put an arm up to signal Sebastian to bring the car over. Sebastian pulled the car up to the curb, and got out. He opened the back door, and Reid strapped the baby in, then waited for Anne to get in before getting in himself.
Once they were strapped in themselves on either side of the baby’s seat, Sebastian slid the car back into traffic. After making sure the privacy window was closed between the front and back seats, Reid took the plunge.
“I’ve been thinking about what you said, about us going out more, and doing some entertaining ourselves.”
“You have?”
“Yes. You’re right.”
“You didn’t seem very interested when I mentioned it.”
“It took me by surprise. Why don’t you pick out some invitations that look interesting, and send our acceptances? And plan a dinner party or something.”
“Me?”
“You know better than I do what you’d enjoy.”
“I don’t even know these people. I need you to tell me which invitations it’s important we accept, and if we’re having a dinner party, you need to tell me which people it’s important we invite.”
“Important?”
“To your career.”
“To my career?”
“Claudia says . . .”
“Claudia? Claudia MacTavish? What’s she got to do with it?”
“She said you might be up for a promotion.”
“Anne, if I’m to get a promotion, I’ll get a promotion. I don’t give a rat’s arse about currying favor by giving parties.”
“What about for the family business?”
“I don’t need to entertain for my family’s business. It’s whiskey, for pity’s sake, good whiskey, and this is Scotland.”
“Then why did you just say we need to start entertaining and going out more?”
“Because you wanted to. I thought you were getting bored.”
“Bored? Have I seemed bored to you?”
“Not to me, but Harry . . .”
“What’s Harry got to do with it?”
“Don’t ask.”
“Besides, we go out sometimes. We’re going to the MacTavishes’ Easter party, aren’t we?”
“So you’re not thinking I’m locking you away so no other men can get at you?”
She laughed. “I don’t care if you are. You’re the only man I want to get at me, as you so romantically put it. But we do need to have Peter and Claudia over. We definitely owe them.”
“That’s fine. Maybe you can give Claudia some advice that will make Peter crazy for a while.”
“It wasn’t Claudia’s fault. I asked her about it.”
He leaned across the baby to kiss her. “We need to work on our communication.”
“Funny you should say that, Lord Reid.”
“Why?”
“Was Claudia right? Are you getting a promotion?”
“Ah, that.” He gave a self-deprecating shrug. “Probably.”
“Probably?”
“All right, definitely.”
“To what?”
“Chief Superintendent.”
“When?”
“Next month.”
“You should mention things like that.”
“I didn’t want to sound full of myself.”
“What are you talking about? I’m your wife. If you can’t brag to me, who can you brag to?”
“Truth is, I feel a bit guilty. You left your career and everything you’d been building back in the States to come here for me. It doesn’t seem fair.”
