by Alex Lake
‘And you found the same website on Claire’s computer?’
‘A cookie,’ Brad said. ‘She must have deleted everything else.’
Alfie looked away, upset. After all, he should be: he had just found out that his wife had met Bryant – the man she had been having an affair with – on a hook-up website.
‘I’m sorry, Mr Daniels,’ DI Wynne said. ‘I know this must be difficult. But it may help us to discover what happened to your wife.’
‘And what do you think that is?’ Alfie said, in a quiet, defeated voice.
‘People – women in particular – who use these websites put themselves in a dangerous position,’ DI Wynne said. ‘They arrange to meet unknown men in secret. Often – for obvious reasons – they don’t tell anyone where they’re going to be. Yes, you can meet in public areas, get to know the person, assess the risks, but at the end of the day you’re meeting a stranger, and that comes with a degree of vulnerability. For starters, you have no guarantee they are who they say they are. They might not want their real name to be known.’
Alfie shook his head. ‘Are you saying …’ He left the question hanging.
‘I’m saying,’ DI Wynne replied, ‘that Henry Bryant was involved with Ms Davies-Hunt, and she disappeared. He was also involved with your wife, and she too has disappeared. It seems – from the messages your wife and he exchanged and from what happened with Ms Davies-Hunt – that he likes to develop a relationship with the people he meets. Perhaps it makes them trust him.’
‘You think he’s taken her? Her and Pippa?’
‘I think it’s possible, and I think there may be others. Maybe not using the name Henry Bryant.’
‘Oh God,’ Alfie said. ‘Claire. Poor Claire.’ He looked up at the detective, his eyes wet with tears. ‘Do you think – do you think she might – he might have killed her?’
‘I don’t know,’ DI Wynne said. ‘But we will find out. I promise you that, Mr Daniels.’
ii
He supposed he should have seen it coming. The story had everything: mystery, sex, a posh girl misbehaving, so it would be irresistible to the press. Still, he was surprised they had learned about it this quickly. Maybe there was a cop who leaked this stuff in exchange for a supplement to their income.
Either way, he had not expected to open the door to a woman in her thirties with a camera and a strong Newcastle accent.
‘Alfie Daniels?’ she said. ‘I’m with the Daily Herald. I understand your wife is missing and she may have been abducted by a man who has done this before. Do you have any comment?’
‘I’m sorry,’ Alfie replied. ‘I really don’t know what to say.’
‘Is it true your wife met this man on a sex website?’
‘I don’t want to talk about it. It’s none of your business.’
‘Was your marriage happy?’ the reporter said. ‘Were there any—’
Alfie shut the door. These people really were awful. Vultures. He’d been planning to go for a walk to try to clear his head.
He was on edge. He felt out of control, and he couldn’t stand it.
And now, he was trapped in his house. He went into the kitchen and poured another cup of coffee, then logged on to see what the newspapers were saying.
The story was on the Daily Herald website an hour later.
SEX WEBSITE WOMEN DISAPPEAR
Reports emerged today that women who use websites to find partners for illicit sex may be putting themselves at risk of more than an unwanted trip to an STD clinic.
In the past two weeks, two women, Phillipa Davies-Hunt and Claire Daniels, have disappeared. Both women vanished after arranging meetings on the same website. There are indications, although the police have yet to confirm them, that they may have met the same man.
Davies-Hunt, 33, was last seen more than a week ago. Since then she has not responded to emails or phone calls. A friend, who did not give her name, said she was ‘extremely worried. This is not like Pippa at all.’
Daniels, 30, did not come home after going out on Thursday night. She informed her husband, Alfie, that she was going to dinner with clients of the design firm where she is a partner, although it appears there was no such dinner.
Her husband said, ‘I really don’t know what to say. I just want Claire back.’ He did not comment on the state of their marriage or his wife’s use of sex websites.
Daniels’ father, wealthy estate agent Mick Stewart, refused to comment. There is no indication that a ransom has been demanded.
Alfie smiled. He couldn’t stop marvelling at the irony that this was exactly what was supposed to have happened. It was the script he had written, being enacted as he had laid it down, but with one exception.
He didn’t know the final act.
An hour later DI Wynne called.
‘Sorry to bother you again,’ she said. ‘I’m outside with DS Lawless. I was wondering whether you’re free to talk.’
‘Of course.’ Alfie got off the couch and went to the front door. He opened it and let them in. ‘Take a seat. Can I offer you a drink?’
‘Not for me, thanks,’ DI Wynne said.
DS Lawless shook her head. ‘Me neither.’
DI Wynne looked around the living room. ‘Nobody here with you?’
‘No,’ Alfie said. ‘Jodie offered, but I’m OK.’
‘No family? Friends?’
‘Is this a social call? Are you worried about me?’
‘No. But often people gather round at a time like this.’
‘I don’t have many friends,’ Alfie said. ‘And no family.’ He was about to tell her his parents were dead, but he stopped himself. DI Wynne was the type who would check. ‘Claire is all I have. Have you made any progress?’
‘Not a lot,’ DS Lawless said. ‘Yet. Although we are viewing this as potentially a serious crime, so we have more resources available to us.’
‘I see,’ Alfie said. ‘A serious crime.’
‘Which doesn’t mean we don’t think we’ll find her,’ DI Wynne said. ‘There’s still every chance of that.’
‘What about Henry Bryant?’
‘No sign of him,’ DI Wynne said. ‘There are a number of people by that name and we’re contacting them, but at this point we have nothing.’ She leaned forwards. ‘It’s almost as though he doesn’t exist.’
Alfie nodded slowly. ‘We need to find him.’
‘Yes,’ DI Wynne said. ‘We do.’ She took out a notebook. ‘Could you tell me where you were the night Ms Davies-Hunt disappeared?’
‘I was out,’ Alfie said. ‘I’d had some bad news and I went drinking.’
‘Where did you go?’
Alfie named some of the pubs he’d staggered into after killing Pippa.
‘And what time did you return home?’
‘Late. I don’t exactly remember. I was very drunk.’
‘Do you normally get drunk, Mr Daniels?’ DS Lawless said.
‘Rarely. But like I said, I’d had some bad news.’
‘Would you be open to sharing the nature of that news?’ DI Wynne asked.
‘I found out I’m infertile. Claire and I had been trying for a baby. I was upset.’
‘I’m sure she was, too,’ DI Wynne said. ‘But you left her on her own?’
‘Yes,’ Alfie said. ‘And I’m not proud of it. I was selfish, but the last time I checked, selfishness was not a criminal offence.’
‘It still isn’t,’ DI Wynne said. ‘And I apologize, but I have to establish the facts. And it is a coincidence that you were out the night Ms Davies-Hunt disappeared. In my line of work, we have learned to take an interest in coincidences.’
‘Well, this really was a coincidence. I was out in a bunch of pubs. Ask the bar staff. They’ll remember me.’
‘We will,’ DS Lawless said. ‘We certainly will.’
DI Wynne started to speak but he raised his hand to stop her.
‘Am I a suspect?’ he said. ‘I’m sorry to be so frank, but I’d like to know.’<
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DI Wynne caught his gaze and held it. ‘Should you be?’ she said.
There was a long pause.
‘No,’ Alfie said. I shouldn’t.’
‘Then let’s talk about Claire’s movements.’
DS Lawless handed him a piece of paper. It was a list of Oyster card transactions. She tapped one from the Wednesday before. It was the name of the Tube station near Alfie’s office.
‘She came to see you at work?’ Lawless asked.
Alfie shook his head. ‘I don’t think so. I didn’t see her.’
‘She was there.’
‘Maybe I missed her. I was out of the office.’
‘At a showing?’ Lawless said.
‘No. Taking a walk. There’s a park near the agency.’
‘Was it normal for her to come to your office during the day?’ Wynne said.
‘Not really. But we’ve been having a tough time. Maybe she wanted to see me.’
Wynne nodded. ‘Maybe.’
Lawless pointed to another Oyster card transaction. It was from shortly after eight p.m. the same day.
‘And this?’ Lawless said.
‘She went into work late that night,’ Alfie said. ‘That’s the Tube station she uses.’
‘So,’ Wynne said. ‘She came to see you even though she was so busy she had to work late, but didn’t call you to check you were there?’
‘Yes,’ Alfie said. He shrugged. ‘That’s what happened.’
‘Does it not strike you as odd?’ Wynne asked.
‘Not really. She probably wanted to see me. We’re very close.’
Lawless nodded. ‘Then that night she took a cab home ten minutes before midnight. She put it on the company account.’
‘They do that when they work late,’ Alfie said. ‘The firm pays for a cab.’
‘Very generous,’ Wynne said. She didn’t look at the paper with the Oyster card transactions on it. ‘Then she goes to work the following morning, early. Six a.m., in fact.’
‘Right,’ Alfie said. ‘I was asleep. She left a note.’
‘Oh?’ Lawless said. ‘Could we see it?’
‘Of course.’ Alfie went to the kitchen counter and picked up the pad. He turned to the page with Claire’s note on it and brought it into the living room.
He handed it to DS Lawless and watched as she read it.
HAD TO GET IN EARLY TO WORK. SEE YOU TONIGHT. TAKE-OUT? I’M EXHAUSTED.
She passed it to DI Wynne, who read it and then put it in a plastic bag.
‘So,’ DS Lawless continued. ‘We have her going to work early Thursday, and then going straight from work to dinner with a client.’
‘Yes,’ Alfie said. ‘She called late in the day to tell me she had to go out.’
‘And yet she didn’t take the Tube that Thursday evening,’ Wynne said. ‘Or call a cab on the company account. My guess is she flagged down a cab and paid in cash.’ She paused. ‘Wherever she was going, it seems she didn’t want anyone to know.’
‘Right,’ Alfie said. ‘Because she was going to meet Henry Bryant, whoever he is.’
‘So it seems,’ DI Wynne said. ‘And we have no trace of her after she left her office. What did you do that evening?’
‘Stayed here,’ Alfie replied ‘What else would I have done?’
‘You tell me,’ DI Wynne said. ‘You were here the entire night?’
‘The entire night,’ Alfie said.
‘Alone?’
‘Of course alone!’
‘So no one can confirm you were here?’ DS Lawless said.
‘I guess not,’ Alfie said. ‘But can’t you check my phone records? See where I was?’
‘See where your phone was,’ DS Lawless said. ‘Not quite the same thing.’
‘Look. I’m having rather a bad day. You might not have read it, but the press have got hold of this story – from one of your lot, I assume – and it’s all over the place. My wife has been having an affair and is missing, and now you’re accusing me of being behind it, as well as the disappearance of some other woman I’ve never even met. So you’ll forgive me if I’m a bit pissed off.’
‘My forgiveness is not material,’ DI Wynne said. ‘My job is to gather all the information that is material. And I think DS Lawless and I have done that. Thank you for your time. We’ll be in touch.’
Alfie stared at her. ‘I don’t doubt it,’ he said.
iii
By seven p.m. there were six or seven reporters outside his door. He didn’t open it, but eventually he’d have to. Eventually he’d have to face them and their cameras and questions.
And Alfie didn’t want to.
He didn’t want his face in the papers, didn’t want people studying it for signs of grief or guilt and then looking at the photos of Pippa and Claire and thinking, Hmm, I saw that guy in a pub in Barnes with the first girl who disappeared.
He needed to stop that from happening. He picked up his phone and dialled Mick.
‘Alfie. Everything OK?’
‘Kind of,’ Alfie said. ‘Apart from the reporters outside the house.’
‘Those bastards,’ Mick said. ‘Splashing my girl’s business all over the newspapers. Making out she’s some kind of slut. It’s none of their fucking business.’
‘I know. But they’ll stay here all night.’
‘No they won’t,’ Mick said. ‘I’ll be right over.’
He was there an hour later. Alfie watched out of the bedroom window as he pulled up in a black cab – he hated Uber, he told Alfie once, couldn’t understand why anyone used it – and climbed out wearing a pair of wine-red cords and a Barbour jacket. His face was red and he looked like he wished he had a shotgun to go with his country clothes.
One of the reporters noticed him and the pack turned, sensing fresh, vulnerable meat.
Alfie smiled. Mick was hardly fresh, and he was very far from vulnerable.
‘Do you know Mr Daniels?’ one of the reporters shouted, his camera aloft. ‘Are you a relation?’
‘I think it’s the wife’s old man,’ someone else said, and he pushed towards Mick, intending to intercept him on the pavement.
Mick marched towards him.
‘You lot can fuck off,’ he bellowed. He grabbed the camera from the reporter’s hand and snatched it away.
‘Hey,’ the reporter said. ‘You can’t do that!’
He tried to grab the camera back, but Mick held it away from him. He’d played rugby until his mid-thirties and, although he was carrying some extra weight, he was still, underneath it, a powerful man.
And an angry, determined one.
He threw the camera hard on to the pavement. The lens snapped off and rolled into the street. He kicked the body into the wall of the house. Alfie was no camera engineer, but he was pretty sure the damage was terminal.
‘I just bloody did,’ Mick said, and advanced towards another reporter. ‘And I’ll do it again’
The reporter moved aside. Mick walked to the front door and rang the bell.
Alfie went down to let him in. As he approached the door he could hear his father-in-law.
‘You lot are a disgrace,’ he was shouting. ‘Do you ever think about that? A fucking disgrace.’
‘You owe me a camera!’ the reporter whose camera was now in pieces shouted. ‘You can’t treat me like this!’
‘You don’t like it?’ Mick said. ‘Poor you. You shouldn’t be hanging around harassing people. And next time I’m bringing some of my boys along with me and you’ll like it a lot less, you scumbags.’
Alfie opened the door. Mick raised his middle finger to the reporters and stepped inside.
His appearance belied his belligerence. He looked awful. His large frame seemed to have slumped and his eyes were sunken and red.
‘Bastards,’ he muttered. ‘Hope that gets rid of them.’
‘How are you holding up?’ Alfie said.
Mick looked at him. His lip quivered and he started to cry. ‘She’s my little girl, Alfie,’
he said. ‘I want her to be safe. That’s all I’ve ever wanted.’
His worry – grief, almost – was raw. Alfie saw that this was how people expected him to react. He’d have to up his game.
‘I know,’ Alfie said, in a low voice. He turned away as though overcome with emotion. ‘I know.’
Mick stayed for the rest of the evening. By nine p.m., he was drunk, snoring on the sofa. Alfie put on his shoes and headed for the front door.
There were three reporters still hanging around. Two men, leaning against the bonnet of a Ford Focus and a woman, talking on her phone and smoking a cigarette.
He needed Henry Bryant’s phones from his office. They had been on his mind all day, but he hadn’t wanted to go in when his colleagues would be there.
But he didn’t want to be seen by the press. He grabbed a baseball cap, put it low over his eyes, and headed for the back door. There was a gate at the end of the garden that opened on to a walkway, but they would probably be there, too.
He climbed the fence separating the neighbouring garden, then climbed another two. When he emerged on to the walkway, he saw a reporter by his back gate.
He walked past, eyes low.
The reporter tapped him on the shoulder. ‘You know Alfie and Claire?’
‘No comment,’ he muttered, and walked on.
Once he was on a main road, he flagged a black cab. Like Claire had, he’d pay in cash. He didn’t want a record of this trip, not that it mattered. If anyone asked, he’d say he’d wanted to take his mind off things by going into the office, but he’d prefer to avoid the conversation, if he could.
On the way, he read the news stories. Claire and Pippa were all over the internet. Someone had tweeted their photos with a message asking people to retweet to their followers.
#FindPippaandClaire! Retweet this!
If you see them call the police!
Now it was the highest trending hashtag on Twitter. Alfie took a deep breath. He needed this to die down as soon as possible.
But he feared it would only get worse.
The office was empty. He unlocked the door and headed for his desk. The phones were in the drawer, untouched. He put them on the desk, then grabbed a few files in case anyone asked why he’d been there.
