Presumed Missing

by Fiona Tarr

  Presumed Missing

  Foxy Mysteries, Volume 2

  Fiona Tarr

  Published by Fiona Tarr, 2021.

  This is a work of fiction. Similarities to real people, places, or events are entirely coincidental.

  PRESUMED MISSING

  First edition. September 15, 2021.

  Copyright © 2021 Fiona Tarr.

  ISBN: 979-8201532789

  Written by Fiona Tarr.

  Table of Contents

  Title Page

  Copyright Page

  1

  2

  3

  4

  5

  6

  7

  8

  9

  10

  11

  12

  13

  14

  15

  16

  17

  18

  19

  20

  21

  22

  23

  24

  25

  26

  27

  28

  29

  30

  31

  What Next?

  Books by Fiona Tarr

  1

  Liz turned around to inspect the aftermath of indecision all over her dressing room. The large plush dark purple velour ottoman was entirely covered in clothes, more than one layer thick. Five pairs of shoes, with various heel heights sat abandoned on the charcoal grey wool-blend carpet.

  Two hours and she was only now getting close to making a final decision about what to wear. The idea of staying behind the scenes of Fox Investigations had gone out the window with their first serious case. Liz had spoken to the distraught mother on the phone and Mrs Richardson had insisted that Liz be with her PI when they met, “... after all, you are the boss aren’t you?”

  Mrs Richardson was right of course, but Liz was acutely aware that she needed to remain distinct from her other career and that might prove difficult if anyone were to recognise her.

  In her every-day world, Liz kept a low profile with a few close friends, gym late at night or during the quiet hours, coffee at her local café, shopping, that type of thing. The simple lifestyle suited her and kept Foxy hidden for her escort duties, when the make-up and dresses usually came out of the closet. Now she needed to look like a reputable business owner and that was an entirely new role Liz had never had to play.

  She looked in the mirror. The usual curly mop of hair was pulled back in a severe bun. The dark rimmed multifocal glasses she had ordered online gave the desired executive, smart secretary air but she’d almost emptied her entire wardrobe trying to find something that said business, and not sexy business. She’d never realised how skewed her formal wardrobe was toward seduction until now.

  Finally, she’d settled on a dark grey pencil skirt that went well past the knee and a plain white blouse with black pumps that suggested something her grandmother might wear. She took one last forlorn gaze at the war-zone behind her before walking to her office and grabbing her briefcase.

  She’d owned a leather satchel style bag for decades, thankfully it was good quality leather and had stood the test of time in storage. It was the ideal option for today’s meeting.

  Liz opened her door and pressed the down button on the elevator and waited, her mind reliving her conversation with the client. Mrs Richardson was in her mid-fifties, with a missing teenage daughter whom she thought had been beguiled by a religious cult but Liz already had a pretty strong hunch that a cult wasn’t the concerning issue for this young girl.

  The elevator doors opened and Liz stepped in, pressed the Ground-Floor button as the doors slid quietly closed. She pulled out her mobile and tapped a quick message before placing it into the side zip pocket of her bag.

  A few moments later she was in a taxi heading to the client’s home. She retrieved her mobile and opened an email, clicking on the attachment. The photo of a stunning young woman with dark brown eyes and almost jet-black hair appeared. Gemma was seventeen, in her final year at school and now a member of a cult, or so her mother thought.

  The taxi pulled up outside the modest house in Brighton. The beach-side suburb was a mix of older homes, a few renovations and even more blocks with new duplex conversions. The street was packed with cars and the entire area from Seacliff to Somerton Park was now filled with university students and young people sharing houses to keep the cost of living down.

  Liz waved her credit card over the taxi-driver’s machine and waited for the receipt. She jumped out, shut the car door and scanned the receipt into her accounting program, labelling it business expenses, something she’d never been able to claim before, then put her phone back in her bag.

  She scanned the streetscape which was lined with trees on both sides. She spotted Max getting out of an ancient Hyundai, probably one of the first that had ever landed on Australian shores. The poor old heap made his former partner Jack’s BMW look like a showroom piece. Mind you, Jack did look after his things a lot better than Max tended to. The hood was dented, the side door panel rusted and the door seal hung loose looking close to disintegrating.

  She switched her briefcase to her other hand as she waited for her new partner to walk up, thankful he’d parked far enough down the street that the client wouldn’t see the bomb he called a car. He stopped just short of the house and butted out his smoke on the ground. Liz sighed and shook her head. Max made eye contact and shrugged unapologetically.

  ‘You need a new car,’ she spoke as Max approached the front lawn of the client’s home.

  ‘You buying?’

  Liz screwed up her lips. ‘I’ll make it part of your salary package, but that piece of shit has to go Max.’

  ‘Oh, don’t talk about Dorothy like that. At least she stayed with me longer than a year.’ Max grinned and Liz bit her tongue as she considered a snide retort but managed not to take the bait.

  ‘Mrs Richardson said her daughter Gemma has joined some kind of cult. She said the Police couldn’t do anything. Is that true?’

  ‘How old is she?’ They both walked up the flagstone path that made a straight line to the front door.

  ‘Seventeen.’ Max held the screened-in porch door open for Liz, who raised an eyebrow at his uncharacteristic chivalry, but he ignored her.

  ‘It’s tricky. I’m guessing officers checked out her living conditions?’ Liz shrugged that she had no idea. ‘We’ll need to talk to her mother, see exactly where they have got to with that. I’m guessing if she has called us, she hasn’t gotten any joy with the Police.’

  Liz pressed the doorbell, which didn’t seem to work, but she waited in any case. They heard footsteps on the wooden floors within and the sound of a chain rattling on the door before it was opened. A tired looking woman opened the door, keeping the security screen closed.

  ‘Hello Mrs Richardson. I’m Liz Jeffreys, this is my Investigator, Max Fitzpatrick, we spoke on the phone about Gemma.’

  ‘Yes, of course.’ Mrs Richardson fumbled nervously with the screen-door lock before pulling it open and welcoming them in. ‘Can I get you a tea, coffee?’

  ‘No thank you. I’m good. Max?’ Liz scanned the room. The door opened into a small hall, with an arch on the left, leading to the living room. The vinyl floor was right out of the seventies and the walls were painted in various colours, all dark and dingy.

  She noticed the large, wooden cross with a gaudy Jesus hanging from it, taking pride of place at the end of the hall where a wall blocked the view of the rest of the house.

  ‘Nope, thanks for the offer.’

  Mrs Richardson stood in the hall, nervously wringing her hands. Liz took the lead. ‘Where would you like us to sit, Valerie? You don’t mind if I call you Vale
rie, do you?’ Liz spoke gently and smiled reassuringly.

  ‘Of course, yes. Oh my, I’m so sorry. I’m such a mess.’ She patted her hair and smoothed her dress self-consciously.

  ‘You don’t need to be sorry Valerie. We are both parents, we understand how you feel.’ In reality, neither of them had the foggiest idea how she felt. Liz hadn’t seen her daughter since she was a baby until recently, when she’d tracked her birth-mother down and Max had only just, a month ago met her for the first time.

  Valerie smiled sadly and waved them into the living room. Liz had never been a religious person but there was no mistaking the portrait of the Virgin Mary above the fireplace. The rosary beads on the side-table under the lamp and the leather-bound Bible beneath, all brought the picture to completion.

  ‘Start from the beginning Valerie. We’ll ask any relevant questions as we go.’ Liz put her briefcase down at her feet as she sat. Max remained standing.

  ‘Are you sure I can’t get you a drink of something?’ The woman looked from Max to Liz and back again.

  ‘No, let’s get started. If it makes you feel more comfortable, I’ll ask the questions and we’ll go from there.’ The woman nodded, took a seat and began wringing her hands in her lap, her eyes moving between her rosary beads and Liz.

  ‘Let’s start with the basics. Do you have a partner, Gemma’s dad?’

  ‘No, he’s been gone for years.’ Valerie watched Max who wandered around the living room, studying family photos and artwork.

  ‘Any other children?’ Liz pulled out her tablet and made some notes as she went.

  ‘No, just Gemma. It’s been just us for years now. I’ve tried to be a good mum, but lately all we do is argue.’

  Liz nodded and Max moved forward, his former detective persona coming to the fore. ‘About anything in particular? Boys? School?’

  ‘About everything.’ Mrs Richardson sighed, her lower lip trembled before she composed herself once more.

  ‘How has her school life been?’ Liz was new to the detective work. Her usual work involved seducing her clients, not questioning them.

  ‘She’s been skipping school. Her grades are dropping.’

  Max sat down next to Liz and moved the pace up a little. ‘What makes you think she’s in trouble?’

  The woman looked at Max like he’d grown two heads, her mouth hung open in shock. ‘She’s left home. She won’t take my calls. She’s living with strangers.’

  Liz patted Max’s leg gently to stop him from saying anything more. This woman was a devout Catholic, a religious woman who was obviously not prepared for her daughter to leave the nest so soon, but in her book, a mother’s instinct was worth something.

  ‘Valerie, we understand your concern, really we do, but leaving home, living with strangers isn’t in itself necessarily dangerous. You must suspect something more sinister to call us in. Have the Police investigated at all?’

  The woman took a deep breath, tears lingering on the edge of a shuddering exhale. ‘They took my statement. Visited where she is staying. Said they didn’t feel her life was in any danger and that I should give her time, she’d likely come home when she ran out of money... but I know my daughter. There is something else going on here.’

  ‘Do you mind if we check Gemma’s room?’ Max stood, taking Liz by surprise.

  ‘I, I don’t know.’

  ‘I believe in a mother’s instinct Valerie. For us to find Gemma, we need to follow every bit of information we can find. Maybe seeing Gemma’s room will help Max. He’s an excellent investigator.’ Liz had recovered and put on her charm.

  Mrs Richardson nodded. ‘Down the end of the hall, on the right.’

  ‘Max is a former Police detective, he knows what he’s looking for.’ Liz popped her tablet in her briefcase as Max left the room. ‘We can follow if it will make you feel better?’

  Mrs Richardson shook her head and Liz felt an unexpected sense of relief. Something about searching the missing girl’s room didn’t feel right to her.

  2

  ‘What’s your take on it?’ Max jumped into his car, leaving Liz to wrestle with the dented passenger door on her own. It took three attempts before it finally opened with a groan.

  ‘I’m not seeing cult, but I could be wrong.’ Liz slammed the creaking door closed. ‘She’s likely just run away from a strict, over-protective mum, but I’ll do a little digging and see what we can come up with. Can you see if Jack knows anything about the organisation Gemma has become involved with?

  ‘He’ll likely rather help you out than me Liz. My old partner is a little smitten with you and you know it.’ Max started the car and pulled out from the curb, heading down the leafy street, autumn leaves filling the gutters. ‘You want me to drop you home?’

  ‘No, drop me at the girl’s school. I’ll check with her teachers, see if I can speak with the friends Valerie told us about. Maybe someone knows something about why she’s run off to the commune or cult or whatever it is she’s done.’

  ‘Gotcha. Have you seen Jack lately?’ Liz raised an eyebrow at the overly casual way Max posed the question.

  ‘Not since I appeared in court as a witness in Becca’s case. Why?’

  Max shrugged. ‘Just asking. We still on for dinner with Jackie Friday?’

  ‘Sure. She’s bringing her other mum.’

  ‘You ready for that?’

  Liz shrugged as Max drove his car into the side street heading to the private Catholic college Gemma attended. ‘You should drop me out here. I don’t think this car sends the right message.’

  ‘Ignore her Dorothy, she’s just jealous.’ Max patted the split and weathered dash affectionately but pulled over to the curb. ‘How you getting back?’

  ‘Taxi. I’m all good Max. I’ve managed on my own for over twenty-five years, I’ve got this. You pick a new car, neat, tidy, under 25k. Nothing too gaudy. Use your company credit card. I’ll make sure the limit will cover it. They can call me if they have any questions. Be sure to give them the right phone number. Okay?’

  ‘You got it. Wouldn’t that be a hoot if I gave them your other agency number.’

  ‘Don’t even think about it Max.’ He laughed as she slammed the door to make sure it closed properly.

  Liz waited for Max to drive off, the car puffing black smoke as he accelerated away. She watched him disappear around the corner before crossing the road and walking the few hundred metres to the school administration building.

  The old, two-storey stone building, with the red iron roof was surrounded by manicured lawns and she couldn’t help but wonder how a single mum could afford Gemma’s tuition.

  She could relate to the missing girl already. Maybe she hadn’t grown up on the rough side of town like Liz had, but Liz knew what being a single child of a single mum was like. At least Valerie didn’t have a leering boyfriend causing Gemma the issues she’d experienced as a young woman.

  ‘Can I help you?’ The receptionist was in her thirties, dressed in office attire, the school emblem on the pocket of her neatly pressed white shirt. She looked up at Liz through trendy glasses that were chosen no doubt to make her look older.

  ‘Yes, I’d like to speak with the Head of Senior High thanks, about a student who has gone missing. Gemma Richardson.’

  ‘Are you a detective?’ The receptionist frowned slightly as she peered over the white oak counter, looking Liz up and down with very little discretion.

  ‘Of sorts, yes. Gemma’s mother, Mrs Richardson, has contracted my agency.’ Liz handed over her business card. The woman read it, pursed her lips, looking from the card to Liz with suspicion.

  ‘Do you have some sort of badge or something?’

  ‘I’m the business owner, my investigator is tied up with the Police. I understand your suspicion. You are welcome to ring Mrs Richardson if you prefer but she is quite distraught at the moment, as I’m sure you can understand.’ Liz waited, switching her brief case from one hand to the other.

  ‘I’ll see if
the Principal is available. He’s a very busy man.’ The receptionist lifted her chin and took on a look Liz was only too familiar with. It reminded her of all the snobby girls she used to practise ballet with.

  ‘I’m sure if you tell him one of his students might be at risk, he’ll make time.’ Liz forced a smile, trying to keep the sarcasm from her voice.

  The receptionist stood, smoothed her skirt, adjusted her hair and for a second Liz thought she might pop a breath mint, or redo her lippy, but she didn’t. She walked down the fluorescently lit hallway to the side of the administration desk. The dark blue carpet created static as she walked and her skirt stuck to her calves. She readjusted her glasses before knocking on the door at the end. A few seconds later, she opened the door and looked inside. They were speaking, but Liz couldn’t hear what they were saying.

  In a few moments a tall man in his mid to late fifties moved past the receptionist who flicked her hair behind her ear and smiled. The gesture was lost on the man as he made his way down the hall toward Liz.

  ‘Please, join me in my office. Linda didn’t give me your name. I’m Ned Jacobs, Principal of Senior School. I’m so sorry to hear Gemma is missing.’

  ‘I’m Liz Jefferys, General Manager of Fox Investigations. Your receptionist has my card.’ Liz nodded toward the receptionist who stood behind the Principal, her hands on her hips. ‘Thank you for seeing me on such short notice. Mrs Richardson is very concerned about Gemma’s welfare.’

  ‘Of course. Please come in.’ The Principal turned to lead Liz down the hall to his office as the receptionist scuttled out of the way. He showed her through the door, left it ajar and pulled out a chair opposite his desk, waving for Liz to take a seat. The gesture reminded her of Detective Cunningham and his private school upbringing. She smiled and the Principal smiled back.

  ‘I wouldn’t have picked you for a PI Ms Jeffreys, no offence.’ He took a seat across the wide timber desk from her.

  ‘None taken Mr Jacobs. You don’t strike me as a school Principal either.’ She realised her business attire didn’t hide her life-long flirty nature one little bit. When she was around men, she naturally, instinctively knew how to gain their interest. ‘Gemma Richardson is a student here, correct?’