by Eleanor Ray
“What are you talking about?” said Amy, putting down her phone. She realized she had been staring at it for rather a long time.
“He’ll probably text,” continued Carthika. “Or send a message on social. Although he could just surprise you at your desk.”
“I don’t know who you’re talking about,” said Amy. Her head was pounding. Surely Liam hadn’t told Carthika? She must just be being her usual annoying self.
“More than one on the go?” asked Carthika. “You’re a dark horse, Amy Ashton.” Zoe giggled.
“Don’t you have work to do?” asked Amy. Of course the phone chose that moment to finally ring, and Amy found herself scurrying away to an empty meeting room, to the amusement of her colleagues.
Richard had bumped into her that morning outside her house. Amy had only just held it together while he told her that he and Charles had spent the previous evening delving through layer upon layer of Google to find out what they could about the model of JCB that Charles had identified. He was right. It had tracks, and should have had wheels. It had been modified.
Richard had said that he’d contact the manufacturer for her today to go through the records. It felt strange to Amy to have someone help her like that, but also rather nice.
“Hello?” said Amy, a question in her voice although she could see it was Richard calling. She closed the door to the meeting room, which was really just a corner of the office sealed off with glass. It always reminded her of a large shower cubicle.
“Don’t ask me how,” said Richard. “But I’ve found it. In fact, ask me how.”
“You’ve found it?” asked Amy. She felt a little sick and sank down into a chair.
“You could call me the Sherlock Holmes of the construction world,” continued Richard merrily. “I rang the JCB head office and described a modification that I wanted, delineating just what Charles noticed in the picture, and they passed me around a bit, and eventually I got through to the right department. And I was able to get a history of where that machine had been, and then with a search dating to around the time that Tim went missing, I was able to locate the most likely location for the photo. It’s here in the city. Abletree Park. Mean anything to you?”
“No,” said Amy. All she could think was that when Richard rambled like that, he reminded her of his son. She traced the pattern of the wooden tabletop with her finger. Concentric circles, as unique as a fingerprint.
“Anyway, I’ve even found out that the three-eighty-three bus goes there.”
“The three-eighty-three?” she queried.
“Yes,” he replied. “So, go on.”
“Go on what?” asked Amy.
“Call me the Sherlock Holmes of the construction world.”
“Thank you, Richard,” said Amy, a little stiffly.
“I’m sorry,” said Richard, the brightness fading from his voice. “I’ve been treating it lightly. I should have been more sensitive.”
“It’s fine,” said Amy. “I appreciate your help.”
“Good. I thought we could go there later today. Can you get out of work early?”
“Today?” asked Amy.
“I think it’s best that we just do it,” said Richard. “So you don’t have time to worry. Rip the Band-Aid off.”
“Um…” Amy could see the wisdom in that; even so, she’d have several hours of worry to get through, as well as this hangover. Maybe a bacon sandwich would help.
“The boys and I will come with you,” said Richard, “for moral support. That digger, by the way, was being used to build a playground. I’ve seen pictures online, and it looks awesome. Meet outside your house at four?”
“I’ll check with my boss,” said Amy, feeling strangely relieved to be railroaded instead of having to think it through. “But it should be fine.”
“Great,” replied Richard. “See you there.” He hung up.
Amy would need to leave two hours early. She went back to her desk and fired a quick e-mail to Mr. Trapper, asking permission. He replied instantaneously with a single cryptic letter.
“What does ‘K’ mean?” she asked Carthika.
“Is that what your man wrote?” replied Carthika, who seemed unable to let it go.
“No,” snapped Amy. “It is what Mr. Trapper wrote to me, and before you start, it isn’t him, as he is a happily married man and twenty years my senior.”
“Okay,” said Carthika.
“I know it is okay,” replied Amy. “What does ‘K’ mean?”
“Okay,” said Carthika again.
Amy was just about to lose her temper when she realized. Okay. OK. K. She supposed being a partner at even a medium adviser firm like Trapper, Lemon, and Hughes left you bereft of time, but surely typing an O wasn’t too much to ask.
“Mr. Trapper reckons he’s down with the kids,” added Carthika. “Didn’t you see his leather jacket yesterday? Not that kids wear leather anymore—they are all vegans.”
“Thank you, Carthika,” said Amy. “I’ll be leaving early today.” Carthika opened her mouth. “And it’s not to meet a man,” continued Amy, realizing that wasn’t strictly true. “Before you get excited.”
“I was going to ask if you wanted help with the Apex document?” said Carthika.
“Oh,” replied Amy. “Yes, thank you.” She handed the weighty file across the desk.
“Good luck,” said Carthika. She smiled at Amy. “I’m going to the greasy spoon. Want a bacon roll?”
Amy instantly forgave Carthika everything. “With brown sauce,” she said, gratitude spilling into her voice.
* * *
“IT’S A BUS,” announced Daniel as it pulled up at the stop. “It’s got wheels.”
“And they go round and round,” replied Charles. “Chill out.”
“No squabbling,” said Richard, helping Daniel onto the bus. He promptly ran to the steps and started climbing up. “We’ll sit downstairs,” called Richard, but it was futile. The three of them followed Daniel up, arriving at the top deck just as the bus pulled away.
“I’ll sit next to Amy,” said Charles, pushing his dad out of the way. Richard shrugged and sat in the seat in front next to Daniel, who had pressed his face to the window like a suckerfish.
“What do you think we’ll find out?” asked Charles, turning to Amy. She’d eaten the bacon roll, followed by two bags of crisps and a liter of Coke, and was feeling human again.
“I don’t know,” said Amy. She didn’t. She couldn’t work out why Chantel would enclose a picture of a park they’d never been to together. No matter how much she looked at it, she always felt she was missing something.
“Maybe we missed something,” said Charles, reading her mind. “Let’s look at the photo again.”
Amy pulled the envelope out of her bag, and they both studied the picture intently. It was taken in the evening, and the sky was a hazy shade of violet with stripy clouds picking up the last orange rays of the sun. The trees were silhouetted against the skyline, the leaves abundant. It was the kind of scene she’d have painted, what seemed like a lifetime ago.
“It’s like a painting,” said Charles, and Amy almost jumped. “But if I was painting it, I’d have put the digger in the center,” he continued. “Because that’s the best bit.”
“I like it at the edge,” said Amy. “It’s more unusual than the traditional one-third one-third one-third composition. It’s subtle where it is. A mystery.”
“You’re into art?” asked Richard.
“I used to paint,” said Amy, feeling heat rising up her cheeks and realizing, to her embarrassment, that she was blushing. “Now I’m an administrator at Trapper, Lemon, and Hughes.”
“I’d love to see your work.”
“My paintings are the one thing I didn’t keep,” said Amy. “I sold the ones I could and got rid of the rest.” After it happened, she couldn’t bear to have her art in the house.
“You can always paint more,” said Richard.
“No, I can’t,” said Am
y. She looked at the window, noticing the layer of dust that had accumulated there. The husk of a tiny greenfly rested there too, its wing gently swaying from the force of her breathing.
“Ring the bell?” asked Daniel.
“Not till our stop,” said Richard. “I’ll tell you when.” Amy looked up from the fly and out the window, relieved that the line of questioning was over. “It’s meant to be a lovely park,” said Richard. “And it’s a gorgeous day, so I’ve packed a change of clothes and towels for the boys in case they want to go in the paddling pool.”
“Big splash,” said Daniel. His hand reached up. “Ring the bell?”
“Not yet,” said Richard. Charles handed Amy her picture back, and she slipped it into its envelope.
“Not yet,” repeated Richard, at the small hand reaching up. “Patience.”
Patience, thought Amy. She wondered what would be her reward.
* * *
THE TREES HAD grown and the season had changed. There was a playground where there had once been just the corner of a digger. But as Amy stood, contemplating the view, she knew this was the right place. It was still several hours from summer’s sunset, but there was no mistaking the skyline, the contours of the hills. This was where the picture had been taken.
She sat on the park bench that looked out onto the view and closed her eyes. It might have been peaceful here once, but now the sounds of children frolicking in the pool filled her ears.
“I’ve walked around,” said Richard. Amy opened her eyes. “But I can’t see anything. Any idea why the picture would be of this place?”
“None,” said Amy. “I’ve never been to this park with either of them. I thought I might recognize something, a statue, or a plaque.…” Her voice trailed off. She didn’t know what she’d been hoping for.
Yes, she did. Tim, standing there, waiting for her. Waiting in this spot for eleven years.
She knew he wouldn’t be, of course she did. She clutched at the ring around her neck.
“Maybe the letter explained it,” said Richard. “Perhaps if we have another look, now we’re here? I feel like there should be instructions to dig somewhere. Or something hidden in the third rock from the great oak tree.”
“I know every legible word by heart,” replied Amy. “There’s nothing like that.”
“I suppose not. Maybe I’ve seen too many movies.”
“Maybe.”
“How was your date last night?” asked Richard suddenly. Amy turned to him, surprised. He was picking at the edge of his fingernail.
“Terrible,” replied Amy.
“I’m sorry,” said Richard. But he was smiling.
They sat in silence, watching the boys. Charles was hanging precariously from a tall rope structure that looked to be designed for a giant spider. He swung his leg up and made his way higher. Daniel was in the paddling pool, apparently doing an impression of a snapping crocodile to shrieks of delight from his would-be victims.
“You have very lovely children,” said Amy, words she’d never thought she would utter to anyone.
“I’m very proud of the boys,” said Richard.
“You should be.” Amy watched Charles swing himself across the ropes and slide down a pole. He looked around, then ran to the paddling pool to join his brother. He received a huge splash of greeting.
“I always thought we’d have more,” said Richard, his eyes also on his sons. Amy realized it felt easier for them to talk this way, without looking at each other. Like a confessional box. “I wanted a big family. We both did. I was an only child, and I’m glad the boys have each other. It’s no fun being lonely.” Richard glanced at Amy, who felt his gaze on her ear. She looked farther in the opposite direction to avoid eye contact, which she felt could break this confessional spell. “Nina said she wanted kids,” he added. “One day.” He paused. “But that was before she met the boys.”
“Have you heard from her?” asked Amy.
“No. Maybe I should let the boys decide who I date next,” Richard said. “I’ve not done well on my own.”
“Me neither,” said Amy, realizing that was an understatement. She glanced at him just as he looked back at her, and their eyes locked.
Amy thought she felt a moment pass between them. Maybe she hadn’t. She looked away. Both boys were being crocodiles now, crawling around on their bellies at the edge of the pool. “So what now?” asked Richard.
Amy wasn’t sure what he meant, so she took the easy option. “The ring was a dead end,” she said. “I know Tim bought it, before he disappeared, but that’s it. The letter is illegible. The photo led me here, but I don’t see why. There’s only one other thing I can think of, but there’s a problem.”
“What’s the thing?” asked Richard. If he was disappointed in the turn the conversation had taken, he didn’t show it.
“A box,” said Amy. “When they first went missing, I kept press clippings and my diary and notes about what people said all together. But it didn’t lead me anywhere. I was wondering whether it might shed some light on the ring, or the letter, or even this place.”
“Does it?”
“I can’t find it,” admitted Amy. “It’s somewhere in my spare room, but…” She hesitated.
“Spare rooms can be crowded,” finished Richard gently. “How about I help?”
“What?” said Amy.
“Help you look for it? We could sort through, maybe clear out—”
“You can’t throw any of my belongings away,” said Amy quickly. In the early days various people had suggested they could “help.” They couldn’t.
“I wasn’t going to,” replied Richard. “Amy, I know you keep what you need to. That you’ve got a reason for collecting what you do. I was just suggesting another pair of eyes.”
Amy hesitated. It had been a long time since she’d allowed anyone into her home.
“I don’t think you realize—” she began.
“Let me help you,” said Richard. “Maybe, once you’ve found this box, you’ll be ready to move on?”
“I’ll think about it,” said Amy.
“Great,” said Richard. “In the meantime, join us for dinner tonight? I know the boys would love it, and we can have that stew you brought over.”
“Slow-cooked sausage and vegetable cassoulet,” said Amy.
Richard laughed. “That’s what I said.”
Daniel came bounding up to them. He was soaked through and shook water off himself like a dog.
“Ice cream,” he said, just before they even heard the tinny tones of the van in the distance.
“I swear he can smell an ice cream van a mile off,” said Richard. “Come on, then. Ice cream once we’ve got you dry. Anything for you, Amy?”
“No thanks,” Amy replied.
“Not even strawberry?” questioned Daniel, unconvinced.
“Actually,” said Amy, “you know what? I will. Chocolate.”
* * *
MR. TRAPPER WALKED past her desk the following morning, then walked back, and past again. “Can I help you, Mr. Trapper?” asked Amy.
“Oh, Amy, just the person,” he said, as if surprised to see her. “Yes, actually, I was hoping to catch you.”
“What is it?”
“Nothing important,” he said. “Nothing at all, really.”
Amy frowned at him.
“Maybe come to my office for a minute, just if you’ve time.”
Amy got up and followed him.
Mr. Trapper’s office was the opposite of Amy’s empty desk. Framed photographs of his wife and kids littered the walls and surfaces. His two girls smiling at Disney World. Holding up the Leaning Tower of Pisa. More recently, as teenagers lazing on a beach somewhere. It reminded her of DCI Hooper’s desk. Happily married men taking happy family holidays. She hadn’t used her own holiday allowance in years.
“So,” said Mr. Trapper. He had his Nottingham Forest mug on his desk in front of him, and he picked it up and put it down, though Amy could see it containe
d nothing but coffee stains. “This is rather awkward.”
“Is it?” asked Amy.
“Yes,” he said. They sat in silence. Amy looked at him. A bead of sweat was escaping from his hairline and making a dash for it down his cheek. It lingered on his chin before finally leaping onto his desk. They both looked at it for a moment, before Mr. Trapper wiped it away with the cuff of his shirt.
“Have I done something wrong?” asked Amy finally.
“What? Wrong? Certainly not,” he replied. He picked up the mug, then set it down again. “Listen,” he began. “What you do on your own time is your business.”
“Agreed,” said Amy. The council must have been in touch with him: perhaps that was what Leah meant when she said the wheels were in motion. Mr. Trapper knew about her house. “It doesn’t affect my work,” said Amy. “Not at all.”
“Of course not,” replied Mr. Trapper. “But it’s just…” He paused. “I feel I have a duty of care.”
There it was again. Duty of care. Why couldn’t people just leave her alone?
“You’ve worked here a long time, Amy,” he continued. “Before and after it, you know, happened. I know it affected you. Of course it did.”
“My work hasn’t suffered,” said Amy.
“No, it’s not that at all. It’s just…” He paused again. “I don’t want you to get hurt.”
“I’m perfectly safe,” said Amy. “I’m very careful.”
Mr. Trapper looked horrified. “I wasn’t suggesting…” he began. “Maybe this whole conversation was a bad idea.”
“Thank you for your concern,” said Amy. “But I think you’ll find my desk is always clear.”
“What?”
“I keep my house one way, the office another.”
“Your house?” Mr. Trapper looked at her, confusion piling onto his features.
Amy frowned. “What were you talking about?”
“Liam Salter,” he said. “Apparently he’s told a few people in the office that you two are seeing each other.”
“Oh,” replied Amy. If anything, she felt more mortified than ever. What had she said about being safe? “Oh God,” she muttered.
