The Retreat(53)



She gave me the once-over then said, ‘Come inside a minute, I’m getting soaked out here.’

In the lobby, she introduced herself as Samantha and said, ‘I’m sure it was two weeks ago. She told me she was off to see someone in Wales about a case. She seemed excited. She’s been struggling to find clients recently.’ She winced, as if she realised how indiscreet she was being.

‘I’m the person she was going to see in Wales,’ I said. ‘She told me she was coming back. That was just over a week ago.’

‘Well, she definitely hasn’t been back to the office.’ She chewed a fingernail. ‘Oh, blimey, you’ve got me all worried now.’

I was worried too. ‘Do you know where she lives?’

‘Yeah. She lives with a bloke in Oakengates.’

‘A boyfriend?’ That was surprising.

Samantha laughed. ‘No, he’s her GBF.’ I must have looked puzzled because she said, ‘Gay best friend. Hang on, I’ve got the address here.’ She took out her mobile and looked it up. I copied it into my new phone and thanked her, promising to get Zara to contact her as soon as I found her.

It took only fifteen minutes to get to Oakengates and find the address. Another modern building, this one divided into flats. I pressed the button on the intercom labelled Zara Sullivan and Dan Kaye and a man answered. Zara’s GBF. I explained that I was looking for his flatmate and he buzzed me up.

He was a short guy, good-looking with a shaved head.

‘Zara’s in Tenerife,’ he said.

‘Are you sure?’

He raised an eyebrow. ‘Are you a debt collector?’

I was offended. Did I really look like a debt collector? But the fact two people had asked me that made me think Zara must be in some financial difficulty.

I told him the same thing I’d told Samantha.

‘She emailed me a week ago to say she’d binned the case she was working on and had decided to get some sun.’

‘She didn’t phone you?’

He shook his head.

‘Didn’t you think that was strange? Does she normally email you to tell you things? Has she suddenly taken off on holiday before?’

‘Yeah, she has actually. Although the email thing is a bit weird. She usually calls.’ He smiled. ‘She is quite fond of her own voice.’

Something was definitely wrong. Would Zara have really gone straight from Beddmawr, having abandoned the investigation without telling me, to Tenerife? Without even calling home to pick up a swimsuit? She’d have had to come close to Telford to get to the nearest airport.

‘Has she updated Facebook or anything with holiday snaps?’ I asked.

‘She doesn’t use social media,’ Dan replied.

‘If she went abroad without coming back here, she must have had her passport with her in Wales. Does she usually carry her passport around with her? Do you know where she keeps it? Can you—’

He held up his hands as if warding off an attack. ‘Woah woah woah. Give me a chance.’

‘Sorry.’

He seemed exasperated. ‘Look, I don’t know anything about her passport. And I have no idea if you’re really who you say you are.’

‘I’m not a debt collector . . .’

‘Please, shut up. I’m not going to answer any more of your questions. I’m happy to pass a message on but that’s it.’

‘But—’

‘Goodbye.’

He shut the door in my face.



On the way back to my car, I called Edward Rooney, who had originally put me in touch with Zara. Once again, I explained what I knew, adding what Dan had just told me.

‘Is there any way you can check if her passport has been used?’ I asked.

He blew air into the phone. ‘Only the police can do that. And they won’t take this seriously. She’s a grown woman who emailed her flatmate to say she’s going on holiday. You’ve got absolutely no evidence of foul play.’

‘But don’t you think it seems weird?’

I could picture him shrugging. ‘I expect she has gone off to the Canaries. Can’t say I blame her. I’d offer to relieve you of some of your money and look into it – fly out to Tenerife to track her down – but I’m in the middle of a bastard of a case right now. My advice: stop worrying, and finish that bloody book. Okay?’

I hung up. It was just after five. If I didn’t get a move on, I’d be late for my rendezvous with Shirley.





Chapter 27

I hit rush hour traffic coming out of Telford. I was hardly in a state to drive, unable to concentrate adequately on the road. I pulled onto a roundabout too early, narrowly avoiding a collision with a BMW, the driver leaning on his horn and gesturing furiously as adrenaline flooded my system.

I parked outside the bed and breakfast and paused before getting out of the car. Black rainclouds obscured the sun, sucking all the colour from the street, but it was dark inside the house. Had Shirley and Heledd not come home?

I rang the bell. The dog barked and ran up to the door, scrabbling at the wood as if it was desperate to get out. I searched my memory banks for its name. Oscar, that was it.

I pushed the letterbox open and said the dog’s name, but that made him bark more. I peered through into the gloom. Oscar dashed up and down the hallway, a frantic ball of fur, yapping and making a strangled growling sound in his throat. It looked like Shirley had left him longer than expected and he was desperate for the toilet or food or both. I murmured soothing words, crouched by the door, but it didn’t do any good. He grew increasingly frantic, then suddenly vanished from sight. I squinted through the letterbox, searching him out, and as my eyes grew accustomed to the poor light, a shape came into focus at the bottom of the staircase.

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