Fourteen Days(40)

“Do you know where?”

“Probably the police station if she’s missing, they may be able to help. Or the Registrar’s Office; they keep records of all marriages and deaths. Failing that, I’m not sure.”

“Where’s the Registrar’s Office? Is it close?”

Looking up for a moment as if to think, she said, “It should be on Marble View, near the hospital—unless it’s moved, that is. I’m not a hundred percent sure.”

“That’s great,” he said, smiling. “I really appreciate all your help.”

“No problem at all. Glad I could help.”

He gave a subtle wave goodbye and quietly left, feeling a little more optimistic about finding the truth. As he exited the building, something shocking occurred to him: checking the TSH website had completely slipped his mind.

Wonders never cease.



Leaving his car parked in the town center, Richard decided to walk the half a mile to the police station. With only two-hundred meters to go, the heavens opened and the rain began to pour. He ran to the nearest shop doorway for shelter, holding his arms above his head, thinking how foolish he was for leaving his car.

Waiting for the rain to subside, he thought about Christina Long—if in fact that was her actual name. He desperately needed to find out if she existed, if only to eliminate her from his investigation. And to Richard this was most certainly an investigation. He would not give up until she had vacated his house, no matter how long it took.

Why couldn’t her name just pop up on the Internet? he thought. Everything else does. And then I wouldn’t be stuck under some grotty beauty salon’s doorway, soaking wet. He angrily ran a hand over his face, into his damp hair. God, I wish I was back at the office slaving over a computer screen. My life used to be so straightforward. Wake up, go to work, come home, see Nicky, go to bed.

Simple.

Absolutely no dead people.

Five minutes had passed and the rain had only worsened. Shaking his head in frustration, he decided to make a bolt for the police station. Taking in a few preparation breaths as if to hold his breath under water, he dashed from the doorway and down the street. Many puddles had formed, forcing him to jump over several. Passing cars splashed water over his ankles, and the rain hit his face fiercely as the wind joined forces. “Spring, my ass!” he struggled to say.

Arriving at the police station reception, he shook off some of the rain from his jacket and ran his hands through his hair, flicking droplets of water all over the carpet and walls. He walked up to the front desk. It was unmanned, so he rang the buzzer positioned at the side of a large glass separator. Waiting, he glanced around the room and wondered what the hell he was doing in a police station. He had only ever been in one once when his cell phone was stolen seven years earlier. He hated being there. But at least this time the reception area was empty. The last time he had to sit and wait, with what he would describe as scumbags, down-and-outs, and pissheads. Despite his only being there as a victim of crime, the place made him feel like a criminal. He got the same feeling passing through the metal detectors at the airport, even though he had nothing to hide.

An overweight police officer walked up to the desk and stood behind the glass. “Can I help you, sir?” the man asked, speaking through a small grid speaker at the center.

Butterflies formed in Richard’s stomach. He had completely forgotten to prepare what he was going to say. He couldn’t exactly be vague with the details like he was with the librarian. This was a police officer after all, a man of the law. He wouldn’t be able to give him the run-around. And what if Christina Long had been murdered, or just reported missing? How would he explain how he came across her name, without sounding completely insane? What if they suspected him of her murder? How would he be able to talk his way out of it?

Have I made a horrible mistake coming here?

“Yes sir, can I help you?” the officer repeated.

Richard snapped out of his train of worry. “Urrr, yes. I just need some information… for my wife.”

“All right. What’s the problem?”

“My wife’s friend from school hasn’t called her in a while and she’s getting very worried.”

The officer looked puzzled. “Okay. Has she gone over to her house to see if she’s all right?”

He hesitated for a moment, struggling to think of a quick answer. “She’s been travelling, so she won’t be at home. I just want… she just wants to know if she’s been reported missing. Or even dead. Just to put her mind at rest.” He leaned in close to the glass as if to talk more privately. “My wife suffers from a little paranoia. She can get worked up about trivial things. I’m sure her friend’s fine, but…”