‘He has no idea where she is,’ Kim said, ending the call. Tracy’s editor had not seen her again following their morning briefing.
‘You know, there are worse people he—’
‘Finish that sentence, Bryant, and you and I are gonna have problems.’
No person was any better or worse, more or less deserving than the next. In their job they couldn’t be. Tracy Frost was a pain in the backside, there was no doubt about that, and there had been times over the last few years Kim would have abducted the woman herself if she could have got away with it – but there was more to the reptilian reporter than she had originally believed. If Kim thought her colleague truly believed that Tracy deserved it he’d already be on his way home.
Bryant slowed as he passed QB Motorcycles. ‘Is that the one?’
‘Looks like it,’ Kim said, checking the number of the door.
He continued to the bottom of the hill and turned into a pub car park.
Kim noted that the white Audi was nowhere to be seen.
Bryant pulled up directly in front of the house.
‘Not what I expected,’ he observed.
She had to agree with him. The house was a tiny terrace squeezed between two others. Together, all three might have made a decent-sized property.
Tracy’s designer labels did not fit in a house like this.
She knocked on the door hard. Perhaps Tracy had the car in a garage somewhere.
She leaned down and lifted the letter box. The door led straight into a small reception room. Kim could see a television in the far corner. It was off and no other sound met her ears.
‘Jesus, guv, how do we even get around the back?’ Bryant asked, taking a step back and looking around.
He had a point. Tracy’s property was in the middle.
A movement to the right caught her eye. The corner of the net curtain covering next door’s window dropped back down.
Kim took two steps and knocked on the door. Perhaps they could get to the rear of the property via the back gardens.
The door was opened by a thin lad in his mid-teens. Gangly, milky legs protruded from multicoloured shorts covered with tropical birds. His concave upper half was uncovered.
‘Yeah,’ he said with the requisite attitude.
‘You know the woman next door?’ Kim asked, relieved she did not even have to try to raise any pleasantries.
He looked outside and glanced at the property as though he had no idea who she was talking about and had to be reminded there was a house next door.
‘Yeah, I know her. Blonde, high heels, nice pair of—’
‘Does she store her car anywhere else?’ Bryant asked quickly.
‘Yeah, in front of our house sometimes,’ he said and grinned.
Kim stared back.
He shook his head. ‘Nah, if she’s here, the car’s here.’
‘Can we get to her back garden through yours?’ Kim asked.
‘Pfftt… not a chance. We got a six-foot fence and spikes. Fucking cats.’
Damn. They’d need to try the house on the other side, which looked as empty as the one they were trying to access.
‘Me mum’s got a spare key,’ he said, reaching behind the door.
Her initial relief was replaced by dismay.
‘You don’t even know who we are,’ Bryant said for her. How easily he had offered the key to two total strangers. Very secure.
He looked them both up and down then laughed out loud as he handed Bryant the key. ‘Yeah, good one… Officer,’ he said, closing the door.
Kim shook her head as Bryant put the key in the lock.
She stepped into a room that had appeared larger through the letter box. A two-seater sofa claimed the length of one wall facing an old gas fire. A single armchair was placed diagonally to the television set and a striped rug almost covered the worn walkway on the carpet.
Two unused pillar candles sat at opposite ends of the fire surround. In the middle was a photo. Kim took a closer look and saw it was a young Tracy, probably seven or eight, sitting beside a woman on the beach. They wore matching sombreros made of foam. Kim was drawn to the smile on the child’s face. She didn’t know Tracy’s face could do that.
As Kim continued through the room her leg caught a pile of coupons teetering on the arm of the chair.
The only door out of the room led to a walkthrough that passed by the bottom of the stairs and then into the kitchen.
A roman blind was lowered halfway down the window above a stainless-steel sink that held a used juice glass.
An empty tin of smart-price beans peeped out of the pedal bin.
Bryant opened a cupboard door, revealing more value-branded grocery items.
A single sheet of paper was held on to the fridge door by a cupcake magnet.
‘Dentist appointment,’ Bryant said, taking a quick look.
There was little to learn Kim realised as she looked around, because there was very little here, full stop.
‘I’m going upstairs,’ she said, wondering if they would find any clues at all.
Bryant followed her. He was unusually quiet.
Kim took the door to her left and entered the front bedroom. Plain brown curtains were drawn halfway across the small window.
An e-reader and a bedside lamp occupied the only cabinet.
Kim stepped around the bed and opened the wardrobe. Hanging to the right were three designer trouser suits, one navy, one black and one cream. To the left were shelves holding tracksuit bottoms, sweatshirts and vest tops. Kim realised that she had never seen Tracy in a skirt.
Bryant bent down. ‘Look, guv,’ he said, picking up a high-heeled shoe. Inside was a plastic insert. As her gaze took in the identical shoes lined up in a row it was clear that every pair had its own insert.
Kim sat down on the edge of the bed and shook her head.
The sadness of the property had found a route to somewhere inside her.
‘I know I moan about the missus and stuff sometimes but bloody hell, you just don’t realise what you’ve got.’
Kim silently agreed. Her own home lacked many of the personal touches found in others but the wagging tail that greeted her more than made up for it.
It was clear that Tracy spent all her money on the bits people could see; the Tracy Frost that she presented to the world. The ‘home Frost’ was the polar opposite. For some inexplicable reason, it really bothered Kim.
‘And I take back what I said outside,’ Bryant said, as he closed the wardrobe door.
He didn’t need to elaborate. Kim knew exactly what he meant.
They had to get her back.
Sixty-Two
Isobel was chasing her tail. The effort of fighting off sleep was exhausting.
The day had been tiring and, although she had escaped the dense blackness, even the light was clouded by a deep fog.
Everything in the hospital was trying to trap her into sleep, but she didn’t want to close her eyes. The darkness lay waiting. She didn’t want to return to it.
The lights had been dimmed and the night staff walked with a lighter step. The rhythmic beating of a machine and a soft snore reached her from the bed opposite.
Everything was trying to guide her back to the darkness.
Even awake, her stomach was in turmoil. The anxiety swirled like a tornado inside her, reaching up to touch her heart and her lungs. Occasionally she would feel the urge for a sharp intake of breath to steady the turmoil inside. Now and again the odd palpitations in her chest caused a dizziness in her head. She was learning to focus her way through the fear. See past it. Get to the other side and let it pass rather than react to it.
The worst thing was that she didn’t know what she was afraid of. Except for, well, everything.
She was frightened she would never know who she was.
Only Duncan had made her feel safe. His reassuring smile and his gentle squeeze of her hand told her she wasn’t alone.
He had talked her through all of their dates. She had listened intently as he’d detailed their collision outside the coffee shop, trying to recognise herself in the picture, eager for any clue.