Disheartened, he frowned. “Oh, right.”
“But that doesn’t mean she’s not living here. Not everyone’s listed. She could be ex-directory.”
“Well that narrows it down,” he said, sarcastically. “What if she’s dead? How do I find out that information?”
Sliding the book back in its place, she shook her head. “Oh, we don’t have that type of information here.”
“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.