“Why did you take her on?”
“She offered to work a few nights for free, to prove what a hard worker she was. One of the waitresses had quit so I said sure. I didn’t regret it. Jessica was one of the best employees I’ve ever had, especially for a kid so young. She had a determination in her that you don’t see in the younger staff. I get a lot of staff come and go, but you don’t forget someone like that.”
I nod. This sounded like Jess. “Was she happy working there?”
“Happy enough. Waitressing isn’t anyone’s dream job, but she made some friends with the staff and a few of the college kids who were around her age. She dated one for a while but it ended badly.”
“Ended badly how?” Jealousy crushes tight around my windpipe and I have to force myself to concentrate on Kyle’s words.
“I don’t know the details. She came in really upset one day—all shaky and unable to concentrate. I tried to send her home—she was living in a hostel at the time I think after the boyfriend kicked her out—but she said she wanted to work. By the time we closed that night she was a wreck. I’d been working the bar while she worked the restaurant and I didn’t get much of a chance to check on her.” He sighs. “I wish I had. Maybe I could have found out what went on. I did ask her—and the staff—but no one would tell me anything. I asked her if she was all right before she left for the night, she said she was fine, said she’d see me tomorrow and that was that. I never saw her again. No one knew where she was and her ex-boyfriend told me he was glad she was gone. Jackass.”
“Do you know this ex-boyfriend’s name, or any of her friend’s names?”
“Not sure about the other’s but he was Peter—Pete usually—Marshall. He actually comes in here sometimes. Works in marketing now, over at Selby’s Insurance in the industrial estate. Thinks he’s some kind of hotshot. He doesn’t cause any trouble but he always some in with a different girl on his arm and comes onto all the female bar staff.”
I hate him already. “Thanks. I’ll see if I can talk to him.” I slide a card out my jacket and pass it over. “Will you let me know if you think of anything else that could help?”
“Of course.” I stand and Kyle follows suit. “Mr O’Reilly, can you tell me if you’ve got a lead on her?”
“I think I have.”
“And she’s okay?”
“I don’t know yet.”
“If you get the chance or if you talk to her, tell her to get in touch. I’d like to know she’s safe.”
I nod. “Thanks, Mr Harris.”
He shows me out and I avoid Bella and her offer of a drink. Pausing outside, I rub a hand over my rough jaw. What happened to make her pack in a job and move to London? Was she moving to escape heartbreak? Did this Pete hurt her? I need to get a grip on my emotions or I can see me ploughing a fist into his face before I even get the chance of asking any questions, and he’s my one lead. I can’t afford to fuck this up.
Tension and nerves eat into me. I’m not sure I want the truth. What if I’m digging up stuff that’s going to make her life worse? I already witnessed one of her nightmares. I swipe my hand through my hair and clasp the back of my neck. That gut feeling that these things are better off buried is biting into my conscience.
I grab my bike out of the club car park and sit on it for a moment, feeling the engine thrum underneath me. Twisting my hands on the handles, I draw in a breath. What other choice do I have? Lose the house? Lose the business? I refuse to be a useless bum like my father. He barely contributed when he was alive—preferring alcohol and get rich quick schemes to hard work and his family. Him leaving was a blessing and a curse. My mother finally got on her feet but it took years and years of working two jobs. The woman was selfless and that damned house is a testament to that. How the hell can I give up my one chance to save the home she loved?
Dammit. Driving out the car park, I head up to the industrial estate. The building is easy enough to spot with its big signage outside. I find a spot to park, turn off the engine and unclip my helmet, tucking it under my arm. I push through the door and pause at reception.
A harassed looking woman eyes me. “Deliveries that way,” she points to the right.
“I’m looking for Peter Marshall.”
“Is he expecting you?”
“No.” I don’t even try to be charming. She looks too no-nonsense and I’m too fucking antsy.
“Give me a second.” She sighs as the phone rings and she answers it, plastering on artificial sweet tone.
I rest against the desk, leaning deliberately in so she doesn’t forget me while I wait. When she’s finished, she offers me a weak smile and jabs the phone.
“Peter? There’s some here to see you. No, I don’t know—” She glances at me. “What’s your name?”
“Hunter O’Reilly. Tell him I’m here about Jessica Callahan.”