“Not necessarily,” I say, unable to stop my eyes from straying to Sophia’s photo album on my desk, the one containing multiple images of her previous incarnation as a skinny brunette. “Not when a raven-haired beauty is standing before me, one with a heart big enough to buy me lunch.”
Fiona is working hard to stifle a smile. I must still be on the good books of the head of computing services, although I shouldn’t be encouraging her too much. And I should write these facts down in my diary tonight: It’s time for me to stop flirting with my colleagues, even if they have lovely eyes and mesmerizing leopard-print trousers. Because this is dangerous. Especially as I’m still hoping to be promoted to detective superintendent before the age of forty-five, which would be an unparalleled achievement for a Mono like me.
Brain recharged by bacon, I hurry down to the room in the basement where our old case-file reports are stored. Although no one knows how many folders are languishing there, I reckon there must be at least ten thousand. Fact: Digitization costs money, and the constabulary suffers from perpetual budget cuts. These musty old folders will still be plaguing the basement when I retire.
The cavernous room smells of mildew and dampness; I wrinkle my nose as I rush to the far end. I turn the wheel at the end of the row of shelves, causing them to rumble along the rails on the floor. Within thirty seconds or so, I’ve opened up a gap between two adjoining rows labeled “W–X” and “Y–Z.” I sprint down the newly emerged space between the shelves, scanning them for the relevant drawer. I yank out the compartment marked “Wi–Wo” before rummaging through the folders inside. To my delight, I see a folder marked “Winchester, Anna May,” sandwiched between “Winch, Harry” and “Windall, Bertrand.”
I open the folder to discover a report at the top:
FAO: DETECTIVE CHIEF SUPERINTENDENT GEOFFREY MONAGHAN
INTERVIEW WITH WINCHESTER, ANNA MAY
(Missing Person Serial No. 14745)
9 July 1995
I conducted an interview with Anna May Winchester (of 288 Brook Lane, Coton) on 9 July 1995, at Addenbrooke’s Hospital. She was reported to have gone missing for a period of nineteen days (12 June to 1 July 1995).
My notes say that my first attempt at interviewing Miss Winchester, on 2 July 1995, was unsuccessful. She shook her head and refused to explain what had happened to her. She also yelled at me to leave. Her doctor bundled me out of the room and told me to return the following week, saying that Miss Winchester’s stress levels were still abnormally high. I shouldn’t delay her recovery by making her more agitated, he said. I therefore returned a week later to conduct another interview. It lasted ten minutes; although she was more lucid the second time, she remained just as reluctant to describe her experiences. I did, however, receive a verbal assurance from Miss Winchester that she was not robbed, kidnapped, assaulted, raped, or held against her will.
As Miss Winchester has expressed a clear preference for keeping her location and experiences during those nineteen days “a secret,” we are obliged to respect her wishes. She is an adult, and her doctors have not yet issued a formal diagnosis of mental illness. My sense, however, is that Miss Winchester suffers from a severe psychiatric disorder, which probably accounts for her disappearance. Her answers, though coherent, made little sense to my ears. I have already drafted a letter to her doctors at Addenbrooke’s raising my concerns about her mental condition.
After subsequent consultation with DI Simon Harris, we have decided to close the Winchester case.
DC Hans Richardson
10 July 1995
I shake my head with a groan. I didn’t realize that I was in the habit of writing such pompous-sounding reports during my DC days.
I flip through the other yellowing papers in the pile, the ones documenting the investigation I’d conducted all those years ago. I groan again when I reach Anna’s photograph. Her image is barely discernible; the contours of her face have been reduced to faint spectral outlines. The Polaroid must have discolored over the years because of the persistent dampness in the basement. All I can see of the ghostly Anna is that she has a thin face and long hair that flows to her shoulders.
Setting the faded Polaroid aside, I speed-read through the papers in front of me. Before long, I have reacquainted myself with some key facts about the Winchester case:
Anna was white, stood around five feet seven inches tall, and had an extremely slim figure. Her eyes and hair were dark brown. These details were released to the press.
Her Duo housemate, Mary Elise Saunders, was the last person to see Anna on 12 June 1995. Anna had moved into Saunders’s spare room two days after her father remarried, in October of 1994. At around 19:15, Mary Elise passed by Anna’s room and saw her applying gloss to her lips. By then, Anna had already donned an ankle-length peach ball gown and a pair of elbow-length white gloves.
A search of Anna’s room had revealed nothing suspicious. Anna’s father and friends were adamant that her behavior had been entirely normal.
Her Duo classmate Laura Patterson stated that Anna had promised to meet her at the Trinity Bridge at 22:45 so they could watch the fireworks together, but never turned up.
Anna did not appear to have a regular boyfriend, although Laura said she went out on frequent dates with boys from the university.
Anna’s sodden Chanel handbag, spotted by Peterhouse rowers in the river near the Fort St. George pub on 17 June 1995, contained her Trinity May Ball ticket (which bore her name), a mascara wand, a tube of pink lip gloss, and a powder compact. Although these details were not released to the press, her handbag also contained her diary and a pregnancy-testing kit. The ink on her diary had washed off in the river, making it impossible to decipher its contents. I’d sent the diary off for an expert analysis of pen impression marks; the report was still pending when Anna reappeared.
Unfortunately, I’m unable to spot any connections between Anna May Winchester and Claire Evans. So why did Claire come to Parkside to ask me about Anna? And why did she look so relieved when I said that we found the girl nineteen days later?
I scan through the contents of the folder again, but a link between the two women remains frustratingly elusive. This diversion into the antediluvian affairs of the once-missing Anna May Winchester may well be a colossal waste of time. Perhaps Claire was telling the truth: she was interested in the Winchester case simply because it coincided with the twelve days of factual oblivion in her head.
I ought to get back to Sophia Ayling. Especially as I hope to pin down her murderer before the end of the day.
I’m on the verge of slamming the Winchester folder shut when I notice some minuscule letters and numbers. They are scrawled in pencil at the bottom right-hand corner of the uppermost report:
ITR007
Fact: I’d invented a crude code for my own reference soon after I joined the force. The code tells me that I must have retained something related to the Winchester investigation in the locked bottom drawer of my office. An item with a small sticker bearing the number 7.