‘Yes, I understand that.’
‘And, unlike the police, my services aren’t free.’
‘Money isn’t a problem, Mr Craine. My husband and I have sufficient funds.’
‘Does your husband feel the same way as you? About hiring a private investigator, I mean?’
‘Yes, of course,’ she said, just a little too forcefully. ‘He’s as desperate to find Anna as I am.’
Yeah? I thought. So how come he’s not here?
‘All right,’ I said, removing a writing pad from the desk drawer. ‘Let me take a few basic details first, and then we’ll see about getting a contract drawn up. Is that OK?’
She smiled, the first genuine smile I’d seen from her, and reached into her handbag. ‘This is the most recent photograph I have of Anna,’ she said, passing me a 6" x 4" colour print. ‘It was taken about a year ago. You probably remember it from the newspaper reports.’
I thought it slightly odd that she just happened to have a photo of Anna in her handbag, even though she claimed that she was only in town to do some shopping … but I let that pass and concentrated on studying the photograph.
Helen was right, I did remember it from the newspaper reports. It was a posed picture, a head-and-shoulders shot, and it looked as if it’d been taken in a studio. Anna was trying to look sultry and mysterious — her head turned demurely over her shoulder, all pouting lips and come-to-bed eyes — and she seemed to be reclining on a red leather divan. There was nothing unprofessional or overly tacky about the photograph, it was simply that the intended effect just didn’t work. Anna was trying too hard, for a start, and although she was reasonably attractive — almond eyes, long black hair, a nice face, pretty mouth — there was something about her, something indefinable, that robbed her of any allure.
She looked hollow to me.
Haunted.
Used up.
‘She was a model,’ Mrs Gerrish said proudly. ‘Well … she was hoping to be a model. It’s what she always dreamed of.’
I nodded. ‘She didn’t make her living from it, then?’
‘No … it’s a very hard business to break into. And, of course, you have to make certain sacrifices if you’re really determined to make it.’
‘What kind of sacrifices?’
‘Modelling is the kind of work that requires you to be available all the time, just in case something suddenly turns up. So Anna was forever turning down excellent job opportunities because she didn’t want to tie herself down.’
‘I see … so where was she working when she disappeared?’
Mrs Gerrish hesitated. ‘Well, it was only a temporary post, a part-time catering position …’
I looked at her, my pen hovering over the pad. ‘I need the details, Mrs Gerrish.’
‘The Wyvern,’ she said quietly. ‘It’s a restaurant …’
I knew The Wyvern, and I knew that it wasn’t a restaurant. It was a pub. And a shit-hole pub at that. The only menu you were likely to be offered at The Wyvern was a menu of Class A drugs.
‘I don’t know the address, I’m afraid,’ Mrs Gerrish said. ‘But it’s — ’
‘It’s all right,’ I told her. ‘I know where it is. Was Anna living at home?’
‘No, she has her own little flat down near the docks. Do you want the address?’
‘Please.’
She gave me the address and I wrote it down.
I said, ‘Is it a rented flat?’
‘Yes.’
‘What’s happening with it at the moment? Is Anna’s stuff still there?’
Helen nodded. ‘The rent was due last week … we’ve paid it up for another month.’
‘Does Anna live on her own?’
‘Yes.’
‘She’s not married?’
‘No.’
‘Boyfriend?’
‘No …’
‘Are you sure?’
‘Anna would have told me if she had a boyfriend.’
‘What about old boyfriends?’
‘Well, yes, of course … she was always a very popular girl. I can’t think of any names offhand at the moment …’
‘Didn’t the police ask you for their names?’
‘Well, yes … but I told them I couldn’t remember. I think they got them from somewhere else.’
Somewhere else? I thought. What the fuck does that mean?
‘OK, Mrs Gerrish,’ I said. ‘I’ll need Anna’s phone numbers — landline and mobile, please.’
She gave me the numbers, I wrote them down.
‘Have you got any other recent photos of Anna?’ I asked. ‘Anything a bit more … natural?’
‘There’s a few more at home, I think. They’re not very recent — ’
‘OK, don’t worry, we’ll sort that out later. How about a key to her flat?’
‘The police have Anna’s keys, but I’ve got a spare at home.’
‘Well, I’d like to take a look round her flat as soon as possible. Could you drop the key off later?’
She looked slightly pained. ‘Well, it’s a bit difficult … you see, I don’t drive, and my husband has the car all day — ’
‘How about later on this evening?’
‘He’s working this evening.’
‘All right,’ I sighed. ‘Where do you live, Mrs Gerrish?’
‘Stangate Rise.’
I nodded. ‘How about if I drive out later on and pick up the key myself? Would that be OK?’
She hesitated again. ‘Well, yes … I suppose …’
I sighed to myself again. This was already beginning to feel like hard work.
‘Would six o’clock be convenient?’
‘Yes … six o’clock, that’s fine.’
‘Right. Perhaps it’d be best if we leave any more questions until then.’
‘Yes … yes, of course. Would you like my address — ?’
‘My secretary will take all your details before you go. Just one more thing … do you know the name of the officer in charge of the police investigation?’
‘Yes, it’s Detective Chief Inspector Bishop.’
I paused, momentarily taken aback. ‘Mick Bishop?’
‘Yes. Do you know him?’
‘My father …’ I began to say, but I had to stop to clear my throat. ‘My father knew DCI Bishop … they used to work together.’
‘Your father’s a policeman?’
‘He used to be.’
‘But not any more?’
‘No.’
She looked at me, waiting for me to go on, but after I’d stared back at her for a while, letting her know that I didn’t want to talk about it, she eventually got the message and reluctantly lowered her eyes.
‘I usually charge by the hour,’ I told her, clearing my throat again. ‘But I think it’s probably best in this case if we agree on a set rate for a limited period of time — say, three days — and then we’ll both see how it’s going and take it from there. How does that sound?’
‘Yes, thank you, Mr Craine. That’s perfectly acceptable.’
‘And we’ll need a retainer from you, if that’s all right.’
‘Of course. How much would you like?’
‘My secretary will detail our rates for you. If you’d like to go through to the main office, she’ll explain everything you need to know and draw up a contract.’
Mrs Gerrish got to her feet. ‘Well, thank you again, Mr Craine. Really … thank you very much.’
‘You’re welcome. I’ll see you at six o’clock.’
She smiled her humourless smile again, turned round, and started walking out. I watched her go. She was one of those women who scuffle across the ground with small, quick steps, barely lifting their feet, as if they’re somehow embarrassed about the process of walking.
I was just about to pick up the phone and call Ada to let her know what to put in the contract, when I heard the scuffling stop, and I looked up to see Mrs Gerrish peering back at me.
‘Would you mind if I asked you a personal question, Mr Craine?’
‘Not at all.’ I smiled at her. ‘I can’t promise to answer it, though.’
She didn’t return the smile. ‘Have you always lived in Hey?’
I nodded. ‘Most of my life. Why?’
‘Well, it’s just that … back in 1993, something terrible happened here. A young woman was murdered …’