Page 48 of Return Ticket

She blinked at the sight of the card, then gave a slow nod. “As far as I know, but he hasn’t been around much recently. I heard him last night through the walls, running a bath, but this one keeps me pretty busy, so I can’t remember when last I actually laid eyes on him.” She gently altered the baby’s position. “He in trouble, or something?”

“He filed a missing person’s report for a Hatty Clark, and we wanted to follow up with him about it. Do you know Hatty?” James asked.

“Hatty’s his wife. But he told me she’d left for the Midlands. To be with her mum. Said his mother-in-law was poorly, and Hatty had gone to look after her. That’s why it didn’t register so much, you see, not seeing him about. I thought he was eating down the pub most nights, with Hatty not there to make him his dinner.”

James looked down at the report and frowned. “All right, I’ll have to follow up another time. Unless you know where I might find him? Do you know where he works?”

“He’s in sales for soap and shampoo and such. For the big supermarkets. Gives me samples sometimes, which is much appreciated. I’m not sure where his office is, but his local is the King’s Arms, down the road. So if you want to catch him later, that’s most likely where he’ll be.” The baby made the cutest sound James had ever heard, stretched and yawned, and then opened impossibly blue eyes.

The woman smiled down at her child, and James felt a lift of the darkness that had clung to him since Pamela Moresby was identified by her father. He hadn’t even known how much it weighed on him until now.

“Thank you for your help. It’s much appreciated.” He left, looking over to where Hartridge was waiting at the car. “Any luck?” he asked as he joined him.

“Clark works in the City,” Hartridge said as he got into the driver’s side. “He’s a salesman. And the wife keeps the house, but the neighbor thought she was just away visiting her mum, not missing.”

“I heard the same story,” James said. “Also, he’s probably eating at the King’s Arms every evening, with his wife gone.”

“You think he made up the story about her mother because he thought she’d left him?” Hartridge asked.

James thought about it. “Possible. She disappears and he thinks she’s had enough, so he makes up a story to explain her absence. Too proud to tell the truth. Only to realize she didn’t take anything with her and she’s not with her mother or anyone else. So he files a report, but doesn’t update the neighbors.”

“Or he’s done away with her, and this is his way of covering his tracks.”

“Or he’s done away with her,” James agreed. Either way, they needed to speak to Larry Clark.

chaptertwenty

The pub was nice.

Gabriella didn’t have a wide experience with English pubs, but the King’s Arms was clean, had decent seating, and the noise was kept to a low murmur.

James returned to the table with a pint for himself and a shandy for her, and she wondered, as she took a sip, why she didn’t just ask for lemonade, because she didn’t like the beer half of the shandy. She only ordered it because it was what most women her age drank.

“Is the man you’re looking for here?” she asked.

James shook his head. “The publican hasn’t seen him tonight. But he says he’s usually in at least once a night, so we might as well have dinner here, and see if he arrives.”

He settled in opposite her. The booth they’d managed to get was cozy, the wooden back high, which gave the illusion of privacy. She studied his face.

He looked tired. And worried.

She knew he couldn’t tell her much about his work, but she wondered what was weighing on his mind so much.

“I’m sorry I can’t be off the clock. I really need to speak to this person.” James’s mouth formed a grim line. “I just missed you, and knew if I didn’t ask you to dinner, I wouldn’t see you tonight.”

“I missed you, too.” She hadn’t ever missed anyone who wasn’t a family member before. It was a strange feeling. “I have a lot to tell you, but let’s wait until after you’ve got your man.”

“What news?” He suddenly focused on her, leaning forward, hands reaching to hold her own.

“A lot,” she said, curling her fingers around his. Between her father, and Mr. Jaguar, and the dead woman in the skip, a lot had happened since she’d last seen him.

“Tell me.” He looked up at the bar and back at her.

She decided to go with the least personal of her news, and most likely the most relevant to his own work. “Did you hear about the woman found dead at that church in Kensington?” she asked. “I was walking past when the construction worker found her.”

He went utterly still. “What woman found dead at a church in Kensington?”

She leaned back, but kept her fingers around his own. “She was thrown into a rubbish skip. They’re redoing the church roof, and the worker was up a ladder, throwing down bricks, when he saw her.”

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