Page 29 of Don't Say A Word

“What part of ‘fuck off’ did you not understand? Was it the ‘fuck’ or the ‘off’?”

I hold up my hands. “Whoa there, young lady, I’m just trying to do my job.”

“Fuck. Off.” She steps toward me, repeating the words like a broken record. “Fuck. Off. Fuck. Off.”

Clearly she does not share Mia’s innocence. Her eyes are daggers. Her hands are clenched fists at her sides.

“I’m leaving.” I walk back toward my car as she knocks on the door, throwing glances at me over her shoulder.

“Abigail, you in there? It’s just me, Roxy. Let me in.” The door opens a few moments later and Roxy slips inside.

I only catch a glimpse of Mia’s mum, but she doesn’t look well. Her skin is pale, and her eyes are sunken into her head as though she hasn’t slept in years.

I decide not to go back to the stables straight away and head to visit the bar where Mia was taken. It’s a quiet local bar, nothing fancy. In fact, it’s in need of a good refurb. The paper is falling from the walls in places, something on the floor sticks to the soles of my shoes, and even the dart board needs replacing. There’s only a couple of people here, both sitting at the slot machines, pulling on the levers time and time again and sipping on what I assume are pints of beer.

“Beer,” I say and sit on one of the barstools. I don’t specify a brand or a type. I don’t care. It’s the owner who serves me, I know this from Mia’s file. It was stupidly thorough. He rips the cap off the bottle and places it on the bar before me. Condensation covers the green glass and I bring it to my lips, a sigh escaping as the cool liquid slips down my throat.

“You visiting?” The man behind the bar picks up a cloth and wipes the bench, even though it is already clean, unlike the floor. I suppose he will know everyone in town. He knows I’m not a local.

“Just here for a few days,” I reply, taking another gulp.

A rugby game is playing on the TV in the corner and I twist my attention to it.

“We don’t get many visitors. Not a lot going on to draw them in, you know? You visiting family or something?”

He’s suspicious, wary of strangers. I guess I would be too if someone I knew had vanished into thin air right under my nose. I decide to use the same ruse I did with Roxy.

“Reporter.”

The man shakes his head. “No comment.”

I lift the bottle. “I just came for the beer.”

“Good. I barely knew the girl.”

I take another gulp, nodding my head. “And I suppose you’ve been inundated with people asking questions.”

“Reporters. Police.” He starts unloading the dishwasher behind the bar. “But it’s the locals in here that are the worst. Gossip.” He shakes his head, stopping midway between the bar and the shelf, glass in hand. “It’s non-stop. Everyone knew her. Every now and again she would sing here, but only when someone pressured her to. She had the voice of an angel.”

I lift my eyebrows, feigning the impression that this information was new to me. “Did you notice anyone hanging around or anything suspicious?” I hope it sounds like something a reporter would ask. Even though his first response was no comment, he seems keen to talk.

“If I did, I would have told the police, not some nosy reporter with nothing better to do other than sit in a bar and drink all afternoon.”

I pushed too quickly, so I hold up my hand as some sort of an apology and order a whiskey instead, throwing it down my throat recklessly. I don’t drink often, but when I do, I do it well. Another and another go down my throat until I can feel the numbing heat of the alcohol spreading through my head. I don’t ask the man behind the bar any more questions, but I can tell he still wants to talk. He keeps starting to say something, then stops himself. I pretend not to notice. He’s the sort of man who will only speak if he thinks it’s not expected of him. Finally, he walks over, leaning his elbows on the bar.

“There was this guy who came in one night and he seemed transfixed with her. He was dressed all in black and just leaned against the bar for most of the night. It was a little odd, but I thought nothing of it at the time. He seemed harmless enough. And it was a few weeks before she went missing.”

It was the perfect way to describe Junior. Seemed harmless. But it’s the ‘seemed’ part that applied to him, not the ‘harmless’.

“Did you tell the police?”

“Of course I did. Gave them footage of him too.” He points up at an old camera in the corner above the bar.

“It works?”

“Of course it works. I wouldn’t have it there if it didn’t.”

For some reason I don’t believe him. Instead, I order another whiskey or two, chuck them down my throat and get to my feet. After paying the bill, I thank the man and stumble out. It’s only when I slide behind the wheel that it occurs to me I shouldn’t be driving. So I allow myself to slouch onto the bench seat of the truck and sleep it off.

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