Presumed Dead (4 page)

The Pennine Hotel was on Market Street, the road that sliced Dawson’s Clough in two. A solid stone building, erected in 1865 according to the plaque above the entrance, it looked very grand indeed from the car park. Inside, it showed signs of wear. The carpets, once a rich blue, were threadbare in places, the lift creaked from old age, and several light bulbs needed replacing.

Dylan’s bedroom was freezing. A massive old radiator beneath the tall sash window was hot to the touch but was having no effect on such a large, high-ceilinged room.

The bathroom didn’t even have a radiator. A small brown stain in the wash basin, an ill-fitting toilet seat, a huge white bath, several thick towels, but no radiator.

He sat on the bed, then got up to drag a chair close to the radiator, and phoned the marital home, ready to reason with Bev.

“Mum’s gone out,” Luke thwarted those plans, “so Cathy’s stopping with me. We’re having a game on the Xbox.” He lowered his voice to a whisper. “She’s rubbish, Dad.”

“Girls are. So where’s your mum gone?”

“Dunno, but she changed her dress three times before she left. Must be important.”

A Monday should be a drink with the girls at one of their homes. She wouldn’t change dresses for that. She’d wear jeans, ready for an evening of chocolate, wine and gossip consumption.

“Perhaps she’s gone to the cinema with Lucy.” But she’d wear jeans for that, too.

“No,” Luke said. “Lucy just phoned.”

“Oh.”

“Will you be back for the match on Saturday?” Luke clearly had more pressing things on his mind.

“I will. Tell your mum I’ll call round about eleven.”

“Great.”

With his son happy, Dylan pushed all thoughts of his wife’s date from his mind. Besides, it wouldn’t be a date. She was probably going to a school function. Bev would be missing him as much as he was missing her. She’d soon come round. She always did.

He tapped in another number.

“Dylan?” Holly Champion answered on the third ring.

“The very same. I’ve nothing to tell you, I’m afraid, but I’m about to have dinner with Yvonne Yates. She’s on your list, but I wondered what you remembered about her.”

“I remember her well, probably better than any of Mum’s friends. She used to dote on me, and was always buying me presents. Mum said it was because she hadn’t any children of her own. She thought Yvonne was lonely. I quite liked her, probably because she made me laugh. She used to get drunk and fall over a lot. That’s funny when you’re a kid.”

Dylan hoped she wouldn’t fall over this evening. “Anything else?”

“Not really. She was always smartly dressed. She worked at the local estate agent’s, so I suppose she had to be because she used to show people around the expensive houses. Her husband, Ken, was always chatting up Mum. Sorry, but I can’t think of anything else.”

“Right. Okay. If I learn anything, I’ll be in touch.” He had to ask. “Are you still sure you want to go ahead with this?”

“Of course.”

“Right.”

“Do you have a clean shirt for your dinner date?” she asked, and, forced to smile, he looked down at a small stain on the pocket.

“I’ll buy a couple tomorrow…”

Dylan left his room and went downstairs to the bar. It was much warmer there, thanks to heavy velvet curtains that shut out the night and a pile of logs blazing in a cavernous fireplace. A few leather armchairs were arranged around the fire, but Dylan sat at the opposite end of the room on a stool by the bar.

Half an hour later, his pint of beer almost finished, he saw a brunette walk in, look at those present and wander toward him.

“Mr. Scott?” she asked.

“Dylan.” He offered his hand. “And you’ll be Yvonne. Thanks so much for coming. Now, what can I get you to drink?”

“A vodka, please. Vodka and tonic.” She sat on the stool next to his and put a small black handbag on the bar. “I feel as if I’m here under false pretences. There’s nothing I can tell you about Anita. She just vanished, you see.”

“So I gather.” The barman put their drinks in front of them. “The thing is, I really need to find her, and I’m hoping you might remember something—anything—that could help.” He chinked his glass against hers. “Cheers.”

Slim but shapely, Yvonne Yates was an attractive woman. She would have been even more appealing if she hadn’t looked so stressed.

“In any case—” he remembered his manners as well as his need for information, “—it’s a rare treat for me to have such an attractive dinner companion.”

While he offered a silent apology to Bev, Yvonne’s eyes, dark and green, sparkled at the compliment.

“Are you married?”

“Separated.” Thanks to Bev’s latest strop, that was technically accurate. “You?”

“Divorced.” She couldn’t quite meet his gaze. “It was finalised last month.”

“Ouch. I’m sorry about that.”

“It isn’t the end of the world, is it?”

Gaunt, weary-eyed and tense, she looked exactly like her world had ended.

“Of course not. His loss is another man’s gain. But let’s not talk of marital problems. Are you hungry or would you like another drink first?”

She downed her vodka and put the glass on the bar. “Let’s have one more, shall we?”

Dylan needed to watch her. Unless he was mistaken, that hadn’t been her first drink of the day and, with her senses blurred by alcohol, her memory would be worse than useless. Anyone would struggle to remember the events of thirteen years ago. Drunk, it would be almost impossible.

She grabbed her drink from the barman and Dylan decided it was time for business.

“Let me tell you why I’m here. As I said, it’s a little embarrassing. About fourteen years ago, I was a salesman covering this part of the country. I used to call at your friend Sandra’s, to get my hair cut. Anita Champion used to do it and we fell into conversation. I was away from home and—” He shrugged in a man-of-the-world way. “One thing led to another and we had a brief fling. I was twenty-four and she was almost thirty. I thought it was serious.” Another near-perfect man-of-the-world shrug. “Fool that I was, I gave her a ring that had belonged to my mother. An antique emerald. My father wants it back and—well, the truth is, I’m in deep shit. I need to find Anita Champion or her daughter.”

She’d listened without commenting or showing any surprise whatsoever. Dylan assumed Sandra Butler had already spoken to her.

“I wish I could help,” she said, “but I can’t. I’ve no idea where she went.”

“That evening, the night she went missing. Could you tell me about that?”

She nodded. “Me, Maggie and Brenda met her in the Commercial, the pub round the corner from her flat. She lived above Sandra’s hairdressing salon then. We had a couple of drinks there and then went on to the Oasis. That was a club on Pennine Way, but it closed down about ten years ago.”

“How did you get there?”

“Sorry?”

Dylan guessed her speech had been rehearsed and his question had thrown her.

“Did you walk? Catch a bus? Take a taxi?”

She frowned at the seemingly pointless question. “We walked. Why?”

“I’m just trying to picture it. And how did Anita seem?”

“Fine. The same as usual. Laughing, happy, out for a good time.”

“And when you arrived at the club?”

“We split up. You know how it is. A chap asks one of you to dance—you meet up with someone you know and have a chat with them. I saw Anita dancing with one man. Then, the next time I saw her, she was dancing with another. That was it. I didn’t see her again.”

The barman interrupted them. Their table was ready.

When they’d settled in the dining room, studied the menu and placed their order, Dylan came back to the point of the evening. “The men Anita was dancing with that night—did you know them?”

“No.”

“Did she seem happy to be with them?”

“Of course. That was why she went out. To flirt. Us three went out for a few laughs. Anita went to get a bloke or two.”

Such bitterness, Dylan thought, surprised.

Their soup arrived and he concentrated on small talk for a while. He chatted about the area, complimented her on her appearance, told her she must have been much younger than Anita, which pleased her immensely, and watched her slowly relax. She still picked at her food, but she did relax slightly.

“More wine?”

Giggling, she wagged a finger at him. “You’ll get me tipsy.”

She was already tipsy.

“We’re both consenting adults.” He winked at her.

Eventually, he managed to steer the conversation back to important matters. “What did you think when Anita vanished?”

She looked at him blankly.

“Presumably, you had all planned to get a taxi home at the end of the evening? You must have been—annoyed, I suppose, that she didn’t tell you where she was going?”

She thought for a moment. “It was nothing out of the ordinary. Men were like moths to a flame where she was concerned and she was—well, no offence, but she’d sleep with anyone.”

“None taken,” he said. “I’ve come to realise that. She was a right slapper, wasn’t she?”

“She was.” She warmed to her theme now. “Everyone knew what she was like. Good God, she even slept with—” She broke off and took a huge gulp of wine.

“She even slept with?” Dylan asked.

“Anyone. Young, old—she didn’t care.”

Which wasn’t even close to what she’d been about to say. “I remember she was talking about—oh, what’s his name?—a big noise—club owner down in London.”

“I’ve no idea.” She seemed genuinely puzzled.

“Oh, it’ll come to me. He was a wealthy bloke. Ah, Terry Armstrong. That was his name”

“The property owner?”

“Could be.” He could be into anything.

“I know him. Well, know of him,” she said, “but Anita didn’t have anything to do with him. There’s no way she could have known him because he wasn’t around back then. He moved up here from south somewhere.”

So Terry Armstrong was living in Lancashire. Well, well.

“Perhaps it was my mistake,” Dylan said. “Or perhaps it was wishful thinking on her part. Let’s face it, if she was out for all she could get, he’d got a lot.”

“Someone like him wouldn’t have looked twice at her.”

Ah, but he had. Dylan had the photograph to prove it.

“And as I said,” she added, “he only moved up here six or seven years ago. She couldn’t possibly have known him.”

“Perhaps I’m wrong. Forget I mentioned him. Tell me what the rest of you did that night. Did you take a taxi home and assume she’d turn up the next day?”

“Yes. Well, I wasn’t feeling well so I went home before the others.”

“Oh?”

“I’d had too much to drink,” she said. “I told Maggie and Brenda I was going, and they both waited outside with me till the taxi arrived.”

“I see.” Dylan was still wondering what had brought Terry Armstrong to Lancashire. “Would Anita have gone off with a stranger? After all, she had a young daughter waiting at home for her, didn’t she?”

“Holly, yes.” Her face softened. “Poor kid. Anita didn’t deserve her.”

“You got on well with her daughter?”

“I liked her, yes. But I do get on well with children. I always have.”

“Do you have—?”

“No.” Another gulp of wine. “No, I couldn’t have any of my own.”

“Ah, I’m sorry.” Was that the cause of her bitterness?

“You learn to live with it. Do you have any?”

“A boy,” he replied. “Luke. He’s eleven going on thirty. He’s a good kid. The best.”

“Like I said, Anita thought of no one but herself. No one was surprised that she went off.” She smiled another of those pinched little smiles. “I’d love to help, really, but I’ve no idea where she went or who she went with.”

Dylan resorted to socialising for the remainder of the meal. Small talk wasn’t his forte, but he knew he had to make an effort. While they lingered over a second coffee, he decided that, as he’d bought her dinner—at least, Holly Champion had bought her dinner—complimented her and flirted with her, he was owed some information.

“I’m sorry to have to drag all this up after so long,” he said. “It can’t be pleasant for you, and I’m sure you were questioned for weeks by the police.”

“They asked a few questions, yes.”

But not enough. “I bet they did. They always do, don’t they? When there’s a child involved, I mean.”

She nodded, but didn’t comment.

“What did they ask you about?”

“The same as you’ve asked about, really. They just wanted to know what had happened that night. We couldn’t tell them anything, though, could we? I mean, we don’t know.” She glanced at her watch. “It’s time I called a taxi.”

“I’ll get the barman to do it,” Dylan said. “Look, I know I’m being a damn nuisance, and I know it’s unlikely anyone can help, but—well, I’m pretty desperate. Do you have phone numbers or addresses for your friends Maggie and Brenda?”

She looked at him, considering, then, with a hint of defiance in her voice, said, “Sure.”

She took a black diary from her bag, tore a page from the back, then looked through the A-Z sections for the two addresses. “Sorry, but I don’t have phone numbers for either of them. Just addresses. And for all I know, they might have moved. We don’t keep in touch.”

“That’s okay.”

Ten minutes later Dylan stood outside the hotel in the biting cold, waving her off. She’d promised to keep his phone number and call him if she thought of anything else, but Dylan knew he wouldn’t hear from her again.

So that was that. He had nothing to tell Holly Champion, nothing at all. Except for the fact that Yvonne Yates knew more than she was saying.

Pandemonium always ruled when Maggie donned her coat and boots. She didn’t even have to reach for the leash before Tess, her bouncy, two-year-old golden retriever, began yapping like a lapdog and leaping around as if she were on springs.

This morning, with the doorbell chiming at the exact moment she reached for the leash, the dog almost went into orbit.

“For God’s sake, Tess!”

Maggie tried to open the door to the porch without letting Tess out, but the animal was having none of it. A spider plant went flying from the table, and compost scattered everywhere.

She’d chosen a retriever because everyone agreed they were calm, sensible, reliable dogs. What had clinched it perhaps had been seeing blind people guided along the streets by gentle retrievers who didn’t put a paw wrong. Despite attending training classes at the town hall, Tess was still liable to head into the path of oncoming buses.

Maggie yanked open the front door and Tess, deaf to all commands, launched herself at the stranger. Her paws almost reached his shoulders as she tried to lick his face.

“Tess, get down. Now!” Maggie yanked her back by the scruff of her neck.

“Sorry about that,” she said, although if this man was trying to sell her something, it served him right.

“No problem.” He brushed hairs from his jacket as if being molested by dogs was an everyday occurrence. “Mrs. Waters, is it? Maggie Waters?”

“It used to be. I’m Maggie Gibson now. Tess, get down! Down!”

Tess finally contented herself with weaving between their legs, her tail wagging with the sheer joy of the moment.

“My name’s Dylan Scott. I spoke to Yvonne Yates last night and she gave me your address.”

“Oh?”

There had been a time when Yvonne and Maggie had been friends but, now, even the birthday and Christmas cards had fizzled out. They might bump into each other in town a couple of times a year and go through the “Lovely to see you” and “We must get together sometime” routines, but that was all.

“Yes,” he said, “I’m trying to find Anita Champion or—”

Maggie felt every last drop of blood drain to her feet. She was aware of his voice, as if coming from a great distance, but she couldn’t take in a word.

Anita Champion. She hadn’t heard that name for years. Didn’t want to, either.

She bent to grab Tess’s collar and fasten the leash, more in an attempt to hide her shock than anything else.

“Hasn’t she told you I’d be in touch?” he was asking.

“Anita?”

“Er, no. Mrs. Yates. Yvonne.”

“No.” How could she, the bitch? How could she give this stranger her address? “No, she didn’t. We don’t keep in touch.”

She had to get rid of him. No way was she going to relive—

“Who are you?” she asked.

He didn’t look like a police officer, but you couldn’t tell. These days, all coppers, teachers and doctors looked young and scruffy. Not that this man looked either. She’d put him at late thirties. His clothes were good quality if a little crumpled. But if he was a policeman—

It didn’t matter who he was. She didn’t want to speak to him or anyone else about Anita Champion.

“I’m sorry but, as you can see, I’m on my way out.” She checked Tess’s leash. “I’m sorry you’ve had a wasted journey.” That must be his car. An old yellow sports car.

“I’ll walk with you,” he said, much to her disgust. “Perhaps we can talk as we walk?”

Maggie didn’t know what to do. What
could
she do? She couldn’t forcibly throw him from her path. Nor could she refuse to speak to him.

With fingers that shook, she locked the front door and shoved her hands in her pockets. It was sunny, but the wind still carried that icy chill with it. She was glad of it, though. Glad of the chance to take in huge gulps of air.

“Who are you?”

“Dylan Scott.” He fell into step beside her. “Years ago, about fourteen, I knew Anita Champion. We had a bit of an—well, a fling, I suppose you’d call it.”

Was there a man who hadn’t?

“The thing is, I was a stupid young fool, and I gave her a ring. An antique emerald. It had belonged to my mother and wasn’t mine to give away.” He rubbed his hands briskly in front of him. “But I thought it was going to be marriage, kids, the works.”

Funny, but he didn’t look that foolish. Still, youth was a dangerous thing. Few people knew that better than Maggie did. At eighteen, she’d married Dave and imagined her life would be one long romance.

“I need to find Anita or her daughter,” he said. “As I mentioned, I saw Yvonne Yates last night and, although she told me all about the night Anita went missing—”

“Then I hope she told you I wanted no part in it.”

He stopped mid-stride and Maggie cursed her quick tongue.

“Tess, heel!” She gave the leash a sharp tug.

“No part in what?”

Now what did she say? “What did Yvonne tell you?”

“Just that the four of you went out for the evening, that you split up at Oasis, and that none of you saw Anita again.”

“That’s true enough.”

“So what was it you wanted no part in?”

“Oh, the evening, that’s all.” They reached the park gates and she bent to free Tess from her leash. “I didn’t want to go out that night. They were heavy drinkers and I wasn’t. That’s all.”

Although his hands were deep in his coat pockets now, he didn’t seem to mind the cold wind or the drizzle that had started.

“I see,” was all he said.

Tess was running free, oblivious to anything other than the park’s scents and the wind-blown leaves. The dog would be expecting to spend an hour here, maybe more. Usually, Maggie enjoyed the woodland walks and the sculpture trails, but today she strode on, wanting this ordeal over.

“Do you still keep in touch?” He broke the silence. “With the other women, I mean?”

“No.”

They had for a while, but whenever they’d got together, talk had invariably turned to Anita. It hardly made for fun times.

“Did you get on well with Anita?” he asked.

“Yes. Yes, I suppose so. I had nothing against her.”

“What about her daughter?”

“Holly? Oh, I liked her. Animal mad, she was. Longed for a pony, or even a dog or a cat. But that was out of the question, of course.”

“Because of Anita’s work?”

“There was that. Holly had school, too. She was a bright kid and into every activity going, so it would have been left to Anita to look after. But it was the money mainly. Anita lived from day to day. If she worked more hours or got more tips, she spent it all. It never occurred to her to save something for a rainy day.”

“Did she have serious financial problems, do you know? Big debts? Someone chasing her for money?”

“Not that I know of, but it wouldn’t surprise me.”

“Can you think back,” he said, “to anything Anita might have mentioned? A man who was special? A place she longed to go? Family and friends she was close to?”

“No.” The reply was too abrupt, but she couldn’t help herself. She wanted to forget Anita Champion. She wished the woman had never existed. “There was no one special.” She knew she had to tell him something. “As for family, there was only her married sister. Joan or Joyce, something like that. Young Holly went and lived with her when—when it became obvious that her mum wasn’t coming back.”

Maggie began to relax a little. She’d told the truth, and she could talk about Anita. It was in the past. Almost forgotten. Life had moved on.

Back then, she’d been a twenty-six-year-old who had dreaded going home to a husband who would shower her with kisses or punches depending on his mood. Or, more accurately, depending on his alcohol consumption. She had escaped all that. The divorce had come through five years ago, almost to the day.

Last year, she’d married Ron, a gentle, caring, steady and reliable man. That made him sound boring, but he wasn’t. There was a difference between steady and boring. He had a good job, leaving her free to work four mornings a week at the rescue centre. Ron had his two boys, but they were polite adults and made no demands on them. Maggie had Tess. Life was good. It was uncomplicated.

“And no one’s mentioned her since?” Dylan Scott asked.

“No. Well, the police got involved for a while afterwards, but that was all.”

“No one came looking for her?”

“No. Not until now. You.”

It was the truth. Today was the first time in over twelve years that she’d heard Anita’s name mentioned by anyone other than Yvonne, Brenda or Sandra. And that was fine by Maggie.

Her first instinct on seeing Dylan Scott had been to look up Yvonne’s phone number, assuming she hadn’t moved, and give her what for. It was a damn cheek giving her address to strangers. What did it matter, though? No harm had been done and she had no wish to speak to Yvonne.

They were soon exiting the park and heading for home. Maggie couldn’t get there quickly enough and was relieved when they turned into her road.

She stopped by his car and offered a regretful smile “I’m sorry I haven’t been able to help.”

“Not at all. You’ve been very helpful.” He reached into his pocket and wrote his name and mobile number on a page he tore from a notebook. “If you hear anything, or think of anything else, will you call me?”

“Yes, of course I will. Well, goodbye, Mr. Scott.” She left him standing by his car.

Taking her keys from her pocket, she strode up to her front door. She turned, smiled, waved, and then let herself inside.

Damn. She’d forgotten the mess from that spider plant. It would have to wait a few minutes.

With Tess unclipped from her leash, and with her own coat and boots removed, Maggie went to the kitchen, tore that scrap of paper into tiny pieces and dropped them in the bin.