The Sister (53 page)

"Do you know
why
she ran away?" Miller asked.

"Well, you see," Eileen bit her lower lip thoughtfully, "Eilise found out she was adopted."

"So that was why she ran away?"

"It's more complicated than that."

"I thought it might be."

"How come?"

"That photograph of you all reveals a lot of secrets."

She became defensive. "Oh,
really
is that a fact?" She was an attractive woman, but played it down. In the photograph, she wore no make up at all.

"Eileen, I'm here to help, but to do that I need your co-operation."

"Mr Miller, I telephoned DCI Kennedy while I was making tea. He wasn't there, but Inspector Tanner tells me that you've quite a reputation in the private sector for finding missing people."

"That's right, but what he couldn't tell you - because I like to keep this side of things confidential - is that I wouldn't be here if your daughter were dead. You will ask me how I know, and I'll tell you I'm not sure, but the fact is I don't look for dead people."

She regarded him with suspicion, "Do you really think you can find her, Miller?"

"I believe so, but first I'll need some help from you, Eileen. You were telling me she ran away the first time because she found out she was adopted, and there was something else?"

"No, she found out she was adopted, and that's all."

A period of silence ensued. She sat shoulders slumped, her eyes darting nervously about the room. Unable to look at him directly for more than a second, she fidgeted with her fingers, revealing a white ring of untanned skin where her wedding ring had once been.

"Do you want to talk about it?" Miller asked gently.

She'd only been waiting for the right person to come along, waiting for the right moment. The words spilled out of her in a torrent. It was an unburdening. Miller gently placed a hand on her forearm. "Whoa, slow down. Take your time."

She paused and took a deep breath. "I started to notice things going missing. The things that you don't notice straight away, things that are out of everyday sight . . ."

He nodded. It was a familiar story. Taking a pen and pad from his pocket, he made notes.

"She withdrew from us, gradually at first, spending more time alone in her room. She began skipping school. Then she started wanting to go out at odd hours. She always used to go out, but not at such completely random times. People were calling for her that I'd never seen before. In the end, I found out she'd been using drugs. I caught her with the stuff in her bag." She stopped suddenly as if she might have said too much, unsure if she should go on.

"Does your husband - it's Frank isn't it? Does he know about any of this?"

She shook her head. He gave her hand a reassuring squeeze. "Shall I tell you what I see in that photo? It might make it easier for you."

Her head tipped forward looking at the floor. A single tear ran down her face and dripped from the end of her nose.

"Eileen, the body language in the photo isn't right. It shows sides, and it shows factions, tensions. In short, the family is divided."

"You can tell all that from a photograph?" she looked bewildered. "I never knew people could do that just from looking at a photo . . ."

"Eileen, there's more; you have a reassuring hand placed on Eilise's shoulder, and both of you share the same haunted expression. Your husband and youngest daughter look happy. Neither of them knows what secret you and Eilise share."

Eileen averted her face from Miller's gaze.

"Eilise confided in you, didn't she?"

She made eye contact for the first time since he'd walked into her house.

"As I said, Eilise ran away because she found out she was adopted. She never got very far; it was a cry for help. Frank found her wandering the streets around midnight and brought her home. For a couple of months, everything seemed fine. We explained that we'd be happy to help track her mother down if that was what she really wanted, but that she'd probably have to wait until she was eighteen before that could happen. I thought it was the upset of finding out, because you know, that unsettled her. Then I found out about the drugs, and she broke down and told me . . . Excuse me." She fled into the kitchen, and returned a few moments later dabbing at her eyes with a piece of paper towelling.

"She told me that Frank was trying it on with her, and getting quite heavy about it too. In his head because she wasn't blood, I suppose he thought she was fair game. That's no excuse of course. He told her if she didn't, then he'd do it to our younger daughter. I was planning to help her get her out…" she dabbed her eyes again. "I'm a mess. Please excuse me," she rushed out of the room again.

"Who are you?" Frank's sudden appearance startled him.

Miller stood and introduced himself. "I'm here to help find your daughter. Your wife got a bit upset…"

Frank shook his hand warily. "I'm Frank," he said, eyeing the teacups. "You've been here a while then… Did I miss anything?"

Eileen returned. Frank looked at her suspiciously.

"No," Miller said. "I was just running over a few facts to get some background about her runaway tendencies. Now, I understand you adopted her from the earliest age possible. Did she go through school okay, no problems?" Frank rolled his eyes in exasperation. "We've been all through this . . ."

"Not with me though, Frank."

"Were you expecting him?" he asked Eileen.

"Yes," she said, "I got a call to say he was on his way." Frank glared at her. "You never said—"

"Can I see her room?" Miller asked.

Frank turned his attention to him. "Correct me if I'm wrong, but your job is to find her, am I right? Not to judge or interfere in a family matter."

"That's correct. Whatever problems or issues arise, they'll be resolved with the close involvement of the authorities. Just to make my position clear - although I'm a private investigator - a senior police officer asked me to assist him and ultimately I'm accountable to him. However, you have my assurance that I'll be working on your behalf just as diligently as if you had employed me directly. I
will
find her."

Frank moved as close to Eileen as he could, wrapping an arm around her stiff shoulders without looking at her. "That's reassuring to hear, isn't it, love?"

Miller shuffled his feet awkwardly. "Now, can I see her room?"

At the top of the stairs, off the landing, was a bathroom and toilet. Further down the corridor were four bedrooms. Two each side of the corridor. All the doors were closed. Eileen kept a nice clean house, upstairs it smelled of bleach and polish.

Frank led the way and opened the last door on the left. He stood with one hand wrapped round the door handle and indicated for Miller to go in with a nod of his head.

The brightly painted room was garish. Gothic art posters adorned the walls. For a girl's room, it was a messy one. Eileen explained that they'd left it exactly as it was the last time she'd been there. In one corner was a television, a dressing table in the other. There was also a sound system complete with headphones still plugged in.

"Does she have a computer or laptop?" Miller asked.

"She used her phone for everything. Emails and texts. Didn't she, love?" Frank said.

"Actually, she did use the computer next door, in the study," Eileen added.

Frank shot an accusatory look at her. "You told the police she never used it!"

"Well, she did … but only sometimes."

"Can I have a look?" Miller backed out of her bedroom and moved into the study next door. If there was going to be anything … it would be on the computer. He'd check with Kennedy to see if they'd taken anything significant away from her room.

"Excuse the mess," Eileen said. "The computer's already on. We daren't turn it off. There's something wrong with the switch, so it's on all the time."

"Who else uses the machine?"

"We all do, but mostly for work or school work."

Eileen logged in, explaining they had never set up individual user accounts.

"May I?" Miller gestured at the seat in front of the computer and sat before either of them could answer.

He looked at the desktop shortcuts. There were none for Facebook, Myspace or Bebo. Checking the programmes list on the start menu, he saw an unfamiliar red icon. He double clicked it.

It loaded into a social networking site revolving around common interests in music.

Hello, concreteblonde92.

"I'm assuming 'concrete blonde' isn't either of you?" Frank scowled at him. "And from the 92, I guess that's Eilise's birth year?"

The avatar was The Grim Reaper. He looked at the menu buttons and then selected 'Mypage' from the top bar. He saw the last music tracks she'd listened to: All about Eve, Sisters of Mercy, Concrete Blonde and Draconian, among others. According to the site, she'd last been seen 36 days before. That meant that wherever she was - she'd had access to a computer up until then. Further down the screen, was a public messaging service, she had over seventy of them. The most frequent was Strawberry1971. Next to every message was a photo of Paddy Casey, the former Irish busker. Miller had one of his records.
What is a fan of Paddy Casey doing hooked up with a girl whose musical interests seemed to be Goth Rock?

He looked for her private messages. There weren't any.

"One thing I can tell you is that she was last on the site 36 days ago. That's after she ran away. I'm guessing she no longer has access to a computer."

"Will you leave it on there? I'd like to have a look around at it all once you've gone."

"Of course I will, Eileen."

After Miller had left, Eileen sat down at the computer and joined Lastfm. She sent a friend request to
concreteblonde92
and left a 'shout' message for her. After that, she took to watching her 'Shoutbox' religiously, waiting for a reply, or acceptance of her friend request.

Neither came.

Chapter 112

Miller didn't relish the thought of the long drive back to London straight away, so he stopped for a pint at the oldest pub in England,
Ye Olde Trippe to Jerusalem
. The last time he'd visited the place; he was a young salesman working his way up through the centre of England selling luxury Italian goods. In those days, the women of Nottingham outnumbered the men by three or four to one. The landlady of the guesthouse he'd stayed in near-by had played an active role in pairing him off with her eighteen-year-old daughter and she'd been a willing participant in the arrangement. Afterwards, he left the girl to use the toilet at the other end of the passageway. As he returned to his room, the landlady came out on the landing and dragged him into her bed too. The whole incident was bizarre from start to finish, but he thought of them quite often. Aside from the sex, there had been something endearing about both of them. The memory made him smile.
It all began in Ye Olde Trippe…

He was half-tempted to check in at the guesthouse again, but he knew the chances were he'd never find it after so many years. Settling down at a table, he switched on his laptop and connected to the internet.

He googled:
'Strawberry1971'
. A fraction of a second later,
'1971' came
up as a hit, listed on several sites. Lastfm, Tripadvisor and eBay all had listings under the same user name. Further down the list were a number of items for sale.
This could be useful
. He logged in to the auction site and did an advanced search.

Got you!

Within minutes, he was looking at the items
1971
had for sale. On over three hundred transactions, his feedback was flawless. Miller was impressed. It reassured him and gave him the feeling he could almost trust him. He scrolled through his seller's history.
There she is…
She'd praised him highly with a five star rating.
Is this how they met? Did they know each other before?
It was possible. She'd purchased a CD by 'The Mission' from him.

His current listings were due to end the following day. One of the items was a hardback copy of the book 'Supernature' by Lyall Watson, which he'd spent years looking out for; and another a bass guitar for a 'Buy It Now' price of fifty pounds. The guitar was available for collection only. The address was in
London.

He couldn't believe how easily all this fitted together. Miller completed the transaction for the guitar and then sent an email offering ten pounds cash for the book, if he could collect it at the same time. Later that night, he received a reply.

After a flurry of emails that led right up to midnight, they agreed a time for collection the next day.

It would be late afternoon.

Chapter 113