The Unquiet Dead

‘You look like shit. I came to find you first thing. I didn’t know she was going to hide in your office like that.’

‘What was she doing there, anyway?’

‘I don’t know. Maybe you share a common hobby.’

Hungover and slow on the uptake, Jessie just frowned.

‘Star-fucking,’ said Mark gleefully.

‘I’m not going to dignify that with a response,’ she said through gritted teeth.

‘Only because you can’t.’

‘What is it, fuck on Jessie day? And what the hell does “indisposed” mean?’

‘I don’t know.’

‘You told that overly made-up harridan that I was indisposed.’

Mark’s eyes suddenly widened and he appeared to swell. Jessie didn’t dare turn around.

‘Mark,’ said the cool voice of DCI Moore over Jessie’s left shoulder, ‘I was wondering if you would give me a tour of the premises. Jones isn’t going to be able to make it in again today.’

‘Yes, ma’am.’ The words exploded out of him on his pent-up breath.

‘Thank you.’ Jessie heard the heels click away from her; she must have been tiptoeing earlier. The clicking stopped. Jessie braced herself. ‘Incidentally, Driver, you should think of doing something about your hair.’ Jessie turned reluctantly, imagining what it would feel like to turn into a pillar of salt. ‘You may not be in uniform, but you still represent the police force. Most importantly, you reflect your superiors and that means more than getting out of bed in the morning and hoping for the best.’

Again, the doors closed behind her. She turned to Mark. ‘I’m fucked.’

He shrugged.

She could have killed him.

Bill and Jessie sat on her sofa, their feet up on the coffee table, tea in hand. Neither her day nor her hangover had improved. Bill had made comforting noises when she finally fell through the door, but Jessie knew he didn’t really understand. He wasn’t a locker-room sort of man, whereas Jessie lived in one.

‘So what have you been doing all day, while I’ve been having my balls busted?’

‘Eating crap food and watching videos. Malcolm X, excellent film. I’d never got round to –’

She lifted the remote control and increased the volume. ‘Shh, this is it.’

‘Our main story tonight,’ said the newsreader. ‘Anna Maria Klein, the only child of actress Sarah Klein, is missing. The schoolgirl was last seen in London’s red-light district –’

‘She won’t like that,’ interrupted Jessie.

‘– where she was supposed to be meeting friends at a coffee shop. Amanda Hornby is there now. Amanda, what can you tell us?’

‘She’s foxy,’ said Bill. Jessie hit him.

‘Good evening. Well, the police are telling us very little at the moment. Anna Maria was reported missing by her mother this morning at West End Central police station. After initially being told to wait and see by one senior officer, the panicked mother was finally taken seriously late this afternoon.’

‘Why the change in approach?’

‘Sarah Klein apparently spent the day calling her daughter’s friends, until she found who Anna Maria was supposed to be meeting. The friends then confirmed that Anna Maria had never arrived at the coffee shop just behind me.’

‘And this had them worried?’

‘No. They say that Anna Maria often changed her plans.’

‘See? Flaky,’ said Jessie.

‘But time is very much of the essence in situations like these,’ redirected the newsreader.

‘That’s right. Every second counts, and it’s true many hours were lost before an investigation into Anna Maria’s whereabouts got underway. Now the teenager is facing her second night away from home and all her mother can do is hope for her safe return. This is Amanda Hornby, Soho, in London, for Channel Five News.’

Jessie quietly shook her head.

‘It sounds serious,’ said Bill.

‘Wait for the CCTV footage and then tell me if you think she’s been abducted. They’ll show it at the end of the bulletin, that way they keep the viewers glued.’

‘This cynicism doesn’t suit you, Jessie.’

‘It isn’t cynicism,’ she said, looking at her brother. ‘It’s instinct. And if I’m wrong, Moore will have my guts for garters.’

The newsreader went on until it was time to go to a break. After the ads, as Jessie had predicted, they showed the CCTV clip. Jessie had rounded up the film from all the public cameras around Soho that covered the coffee shop and its various approaches. She had also checked the ones around the actress’s house. If suspicious circumstances were ever confirmed, Jessie’s next step would be to gain access to the non-public CCTV footage: the cameras outside local shops, garages and offices. Jessie didn’t think it would come to that. By five that afternoon, after hours spent scanning the footage frame by frame, Anna Maria had been caught on film. The cab she had taken from her mother’s house had dropped her at the beginning of Carnaby Street. She had walked through the throng to the corner of Poland Street and Broadwick Street. There, directly under the eye of a surveillance camera, Anna Maria had waited for some time before moving off towards Marshall Street. Once out of range of the camera, she simply disappeared.

Bill and Jessie watched the actress’s daughter, stationary amidst the rushing crowd. She was noticeable by her stillness and her Dolce & Gabbana fur-trimmed coat and high-heeled boots.

‘Obviously she’s waiting for someone. Perhaps she misunderstood the plan with her friends?’ said Bill.

‘If she was waiting for someone she’d be looking around, glancing at her watch, maybe making a call to see where her friends are. She’s doing none of those things; she’s just standing there. And look at the bag.’

‘It’s big,’ said Bill.

‘Isn’t it?’

‘But that’s fashionable.’

‘Bill, you’ve been in the back of beyond for months, how do you know what is fashionable?’

Bill grinned. ‘Didn’t I tell you about the air hostess on the flight back?’

‘You swapped fashion tips with an air hostess?’

‘Something like that.’

‘Remind me not to let you anywhere near my friends.’