exhausted. The three-hour drive, conducted in nervous tension, had drained her of all energy. She wondered if he would invite her in, but he made no move to open the door any further. ‘Can you remember when you last saw her?’
‘Lena? Like I said, years ago. She used to come here all the time.’
‘Can you remember what years?’
The man looked at her in amusement. ‘You’re kidding, right? Of course I don’t know what years. She was always by herself. She used to come a lot. It’s how I got to know her.’
‘You were friendly?’ She wondered if he’d tell her his name, but, standing over the threshold of his home, he was revealing nothing about himself.
‘Fairly. It’s not a huge amount of fun living next to a holiday cottage. Some people can be noisy and, of course, people rarely come more than once. But Lena was different. She came back again and again. Until—’
‘Until?’
The man shrugged. ‘I don’t know. She just stopped coming. A long time ago. It was a shame, us not getting to say goodbye.’ He looked at her in consternation. ‘She’s all right, isn’t she?’
Was Lena all right? wondered Kat. It was difficult to say for sure. Her abrupt disappearance from Whitby must have been a result of her arrest and imprisonment. ‘I haven’t seen her for a while, that’s all. You know how it is with families sometimes, don’t you?’
The man looked like he did. ‘Sorry I can’t be any more help, Kat. When you track her down, tell her from me that it’d be nice to see her.’ And without saying goodbye to her, he shut the door gently.
18
Andrew Fisher had either hidden himself away since 2004 or had been hidden. This was the only indisputable fact that Sadler’s tired head was able to crystallise. He’d slept badly, waking at approximate half-hourly intervals and checking, pointlessly, his alarm clock. He’d never overslept in his life and yet the fear was always there – the possibility that one day he would miss the shriek of his bedside alarm.
And yet what if he did? As a detective inspector he had some flexibility with his hours. It wouldn’t be a complete disaster if he turned up late once in his professional career. The thought made his head ache even further.
The thing giving him the biggest headache was where Andrew Fisher could have been since 2004. Twelve years was a long time to hide yourself these days. Even overseas there were ways of tracing you. Although, Sadler suspected, if you weren’t being looked for, why would anyone find you? But until the identity of the dead man had been uncovered, and Lena Gray found, Andrew’s whereabouts would be an area of focus.
Connie walked through the door with her usual bustle of energy, remembering to knock only as she was three-quarters into the room. ‘There’s something I want to run past you, if that’s okay?’
Sadler gestured to the chair in front of his desk.
She flopped down and sat with one foot over her knee. ‘Palmer’s concentrating on the identity of our original dead man. There’s a distinguishing feature in the PM report that he wants to investigate. A possible surgical procedure on his arm. He’s looking at an ID that way and I’ve been giving him a hand by researching persons reported missing around the same time. But something else came up while I was going through the database.’
‘Go on.’ Sadler reached into his drawer and took two tablets from a blister pack, swallowing them with the remains of his cold coffee.
‘Well. In 2012, a report was made by a member of the public who claimed to have seen Andrew Fisher while she was on holiday in Whitby. She’s from Bampton and was visiting Whitby as part of a coach tour.’
‘A coach tour? How old was the witness?’
‘The report doesn’t say but I would guess over retirement age. Doesn’t mean she’s not reliable though, does it?’ Connie held out the report to him. ‘Would you like to see it?’
It was a few lines. A Jane Reynolds,
‘Lena? Like I said, years ago. She used to come here all the time.’
‘Can you remember what years?’
The man looked at her in amusement. ‘You’re kidding, right? Of course I don’t know what years. She was always by herself. She used to come a lot. It’s how I got to know her.’
‘You were friendly?’ She wondered if he’d tell her his name, but, standing over the threshold of his home, he was revealing nothing about himself.
‘Fairly. It’s not a huge amount of fun living next to a holiday cottage. Some people can be noisy and, of course, people rarely come more than once. But Lena was different. She came back again and again. Until—’
‘Until?’
The man shrugged. ‘I don’t know. She just stopped coming. A long time ago. It was a shame, us not getting to say goodbye.’ He looked at her in consternation. ‘She’s all right, isn’t she?’
Was Lena all right? wondered Kat. It was difficult to say for sure. Her abrupt disappearance from Whitby must have been a result of her arrest and imprisonment. ‘I haven’t seen her for a while, that’s all. You know how it is with families sometimes, don’t you?’
The man looked like he did. ‘Sorry I can’t be any more help, Kat. When you track her down, tell her from me that it’d be nice to see her.’ And without saying goodbye to her, he shut the door gently.
18
Andrew Fisher had either hidden himself away since 2004 or had been hidden. This was the only indisputable fact that Sadler’s tired head was able to crystallise. He’d slept badly, waking at approximate half-hourly intervals and checking, pointlessly, his alarm clock. He’d never overslept in his life and yet the fear was always there – the possibility that one day he would miss the shriek of his bedside alarm.
And yet what if he did? As a detective inspector he had some flexibility with his hours. It wouldn’t be a complete disaster if he turned up late once in his professional career. The thought made his head ache even further.
The thing giving him the biggest headache was where Andrew Fisher could have been since 2004. Twelve years was a long time to hide yourself these days. Even overseas there were ways of tracing you. Although, Sadler suspected, if you weren’t being looked for, why would anyone find you? But until the identity of the dead man had been uncovered, and Lena Gray found, Andrew’s whereabouts would be an area of focus.
Connie walked through the door with her usual bustle of energy, remembering to knock only as she was three-quarters into the room. ‘There’s something I want to run past you, if that’s okay?’
Sadler gestured to the chair in front of his desk.
She flopped down and sat with one foot over her knee. ‘Palmer’s concentrating on the identity of our original dead man. There’s a distinguishing feature in the PM report that he wants to investigate. A possible surgical procedure on his arm. He’s looking at an ID that way and I’ve been giving him a hand by researching persons reported missing around the same time. But something else came up while I was going through the database.’
‘Go on.’ Sadler reached into his drawer and took two tablets from a blister pack, swallowing them with the remains of his cold coffee.
‘Well. In 2012, a report was made by a member of the public who claimed to have seen Andrew Fisher while she was on holiday in Whitby. She’s from Bampton and was visiting Whitby as part of a coach tour.’
‘A coach tour? How old was the witness?’
‘The report doesn’t say but I would guess over retirement age. Doesn’t mean she’s not reliable though, does it?’ Connie held out the report to him. ‘Would you like to see it?’
It was a few lines. A Jane Reynolds,
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