Breaking Point by Frank Smith Page B

you went out to see what all the noise was about . . .?’
    â€˜That’s right. Like I told you, I’d only just got up, so it took me a few minutes to get my coat and slippers on, so they were leaving by the time I got outside. I heard Mickey arguing about something, and I called out to him to ask where he was going, but the man behind him sort of pushed Mickey into the back before he had a chance to answer, and it was him who told me that Mickey was off to Ireland to visit somebody. I didn’t quite catch it, because he was in ever such a hurry. Said Mickey’s alarm never went off, and he wasn’t ready when they came to pick him up to take him to the station, so it was a good thing they’d come a bit early, or he’d have missed his train. Then he got in the back with Mickey, and they drove off.’
    She paused for breath, wheezing heavily now. ‘Just like Mickey, that was,’ she continued. ‘In such a hurry to be off he forgot all about puss, here,
and
he left his door open. I suppose he knew I’d look after her and lock up, but he might’ve told me. Mind you, it must have come up sudden like, because he never mentioned going away at all last time I talked to him, let alone to Ireland. It all happened so fast I didn’t even have time to find out when he’d be back.’
    â€˜You say one man got in the back with Mickey. Did you see the other one? The driver?’
    â€˜Not really. The lights were in my eyes. I saw the door open on the driver’s side, but I couldn’t really see who got in.’
    â€˜Has anything like this happened before?’
    â€˜No, never.’ Mary curled a hand around the cat and pulled her closer. ‘I think someone must be ill or died for Mickey to rush off like that. Maybe his mother, although he never talked about his family – come to that he’s never talked about Ireland as long as I’ve known him.’
    â€˜So you didn’t actually get a good look at his friends at all?’
    Mary shook her head. ‘It was all such a rush, and it was dark and with the lights shining like they were, it was hard to see anything properly.’
    â€˜What about the car? Can you tell me anything about it? Make, colour, number plate? Two doors, four doors, old, new – anything at all?’
    â€˜It had four doors, but that’s all I can tell you.’ Mary turned suspicious eyes on Tregalles. ‘What’s this all about, anyway?’ she demanded. ‘Why are you asking all these questions? I thought you said you just wanted to talk to Mickey about a friend of his.’
    â€˜I do,’ Tregalles said soberly, ‘because a friend, or at least an acquaintance of his, left home without telling anyone, and I was hoping that Mickey Doyle could help me find him. But now, from what you’ve told me, I’m wondering if Mickey hasn’t done the same.’
    â€˜I don’t think Mickey Doyle has gone to Ireland,’ Tregalles said. ‘In fact I suspect he may not have gone anywhere willingly. Mrs Turnbull said she went over to Doyle’s caravan straightaway, and found the door open, the bed unmade, drawers pulled out, and clothes on the floor. And when I took a look myself, it was just like Newman’s place; there wasn’t a scrap of paper to be found.
    â€˜Mary said she tidied up a bit – and it
was
only a bit – but she says she didn’t take anything out of there, apart from the cat, of course. She said there was no note, and she’s heard nothing from Doyle since that morning.
    â€˜She couldn’t describe the men or the car because the headlights were pointed in her direction, so all she could see were outlines and shadowy figures, and no one else I spoke to in the caravan court remembers seeing or hearing anything unusual that Friday morning. Or if they did they’re not saying. Some of them were out when I called, but I’ll try to get to the