Eeny Meeny

15

The Brightston home was an imposing Victorian semi in affluent Eastleigh. Helen paced outside, angry and frustrated. She had arranged to meet Mark here at 9.30 a.m. It was now nearly ten o’clock and there was still no sign of him. She left her third voicemail on his phone, then cut her losses and rang the bell. Why did he have to be such a fuck-up?

The door was opened by Sarah Brightston, a handsome woman in her mid-forties. Expensively dressed, immaculately made up, she betrayed no emotion at finding the police on her doorstep, ushering Helen inside.

‘When did you report your husband missing?’

The pleasantries had been concluded, so Helen cut to the chase.

‘Two days ago.’

‘Even though he hadn’t come home the night before that?’

‘Peter is a lover of life. Too much so sometimes. Those trips to Bournemouth were a jolly and it would’ve been just like Peter to get the whole team pissed, then sleep it off in a local B &B. But he’s not a callous man, he would have called the following morning to talk to me, talk to the boys.’

‘And do you have any idea where he might be now?’

‘Silly sod’s probably lost. They must have broken down and tried to walk to a garage. Probably had too much to drink and twisted an ankle or something – that’d be just like him. He’s never been very coordinated.’

She spoke with total conviction – there was no doubt in her mind that her husband was alive and well. Helen admired her fortitude, but was also intrigued.

‘How many people do you have out looking for them?’ Sarah continued.

‘Every available officer.’

This much wasn’t a lie at least. The search was in full swing, but they’d found nothing and as each hour passed Helen’s fears for their safety grew. The road the two men had been on would have led them out of the forest at Calmore – a long but unchallenging walk. The weather was cold but fine, so…

Helen knew in her heart that Amy’s ordeal and Peter’s disappearance were connected, but she’d forbidden anyone else from suggesting that – this was still a missing persons enquiry officially. Helen hadn’t told Sarah that she was a murder cop by trade. Time for that later.

‘Did Peter have anything on his mind? Was anything troubling him?’ Helen resumed.

Sarah shook her head. Helen’s eyes roamed over the well-appointed interior. Peter’s legal wage was generous and Sarah worked in the antiques trade, so they weren’t strapped for cash.

‘Had anyone asked him for money recently? Have you noticed any changes in your financial circumstances recently? More money? Less?’

‘No, everything was… normal. We’re comfortable. Always have been.’

‘And how would you describe your marriage?’

‘Loving. Faithful. Strong.’

She emphasized the last word, as if slighted by the question.

‘Any problems at work?’ said Helen, changing tack.

Peter and Ben worked for a prestigious solicitors’ firm with a particular interest in maritime law. There was a lot of money involved in their long-running cases, particularly where shipping was concerned. Their disappearance could have benefited someone.

‘Had he felt under any particular pressure on a case?’

‘Not that he told me.’

‘Was he working longer hours than usual?’

A small shake of the head from Sarah.

‘Did he discuss his individual cases with you?’

Sarah claimed ignorance of Peter’s caseload, so Helen made a mental note to follow this up with his firm. But all the while, she had the nasty feeling that she was clutching at straws. Scanning the walls for inspiration, her eyes alighted on a framed photo of Peter on a sunny beach, the smiling paterfamilias at the heart of a group holiday bundle. Sarah followed her eye-line and filled her in on the details, going on to outline their future plans – a family trip to Boston at Easter. Sarah was unwavering in her belief that Peter would turn up and that things would once more return to normal. Helen wanted to believe that but she couldn’t. In her heart of hearts, she feared that Sarah would never see her husband again.