Like Clockwork

44

Clare awoke, anxiety gnawing, early on Saturday morning. She went for a run, buying milk on her way home. Fritz meowed in delight at the sound of her key in the lock, wrapping herself around Clare’s legs as she opened the door. Clare noticed the envelope wedged behind the hall table when she bent down to pick up the cat.

Constance again. Clare’s hands were suddenly clammy. She slit it open. A single Tarot card, grinning, enigmatic, fell out onto the floor.

The Hanged Man.

There was a slip of paper in the envelope. On one side – brushed in black ink – were two sure, familiar verticals, cut through the half X. On the other, Constance had written a reading. For rebirth: a sacrifice. From death: sometimes change. Clare’s blood ran cold. She jumped when her phone rang, putting the Hanged Man with the other three cards Constance had sent her.

‘Yes?’ she said.

‘Clare, another girl has gone missing.’

‘When?’ she asked. ‘Where?’

‘Last night. Her mother reported it immediately to Caledon Square. Somebody there thought it would be best if they handled it. They didn’t see the link apparently between this girl going missing and the three dead girls.’

Clare heard the incredulous rage in Riedwaan’s voice.

‘It only came through to me now. And already there had been one moer of a gedoente about who gets what and why their officer can’t investigate. We might have found her already if that fucking moron’s ego hadn’t tripped him up.’

Riedwaan had had hours of investigation time stolen from him. Clare knew as well as he did that it was those few hours after an abduction that were the most likely to return the person – if not unscathed, then at least still alive. ‘Who is she?’ asked Clare. ‘What happened?

‘Her name is Theresa Angelo. Lives in Gardens with her mother. Sixteen years old. Earns some extra money doing voice-overs. Apparently she had finished one at Film Fusion at the Waterfront, then left to meet her mother. She spoke to her mother at five-thirty. The mother was still at work and they arranged to meet for the eight o’clock movie. Her mother was there on time, but Theresa didn’t arrive. She called her. The phone rang, but there was no answer. Mrs Angelo then phoned Film Fusion. The sound guy was still there, tweaking things. He said that Theresa had left straight after their session.’

‘Have you been down there?’

‘Of course. But those Caledon fuckers didn’t go last night. They took it into their thick heads that she must have met a boyfriend and decided to go with him. So twelve precious hours and one beautiful girl gone.’

‘Have you interviewed the sound man yet?’

‘Sam Napoli? Not yet. Do you want to come with me?’

‘I’ll come,’ said Clare. ‘Will you pick me up? Half an hour?’

‘See you now.’

Clare slumped down at her desk. The profile she had drawn up of the killer was there in front of her. What was she missing? She put her hands into her hair and pulled until her eyes watered from the pain. The pieces of the puzzle were there. But no matter how she shuffled them, no clear picture emerged. Clare went to the bathroom, retching again and again. Then she prepared herself for the day, and waited for Riedwaan.