The Dead Tracks

Chapter Four

The canteen was long and narrow, the floor tiled in old hardwood, the ceilings high and sculptured in white plaster. Along one side were four huge windows. Light poured in, even as rain started spattering against the glass. Opposite was the kitchen, with big women in white uniforms cleaning out huge vats full of half-finished food.

On the walk over, Lindsey had done all the talking. The last time she'd seen Megan was before the Carvers went to Florida.

'She seemed fine,' she said, turning to her friend. 'Didn't she, Kay?'

Kaitlin glanced at me, then at her friend, and nodded.

'So how come you didn't see her between the time she got back and the time she disappeared?' I asked Lindsey.

'I was on a student exchange in Italy.'

'What about you, Kaitlin?'

Kaitlin glanced briefly at me. She looked nervous, like she might be in trouble. The police had probably been to her home, asking questions and trying to work the angles. Sometimes that had the opposite effect. You ended up pushing harder because you felt like they were closing up, but they were only closing up because they felt like they weren't helping. Maybe, in some way, Kaitlin felt responsible. If she'd met Megan outside the penultimate class of the day, instead of by the lockers, she might never have vanished. Instead she said goodbye to her friend after lunch and never saw her again.

'Can you tell me what happened?' I asked her, after we were all seated.

'I told the police.'

'I know you did. I know you helped them out a lot. I'm just trying to see if there are any small things that they might have missed. You're not in trouble. I'm just here to help Megan's parents and find out what happened to her.'

She nodded but still seemed nervous. Her hands were flat to her legs, one of them rubbing the top of her thigh gently.

'Where are you from, by the way?'

She looked at me, frowned. 'Tufnell Park.'

'No. I mean, originally.'

She was still frowning. 'South Africa.'

'I thought so. Nice part of the world. I used to live in South Africa.'

For the first rime something shifted in her expression: the hardness, the stillness, replaced by a slight softening of the muscles. 'What part?' she asked.

'Johannesburg'

She nodded, but her face hardly moved this time, as if she wasn't actually listening to me. I studied her for a moment, the look in her face, her hand moving against her leg, and for the first time wondered if it was shyness preventing her from opening up or something else.

'Kaitlin?'

She turned and faced me.

'Can you go over what happened?'

'I spent lunchtime with Meg,' she said quietly. 'Then, first period, I had History, and she had Physics. Between periods, we were meant to meet at the lockers in the Science block, but I waited there and she didn't turn up.'

'Why meet at the lockers?'

She frowned, looked at Lindsey. We always did that.'

'Before Biology?'

'Yes. Unless we had a free period together before. If we had a free period, Linds, Meg and me would probably go to the library or the Sixth Form block.'

'Did Megan seem all right that day?'

'Fine.'

'She didn't seem off colour or worried about anything?'

'No.'

'Just like her normal self?'

'Pretty much.'

I paused. 'Pretty much?'

Kaitlin shrugged. 'Like I told the police, she said she'd had a headache for a couple of days. Nothing major. Just kind of a fuzzy head.'

I wrote that down, and then we started talking about Megan generally — what she was like, her personality, how she'd scored straight As in her GCSEs. Lindsey did all of the talking. It didn't amount to much. Most of it dovetailed with what the Carvers had already told me: serious about school, serious about making a career for herself, serious about not letting anything get in the way. Basically the most unlikely runaway you could get.

'Did Megan get on all right with the teachers here?'

'Who gets on with teachers?' Lindsey said.

'She wasn't close to one of them in particular?'

Lindsey frowned.

'I'm looking for reasons why she might have disappeared.'

Her mouth formed an O, as if she suddenly got the line of questioning, then she shook her head. 'I don't think so. In science, a lot of the teachers are women anyway.'

I nodded. 'Her dad said she used to work in a video store…'

'Yeah,' Lindsey replied. 'She did two weekends a month. But I think that place closed down about three months ago.'

'Okay. But did she ever meet anyone while she was there?'

'I don't think so.' She paused, looked at Kaitlin, got no help and turned to me again. 'No one apart from Charlie - but she already knew him.'

'Who's Charlie?'

'Charlie Bryant.'

'Charles Bryant?'

Lindsey nodded again.

'The kid whose mum died?'

'Yeah.'

'Were the two of them friendly?'

'They went out for a while.'

'For how long?'

'I don't know… couple of months.'

'When was this?'

'After his mum died.'

'A year ago?'

Yeah. He was hard work, though.' She paused, as if she might have just realized why. 'I mean, he'd just lost his mum. You can understand that.' 'Is that why they split up?'

'Megan said she felt sorry for him, but she didn't really fancy him. After a couple of months, she called it off.'

'How did he take it?'

'He was upset. He really, really liked her. But he seemed to be okay.'

'Was he still working in the video store when Megan disappeared?'

'I think so.'

'So they still spoke?'

'Yeah.'

'And got on pretty well?'

'Yeah, I'd say so…' Lindsey glanced at Kaitlin. Wouldn't you, Kay?'

Kaitlin looked at me and nodded. I underlined Charles Bryant's name. 'Does the name A. J. Grant mean anything to either of you?' The blank expressions told me everything I needed to know. I changed tack. 'Did you have any favourite pubs or clubs you used to go to?'

'Tiko's,' Lindsey said immediately.

'That's a club?'

'Yeah. In the West End.'

I made a note of it. 'Any others?'

They looked at each other. 'Not really,' Lindsey continued. 'I mean, we go to lots of places, but Tiko's is the place with the best music.'

I took out Megan's digital camera and scrolled through to the picture of her standing in front of the block of flats. 'Did either of you take this?'

They studied it, Lindsey holding the camera.

'Where is she?'

I shrugged. 'I don't know. You don't recognize it?'

'No,' Lindsey said, shaking her head.

'Kaitlin?'

'No,' she said.

I nodded, took the camera back and briefly glanced at Kaitlin. Her eyes had left mine, and she'd gone cold again. Shut down.

Something was definitely up.

Bothwick wasn't there when I got back. I glanced at the reception where one of the secretaries was taking a phone call, and then quickly moved inside his office, pushing the door shut behind me. I didn't have much time.

Two files were perched on the edge of the desk, where he'd left them. Kaitlin and Lindsey. I left Lindsey's where it was and picked up Kaitlin's. A school photograph of her, probably a couple of years younger. Below that, a list of the subjects she was taking and an attendance record. At a quick glance, it looked pretty good. No long absences, no comments in the spaces provided. On the next page was her home address in Tufnell Park, and on the final one her last school report. At the bottom: A for Drama.

So she definitely wasn't shy.

I snapped the file closed, placed it back on the desk and opened up the top drawer of the filing cabinet. The Bryant file was about eight in. Inside was a photo of him. He was a handsome kid; dark hair, bright eyes. Underneath was a top sheet with his address on. He lived with his father near Highgate Wood.

Then, outside, I could hear footsteps.

Bothwick.

I closed the file, dropped it back into the cabinet drawer and closed it as quietly as I could. A second later, he appeared in the doorway. Ah!' he said. 'Sorry about that.'

'No problem.'

'Did you get everything you needed?'

I smiled, briefly eyeing the files again to see they were definitely where he'd left them. Then I shook his hand and told him I did.

Lindsey was right: the video store Megan used to work in was shut. Not just shut for the day. Shut for good. I drove past it and headed along Holloway Road to the Bryant home in Highgate, a three-storey townhouse with a double garage and a wrought-iron porch.

There wasn't a single light on anywhere inside.

I rang the doorbell and waited. Nothing. No movement. No sound from inside. As rain started to fall, spitting at first, then coming harder, I stepped down from the porch and wandered around to the side. A path led parallel to the property, behind a locked gate. I could see a sliver of garden but not much else. Walking back to the front door, I rang the doorbell again — but when no one answered for a second time, I headed back to the car in the rain.