The Wreckage

2

Standing outside the police station in London Road, Elizabeth gazes at the three-storey red-brick building squeezed between a hairdressing salon and the head office of the Richmond amp; Twickenham Times. Be polite but firm, she tells herself. Don’t be fobbed off.

Rowan is dressed in a Spiderman T-shirt and mask. The eyeholes are slightly too wide for his head, which means that only one eye is visible at any given time. He flicks his “web finger” at passing pedestrians who are either arch-villains or super-villains. Elizabeth isn’t an expert on comic book bad guys.

The uniformed officer at the front desk is a woman and she’s not carrying a gun. Rowan is a little disappointed. He was expecting a fellow crime-fighter who could compare weaponry with him and swap tales of saving the world. After waiting forty-five minutes they are taken upstairs through a cluttered open-plan office that looks reassuringly productive.

The detective constable is called Carter and he’s wearing a jacket and tie. He’s quite handsome except for a buzz-cut that makes his ears look like jug handles.

“Please sit down, Mrs. North. Tea? Coffee? Water?”

“No, thank you.”

DC Carter glances at her pregnancy and then smiles hesitantly at Rowan, who has crawled onto Elizabeth’s lap and is staring at him with the intensity that only young children can produce.

“Have you heard from your husband?”

“I wouldn’t be here if I’d heard from my husband.”

There is an awkward pause and DC Carter uses the moment to open the file on his desk.

“It has only been forty-eight hours,” he says.

“It has been five days.”

“Yes, but technically we don’t class a person as missing until a certain amount of time has elapsed.”

“How long?”

“That depends upon the circumstances.”

Rowan slips out of her arms and is now sitting on the floor linking paperclips together into a chain.

Elizabeth looks back at the detective. “What are you doing to try to find him?”

“Your husband is also over the age of eighteen and not considered vulnerable, Mrs. North.”

“What does that mean?”

“He’s not at risk of suicide or self-harm.”

The words sound too harsh. He tries to make amends. “Your husband may have decided to spend a few days away, getting his head together. It happens sometimes.”

“He wouldn’t do that without telling me.”

The detective looks at her tiredly. She’s not going to make it easy for him. Consulting her statement, he goes over the details again.

“Your husband works for a bank.”

“He’s a compliance officer at Mersey Fidelity.”

“Was he having any problems?”

“He was very busy.”

“There is evidence that he used his ATM card at a machine in Regent Street early on Saturday morning. He also bought clothes in Oxford Street on Sunday.”

“North never buys clothes-he hates shopping.”

“Somebody used his cards.”

“I told you we were robbed. It’s in my statement. My jewelry is missing… our passports.”

“Perhaps your husband was planning a trip.”

“We were planning a baby.”

DC Carter smiles at her as though she’s being feeble and irrational. It’s the same look her father used to give Elizabeth when they argued during her childhood.

“Is there anyone your husband could be staying with?”

“No.”

“What about the other woman?”

“What other woman?”

“You hired a private detective because you thought your husband might be having an affair.”

Elizabeth looks at Rowan, who is playing with a stapler and a piece of paper.

“I was worried about North. I knew something was bothering him.”

“So you hired someone to follow him?”

“Yes.”

“Why didn’t you just ask him?”

Elizabeth can feel her features becoming squashed and color rising in her cheeks.

“Don’t patronize me, Detective. Of course I asked him, but he wouldn’t tell me. We argued. I got upset. Nothing changed.”

“Something made you suspicious.”

“I didn’t know what he was doing. I didn’t have any evidence. North said he loved me. I had a friend who recommended an agency. She’d been through a divorce.”

“Were you considering divorcing your husband?”

“No, not at all! Never.”

There is a cry of pain. Rowan has punched a staple through the webbing of his hand. One tooth of the staple is sticking from his skin. Elizabeth holds him tightly and pulls the barb free, kissing away his pain and his tears.