'What if they've moved away? They could have gone abroad, taken a plane, maybe.'
'Let's call it a talent, like knowing whether someone's telling the truth. If they're out there I can tell they're there. I can't find any trace of Gillian or Trudy.'
'What about Helen?'
'Helen I found. She's OK. She has her hands full.'
'She's had the baby? Thank God. I thought she'd gone for a termination.'
I saw the news of the baby's safe arrival spread relief on his face and I felt like I'd cheated. There should be no good news after that. Once again, though, it meant he knew more than he was saying.
'You knew she was pregnant.' It was a statement, not a question.
'No. Young man came to call. Wanted to know whether her parents had found her. Whether she'd been in touch. I had to tell him, no. Sat him down, made him tea. Asked him why he didn't go to her parents, if he was so worried. It was like pulling teeth.'
'He's the father?'
'Thinks he is. She was underage. He said it wasn't supposed to happen. They were holding hands, kissing, that sort of thing. All very sweet. Then one afternoon after school she takes her clothes off in front of him. He's a good lad, but he's not made of stone.'
'Just bad luck, she got pregnant first time?'
'Hardly. It became a regular thing. He was scarlet by the time he told me this.'
'Why didn't they take precautions?'
'He wanted to. She wouldn't hear of it. Her family are churchgoing, strict with it. She said it would be up to God.'
'You believe that?'
'He moves in mysterious ways, but usually within the sanctity of marriage. By then it was too late. She'd gone and I dreaded the worst. It's a relief to hear she'd had it. Boy or a girl?'
'I don't know. I didn't get to ask.'
He studied the glass in the big window. 'Quite a gift, that.'
'What?'
'Finding people. These girls have been missing for months, more than a year, some of 'em. You walk in one morning and by the next day you know where they are.'
'I know they're there. Where they are, I can't tell.'
'Still, quite a gift.'
'As you say.'
'Ever been wrong?'
'You know I'm telling the truth. You can hear it.'
'I know you believe it. I just don't know whether I believe it.'
'Even if they were in a coma, down a mine, gone to Australia, I think I would know.'
'A gift and a burden.'
'Pardon?'
'It isn't easy, always knowing the truth. When people say, 'I'll see you on Sunday', and you hear the lie on their tongue, it isn't easy.'
'I don't suppose it is.'
'Worse when they say things like 'thank you' or 'hope to see you soon'.'
'Yes. It must be.'
'This daughter you lost. Must be a burden knowing for sure that she's dead, but being unable to see the body.'
'I didn't say she was dead.'
'No, you didn't, did you?'
There was another long silence while the rain lashed against the windows. It was Greg that eventually broke that silence.
'We live in hope.'
'I'm not a religious man. I said that before.'
'You don't have to believe in Him,' he said. 'The important thing is that He believes in you. If you have a gift, then it's for a purpose. Maybe you were brought to us to give us certainty. I think you know what that means.'
'Closure.'
'Perhaps. I will need to think about this, Neal. I believe you are sincere and that you know what you know. That doesn't mean I'm going to tell the parents. That might mean explaining how I know.'
'I understand.'
'If you could tell me where, it would be easier.'
'Debbie? A city. Somewhere with nightclubs and loud music. Helen? Could be anywhere.'
'Gillian? Trudy?'
'There's nothing, Greg. If I knew, I'd tell you.'
'You would. Let's leave it there, then, for now. Try again for me, if you would? Not that I don't believe you, but it can't hurt. People have been mistaken before. If you get the chance to speak to Debbie or Helen, tell them their parents are worried sick about them. A phone call would make all the difference.'
'I don't know if I'll be able to speak with them.'
'You could also tell Helen that there's a young man who's desperate to hear from her and wants to do the right thing, and not just because it's the right thing to do.'
'I'm not sure I should be the one to bear such news. It's too important.'
'When you have my job, you get to deal with the shitty end of the stick too often. You see people at their worst, at their lowest, at the end. When, from time to time, you get the chance to share the joy in people's hearts, you grasp it, not for yourself, but because next time you're dealing with the shit you can look back and think, it isn't all like this.'
'I'll remember that.'
We sat in the church for a good few minutes after that, listening to the wind and the rain.
'I should go,' I told him.
'Don't feel bad about this, Neal. The convention is not to shoot the messenger. Not your burden to carry.'
'That doesn't stop me feeling responsible.'
'Then be responsible for the good you are doing. Maybe we can put some families in touch again. You of all people know what it's like to deal with unexplained loss, I think.'
I picked up my umbrella and buttoned my coat.
'Since you appear able to let yourself in, feel welcome here. If you need time to contemplate, it isn't a bad place to think. God doesn't mind. Just make sure you lock up when you leave.'
'I will. Thanks.'
I left him in the pew, and went back out into the rain. It showed no sign of slackening off and by the time I had crossed the road it had found its way under my coat and soaked through my shirt and trousers. There was no point in raising my umbrella as the wind would blow it inside out and I had no idea what would happen when it became a sword again. Would it too be broken?
I strode down the hill with the wind tugging at my coat and the rain running down my face. The main road was busy with cars and the shops had opened.
I needed to do something more than bring bad news. Time for some research.
THIRTEEN
Blackbird grabbed her bag, 'Come on, Claire, we'll use the fire escape.'
'I'm not sure if I locked the front door.'
'Leave it. If they really want to get in they'll just break the door down and then you'll have a broken door to
