1974

“No.”

The office was quiet and I had almost finished what I had to do.

“Do you know when she’ll be back?”

“No.”

I was drawing wings and roses upon my blotter. I put down my pen.

“Can you tell her Edward called?”

They hung up.

I scrawled The Medium & The Message across the top of the article in biro, then added a question mark and lit a cigarette.

After a few drags, I tore a sheet of paper from my notebook, stubbed out my cig, and wrote two lists. At the bottom of the page I wrote Dawson and underlined it.

I felt tired, hungry, and utterly lost.

I closed my eyes against the harsh bright office light and the white noise that filled my thoughts.

It took me a moment to pick out the sound of the phone.

“Edward Dunford speaking?”

“This is Paula Garland.”

I leant forward in my chair, my elbows on the desk sup porting the weight of the phone and my head. “Yes?”

“I heard you saw Mandy Wymer today.”

“Yeah, sort of. How did you know?”

“Our Paul said.”

“Right.” I’d no idea what to say next.

There was a long pause, then she said, “I need to know what she said.”

I was upright in my chair, changing hands and wiping the sweat on my trouser leg.

“Mr Dunford?”

“Well, she didn’t say very much.”

“Please, Mr Dunford. Anything at all?”

I had the phone cradled between my ear and my chin, looking at my father’s watch and stuffing The Medium & The Message into an envelope.

I said, “I can meet you in the Swan. About an hour?”

“Thank you.”

Down the corridor, into records.

Through the files, cross index, tear it down.

Looking at my father’s watch, 8.05 PM

Back in time:

· July 1969, the Moon Landings, small steps and giant leaps.

· 12 July 1969, Jeanette Garland, 8, missing.

· 13 July, A Mother’s Emotional Plea.

· 14 July, Detective Superintendent Oldman appeals.

· 15 July, police retrace Jeanette’s last small steps.

· 16 July, police widen search.

· 17 July, police baffled.

· 18 July, police call off search.

· 19 July, Medium Contacts Police.

Small Steps and Giant Leaps.

17 December 1974, a notebook full of scrawled quotes.

Looking at my father’s watch, 8.30 PM

Out of time.

The Swan, Castleford.

I was at the bar, ordering a pint and a Scotch.

The place was Christmas busy with a works do, everybody chanting along to the jukebox.

A hand at my elbow.

“Is one of them for me?”

“Which one do you want?”

Mrs Paula Garland picked up the whisky and made her way through the crowd to the cigarette machine. She put her handbag and glass on top of the machine.

“Do you come here often, Mr Dunford?” she smiled.

“Edward, please.” I put my pint down on top of the machine. “No, not often enough.”

She laughed and offered me a cigarette. “First time?”

“Second,” I said, thinking of the last time.

She took a light from me. “It’s not usually this busy.”

“You come here often then?”

“Are you trying to pick me up, Mr Dunford?” She was laughing.

I blew smoke above her head and smiled.

“I used to come here a lot,” she said, the laughter suddenly gone.

I was unsure what to say and said, “Seems like a nice local.”

“It was.” She picked up her drink.

I tried very hard not to stare but she was so pale against the red of her sweater, the rolls and folds of its neck making her whole head seem so very small and fragile.

And, as she drank the whisky, little spots of red appeared on her cheeks, making her look as though she’d been punched or beaten.

Paula Garland took another mouthful and drained her glass. “About Sunday. I…”

“Forget it. I was right out of order. Another one?” I said, all a bit too quickly.

“I’m all right for now, ta.”

“Well, just say.”

Elton John took over from Gilbert O’Sullivan.

We both looked awkwardly around the pub, smiling at the party hats and the mistletoe.

Paula said, “You saw Mandy Wymer then?”

I lit another cigarette, my stomach flipping. “Yeah.”

“Why did you go?”

“She claimed she told the police where to find Clare Kem-play’s body.”

“You don’t believe her?”

“Two builders found the body.”

“What did she say?”

“I didn’t really get a chance to ask her,” I said.

Paula Garland pulled hard on her cigarette and then said, “Does she know who did it?”

“She claims to.”

“She didn’t say?”

“No.”

She was playing with her empty glass, spinning it on top of the cigarette machine. “Did she mention Jeanette?”

“I don’t know.”

“You don’t know?” There were tears in her eyes.

“She said something about ‘the others’, that’s all.”

“What? What did she say?”

I stared around the pub. We were almost whispering but it was the only sound I could hear, like the rest of the