‘Where have you been?’ Her boss doesn’t normally keep tabs on her in this way. He respects her judgement, her work ethic – besides, he is swamped himself and doesn’t have time to micromanage. However, when she explains, he looks irritated, impatient. ‘I see. Look, Clements, we’re too busy for this. File the report, put out an alert but other than that, drop it. I’m not giving any more man-hours over to it. There isn’t a body, so there’s no case.’
Clements is being given an order. She should accept it, but she feels her mind and body resist slightly. No, there isn’t a body, but there is something. The woman with two husbands – two lives – flung herself forward, jumped up and down, insisted she was interesting enough to be noticed. Clements is fascinated by her. Mystified by her. She doesn’t even know what to call her. Leigh Fletcher? Kai Janssen? Maybe Kylie Gillingham is best. The name she had before she had any husband. Before she got herself into this mess.
‘I just feel, sir, that there might be more to this than—’
‘We work with facts, DC Clements, not feelings, as well you know.’ He only ever gave her the full-title thing when he was reminding her of rank, her place. ‘Most likely the woman has run off to ruin some other man’s life. From her profile, I’d say she’s quite the survivor, not the sort to get into danger. She’s the sort that looks after herself.’ Clements stiffens at this. Women frequently find themselves in danger, irrespective of what ‘sort’ they are. ‘If she turns up, we’ll press charges for bigamy. She might get a few months inside. Most likely just a fine, but I don’t suppose we’ll see her again anyway.’
‘But there’s no indication that she planned to leave,’ Clements points out. ‘Neither husband can recall anything out of the ordinary in her behaviour before she disappeared. Neither man believes any clothes to be missing, both her passports are in the drawers that they usually lived in.’ One of the husbands could be lying, though. Probably was. Maybe both of them. The thought skitters across Clements’ mind.
‘Two passports?’
‘Yes.’
‘One in each name?’
‘Yes.’
‘Well, she’s clearly wily.’ It isn’t a compliment. ‘It takes some cunning to have two passports, two names on the go. If she ever does turn up, that charge will need to be answered to as well.’
‘How do you think she managed it, sir?’ Clements has already considered the matter, she’s drawn her own conclusions, but she wants to draw in the Detective Inspector, get him to engage in the case. Not actively, just enough for him to give Clements the nod to continue investigating.
‘It’s tricky but not impossible if she had deed poll documents, wedding certificates, household bills in different names. If a person creates enough confusion around such matters, then they can generally find a loophole. No system is infallible. She probably benefited from appearing middle class, middle-aged, female, respectable.’ Clements knows her boss is currently going through a divorce, his middle-aged, middle-class, respectable wife is taking him to the cleaners. He resents it. Everyone resents everything nowadays.
‘Or perhaps she simply bought a second passport. Kai Janssen probably has enough money to find fraudsters, even if Leigh Fletcher doesn’t. Who knows who she knows?’ Clements suggests, wanting to haul the woman out of a comfortable, familial setting just for a moment and place her somewhere more terrifying. It isn’t a comforting thought, but it has to be looked at. Kylie Gillingham might be mixed up with the wrong sort of people. All possibilities deserve an airing. Clements presses on with the facts that strengthen her belief that the woman has been taken rather than done a runner. ‘No money has been withdrawn from any of her bank accounts since Monday morning when she paid for coffee and cake at a café in the park. A contactless transaction. That fits in with what her best friend told us. That was the last time anyone saw Kylie. The last time this made sense to anyone. What is she doing for money if she’s run away?’
‘She probably has several bank accounts. There’s probably a complex trail of cash moving from one account to another, criss-crossing freely.’
‘Well, I’d like to request the bank statements for all accounts going back some years, to unravel it. To see if it came to an abrupt halt on Monday.’ The Detective Inspector raises his eyebrows, sceptically. Clements changes tack, puts an alternative on the table, one with which her boss is more likely to hold truck, anything to be given permission to request the bank accounts, devote a little more time. ‘Or to see if there is evidence of an escape fund being established.’
‘Yes, you’ll probably find money has been siphoned off to fund a flit.’
‘But what if I don’t? I mean, sir, questioning has not revealed any reports of obvious signs of stress or anxiety. There were no fluctuations in her routine, no sudden eruptions of temper. She was organised, controlled, careful. A cool customer, that much was certain. Mark Fletcher talked about some strain between her and their oldest boy, but that seemed pretty standard stuff in terms of parenting a teen, nothing that strikes me as a reason for a woman to bail on her life.’ The DI looks uninterested. He keeps glancing at his screen, checking emails.
Clements cannot believe a woman who immaculately planned her life – her lives – with such precision would have left without money, passport, clothes if she could have helped it. So, even if she has done a runner, it is most likely impromptu. Under threat or fear? Possibly? Probably? What was the straw that broke the camel’s back?
The Detective Inspector sighs. ‘Not sure if you are aware, DC Clements, but we are facing a global pandemic. Things are going to get rough imminently. There might be riots
