The Dead Tracks

    'Yes. I think they had a similar theory to you.'

    'Did she start seeing anyone else after that?'

    A slight hesitation. 'No,' she said, but didn't look at me.

    'Jim and I talked to her about it and suggested it might be better if she concentrated on her studies. She was three good grades away from getting a place at Cambridge. That was worth a little sacrifice.'

    I nodded, but didn't write anything down.

    Something was definitely up.

    'What about the names Anthony Grant, or A. J. Grant — do they mean anything?'

    She shook her head. 'No.'

    I reached into my pocket and took out a printout of the photograph I'd found on Megan's camera. I'd blown it up on the computer.

    'Do you recognize this photo?'

    She took the printout. 'Yes. It's on her camera.'

    'Right. Any idea where she is there?'

    She brought the picture in closer to her. 'No. I remember this is one of the photos we looked at right back at the start, because Jamie Hart asked us the same thing.'

    'Did he find anything out?'

    'No. The police went through all her photos, all her friends' photos, everything they could lay their hands on.' She paused, a flash of a tear in one of her eyes. 'But they got nowhere.'

    'So they never found out who took this one?'

    She glanced at the photo again, then back up. 'No. Why?'

    'Don't you think her face looks different there?'

    'Her face?'

    I pointed to Megan. 'Her smile.'

    'In what way?'

    'I don't know. You know her best. But this smile, and the smile in some of the other photos… they seem different to me.'

    'Different how?'

    I shrugged. 'I'm not sure. Maybe it's nothing. I just think it would be helpful to find out who took this, that's all.'

    Something passed across her face.

    'Are you okay?' I asked.

    She frowned at me. 'Of course. Why?'

    Because something’s up with you. You just seem a little… distracted, I guess.'

    'I'm fine.'

    I let it go. 'Just backtracking for a second, she definitely never made mention of being in any relationship after Charles Bryant?'

    Another small hesitation.

    'Caroline?'

    'No.'

    'She never made mention of one?'

    Movement in her eyes. 'No, she definitely -'

    'Caroline.'

    She stopped. Looked at me.

    'Do you want your daughter found?'

    'Of course. What sort of question is that?'

    I glanced at a photograph of Megan, in a frame on a small glass table at the end of one of the sofas. 'I'm just asking because I get the feeling I might be missing something here.'

    'What do you mean?'

    'I mean, I'm not sure you're being totally honest with me. I need you to tell me everything. Even if it's just a suspicion, a hunch.'

    She paused, looked down at my pad, then dabbed a finger against her eye. If I was wrong, I'd have to apologize to her - but I had to be sure. I couldn't be working the case if one of the two people in the world who knew Megan the best wasn't prepared to give me everything she had.

    Finally, after what seemed like minutes, Caroline looked up, sadness and disappointment in her eyes. She turned and faced the photograph of Megan I had been looking at a few moments before. Then, determination back in her voice, she said quietly, 'I think you should leave now.'

Chapter Ten

    By the time I got home it was almost dark. Autumn was moving in quickly now: once the sun faded from the sky, the night washed in and the temperature went with it. I put the football on in the living room, then turned the radio on in the kitchen. One of the things you dread the most when you've been left on your own is the silence.

    After showering, I went through to the kitchen and started preparing some dinner, emptying a packet of stir- fry vegetables into a wok along with some sliced chicken. As I watched it brown, I kept coming back to Caroline Carver. I couldn't shake the feeling that she was holding something back. Even if I couldn't read her as clearly as I would have liked, I knew I wasn't mistaken. Something sat there between us, just as it had the first time we'd met at the restaurant. A secret. A half-truth. A lie. Something.

    I was sitting down in front of the TV, twenty minutes into the match, when my phone started buzzing. I set the plate aside and hit Answer.

    It was James Carver.

    'Caroline told me about what you accused her of today,' he said, cutting to the chase. 'You think she would hold back something important? You seriously think she would do that? What planet are you on?'

    'Hold on a min-'

    'No, you hold on a minute.' He lowered his voice. He must have been in another room, trying to keep the conversation away from her. 'Don't ever accuse my wife of trying to get in the way of finding Meg'

    'I didn't accuse her of —'

    'Don't tell me you didn't. I know you did. I'm paying you to be an investigator, not some amateur-hour psychologist.'

    'Just let me explain.'

    'You really believe Caroline doesn’t want her found?'

    'Of course not.'

    'Then what the hell are you playing at?'

    I paused, let him calm down for a moment. 'She seemed hesitant.'

    'About what?'

    'About everything'

    'Our daughter has been missing six months. You know what that's like? You know what that Does to you? No, you don't. You've got no idea.'

    I didn't reply. Let him feel like he'd had his victory.

    'Are you going to apologize?'

    'Listen, James… I don't know either of you well, but I went with a gut reaction and if it turns out to be wrong, then I'll apologize.'

    'You insulted her. Do you understand what I'm telling you?'

    'It won't happen again.'