Instead, I search for accommodation. Half an hour later, I’ve found a couple of national hotel chains that allow pets, but they only have vacancies for the weekend, not the working week ahead.

  I could buy a small camper van.

  Maybe not.

  If I was sure Gemma was heading for Sussex, I’d hire a car and return home.

  Thinking of home reminds me I should call Niamh. My stepmother is only seven years older than me and she liked to think of us as brother and sister. I considered us best friends, confiding in her, seeking her advice, sharing her wicked sense of humour and fun. Gemma saw her as an unwelcome influence on me, competition even.

  I had to beg Niamh to come to the wedding.

  Now I have to tell her the woman she deemed unsuitable has gone off without me.

  “Kent, what a lovely surprise. How’s the honeymoon?”

  “Gemma’s missing.”

  She hesitates. “Missing? What are you talking about?”

  When I explain, Niamh keeps interrupting, seeking more details, interrogating me at times. Have I contacted the police? Why not? What am I doing to find her? Who are these people? What do they want?

  “Have you spoken to Sarah?” she asks.

  “Not yet.”

  “You should have rung her straight away.”

  “Niamh, there’s nothing she can do. Nothing you can do. Miles is trying to track down Halliday-Jones.”

  “I might have guessed you’d talk to him.”

  I draw a tense breath, determined not to react. “He knows people.”

  “I know the Chief Constable. I exchange Christmas cards with his wife.” She lets out a deep sigh. “I had a feeling something like this would happen.”

  “What are you talking about?”

  “This isn’t the first time Gemma’s done something like this, is it? Have you forgotten how she jilted poor Richard on their wedding day?”

  “Niamh, she hasn’t jilted me. She’s in trouble and I need to find her.” I pause, aware my voice is rising. “I’m stuck here, not knowing where she’s gone or what’s happened to her. I don’t know how she’s feeling or what to do for the best. So, unless you’ve got something helpful to say...”

  Columbo, ears down, frightened by my angry voice, hunkers down in the corner.

  Annoyed with myself for upsetting him, I draw a breath. “Niamh, you don’t know what’s happened. None of us do. Until we do, let’s not make things more difficult.”

  “Are you saying you don’t want me to have a word with the Chief Constable?”

  I’m beginning to regret ringing Niamh. Ringing anyone. Now everyone knows Gemma’s missing. It could be nothing. If she could return in the next few hours, she’ll be furious when she finds out how many people I’ve told.

  Then again, despite all my efforts to remain positive, I don’t think she’ll be back.

  If that’s the case, I’ll need all the help I can get.

  “Thanks for the offer, Niamh, but there’s a way to go before we need to involve the Chief Constable.”

  “You know where I am,” she says, making no effort to hide her displeasure.

  After a short, awkward silence, we end the call.

  Columbo walks over, hesitating, not sure if I’m angry with him. Frances and I rescued him from a home where he was neglected, often going without food for several days. The owner was old and suffering from dementia and mental health problems. He shouted at his dog, often taking out his anger and frustration on the poor mite.

  I beckon Columbo, who leaps up onto the sofa, tail wagging. He’s so eager to lick my face, he almost knocks the laptop off my knees. I calm him down and look into his dark eyes.

  “I wish you could talk, little mate. Then you could tell me why Gemma antagonises Niamh.”

  Gemma also antagonises her mother, Sarah. Then again, so do most people. She’s one of those glass half empty types, who can always see the downside or difficulties with everything. If you gave her perfection, she’d complain it was too perfect. She believes the world conspires to make her life difficult. Her marriage to Marty Dean, a musician who spent more time on tour than at home, was doomed when she found out he was gay. Ironically, after several ‘doomed’ relationships, she gave up on men and took up with another woman.

  When she answers her phone, I hear dogs barking in the background, telling me she’s at the surgery.

  “Give me a moment, will you, Kent?”

  After issuing instructions to a colleague, the barking fades as she moves into the house which adjoins her veterinary practice. “How are things in Stratford? Has Columbo decimated the squirrel population?”

  “They’re certainly on alert, but that’s not why I’m calling.” I brace myself and tell her Gemma’s missing. “She forgot her camera and came back to the house to collect it but didn’t return. When I got back, she’d gone off in my car.”

  “Did you argue? She can be a sulky madam when she wants to be.”

  “We were having a great time. She didn’t want to the honeymoon to end.”

  I pause, wondering if she didn’t want to return home to face Eddie or Halliday-Jones.

  “I found some texts on her phone. She left it behind.” Unlike Niamh, Sarah lets me explain about Halliday-Jones. “I’m hoping she’s on her way back to Sussex as we speak.”

  “Has she told you much about her time in London?”

  “Hardly anything.”

  “She’s never said much to me either.” Sarah sighs, as if it’s another of life’s burdens. “She went to live with her father when she was thirteen. Heaven knows what they got up to. Marty liked drink and drugs, so it was no surprise when he became terminally ill. Gemma came back for a break. After you two had your fling, she returned to London. He died from AIDS not long after, though she never told me until months later.”

  It could explain why Gemma never contacted me after I walked out on her.

  “My brother will know more,” Sarah says. “He went up to see her a few times.”

  Frank Dean, the Chief Executive of Downland District Council, walked her down the aisle on our big day.

  “Anyway,” Sarah says, as if she’s done enough talking, “Gemma can take care of herself, as you know. Whatever it is, she’ll sort it out and come back as if nothing happened.”

  “Are you saying I should come home and wait?”

  “Only you can decide that, Kent. I’m saying trust her, that’s all. Don’t interrogate her either. Whenever I tried to help, to be a mother, she pushed me away. At least she loves you. Remember that and trust her.”

  I can trust Gemma, but what about Halliday-Jones and Eddie?

  Six

  Richard arrives at midday, his knock on the door brisk. Columbo barks back. He likes visitors, especially if they bring food. Richard smiles and hands me a set of keys for the front and back doors. “Mr Wilson said post them through the letterbox when you leave.”

  He’s soon on his knees, fussing Columbo.

  Richard looks lean and toned, his boyish face, now chiselled and mature, glowing with health and vigour. His deep tan and sharp, pinstripe suit, which fits perfectly, suggest a man of style and means. Leaving the family business in Eastbourne and working in the Cotswolds has allowed him to develop and establish himself on his terms.

  The last time we met, he was in awe of me, eager to learn about my murder investigations. Now he’s less easily impressed, more cynical and critical, if the way he looks around the front room is anything to go by. His solicitor’s eye for detail takes it all in, despite Columbo’s attempts to distract him. He rises and straightens his jacket. His blue eyes study me, like he’s comparing me to the man he remembers.

  “I wasn’t surprised when Gemma dumped me,” he says, as if he’d anticipated her behaviour. “She saw me as an antidote to you.”

  “You make me sound like a poison.”

  “More like a drug she couldn’t resist.” His reflective smile fades fast. “You gave her the excitement and danger she wanted. I symbolised a detached house in suburbia and 2.4 children. That’s why I moved to the Cotswolds. I wanted to show her I had initiative, drive and an appetite for new experiences. I couldn’t help being a solicitor, but it’s all I know.”

  “I never expected her to walk out on you, Richard.”

  He slides into one of the chairs, reaching down to play some more with Columbo. “The signs were there as the big day approached. She became nervy and evasive when I wanted to discuss details.” He smiles once more. “The solicitor in me likes everything spelt out, agreed and witnessed with two signatures. In hindsight, I knew she was slipping away, but I didn’t want to believe it. She was engaged to me. She was wearing my ring. She’d agreed to marry me. But she couldn’t stop thinking about you. She thought you’d drive up here to rescue her, according to Kelly.”

  His cold, sneering smile tells me what he thinks of that idea. “Well Kent, now you know how it feels.”

  I could tell him my wife will be back, but how can I be sure?

  That’s what troubles and irritates me the most – the uncertainty.

  If only I’d listened when she tried to talk about the mistakes she’d made. I dismissed her concerns, telling her the present was all that mattered. I didn’t want her dwelling on things she couldn’t change.

  “No hard feelings,” he says, settling back in the chair. “Gemma must have told you about her father, Marty, the musician. He was a restless pot-smoking spirit, caged in a small flat with a daughter he barely knew. When he went touring, he was always surprised to find her there when he got back. He thought she’d grow bored and return home to her mother. Instead, she persuaded him to let her sing backing vocals and shake a tambourine on his next tour. It gave her a taste for the stage, for the applause of fans.”

  His wistful smile tells me he enjoyed her revelations. They opened up a world far removed from his experience. They revealed a young woman who wanted adventure, excitement, to be noticed and loved. She enjoyed the adrenaline pulsing through her arteries, the drama. I saw glimpses of it during our first few days together. The way she performed, the way she knew exactly what she wanted, revealed a self-belief and confidence I’d seldom seen before in a woman of eighteen.

  “How much do you know about those days?” I ask.

  “Less than you, I imagine.”

  “We seldom speak about the past.”

  “Interesting.” He sounds like an analyst making a breakthrough. “She told me about her adventures with you to show me the kind of life she wanted. Your murder investigations provide the excitement and drama she craves. I’m surprised she wants to settle down though.”

  “Why do you think that?”

  He shrugs. “She gets bored easily. Perhaps it was me who bored her.”

  While it feels odd to be having such a candid conversation, these are unusual times.

  “She asked me if I was sure I wanted to marry her. I thought she wanted reassurance, well aware of my lousy record on commitment.”

  “Now you’re wondering what she meant.”

  I’m wondering if Halliday-Jones or Eddie contacted her before the wedding.

  Why didn’t she tell me about them?

  Richard interrupts my thoughts. “Something happened that’s come back to haunt her, I’d say. Knowing Gemma’s fondness for drama and excitement, Kent, she may want you to go after her, to save her.” He nods at the coffee table. “Why else would she leave her phone behind? It’s hers, isn’t it?”

  I nod and pass it to him. “Read the texts with Halliday-Jones.”

  No emotion flickers across his face as he scrolls and reads. He has a reassuring calm and confidence, a sense that he can’t be ruffled. When people consult him about their problems, they know he’ll resolve them.

  “How did she react when the texts arrived?”

  “I thought she was swapping texts with Georgina, my father’s wife. They’re always sending each other jokes and silly animations. Then again,” I say, thinking back, “one text seemed to surprise her. When I asked her if she was okay, she threw her arms around me, looked into my eyes and told me she’d never been happier.”

  “Do you think she knew she wouldn’t be here much longer?”

  “I don’t know what to think, Richard. The minute I try to fathom it out, I’m all over the place, thinking the worst.”

  He nods as if he understands. “On the eve of our wedding, Gemma was more animated than usual. I put it down to nerves and the amount of wine she’d consumed. She kept telling everyone how wonderful I was, how I’d changed her life, how she couldn’t wait to become Mrs Compton. Ironic, considering she’d insisted on keeping her surname. I think she was trying to make sure I had no idea she was about to run away.” Bitterness creeps into his voice. “She succeeded.”

  “Maybe she wanted you to chase after her.”

  His laugh is as hollow as my suggestion. He hands back the phone. “Having read the texts, it’s clear she has a problem that could be detrimental to your marriage. So why did she leave her phone behind when she clearly didn’t trust you enough to confide in you?”

  Seven

  Once again, my thoughts threaten to run off in several unsavoury directions. Is my mind going to turn to jelly every time there’s a question I can’t answer? What has Gemma done that means more than her marriage to me? Did she kill someone? Her father died from AIDS. Did she help him on his way with an overdose of morphine to spare him any further pain and misery?

  I turn to Richard, needing answers. “You’re saying she doesn’t trust me enough to tell me about something she did.”

  “Or she’s scared of how you’ll react.” Richard shrugs, as if he can’t possibly know. “You should consider the timing.”

  “Our honeymoon?”

  “Perhaps someone wants to hurt her. I don’t mean physically,” he says, quickly. “Someone wants to cause her pain at the time she’s happiest. You too, Kent, as I’m sure you realise. You have to find who wants to hurt her and why.”

  “You think I should talk to the police.”

  “Criminal law isn’t my speciality, but I don’t think they investigate so soon unless it’s a child, or someone’s in danger. The texts don’t suggest a threat to her life, more to her reputation. Talk to the police, by all means,” he says, rising, “but if the answer lies in her past, you need to find her friends and work colleagues, find out what she was doing. It’s what you do best.”

  I walk over to the door with him and shake his hand. “I appreciate your clear thinking, Richard.”

  “When you find her, Kent, don’t blame her. I forgave her and it’s allowed me to move on. Now I’m with Amanda, who’s expecting our first child.” He points to the keys on the table. “If you’re going to stay in Stratford, you’ll need alternative accommodation.”

  “Do you know somewhere?”

  He reaches into his pocket and pulls out a card. “We’re converting some outbuildings in the rear garden into self-catering accommodation. The building works are finished, but the units are not fully furnished yet. You’re welcome to use one for a couple of days, in exchange for a favourable review on Trip Advisor.”

  I hesitate. “Shouldn’t you check with Amanda first?”

  “She won’t mind.”

  Somehow, I doubt it.

  I watch him walk down the street towards a black Audi TT convertible. When Columbo nudges my leg, I bend and scoop him up. “Okay, we’ll finish your walk, but I need to make some sandwiches first.”

  Columbo doesn’t mind waiting when there’s food. While Gemma and I ate out most days, we kept enough in the fridge to make cheese and salad cream sandwiches. Like chip butties, they’re a favourite from my childhood in Manchester. I place the sandwiches in a plastic tub, take a bottle of still mineral water from the fridge, and slip them into the rucksack besides Columbo’s bowl, treats and water. I put Gemma’s mobile into a spare pocket of the rucksack, in case she or someone rings or texts. With my phone in my jacket pocket, we’re ready to roll. I lock the door behind me and follow one excited dog towards the graveyard.

  While Columbo stops every few metres to sniff, I contemplate Richard’s holiday accommodation. I’m not sure remaining in Stratford will help. Gemma knows the rental ends in the morning, so if she doesn’t return before then, I’d be better going home to Jevington.

  After the way she treated Richard, I’m surprised he offered me a roof over my head. Maybe he wants to see me suffer. I dismiss the cynical thought, telling myself people can be selfless. At least he’s found someone and judging by his clothes and car, business is thriving. No doubt he lives in a large, detached cottage, built from honey-coloured stone, set in a couple of acres of garden with woodland and a stream at the rear.

  Was it too remote, too dull for Gemma?

  Columbo follows me onto the chain ferry, which travels across the River Avon to the recreation ground on the other side. When I release the lead, he’s off on the trail of squirrels or dropped food. He’s not fussy. We soon find a vacant bench overlooking the river and settle for lunch. He knows the routine. I attach his lead and he sits and watches, waiting for the last corner of the sandwich, growling to warn off any dog that passes or comes near. Then, once all the food has gone, he has a brief drink and encourages me to let him go exploring once more.

  Only he’s used to seeing Gemma beside me.

  It feels strange, sitting here without her. I should be searching for her, not eating lunch beneath the weeping willows on one of the prettiest rivers I’ve seen.

  If only I knew where to look.

  Feeling like I’ve let her down, I make sure Columbo’s lead is secure beneath my leg and pull out my phone, ready to start my investigation. I begin with Gemma’s father, Marty Dean. Within a few seconds I realise it would be easier to search on the laptop with a larger screen and Wi-Fi. With so many Marty and Martin Deans on Google, my search will take some time.

  I need a shortcut.

  I ring Sarah, hoping she hasn’t started afternoon surgery. From the tone of her voice, I can tell she’s hoping for good news.

 

1 2 3 4 5 6 7 8 9 10 11 12 13 14 15 16 17 18 19 20 21 22 23 24 25 26 27