Daddy's Here(4)

"This isn't what I normally do, have you gone to the police?"         

     



 

"Tony said you were better than them. He said you'd find her, tell me you can find her."

"I need somewhere to start, any idea where she'd go?"

"Not a clue."

"She's your daughter. You must have some idea."

He sighed. "We're not close."

"Have you got a photo of her at least?"

"It … it's all at her place. I'll find you the key, hang on. Oh, wait, here's a photo."

He stood up and walked over to the desk in the corner of the room. He  brought back a portrait in a silver frame. The face in the picture  scowled up at me. "How long ago was this taken?" I asked.

"Five years ago."

"So how old is she now?"

"Nineteen. Her hair's different now."

"Different how?"

"Blonde. She used to dye it darker, part of rebelling against me, I guess. Wait there, I'll get you the key to her place."

I spent another half an hour with him, getting as many details as I  could which wasn't many. By the time I left, I had a pretty good idea  where she'd gone. A spoiled little rich girl with a distant father who  paid all her bills. A girl like that wouldn't go far. Nor would she go  somewhere she didn't know, it'd be too scary for her. People are so  predictable.

I left him with my number and instructions to ring me if he found out  she'd used her credit card. Well, his credit card really. It sounded to  me as if she'd never had to pay for a thing in her life.

I could picture her perfectly. She'd be holed up in a hotel, putting  everything on the card and having her little tantrum, waiting for her  father to back down. He'd probably never made her do anything before  that she didn't want to. He told me as much before I went. "She was such  a good little girl," he said as I was leaving, his eyes turning misty,  "at first."

I drove to her flat, not sure what might be waiting for me there. Her  place was on the second floor of an old building, though the interior  was about as modern as they come, all gleaming glass and chrome.  Wherever she'd gone, she'd gone in a hurry. The drawers in her bedroom  were pulled out, clothes streaming from them. There was an open suitcase  on the bed and it looked as if she'd been halfway through packing it  when she'd decided to leave it behind.

On the wall was a photo collage. It looked like she'd taken dozens of  shots in the same dingy nightclub, blurred group photos of drinking and  dancing that could have been taken anywhere. To the right of the  collection I found a few outdoor shots, kayaking, standing on a hilltop,  camping. It was clearly somewhere she liked going to as she was  different ages in the photos even though they were the same place, some  small rural town.

There she was aged twelve or so, then again on the same campsite a few  years older. And again, older still. I took the most recent looking  photo down, at least I had a better idea of what she looked like now.

She had a desk in the corner of the bedroom. The drawer to it was locked  but I soon fixed that, yanking it open to find a mountain of unopened  bills inside.

I rifled through the paperwork, not sure exactly what I was looking for.  Whatever it was, I didn't find it. In fact, other than getting a  glimpse into the world of a nineteen year old rich girl, I didn't get  much out of my visit at all.

I was about to leave when I noticed a postcard on the fridge. It was the  campsite from the photos. On the back, it was branded at the top.  Gentle Falls. I read the rest of the postcard.

‘Having a great time, reminded us of that time you brought the  airhorn!?! See you soon and you better come with us next time, not ponce  off with Ben. Love, C and A.'

It was undated, the postmark smeared into a black smudge.

I pocketed the postcard, taking it with me as I went back to my car. I'd  start there, see if she'd gone back to the place she clearly loved so  much. If her father knew her better, he'd have gone there himself, no  doubt, but he seemed like a man too wrapped up in his own world to care  about hers. I got the feeling he cared more about his own neck than his  daughter's and that was the only reason why he was so desperate to get  her back.

I had no idea how long it might take to find her so I went home first,  climbing the steps to my own flat, the peeling paint on the walls  catching my attention for the first time, a sharp contrast to her place.

I went past my door and kept climbing up to the third floor, knocking once on the only door on this level.

"Hold on," an old woman's voice called out and then I heard the scraping  of a chain. I shook my head and smiled. "Oh, Jake, it's you," she said  when she answered, looking more stooped than ever.         

     



 

"Good evening, Miss Wilson," I replied.

"How many times must I tell you, call me Vera."

"As many times as I've told you there's no need to bolt your door in your own building when I live downstairs."

"Not all my tenants are as trustworthy as you, Jake."

"A doctor, an accountant and a baker?"

"Exactly. Shifty, all of them. Especially that Gunnell fellow."

"He's training to be a surgeon, I doubt he's doubling up as a burglar on the side."

"You never know."

"Listen, I have to go away for a while. I wondered if you wouldn't mind … ?"

"Watering your plants? Of course not. What kind of landlady would I be if I let your beloved peace lily die?"

"Thank you, Miss Wilson."

"Any idea when you'll be back, Jake?"

"Shouldn't be too long," I replied, turning to head back to the stairs.

"Famous last words," she called after me, her door slamming and the  bolts scraping loudly back into place as I descended the stairs to start  my search for Isabel Fleming.





SIX


ISABEL





I'm not sure how I ended up in Gentle Falls. I didn't really have a plan  when I left the house. All I did was get in the car and start driving. I  didn't want to go too far, not until I worked out what I was going to  do.

I'd been to Gentle Falls a few times with the girls, slumming it in  cabins in the woods next to the town or hanging out on the campsite. It  wasn't really a town, more of a big village and I can't even remember  how we ended up there the first time we went. I do remember a lot of  bottles of wine on the kitchen counter, illicit alcohol given our ages  at the time. The rest of that first holiday was a haze that will  probably never turn back into a proper memory. Still, it must have been  good or we wouldn't have gone back so many times.

There was only one year when I didn't go with them. I'd just turned  seventeen and I had decided to go and see Ben, only I didn't go. I told  them I was going, I made every plan to go but then I just didn't. I  stayed at home and pretended I'd gone, pretended I'd had an amazing time  when in fact I hadn't dared go see him in case he rejected me.

I had the train ticket ready but when it came to leaving the house, a  tiny little voice in my head asked me what I'd do if he'd forgotten me,  or worse, what would I do if he didn't still love me? It had been years,  after all. I couldn't bear the thought of it and in the end I decided  the agony of not knowing was more my style.

I couldn't recreate the holidays I'd had with the girls this time but I  could toast the memory of the past. I sat in Red or White, a wine bar  that had seen far better days, draining one glass after another of the  most expensive Merlot they had, playing with my phone whilst ignoring  the sixty-two texts from my father. Sixty-three.

The latest one just said, ‘COME HOME NOW.'

No chance. If he thought I was going to play happy families with the son  of a gangster, he had another thing coming. I thought about replying,  telling him that, but I decided against it, better to keep quiet until  he'd calmed down.

The more I drank, the less I cared about him anyway. I looked around at  the others in the bar. There were a couple of people around my age in  there, maybe a little older. Over in the corner, a man in a black suit  kept staring at me. I ignored him. He was far too old for me. The guys  sliding up to the bar were more my type, even if they were in  tracksuits. They had muscles from too many hours at the gym, full of  bravado as they nudged each other and glanced in my direction.

I turned away from them, let them come to me. That meant I was facing  the guy on his own and he was still staring at me. I glanced back at the  men, the bravest of them was already on his way over. I gave him the  tiniest of smiles though with the amount of wine I'd drunk, it was hard  to control my grin.

"Good evening," he said, his voice slurred. "Want to come and join us?"

"I'm all right, thanks," I replied, leaning on my elbow, spinning my empty glass slowly with my free hand.

He took the hint. "Can I get you another drink?"

"Why not?"

Within ten minutes I was in the middle of the three of them, the drinks  continuing to pour. I felt like Queen of Gentle Falls, not even caring  when a hand slid down my back, I was too far gone by then to realise the  danger. We talked about something but I've no idea what. I can't  remember.