Except for the mobile phone clamped to his left ear, the gathering anxiety.
‘Claudia Cornwell,’ he repeated and spelled it out, Annie writing it down. ‘And it’s Plas Gwyndwr, with a W. Near Talgarth. Thanks, Gerry. Just say the postcode again.’
His mouth was dry and he was going numb all down his left side, to the waist. He’d been through his phone for texts, emails, anything. He’d avoided meeting Tamsin’s parents. Nothing to tell them, nothing that wouldn’t make it worse, couldn’t face the cups of cooling tea, the untouched biscuits. Plus, their situation wouldn’t be eased by watching a senior copper struggling to stay upright, blinking in the lights, slurring his words.
‘All right, Gerry, listen, can you ring whoever’s been at Peter-church today, find out when they last heard from Tamsin. I know it’s her day off, but somebody might know. And if she’s got any close mates in the job. But, most important, find out if she’s also done a PNC check on that reg. and when. And come back to me.’
‘Francis,’ Annie murmured. ‘Just report it.’
‘How far’s Talgarth from Hay, Gerry, ten minutes? Fifteen?’
‘I’m really not trying to pull rank,’ Annie said, very low and urgent, ‘but I’m saying it again. You have to report this.’
Bliss nodded, put up his hand, then got both hands round the phone, his forehead banging inside.
‘Gerry, listen… this could be nothing. This could be a complete false alarm, but Tamsin Winterson’s brother rang me and they can’t find her and they can’t raise her on her mobile. She was last heard from trying to trace that car. No known offence involved, no suspicion of any offence. As I’m only about fifteen minutes away, I’m nipping over there, have a word meself.’
‘It’s Dyfed-Powys area, isn’t it?’ Gerry said. ‘It’s in Wales.’
‘No need for them to be involved. Yet. Let’s keep this low-key, might be nothing. Just call me back ASAP.’
When he came off the phone, Annie was hissing like a punctured tyre. This really was not like the December night when they’d been working together, off the meter.
‘Annie, what am I supposed to friggin’ do? Nobody else knows enough to talk to this woman.’
‘The central issue…’ Annie slumped back hard in the driver’s seat, both hands tight on the wheel ‘… is you have a missing person. Yes, I can see a small advantage in your talking to the woman, rather than anyone else, but I can also see you dropping yourself very deeply in the shit if this escalates.’
‘A missing woman. A missing adult. We don’t overreact any more, do we, if it’s norra kid?’
‘It’s a policewoman, for Christ’s sake. A very young police-woman.’
‘Off duty. And no reason for them to think she’s in any danger. And she’s gonna be embarrassed as hell if there’s a simple explanation, like… like she thought she was babysitting tomorrow night. Could be that simple. And she wasn’t exactly gonna report back to Kelly, was she, on police business?’
‘Do we even know she went to Cusop?’
‘Annie, we don’t even know she left the farm. Her mother was in Hereford, shopping, most of the afternoon, and her dad and her brother were out picking up a second-hand trailer. Last time they saw her was lunch.’
Annie stared through the windscreen towards a placard in front of the hedge across the main road. It was advertising some philosophy event in Hay. It said, How The Light Gets In.
‘Please?’ Bliss said.
‘Francis, you may never be able to pay me back for this.’
Annie started the engine, put on the headlights.
29
Nail bar
‘SLAUGHTERHOUSE AREA, SEE.’
‘What is?’
‘That’s what it was. Back Fold. The town abattoir. Back Fold ran with blood. Echoed to the sounds of bellowing.’
‘When was this?’
Robin laid his glass down, dismayed.
‘I dunno,’ Gareth Nunne, the human barrel, said. ‘Within living memory, more or less. Some people’s memory. Likely my dad’s. He’s eighty-nine.’
‘I’m vegetarian,’ Robin said.
There was a short, hollowed-out period of quiet and then enough laughter to blast all the glasses off the bartop. Robin found he was also laughing. Had to have been an abattoir someplace in a farmers’ town. No bookstores back then, maybe a newsagents that sold books on the side.
The way Gwenda’s Bar did. Under the tawny lantern light, you walked down this widening alley of crooked bookshelves, all books priced at a pound, before you emerged into this oak-panelled parlour, which smelled like pubs used to smell, and the embrace of laughter.