LITMIR.BIZ

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morning.’

      ‘It was … normal. I’ve been over and over it for anything unusual. She did go to work that day, I know that, because on Friday morning when her bed hadn’t been slept in and I found her phone, I rang the office to check she was okay. I got Roger, her boss, and he said she’d been there all day on Thursday and left as usual.’

      ‘But she wasn’t there then?’

      ‘No. He was about to call here, he said.’

      ‘Where does she work?’

      ‘In the Jewellery Quarter.’

      The Jewellery Quarter. Robin felt a cold hand on the back of her neck.

      ‘A family silversmith,’ Valerie was saying, ‘Hanley’s. She’s been there since she finished her A-levels; they’ve encouraged her to go on, do book-keeping at college at night so she can take more on.’

      ‘And has she?’

      ‘Not yet. She says she will but now there’s the other place so I don’t know when she’d have the time.’

      ‘The other place?’

      Valerie frowned. ‘She’s got a bar job in the city centre, place called The Spot. She’s been there since September. Three nights a week – Wednesday, Friday and Saturday.’

      ‘You don’t approve?’

      ‘It would be better to do the evening course, wouldn’t it? But she says she’s saving up for a summer holiday.’

      ‘Have you looked for her passport?’ asked Robin.

      ‘Yes. It’s here, still in the drawer with mine.’

      ‘And have you spoken to anyone at the bar?’ said Maggie.

      ‘Of course.’ A terse note. The woman heard it and caught herself. ‘I’m sorry.’

      ‘It’s okay. Just take it steady.’

      Valerie exhaled heavily, as if she could breathe out the tension. ‘She wasn’t there that night – she wasn’t supposed to be, she doesn’t do Thursdays. On Friday I called to see if she was in and spoke to the manager. He was annoyed with her for missing her shift, leaving him in the lurch.’

      ‘Right. And you’ve talked to her friends?’

      ‘As many as I can. And Jane who she works with at the office. She’s got new friends, though, at The Spot. I don’t know them.’

      ‘Boyfriend?’

      ‘Not at the moment. She broke up with Nick in October and there hasn’t been anyone since, as far as I know.’

      ‘How about him?’ said Maggie. ‘Nick. How did he take the break-up? His idea or hers?’

      ‘Hers. Well, he wasn’t pleased, he liked her, but as far as I know, he didn’t push it. There were a few phone calls then he got the message.’

      ‘How long had they been together?’

      ‘Four or five months. But I’ve been through all this with the police.’

      ‘Valerie, do you understand why DI Nuttall says she’s not a high-priority case?’

      ‘Because of her age – she’s an adult. And because there’s no evidence of anything … untoward.’ She looked down, chin quivering. ‘Violent.’ Robin watched her bring herself under control. ‘She doesn’t have any of the risk factors – she’s not suicidal, she doesn’t self-harm; she’s not an addict; she’s not in an abusive relationship. I understand what he was trying to say – people leave, they don’t want to be found, that’s their prerogative – but this isn’t that. This is different. Something’s wrong, I know it. I know my daughter. If she hasn’t come home and she hasn’t rung …’

      ‘What’s she like as a person?’ Robin asked. ‘What does she like doing?’

      Valerie took a wad of tissue from her cuff and pressed it under her eyes. ‘She likes reading. We used to go to the library a lot when she was younger and it stuck.’

      ‘What kind of stuff?’

      ‘Novels – all sorts. Historical, thrillers. She likes Jane Eyre – reads it over and over again. Lately she’s been reading a lot of YA, she calls it – young adult. Well, I suppose she is one but it means younger, really, doesn’t it? All teenagers and girls with crossbows. Fantasy. And she likes cooking. Those are hers.’ She pointed to a stack of books on the counter: Ottolenghi and Polpo, two River Cafés. ‘She loves the Bake Off, all those cookery shows on Saturday morning. She watches them then goes shopping down Stratford Road, comes back and cooks. It’s not all my taste, what she makes. Too … herby. Lentils, little beans. What’s that funny stuff – tabbouleh? But she’s good at it.’

      ‘Wish I was,’ said Maggie.

      ‘So she’s a homebody, would you say?’

      ‘No, I wouldn’t. She’s … a mixture. She likes her cooking and her books but if I said she was always sensible … She drinks. She goes out. She’s not a wallflower.’

      ‘You said she’s not an addict; have you ever suspected she might be taking drugs at all?’ Robin asked.

      ‘No.’ She seemed to hesitate. ‘I don’t know.’

      ‘Remember, we’re not police,’ Maggie said. ‘The objective here would be to find Becca, not get her into trouble. Knowing about drugs is for us, to make sure we have the whole picture. We’re not going to go to the police about personal drug use, okay?’

      ‘Right. Well, maybe. I don’t know. Nothing … serious.’

      In the bag at her feet, Maggie’s phone started ringing. ‘I’m sorry, Valerie.’ She took it out, looked at the screen then stood. ‘Will you excuse me a moment?’ She pointed to the hallway. ‘Hello?’ The tinny sound of a male voice on the other end that faded as she moved away.

      Valerie Woodson looked at Robin, expectant, and for a moment she was thrown. What now? Her instinct – her training, so ingrained it was second nature at this point – was to get details of Rebecca’s associates, her employers, friends, exes, but how did Maggie work? Did she have to agree formally to take on the case? Did she want to? Writing down names would look like a commitment. And what about Valerie’s side of it – was there some kind of contract? A fee? What were Maggie’s terms?

      She played for time. ‘How long have you lived here?’

      ‘Since I was born,’ Valerie said. ‘I’m the only original Brit on the street now. My parents bought the house in the Fifties, I’ve never lived anywhere else. My dad retired about the time I met Graeme and we bought it from them. They moved out to Worcestershire, bought a bungalow near Inkberrow.’

      ‘Nice.’ Jesus, the idea of living in one house your whole life. ‘Did you ever see any evidence of Rebecca using drugs?’

      The non sequitur took Valerie aback, unsurprisingly. ‘What do you mean?’

      ‘Sorry – I mean, have you ever seen her with them? Found them in the house?’

      ‘Of course not.’ Now she looked indignant. ‘I wouldn’t stand for that.’

      Robin glanced back up the hall and saw Maggie open the front door, step out and pull it closed behind her.

      Valerie saw, too. ‘Is it something to do with Rebecca?’

      ‘I don’t think so. No. The police wouldn’t know to call us about her. We’ve only just made contact with you, so …’

      ‘That’s true. Yes, that’s true. God.’ She put her face in her hands. ‘Sorry. It’s just … Do you have children?’

      ‘One. A daughter, too.’

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