Where the Missing Go by Emma Rowley

Author:Emma Rowley
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Kensington
Published: 2019-02-12T16:00:00+00:00

“Turns out we’re not the only ones who’ve been interested in the charity’s phone records. The Message in a Bottle helpline has had a bit of a pest problem. One caller in particular had been very nasty. Sexual stuff, whenever he got a woman on the phone. Threats. And he was persistent.”

“Oh, right. You mean a pest caller.” Nicholls has turned up, refused a cup of tea—“water, please”—and started talking. For a moment, I let myself feel the oddness of my life now: the suited detective sitting opposite me at my kitchen table, as I wait for him to get to the point. He’s very calm, unhurried.

And what he’s saying is true. Heavy breathers are the secret bane of helplines, but they don’t like to publicize it—it might encourage more of them. But annoy the volunteers too often and the powers that be can, after a lot of soul-searching, block you. I just don’t yet see what this has to do with me.

“So,” he begins, “it turns out that the charity had actually made a police complaint about one caller in particular, via its headquarters in London. And they’d agreed police could access the helpline’s caller records for the last couple of months, to find him. They were prepared for him to be charged.”

I feel a little leap of hope. Could this be good news? He’s got Sophie’s call details this way?

He continues: “My colleagues in the Met started looking at the phone numbers that had been used to make repeated calls to the helpline. It wasn’t hard to find their guy: he didn’t understand that the confidentiality policy wouldn’t cover a telecommunications offense. This guy was making hundreds of calls from his house landline—somewhere in the West Midlands—when his wife went to work in the daytime.”

So that’s why I wouldn’t have heard from this creep: I only do nights.

“And we don’t get a lot of repeat callers,” I add. Not legitimate ones. We get messages to loved ones, and we’re supposed to refer people elsewhere for longer-term support. “But I’m sorry, how’s this going to help in my situation? Sophie only rang me once.”

“I do have a point,” he says mildly. “Now, the charity wouldn’t agree to release the details of Sophie’s call.” So he did ask. “And there wasn’t any reason for us to try to force it.” I nod. I don’t agree with it, but I understand. “So when I heard about this other investigation, I took a look at the info they’d collected on the repeat caller numbers—call it professional curiosity—and I found something a little unusual.”

For a second I feel like he’s waiting for me to say something, then he goes on: “There were dozens of calls made to the helpline from a number local to this area.”

I’m confused. “Well, it’s a national helpline—but anyone can ring in.”

“Yes, anyone can ring in. And with this one phone number, there wasn’t any abuse, nothing like that. There was just a pattern: the caller rings, then hangs up a few moments after connection.

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