The Lady Vanished by Gretta Mulrooney

Author:Gretta Mulrooney [Mulrooney, Gretta]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Joffe Books Mystery, Crime Thriller, Suspense
Published: 2015-12-04T22:00:00+00:00

Hi, I just wondered if your enquiries at the care facility were fruitful at all or if you’ve heard anything further about Carmen Langborne. She was annoying but I kind of miss her.

He thought for a moment and replied:

Hi, yes, I did discover something of interest. I could tell you about it over a drink if you’d like.

He wrote up his notes, looking back over the chronology. If Vincent Lomar hadn’t harmed Carmen Langborne, he was no further forward. Lomar was hardly likely to confess and without a body, the police wouldn’t be able to prove anything. He tapped the desk, frustrated at his ignorance of how the questioning was going but knowing better than to bother Nora Morrow again that day. He sat back in his chair, hands behind his head, gazing at the ceiling. He knew what to do in the meantime; return to the beginning and look again, check if he had missed anything. He texted Ronnie Farley, saying that if it was ok, he would like to call round to the house again the following morning. Then he thought he had better make a start on the work Rachel Breen had asked him to do, glad to cause annoyance for the irksome, time wasting Boyce. He spent a while searching the internet for records for Edward Boyce, making notes and recording an address in Tooting Bec which was situated in the right borough and would bear further investigation.

* * *

Ronnie Farley had coffee waiting, and freshly baked fruitcake. The sun was slanting through the kitchen window and one of the cats was asleep on a chair, its paws stretched over the edge. Swift watched Ronnie cut through the still warm cake. It released scents of nutmeg and cinnamon, reminding him of his mother’s barmbrack. He felt a wistfulness for things lost and irretrievable.

‘This kitchen smells wonderful; like childhood,’ he said.

‘I have to do something while I’m here, other than cleaning and polishing or I’d go potty,’ she said. ‘This is my ma’s recipe, never fails. And I know you single men; you don’t look after yourselves with your takeaway food and ready meals.’

He was about to contest the cliché but decided to eat the cake instead. It occurred to him that she probably pictured him living in a small flat, his socks drying on a radiator, fridge filled with meals for one.

They sat at the table and she poured coffee. Her hands were strong and long fingered with ridged veins on the backs.

‘Rupert was here again the other day, checking over the place,’ she said. ‘He had a good old rummage and informed me he’ll keep me on for another month, then review the situation. Told me I mustn’t smoke on the premises, not even in the garden.’

‘That’s a bit mean.’

‘Aye, well; he who pays the piper . . . he’s full of his own importance, that one.’

There was a tabloid newspaper lying on the table. She turned it round so that Swift could see the

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