The Missing by Karl Vadaszffy

Author:Karl Vadaszffy [Vadaszffy, Karl]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Tags: generation x, j. d. salinger, john rector, bret easton ellis, james siegel, harlan coben, the rachel papers, little face, vadaszffy, hunter s. thompson, fear and loathing in las vegas, the missing, douglas coupland, neil cross, howard marks, the beach, karl vadaszffy, full of sin, martin amis, sj watson, alex garland, the catcher in the rye, neil white, mr nice, the cement garden, sophie hannah, iain banks, slacker, ian mcewan
Publisher: Peach Publishing
Published: 2012-06-06T23:00:00+00:00

None of it makes sense.

Take Dave Bryant, for instance. Jennie spoke about him; she described him and, it was so clear, she knew him. He has to be her boss. He has to be as real as she is.

I sit closer to the computer desk. It’s worth a try. I go to the Google homepage and type in ‘Dave Bryant, solicitor, St Albans’. There’s no direct hit, but there are mentions of a Dave Bryant, solicitor, and some cases he’s worked on. Some newspaper articles. Some quotes. My eyes scan the screen. I’m not patient enough to read the text closely.

And there it is: Hertfordshire. Dave Bryant, Hertfordshire lawyer. Then: Harpenden. That’s not far from here. Could it be that for some reason Jennie didn’t tell me the full truth? Could it be that in every deception there’s an element of truth?

I Google: ‘Dave Bryant, solicitor, Harpenden, Herts’.

It’s the first result. Dave Bryant, solicitor at law. I grab a pen and write down his office address. Could he be the Dave Bryant? It’s the only lead I have, so I’m going to pursue it to my fullest capacity.

The doorbell rings. I check the time: almost ten o’clock. Strange. Perhaps it’s some news from the police. Perhaps it’s Detective Nielsen.

I heave myself out of my desk chair and go down the stairs. I unlock the door and open it.

Nobody’s there. I step out and look around.

Must be kids.

I look left and right again and see nothing. Kids are always so quick. It’s not the first time this has happened.

I relock the door and go back upstairs. As soon as I sit in the chair, there it goes again: another knock at the door. Now I know it’s kids, so I ignore it.

Then silence.

After two minutes, there’s another knock. This time it’s repeated consistently, a pounding.

Annoyed and unable to concentrate, I get up and return to the front door. It might be fun for kids, but they have no idea what I’m going through and they’re not helping.

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