“That’s probably why you remembered it so clearly,” I said. “Thank you. Hopefully, I can find her.”

  The woman smiled and took another drag on her cigarette. “Good luck.” Smoke puffed from her mouth as she spoke.

  Time to leave.

  I returned with a grin.

  “See the lady on the steps behind me.”

  Crockett nodded. “I do.”

  “She saw her. Get this, she says Bateman makes calls from the phone box when she goes for fish and chips.” I took the dog’s lead from Crockett. “Let’s head back.”

  “The phone?” Crockett looked at the phone booth.

  “I asked Steph to find all incoming and outgoing calls for the last three weeks. With luck, we’ll get something.” That wouldn’t be far enough back. “Hang on.” I rang Steph back. “The phone box number … go back twelve months. Look for calls placed to or from the number on Fridays.”

  “Got it,” Steph said. “You’re going to owe me a bottle of wine or two.”

  “Reasonable,” I said with a laugh, and hung up.

  “That should be interesting,” Crockett said, watching a car turn the corner.

  We walked, letting Romeo lead the way. He opted for the exact same route, retracing his steps with dogged determination. I wondered if the missing woman did the same. Did she go home, shower, change, and then disappear? If it was her in the retirement village garden, she wasn’t wearing running clothes. More interesting was the phone calls. We really needed to know who she rang, or who rang the phone box. They might know what happened to her and have a lead we could follow.

  Crockett waited by the passenger door of my car outside Bateman’s. I unlocked the doors and encouraged Romeo into the back, then clipped him to his seatbelt. Crockett climbed into the passenger seat.

  I slid behind the wheel and smiled at Crockett. “Office?”

  “Yes, let’s start running a board.”

  I knew what he meant. Easier to see what was going on with a running timeline. I had a whiteboard wall in one of the meeting rooms that was perfect for that. Also, it was a lockable room.

  Chapter 7

  [Tania: Missing.]

  Tania Bateman lay curled in the foetal position on a wooden floor. Her feet were shackled, her right wrist handcuffed to a steel pipe. Tania’s eyes opened to a blurry, grey world. She lay still and took stock of the situation. Her last memory was walking in a courtyard garden hoping to find a place to leave the package, but not where she was supposed to leave it. All she could do was pray that the old lady she saw in the window of an apartment saw her, too, and got curious or reported a prowler. She’d spent a couple of days sleeping rough under bridges, hoping to evade capture until she could find her way out. It was going well. She’d ditched the package, and she was hours away from extraction.

  And now she had no idea where she was or how she got there. Her eyes adjusted slowly to the fading light. She was thirsty but not hungry. There was a dull ache in her temple. She touched her head with her left hand and felt a lump the size of an egg. Tania tried to sit up. Her restrained wrist made that almost impossible. It took a few attempts before she realised she could thread the handcuff up the pipe until she could sit. She checked her pockets, by patting them. Nothing. Tania’s eyes roamed the room.

  Radiators and windows lined one wall. Dull golden rays of sun slipped through the grime-coated windows and streaked across the dirty floor. The opposite wall had two doors with glass windows. The doors were three metres apart and closed. A full-length blackboard presided over the front of the room. The back wall was blank except for yellowed pieces of sticky tape and the occasional drawing pin. Tania ’ s prison was an old school room.

  She cleared her throat and tested her voice. It croaked a few times before releasing a single word, “Hello.”

  No one answered. Tania inspected the shackles around her ankles. She rubbed her handcuffed wrist. She was uncomfortable. Life was uncomfortable.

  She remembered the things she’d learnt from the bi-annual hostage training her work ran. When you reach the place you're being held, be hyper alert. Where are the potential exits? Are there any obstacles? How many abductors do you have? What is their routine? Are they armed? Do they seem fit? What is their mental state? The more intel you have, the higher your chances of a successful outcome.

  Maintain dignity, be vigilant, take mental note of the kidnappers’ routine, and remain disciplined. Now is not the time for hysterical outbursts or tears. Be human, be polite, and be nice. Be true to your values and integrity, no matter what you are enduring or what threats are made. When you get an opportunity, exploit it. Assume the worst. Fortune favours the brave.

  Tania didn’t know if her captor or captors knew who she was. If they did, it would get messy, and fast. If they didn’t then she had more time to find an exit route.

  Tania was alone.

  She still had her watch on her left wrist. It was an analogue watch, not a smartwatch. The time was eight-forty-six. The fading light from the windows changed to pinks and purples. She knew it was sunset because the sun rose well before seven in the morning. She leant on the radiator. Cold from the metal seeped into her back. Tania closed her eyes to relieve the ache in her head. It didn’t work.

  Long shadows crept across the floor from the windows, slowly at first, then faster as the night grew deeper.

  Alone in the dark with creaks and groans, she listened, trying to hear over her pounding heartbeat. Was it a floorboard that creaked?

  She held her breath, concentrating on the room beyond.

  She tried to determine if it was someone moving around or the wood settling as it cooled. The noises stopped.

  She cast her mind back to the events prior to waking up in the school room. Was this connected to TechSynth? Blurry memories refused to sharpen. What happened?

  Where was the thumb drive? She touched the front pockets in her jeans with her free hand. Nothing. Did they get it? Did whoever grabbed her have it? Did she pass it to her contact?

  What could she remember?

  The bookshop. She liked the bookshop. Her mind drifted to thoughts of books until she remembered the note. There was a note in a book. Did she leave it or take it? It wasn’t in her pockets. If she left it someone could find it. That felt bad, even though she couldn’t remember why. She thought about Emily at the bookshop. There was something wrong with Emily. Tania visited the bookshop regularly, but Emily had never remembered her. They spoke often, and yet Emily showed no recognition. Tania remembered that Emily was always writing in a notebook. She wondered what she wrote. Then another thought emerged, and it occurred to her that the people who wanted the thumb drive wouldn’t know that Emily couldn’t identify anyone. Whoever left the note, the coordinates, they also wouldn’t know Emily didn’t seem to recognise anyone. Sucked to be Emily.

  What else could she remember? Nothing. Not grey fuzz, but deep dark nothing.

  Tania rubbed her head with her free hand. It didn’t matter how many ways she approached her recent memories, they refused to be anything more than a blank screen.

  Her eyes skimmed the walls of her prison. Footsteps resounded outside the room. Her heart leapt into her mouth.

  Chapter 8

  [Crockett: An incomplete timeline.]

  Ronnie clasped a blue whiteboard pen in her hand and added information to the large board. I had a black pen and started drawing a timeline. Being tall had advantages. I could draw over her head without any problem.

  “When did you hear about this job?” I asked, moving from behind her to stand next to her and continue my line.

  “Monday, but it was more a heads up than actual information.”

  “I got a whiff of something Sunday night,” I replied. Something was up. There was too big a delay in anyone being asked to look for the woman. Friday night to Sunday night, and even then, like Ronnie, I didn’t have much to work with at all.

  “More information arrived after your phone call to me,” Ronnie said.

  I added that to the timeline. “MacKinnon reached out to me and you, separately. Then I was asked to contact you and bring you in,” I said, watching her from my periphery to gauge her reaction: there wasn’t one. Her expression remained impassive.

  “So, bring me in because I’m working privately and therefore harder to control, or for another reason?”

  “Two reasons.” I smiled at her comment. “Yes, because you’re working privately, but also because you have a rep for getting things done.”

  “If this woman really works in private industry, like we’ve been told, why are government agencies so keen on finding her?”

  I shot Ronnie a fast smile, that went all the way to my eyes. “Agencies plural?”

  “I didn’t come down in the last shower.”

  “No one has mentioned multiple agency interest,” I said.

  “They don’t exactly advertise, do they? But if she is missing and important enough for us to be called in, then, it’s agencies.”

  “Fair point,” I said. I felt my smile falter, then came back strong. “Remember when I said something about luring the lie?”

  Ronnie smiled. “I do. And I think you’re right about people not telling the truth about Tania Bateman.” She wrote a big question mark on the board next to Bateman’s name. She turned toward me. “I know you would’ve heard from an old colleague about me. If you hadn’t reached out to him for more information, you’d be an idiot, and you don’t strike me as stupid.” She paused, then continued, “And that nasty piece of goods probably already knew about the missing woman.”

  “Why do you think that?”

  “Because we are looking for a cryptographer.” She shrugged. “I just have a feeling there might be security implications beyond the company Bateman works for.”

  “You’re right about Chandler, by the way. He said a few things.” I turned back to the board and added more dates. She was on the money with her ex-colleague being nasty. He was a horrible bloke. I still felt dirty. “He doesn’t like you much, does he?”

  “That, Crockett, goes both ways. I’m sure he warned you about my insubordination and how I’ll drag you into the mud with me.”

  Sounded like it wasn’t the first time Chandler had done a number on her. “He’s a bad hombre, all right. Men like him ruin reputations for shits and giggles.”

  “I’m sure he makes his partner wish he was dead every single day.” Ronnie laughed. “Did you meet him?” She shook her head slowly. “I’m sorry if you did. Hope you had time to shower after that.”

  “Not just me that feels filthy after being near him, then?”

  After listening to Chandler run Ronnie down, I knew why Ronnie reacted the way she did to him, and I knew where the blame lay … it was not with Ronnie. Although, she could’ve stepped back at any point and stopped inflaming the situation. I had a feeling that wasn’t in her nature.

  “Not just you, Crockett. It’s anyone who still has a soul and a heart.” Her laugher rang out. “You still came to meet me. I’m guessing it wasn’t all bad or you’re a good judge of men.”

  “It was bad enough. Your rep for getting the job done is well-known. And I knew his reputation before I met the prick.” He’s known for throwing up brick walls, and not valuing his officers’ input. “I also know he likes to throw his officers under the nearest train rather than support them.” Not the first wanker I’ve come across in an ivory tower. “He slept and blackmailed his way to the top?”

  Ronnie shuddered. “That’s the truly gross part. His predecessor, Reede, groomed him well, and I sort of helped end her career. Chandler got his knickers in a knot over that. He idolised the bitch.”

  We completed the timeline as much as we could. Then we sat down in chairs facing the board and gave it consideration.

  “I have some questions,” Ronnie said, pointing at the noticeably short timeline. “If this woman went missing on Saturday, what was she doing in a garden on Monday night?”

  “That’s a very good question.”

  “Okay. If she’s so important, why did I get partial information on Monday and more on Tuesday. She went missing Saturday and they let those first forty-eight hours run out.”

  “I knew about the case on Sunday night, but I certainly didn’t have enough information to start anything beyond a fast and dirty internet search. That’s a very good point, and it feels like something was going on.”

  “Did they put their own people on it, and they came up empty?” Ronnie mused aloud. “If it was her in the garden last night, early hours of this morning …”

  “… then she didn’t go missing on Saturday,” I finished. “And who was it she talked to on the pay phone? That’s information we need.”

  “I’ll be right back,” Ronnie said, and stood up. “I’ll go see Steph about the phone box.”

  “Okay.”

  She left and I sat looking at the timeline, feeling more and more that everything hinged on those phone calls. I zoned out staring at the writing on the wall. Who was she contacting?

  My phone rang. I jumped and was glad Ronnie wasn’t around to see that. I swiped my finger across the screen to answer the call.

  “Crockett.”

  “Is there progress?” Mackinnon asked.

  “Yes,” I replied. “We’ll find her.”

  “How are you enjoying Ronnie’s company?”

  “She’s nice. I think we’ll get on fine.”

  “Not prickly or standoffish?”

  “No, why would she be?”

  “She’s worked with the same partner for a few years, thought she might not take kindly to a new partner. Usually, her and Ben Reynolds handle jobs together.”

  I knew that name. Reynolds had a bit of status in the spy world.

  “He’s the actor slash spy?”

  “Yes.”

  “Good to know. She’s fine. We’re working.” I hung up. I started hearing stories about Reynolds when I was desk bound in Wellington. Until then I was deep undercover and heard very little about anyone else in the industry. Not gossip wise; I heard things I needed to know. For instance, who was undercover in my vicinity. He never was.

  The door opened. Ronnie stepped in with a big whack of papers held against her body.

  “We’re going to need highlighters,” she said, and placed the stack of papers on the table. “Steph got a printout of all the activity from that phone box for the last year.”

  “That’s almost a full ream.” I didn’t even know people still used pay phones that often. “This is going to take a while,” I said.

  “Yes, it is. She couldn’t get a break down by day, so, we got the lot.”

  Ronnie dug around in the top drawer of a credenza that sat in the corner of the room, then produced a packet of highlighters.

  I split the pile of papers roughly in half and took the top section for myself. She handed me an orange highlighter and she took pink. We settled in to search for phone calls made on Fridays.

  “Got a calendar?” I asked. It’d make it easier to find the Fridays if we knew the dates we were looking for.

  “Yep.” Ronnie went back to the credenza and produced a rolled piece of A3 paper. She flattened it out and used magnets to fasten the calendar to the whiteboard. It was a year at a glance. Now that was helpful. Ronnie chose a green highlighter and drew lines down the Fridays. She was definitely a thinker.

  An hour and a half disappeared as we hunched over printed pages with our highlighters and marked all Friday activity. We wrote down every phone number that called in or out on a Friday in our respective notebooks.

  Eventually, Ronnie stood and stretched. “Who knew phone boxes were still used so much?”

  “Not me,” I replied. “Need a break?”

  She nodded.

  “It’d be helpful if we could work out where she was over the weekend and when she really went missing. She could still be wherever she was prior to the garden appearance,” she said.

  “What was she wearing?”

  Ronnie picked up the sketches from the Cronies of Doom . “Dark pants, maybe jeans and a dark-coloured jacket, zippered with a hood.”

  “Footwear?”

  “Sneakers.”

  “Most people don’t run in long pants and a jacket, do they?” I said, fishing my phone from my inside jacket pocket as it buzzed. I read the screen, then said, “I’ve got a meeting.”

  Art needed to touch base about Trojan Horse. I hoped it wasn’t trouble.

  “Correct, most people don’t wear jeans and a jacket while running. I’ll see if I can get somewhere with this for the next hour or so,” Ronnie said. “There were shorts, socks, and a tee-shirt in her bedroom hamper. I’d say she changed after the run. We don’t know if she packed clothes to take with her. Or if she’s been back since.”

  “What if she had clothes somewhere else?” The generic state of her house bugged me. People have stuff. Stuff that tells a story. Receipts stuck to fridges. Takeaway menus. Photographs. Books. Personal possessions. She had nothing that really indicated someone lived at the house, apart from minimal food in the fridge and unopened mail. There were a few addresses around the world that had received mail for me over the years. Looked like I was “living” at those addresses, but I never was.

  “Anything is possible,” Ronnie said. “So, far I’m not seeing a pattern. As in the same number called over and over.”

  “Nor am I, but if she was using the phone box to call someone, we’ll find it.” I hoped I sounded sure. “I’ll check in tomorrow. Back here bright and early?” I stood and gathered the paper stack I was working on and my notebook. “I’ll finish this off tonight.”

  “I’ll be in at eight tomorrow,” Ronnie said, looking at the whiteboard.

  There was a look in her eye that made me think she was up to something. “I wouldn’t snoop into TechSynth. It could be dangerous on your own, something we should do together. But if you do dig around, don’t advertise your interest and keep it to internet snooping.”

  “I wouldn’t be open about my snooping. This is not my first job.” Ronnie grinned and waved as I left.

 

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