Way Beyond A Lie, page 7
‘We’ll visit the supermarket later,’ said Devlin. ‘Find out who you spoke to.’
Ross told them about meeting Joan but as it had been such a brief discussion, Devlin didn’t seem all that interested although he did jot it down. He became slightly more animated about the phone calls to Sally and Amanda but that tailed off when Ross explained neither of them had seen Carla recently.
Then Devlin asked about their car. Ross told him Carla definitely had the key because she had driven to the supermarket.
‘Would she normally be the driver?’
Ross leaned down, picked a crumb off the carpet and dropped it into a wicker bin. ‘We kinda share it, but Carla drove last night because she picked me up from the house. She’d been in town, shopping.’
‘And where did you park?’
‘Out in the open area, a couple of rows away from the building.’
Devlin was familiar with the car park. He knew it had a covered section at ground level and an open area about twice the size. ‘That seems a bit strange, if you don’t mind me saying. It was pouring down last night but you didn’t park under cover?’
‘It’s usually much busier under cover and the spaces are tight because of all the pillars. My wife’s not the best at parking so if she’s driving, we’re always outside.’
Then the PC asked Ross to describe everything he’d done after returning home from the supermarket. At one point, Devlin paged back through his notes. ‘You’ve mentioned Joan from number seventeen but did you check with any of the other neighbours?’
Ross felt the blood surging into his cheeks. ‘Em. Well, no. I haven’t, actually.’
Devlin had been leaning well back on the sofa, one leg crossed over the other. But now he sat forward, elbow on his knee. Thomas also seemed to be paying much closer attention. Devlin tapped his pen against his top lip. The room was so silent they could hear the kitchen clock ticking from two rooms away. ‘Why not, sir?’ The last word of Devlin’s question hung heavily in the air.
Ross had been trying to present an air of calm but that swiftly evaporated. The seam on his trouser leg became terribly interesting, as he plucked non-existent pieces of fluff from the grey material. He looked up at Thomas, then at Devlin. ‘I don’t know. I really don’t know. I didn’t think of it.’
The two PCs didn’t speak, they just waited to hear how Ross would follow that up. Elbows on the arms of the chair now, he turned both his palms up. ‘Honestly, it just didn’t occur to me.’ Back in control again, he continued, tapping each of the fingertips of his right hand with his left index finger. ‘Next door’s empty. It’s never been sold. Joan and Joe? Well, she’s just a nosey old bat so I don’t speak to her if I can help it. And Carla can’t stick her, either.’ He pointed out the window to his left. ‘The couple who live over there are French, I think. But I’ve never spoken to them apart from good morning. Stuff like that.
‘Barry at number eighteen, single guy. I play tennis with him on a Saturday and sometimes during the week. But Barry goes out on the town every Friday night, without fail. I suppose I knew he wouldn’t be in so I didn’t even consider asking him.’ Ross waved his hand further to the right. ‘I don’t know anyone else in the street. I wouldn’t recognise them if I found them in my soup. It’s a new development, this area, and some families moved in over the winter, so there haven’t been too many opportunities to meet people. And that’s pretty much that.’
His voiced tailed off as he looked at each of them in turn, settling back on Devlin.
‘Okay. No worries. We’ll be speaking to the neighbours.’
Ross had anticipated they would but still he groaned. It was bad enough that Joan would find out. The woman would be in her element. But he did feel guilty he hadn’t told Joe what was going on.
Devlin picked up again. ‘You said you went to a gym. Why was that?’
Ross told them all about the jobs-worth he’d spoken to. ‘A right pain in the backside, he was.’ He also told them about Carla’s friend but had to confess he couldn’t remember if her name was Ellen, Ellie or something else entirely.
‘We’ll ask for their membership records.’ Then Devlin added, with some feeling, ‘He’ll talk to us.’ He tried another tack. ‘Have you called her sister?’
That was easier for Ross to answer. ‘I couldn’t even if I wanted to. For one thing, Caterina, that’s Carla’s sister, she doesn’t speak English. And Carla always called her from her mobile so I don’t even know the number.’
‘She didn’t come over for the wedding?’
‘No, Caterina and Allesandro have four young kids and they couldn’t afford it. We offered to pay but they wouldn’t hear of it. Too proud to accept, I think. We’re planning to visit them for a couple of weeks in the summer, when Carla’s back onshore.’ Ross broke eye contact and scratched at his cheek. ‘I’ve to meet the whole family, apparently there’s dozens of them. Quite a daunting prospect.’
‘What about her work colleagues?’
Ross told them about Carla’s job offshore and that none of the people she worked with lived in Edinburgh, or anywhere nearby. He gave them the name of the offshore company but explained that Carla was technically employed by an agency. She was contracted out but he couldn’t remember the name of the agency off the top of his head. Devlin looked him in the eye. It seemed to him there was a lot that Ross couldn’t remember. Ross quickly said he’d find a pay slip and hand it in to the station.
The policeman put his notebook and pen away and stood up. He placed his hands in the small of his back and stretched out a bit. Thomas followed suit but without the stretching.
‘I think I have enough information for now, but I’d like to look around the house and the garage. By the way, do you have a garden shed?’ Ross nodded. ‘We’ll have a quick look in the car too.’ Ross began to stand up but Devlin put out his hand. ‘Just on our own this time, if that’s okay.’
Ross started to speak but Devlin continued, ‘Tell you what, you fetch the keys and we’ll be back in a jiffy.’ He jerked his head in Thomas’s direction, and the two of them disappeared into the hall and up the stairs.
After a few seconds, Ross followed them out the door. He heard them moving from room to room, opening and closing doors. When they came back down, Devlin had a cursory glance into the dining room.
Ross handed over the keys then leaned against the sink to wait. When the PCs came back in, Devlin dropped the keys in Ross’s outstretched palm. ‘Everything looks neat and tidy upstairs. Even the bed’s made, clearly you’re very domesticated. Wish I was.’ A short pause. ‘The wife wishes I was, too.’
Devlin sniggered at his own joke but Ross was in no mood for humour. At least you know where your wife is.
‘Can you tell if any of her personal things are missing? Work clothes, cases, anything like that?’
‘Nothing as far as I can see. Her work clothes are all in the back bedroom, and I’ve checked all our bags are in the loft.’
‘Do you know if her passport’s in the house?’
That hadn’t occurred to Ross. She used it all the time for work but he had no idea where she kept it when she was home. ‘I don’t know. I’ll have a look and let you know.’
Devlin looked over at Thomas, and they started to leave but Ross stopped them. ‘Hang on a minute, will you? What happens now? What are you going to do next?’ He jerked his thumb at his chest. ‘And what about me? Is there anything I should be doing?’
Devlin turned halfway back towards Ross. ‘We’ll go and talk to your neighbours, and ask if they saw Carla at any point yesterday evening or this morning. If they’re out, we’ll leave a note asking them to contact us. Then we’ll go to the supermarket and talk to the staff.’ He ticked off a third finger. ‘And, we’ll have a word with mister Grumpy at the gym.’
Devlin then suggested Ross should do whatever he thought was right. Check with their friends, try to think of anywhere else she might go, and look for her if he wished. Or he could stick close to home. It was entirely up to him.
Devlin handed Ross a card. ‘If your wife turns up, please let us know. But we’ll be back in touch anyway. Possibly tonight, more likely tomorrow. It really depends.’ He paused for a second. ‘I hope she does turn up, and soon. Make sure to let us know if she does.’ Devlin then offered his hand, Ross shook it, and the PCs went out to their car.
Ross didn’t trust himself to speak so he mumbled his thanks at their departing backs. He closed the door behind them, slid down on his haunches with his back against the door, and stared into middle distance for what seemed like a long, long time.
Chapter Sixteen
Half an hour later, Ross was back at the kitchen table writing a list of things he thought he should do next. He’d had a minor meltdown, and might well have another but once he regained equilibrium he gave himself a talking to and decided he needed an action plan.
He scanned his list, and typical of Ross, he numbered the items in the order he intended to attack them. He was satisfied he’d covered everything, and could see how his afternoon was panning out, which gave him a positive buzz. Right, let’s crack on. He climbed the stairs to their little office where Carla kept the household filing, leaned his shoulder against the door jamb and gazed into the room without really registering anything.
When he and Liz had graduated, Ross had gone straight into a corporate position with an accountancy firm based close to the west end of Princes Street. The company was safe, solid, steeped in tradition, and structured so tight it could hardly breathe. It had suited Ross down to the ground and he stayed there for the next twenty-five years. His rise in the company was gradual rather than spectacular although he didn’t make partner and had no desire to.
Liz had piloted her career through different waters. With her degree in Marketing and Business Management tucked safely in her back pocket, she knew from the outset she wanted to start her own business and be in charge of her own destiny. For three years she had a part-time job in a marketing and design company on the south side of Edinburgh, where she learned every aspect of that operation. In parallel, she worked a series of short-term jobs in recruitment, personnel, sales and operations, which gave her a fully rounded view of how to run a business. Liz worked in bars and restaurants during any gaps, and Ross supported her by covering almost all the domestic chores and responsibilities.
When Liz felt she possessed all the ingredients necessary to be successful, she jumped straight in and launched her business. She raised some seed capital from grant funding, Ross was able to contribute and they borrowed a small amount from the bank.
Ecosse Business Development Ltd was born in spring 1993 and hit the streets at a canter. Liz had been stockpiling a warehouse of strategies, concepts and ideas, and she immediately started hiring the best people, and cultivating her most fruitful contacts. Her business soared like an untethered hot air balloon, practically from day one. She loved the work and she loved business but it had a voracious appetite for consuming time and energy. Weaker marriages would have gone under. But Ross was always willing and happy to play the support act to her rock star celebrity because they were orchestrating a plan that was designed to come to fruition in time for their fiftieth birthdays.
With the prescience of a world-class mystic, Liz sold out to a competitor in early 2008 while the world’s most devastating recession lurked in the tall grass like a leopard waiting to pounce on an unsuspecting goat. Liz pocketed just short of one and a half million then, uncharacteristically, dilly-dallied over where to invest her windfall and it was still in a high interest current account when the leopard struck. The value of investments worldwide plummeted but her money sat there in cash, untroubled by the financial crash. A classic piece of fannying about, according to Martin.
Kismet, however, was on hand to bring the curtain down. Through an over-reliance on financial institutions, Edinburgh suffered that particular recession far longer than other UK regions and just as the city was beginning to emerge, bleary-eyed, from beneath a suffocating blanket of austerity they were involved in that terrible car accident. When Liz died in 2014, the money was still in cash. A few months later, Ross instructed their financial adviser friend to: ‘Stick it somewhere safe. I’ll decide what to do with it at some point.’
Several months later he met Carla, and when they set up house together after they were married, Ross was delighted that his new wife took over most of his domestic responsibilities. “The woman runs the house. The man takes care of the woman,” according to her late mother, apparently.
Carla’s filing system made a Swiss bank look like a model of chaos so it only took him a few seconds to locate her latest pay slip from the agency. Based on the top line, Carla earned a decent salary but her take-home pay didn’t reflect that. She told Ross that for several years before she met him, she’d paid a hefty premium into a personal pension plan because her view was quite clear. Look after number one because no one else will. Particularly the government. Difficult to argue with, that one. He was openly pleased she’d adopted such a pragmatic view.
Next stop, her passport. He’d made a quick appraisal of Carla’s wardrobe the previous night but knew he’d been in a flap. This time I’ll check a bit more thoroughly. He looked through her clothes and shoes again but came to the same conclusion. Nothing significant was missing.
He opened the chest of drawers below the window. Four of the six drawers contained her scarves, gloves, hats, socks and woolly tights, and underwear. He ruffled through the first three without hesitation but paused in the act of opening the fourth drawer. When Ross folded the laundry he didn’t ever put her underwear away, he left it stacked on a chair for her to file accordingly. Privacy was something he cherished and this felt like an invasion. Not Normandy Landings in scale, but still …
He breathed in once, tugged at the handle and the drawer slid towards him on steel runners, bumping to a stop against his knee. He ran the palm of his hand lightly over the pool of colourful satin and silk items neatly ordered from left to right. Bras, panties, camisoles. Then things became more interesting. Basques, suspenders, stockings, a sheer white nightdress. The left side of the drawer was distinctly pastel, the right side mainly pinks, reds and blacks. But no passport.
Only one place remained and he never, ever looked in there. But he knew he had no choice. Perched on Carla’s side of the bed with his right foot tucked underneath his left thigh, he hesitated for even longer before leaning forward and reluctantly opening the only drawer in her bedside cabinet. His conscience nudged him in the ribs. You’re not supposed to be in here.
Batting the thought away to left field he opened his wife’s personal drawer for the first time. A disparate collection of items returned his gaze: lip balm, hand cream, a blue foil sachet containing a flavoured condom, a sleek black and chrome vibrator, a silver Papermate pen, a plastic wallet containing coffee shop loyalty cards, a string of rosary beads. And, tucked inside a white A5 envelope, an embossed burgundy booklet with gold writing on the front cover.
Chapter Seventeen
Unione Europea; Repubblica Italiana; Passaporto
Ross didn’t know whether to laugh or to cry. So he indulged in a little bit of both, more or less at the same time.
PC Devlin had suggested earlier that if Ross thought he should go out searching for Carla he should do exactly that. So he debated what his wife might do if this was a normal day. Clearly this day was far from normal but as he was trying his best to remain positive, he intended to follow up on Devlin’s suggestion. There was a limit to how far he was prepared to venture from home but he couldn’t see the point in sitting around staring at however many walls the house possessed. Anyway, what would I do? Wash the car?
Although Ross realised it was a faintly ridiculous idea, he reasoned if Carla was to be anywhere in public she would head for the bustling New Town enclave of Stockbridge, one of her favourite haunts. Originally a small outlying village, Stockbridge was incorporated into the City of Edinburgh in the nineteenth century. If you asked a native of the city to define Stockbridge, they would probably mention Raeburn Place, with its eclectic assortment of boutiques, arty-crafty little shops, cafes, restaurants, pubs and general bourgeoisie. But on the other side of the Water of Leith is St Stephen Street, choc-a-bloc with yet more niche establishments selling second-hand designer clothes, vinyl records, more antique shops than you could shake a stick at and the fantastically-named Mr Purves’ Lamp Emporium.
Yes, if I’m going to look for her, Stockbridge is as good a place as any.
He left another voicemail and sent another text but only because he thought he should. His heart certainly wasn’t in it. He scribbled a note to say where he was heading, and propped it up against the kettle.
He wheeled his bike out of the garage and had yet another pointless look up and down the street. He didn’t see a soul as he cycled off.
After he handed Carla’s passport and payslip in to the police station, Ross worked his way across town in a series of gradually rising zigzags, and about quarter of an hour later he was pedalling along Henderson Row, past the dramatically named Saxe Coburg Street, and into Stockbridge proper.
He chained his bike to the bridge, a stone structure over two centuries old that had replaced the original ‘stock brig’, the Scots words meaning timber bridge, from which the area took its name. While he debated where he would look first, Ross recalled the TV and film cliché, where the hero, searching for his damsel, would spot someone who looked exactly like her from the rear. He would run across and place a mightily relieved hand on the woman’s shoulder only to discover, surprise surprise: mistaken identity.
