Presumed Dead (8 page)

On Wednesday evening Dylan left Dawson’s Clough and began the 25-mile drive to Manchester.

Monday had been a complete waste of time. After a weekend of highs and lows—the main high was spending a lot of time with Luke and the low was not seeing Bev—Dylan had returned to Lancashire in a keen, enthusiastic mood. That had evaporated as he’d spoken to one person after another and learned precisely nothing.

He’d talked to people who’d worked at the Oasis nightclub but staff there were treated too badly to stay long. They were all young, too, and although some had heard of Anita, no one remembered her.

Yesterday had been equally pointless until the evening when, nursing a pint of beer, he found someone who not only remembered Anita, but also knew and kept in touch with Sandra Butler’s boyfriend, Eddie Swift.

“Well, when I say I keep in touch with him,” Glyn said, “I really mean the wife does. A Christmas card and birthday cards for the kids, you know the sort of thing.”

Dylan nodded to indicate that he did.

“I’ll give her a call. She’ll have his address.”

“Really? That would be great.”

As Glyn hit a number on his mobile phone, Dylan went to the bar to refill their glasses. This piece of news was worthy of celebration on two counts. First, he’d found Eddie Swift. Second, and more important, the man was alive and well and obviously hadn’t suffered anything too drastic at the hands of Sandra and her devious chums.

He carried their drinks back to the table but Glyn, pen poised over a beer mat, still didn’t have that address.

“I’ll be home as soon as I’ve finished this pint.” As he spoke, Glyn nodded his thanks for the fresh drink and rolled his eyes in despair. “I don’t know, do I? Half an hour perhaps. An hour at most.”

Dylan sympathized. He’d had exactly the same conversation with Bev many times. Women couldn’t grasp that “a swift half” or “a couple of pints” were merely figures of speech. They seemed to believe they were accurate timescales that must be adhered to on pain of death.

Glyn finally scribbled an address on the beer mat and switched off his phone.

“Why do women have to make such hard work of life?” Glyn emptied his glass and took a sip from his fresh pint. “I’m not to give you this, she says, until I know exactly what you’re up to. Oh, and while she wasn’t prepared to give his phone number to a complete stranger, she’s calling him now to let him know you’ll be paying him a visit.”

“I can understand that. Better to be safe than sorry. After all, I could be anyone.”

“Eddie can take care of himself. He’s ex-army and still keeps himself in good shape.”

Hopefully, Dylan would soon find that out for himself.

Glyn’s wife hadn’t wanted to give out Eddie Swift’s phone number, but it had been easy enough to look it up in the phone book. Dylan had tried the number a couple of times this morning, and then again this afternoon, but no one had answered. Assuming that Mr. and Mrs. Swift worked during the day and the children attended school, Dylan had decided to drive to Manchester this evening.

The address Glyn had given him was for a modern detached house on the outskirts of the city, and it looked as if Dylan’s luck was in. Two cars were parked on the drive and lights shone from within.

His knock on the door was answered by a smiling blonde. “Ah, you’ll be our mysterious stalker.”

“That’s me. Dylan Scott. I assume Glyn’s wife warned you I’d be calling?”

“She did. She also warned me you’d been drinking with Glyn so I was to watch you.” This was accompanied by a laugh. “Come in out of the cold. We’re just having dinner. Will you join us?”

“Oh, no. Thank you, that’s kind, but I couldn’t. And I’m sorry to interrupt. Would you rather I came back later?”

“Don’t be silly. Have something to eat with us. There’s plenty, so you won’t be putting us out.”

She led him through a hall and into the kitchen where a man and two children of around ten years old sat at the table eating a curry that set Dylan’s mouth watering. The man stood and offered his hand. He was well over six feet tall, towered above his petite wife, and looked as if he was no stranger to the gym. “Dylan Scott, isn’t it? Eddie Swift. Sit yourself down and have something to eat. Rosie always cooks enough for twenty.”

“I have to.” His wife laughed. “Eddie always has lots of mates calling round. They only come for a meal.”

The room was as welcoming as its occupants. Postcards sent by friends and family were stuck to the fridge with magnets, magazines were scattered around, fresh flowers shared the window sills with healthy-looking plants, and schoolbags had been abandoned on the top of a cupboard. It was a room that reflected the warmth of its occupants.

The children, Flora and Harry, were polite and as friendly as their parents. They were also keen to escape to their rooms and, as soon as their plates were wiped clean, they were gone.

Rosie, meanwhile, put a generous portion of curry in front of Dylan and sat to finish her own food.

“This is so generous,” Dylan said. “I feel terrible now. I’ve come here to be nosey and you’re feeding me.”

“You’re trying to find Anita Champion, I hear,” Eddie said.

“That’s right, yes.”

If Eddie had anything to hide, he would have had plenty of time to work on his story. There was nothing Dylan could do about that, though. Glyn, when prising the address from his wife, had had to repeat the old story about the antique ring. In any case, Dylan didn’t think Eddie was hiding anything. He and his wife were genuine—and generous—people.

“I spoke to the hairdresser, Sandra Butler, and she said that you and she used to date at one time?”

“Eddie’s got girlfriends in all corners of the globe.” Rosie’s eyes shone as she teased her husband, and Dylan experienced a sigh deep inside. He and Bev should be like this. They should enjoy this easy banter.

“And some are best forgotten,” Eddie said. “Like Sandra Butler. You didn’t tangle with her if you had any sense.”

“Oh?”

“We’re going back—what?” Eddie did a quick mental calculation. “Thirteen years. I was in the army and having a grand old time. I used to come home on leave, flirt with all the pretty girls, and then head back. It might sound a bit callous, but I forgot most of them. Sandra was difficult to forget, though. We went out three or four times when I was home on leave and, when I went back to my unit, she wrote me letters practically every day. The way she spoke, you’d have thought we were engaged.”

“You broke her heart?” Rosie seemed genuinely concerned.

“I don’t think she had a heart.”

Dylan was content to eat and let Eddie do the talking. The curry was delicious—tender pieces of chicken, nice and spicy but not too hot.

“That last time I came home on leave—” Eddie skewered a piece of chicken with his fork. “Sandra assumed we’d get together and carry on as if we were practically married. I didn’t particularly want to hurt her feelings so I told her I had other plans and took her assistant, Anita Champion, out instead.” He gave Dylan a knowing look. “That was no hardship. Anita was something special, wasn’t she?” Laughing, he grabbed Rosie’s hand, lifted it to his lips and kissed it soundly. “Not as special as you, my love, obviously, but she was something.”

With mock indignation, and laughing as she spoke, Rosie snatched her hand back. “You’re full of crap, Eddie Swift.”

“I know, but you love me all the same.”

Until now, Dylan hadn’t believed the perfect relationship existed, yet it looked as if Eddie and Rosie Swift had exactly that. It was difficult to imagine them having the blazing rows or the sulky silences other couples did.

“So I spent the night with Anita. She was a breath of fresh air compared to Sandra. She knew how to have fun without thinking strings were attached. In any case, she had a daughter and that’s all she cared about. Unlike Sandra, she wasn’t looking for a husband.”

“What happened?” Dylan asked.

“Sandra found out and I have no idea how. I can only imagine she was spying on us. Well, spying on me probably. I kept giving her excuses as to why I couldn’t be with her, you see. I’d tell her I’d arranged something with my mates or I had to visit my parents. I think she must have followed me and seen me with Anita.”

“What did she say?”

“What didn’t she say? I’d agreed to see her on the Saturday night. I was determined to get through to her that I wasn’t interested. I planned to tell her she was a lovely woman, but I didn’t want a relationship—you know the sort of thing.”

“Would you believe I could marry such a rogue, Dylan?” Rosie didn’t wait for a reply. “Let me get you some coffee.”

Eddie watched his wife as she cleared away their plates and prepared the coffee.

“Sandra let me into her home and then slapped me across the face.” His smile was rueful. “She was screaming like a banshee and telling me how I could fuck off because she wouldn’t touch anything that had been near that slag Anita. Believe me, it got pretty ugly. I’ve never hit a woman but I came close that night.”

Having met Sandra and her friends, Dylan knew how tempting it must have been.

“The next day,” Eddie said, “I had my dad’s car parked in town. I stayed with Mum and Dad when I was on leave, and I often borrowed Dad’s car. Four months old it was. A top-of-the-range saloon. Anyway, I’d been round the shops and when I got back to the car, it had been trashed. All four tyres had been slashed, the paintwork had been scratched, and the word
Bastard
had been painted across the front bumper.”

Dylan winced at that and knew a sudden urge to rush outside to make sure his Morgan was safe.

“I was furious.” Eddie gave a small smile. “Almost as furious as my dad.”

“I’m not surprised. I shudder to think what I’d do if anyone touched my car. I take it Sandra was responsible?”

“Must have been. I couldn’t prove it, though. I stormed round to her house and demanded to know what the hell had possessed her to do such a thing. Of course, she claimed not to know what I was talking about. She was responsible, though. I’m sure of it.”

Rosie poured the coffee and the smell must have alerted the children to the possibility of goodies. They burst into the room just as their mother was slicing a large chocolate Swiss roll. With a piece in their hands, they chattered non-stop.

“Can we watch our DVD now?” Flora wiped her mouth on her sleeve and then her hands on her jeans. “You said we could, Mum.”

“I said you might be able to. That’s might, okay? As in possibly yes and possibly no.”

“So can we?” Harry asked.

“You may.” Rosie grabbed Harry before he could escape. “You need to wash those hands first. And you Flora. Under the tap. Now.”

The children laughed and splashed around enough water to bathe a small horse before racing for the sitting-room.

“Do you have children, Dylan?” Rosie asked. “Or do you have more sense?”

“I have a son, Luke. He’s eleven and he can twist me and his mum round his little finger.”

“Kids seem to be born with that ability, don’t they? I never was. I had to do as I was told.”

“What?” Eddie laughed at that. “You were spoiled rotten. Still are, come to that.”

“Take no notice of him, Dylan.”

Rosie gave Dylan and Eddie a large slice of chocolate Swiss roll and took a sliver for herself. She might have been dieting but she had no need to.

“The day your father’s car was vandalized,” Dylan said. “When was that?”

“The Sunday.” Eddie’s words were muffled as he tried to eat cake and speak at the same time. “While Anita was out with the girls on the Saturday night, Sandra was yelling at me and screaming like a fish-woman. The next day, Dad’s car was wrecked.”

“So you confronted Sandra?”

“Yes, and, of course, she denied all knowledge. She was gloating—telling me that Anita had stayed out all night so must have found someone better. At the time, that’s what everyone thought. They assumed Anita had spent the night with someone. It wouldn’t have been the first time. Not by a long way.”

“When was the last time you saw Anita?”

“The Friday night. I asked her if she fancied going out, but she didn’t. She’d been in Manchester that day and was knackered. Oh yeah, and she said she’d be out on the Saturday night so didn’t want two late nights on the trot.” Eddie licked chocolate from his fingers. “I could take a hint. I knew she was trying to let me know she wasn’t interested, just as I’d tried, and failed, to let Sandra Butler know.”

“Did you see her after that?”

“No. The next thing I knew, the police were looking for her. Not that they looked very hard. They, along with everyone else, were convinced she’d taken off with some man or other and would come back when it suited her. All the police were bothered about was making sure her daughter was taken care of.”

“That’s crazy,” Rosie said. “No woman would leave a child alone.”

“Anita would.” Eddie looked at his wife as he spoke. “She’d done it before—gone off for a week.”

“Good God.”

If only Anita had been like Rosie. If she’d been a more responsible mother, the police would have taken far more interest in her disappearance. Anita, however, wasn’t like Rosie. Nor was she like any other woman Dylan had known.

“She definitely gave no hint about going away anywhere?” Dylan asked. “She didn’t mention anyone special in her life?”

“No.”

“What can you tell me about her friends? I’ve heard that, on the night she disappeared, she’d been out with Yvonne Yates, Maggie—”

“And Brenda. Yeah, that’s right. They went out most Saturday nights and usually ended up at Oasis.”

“I believe they did end up there. What are those women like?” Dylan considered telling them Yvonne’s story about the way Anita’s so-called friends had drugged her, but there was no point. Not yet.

“Anita liked them well enough,” Eddie said. “She liked most people though. I suppose, in their way, they liked her, too. But they could be bitchy about her behind her back. They were jealous, plain and simple. While they spent money and time on clothes, hair and makeup, Anita could be dressed and ready to go out in ten minutes and still outshine every one of them. They hated it.”