she last seen? Where was she?’
When Harper turned back to Sam, he was smiling – although perhaps smirking might have been a better description. ‘And there I was thinking I was the one asking the questions.’
Sam offered up his hands in supplication. ‘Fine, ask away.’
Harper moved closer to Sam and rested his hands on the back of a dining chair but didn’t take a seat. ‘What I’d really like to know, Mr McIntyre, is how you became so deeply involved in her life so quickly? And, perhaps more importantly, why?’
From the kitchen, Sam could hear the other policeman talking to the dog, offering to refill his water bowl while Sam was left waiting. His lips were painfully parched and if Harper wanted answers, he needed that drink. Not that Sam had any idea how to answer the detective’s question. Why had he become so involved? Would Jasmine be missing now if he’d had the good sense to stay away? He refused to let his gaze be drawn to the bookshelf and the shoebox which contained a growing collection of origami cranes; paper birds of varying colours and sizes. Some were pink …
Thursday 23 April 2015
The spring day was still clinging to the sunshine when Sam set off for home, although he had somehow managed to take the shadow of the Allerton Oak with him. He liked his job and, within certain boundaries, he enjoyed being around people. Up until today he had thought that the limited contact had come without risk, but when the girl had gone missing, when he had raced through the park with his heart pounding with terror, he had realized he wasn’t as insulated as he had thought. He was starting to think that the cutbacks at work that pulled him away from his ranger duties were a blessing in disguise. Planting, sowing, pruning … these were far safer activities, where the only casualties would be seedlings lost to the frost. Perhaps he should speak to Jack about giving up the tours so he could put all his energies into the job he was actually being paid to do.
Calderstones Park was close enough to walk the short distance home and he strolled up the hill with his head down and his hands in his pockets. When he stepped onto the drive, he found Selina busily dusting the windowsills. The wiry and wily octogenarian was barely five foot tall and with the sills almost at head height, cleaning them was a difficult and somewhat pointless task. She pretended not to hear the heavy clomp of his work boots on the block paving and gave a start when Sam tickled her waist.
Swiping him with her duster, she cried, ‘Sam, you gave me a fright!’
‘What are you doing, Selina? I told you I’d wash the windows at the weekend.’
She twisted the duster in her fingers, which were swollen with arthritis. ‘Oh, I can’t sit inside on such a lovely day,’ she said, ‘and I can’t sit in the garden doing nothing. You don’t exactly leave me much to do, but staying busy is what keeps me alive.’
‘That and the whisky,’ he said smiling.
She swiped him again. ‘I’ve told you, it’s medicinal.’
Sam laughed. ‘Anyone who’s reached the ripe old age of … What is it now? Sixty?’ he asked, deliberately knocking quarter of a century off his landlady’s age. ‘You deserve at least one vice, Selina.’
‘For that compliment, I’ll have to invite you to dinner. I’ve made a lovely cottage pie and it’ll go to waste if you don’t help me eat it.’
Sam had moved into his lodgings soon after arriving in Liverpool and the setup had suited him perfectly. Selina was a widow and had converted her oversized house into two separate apartments many years ago. She lived on the ground floor while renting out the upper level. There was a basement that could easily be converted if she wanted another lodger but Sam’s rent was sufficient to plug the gap in her income and they were comfortable in each other’s company. They liked their own space while knowing there was another living being close by. Over time, they had let their lives overlap far more than either intended, although they respected each other’s privacy. Selina wouldn’t push her offer for dinner or be offended by Sam’s refusal, which he gave rather reluctantly.
‘I’m sorry, Selina, can I give you a rain check? It’s been a tough day and I want to go for a run. I need to clear my head.’
‘I understand,’ she said with a nod. ‘I’d go with you if these hips didn’t keep seizing up on me. I’ll put some dinner on a plate for you and you can heat it up when you get back.’
‘Thank you, you’re a sweetheart.’
The old lady tried not to let the worry show on her face when she said, ‘And don’t stay out too long. You don’t want to wear yourself out or you’ll be needing a hip replacement before I do.’
‘I won’t go too far,’ Sam said but it was at best a half-truth. He would probably be out for a good hour at least and still it wouldn’t be long enough. He had spent years trying to outrun himself and tonight he would fail once again.
Later, as Sam dragged himself up the stairs, his legs felt leaden and his T-shirt was soaked in sweat but it was only when he entered his apartment and checked the clock that he realized he had been out for at least an hour and a half. He went into the kitchen, which was little more than a cubbyhole with enough room for a cooker, fridge and sink but little else. It was sufficient for his needs which right now involved the bottle of water he had left to cool in the fridge. He poured a glass and downed it in one then quickly refilled it before resting it on his forehead to cool down.
By the time he made his way back to the living room, his pulse had begun to slow. He felt completely depleted which wasn’t a bad feeling; in fact it was the reason he pushed himself so hard. The exercise gave him time to get his thoughts in order and left him too tired afterwards to let them wind him up again. He went out for a run at least three times a week whatever the weather although the distance depended on his state of mind.
As he took a sip of water, a beeping noise caught his attention. It was a voicemail alert on his mobile, which he had left on the dining table. He checked the missed call, stared at the caller ID for a second or two, and then deleted the message.
By the time Sam had showered and changed, it was eight o’clock. He didn’t feel hungry at all, despite his stomach rumbling, but he knew he would have to eat something and it wouldn’t be his choice. As if on cue, there was a knock at the door.
‘Perfect timing,’ he said opening the door to Selina who was holding a tray. The cottage pie was so hot it was steaming.
‘Hungry?’ she asked as she marched past him.
‘Famished,’ he lied.
He left Selina in the living room and marched back into the kitchen.
‘I won’t stay if you want time on your own,’ she called after him as she set about laying the table. Along with his dinner, she had brought all the condiments and a slice of cake for afters.
Sam emerged from the kitchen with two cans of brown ale. ‘Could I tempt you?’ he asked, already knowing his old friend wouldn’t refuse. The ale was more to her taste than his and he kept a supply in the fridge as repayment for the countless offerings she served up.
As Sam tucked into his
