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“Has anything out of the ordinary happened in your lives recently?”
“Not that I can think of.”
“Did you have an argument or anything like that?”
“No.”
“Did he seem worried, frightened, nervous, anxious? Different in any way?”
“No, he was the same as normal. But you’re frightening me, asking all these questions.”
“Sorry, it’s just routine,” said A
“Yes, of course. We can walk to church, but you need the car to drive up into the dale. Maybe that’s it! I wouldn’t be surprised if that old banger broke down somewhere. Maybe that’s where he is? Up on the moors in the middle of nowhere with a dead mobile and a clapped-out car, hoping the AA might just happen to pass by.”
“Can you tell me the number plate?”
Alex told her and Doug Wilson noted it down. “It’s an old Peugeot. Dirty gray.”
Alex was clutching at straws, A
“Could Michael be with a friend?” A
“He doesn’t really have very many. His life was pretty isolated when he lived up at the farm, you see, and since then, well, most of the friends he did have have moved away, and we’ve sort of spent most of our time together. We don’t socialize a lot. Going out can be expensive.”
“You never go out for a drink or anything? Or to a party?”
“Sometimes we go to the local for an evening out, if we can afford a sitter for Ian, but not very often. Neither of us is a big drinker, and we just enjoy our own company. It’s cheaper to get a few cans or a bottle of wine in and watch telly than it is to go out for the night. It sounds boring, I suppose, but we’re happy.”
“Can you think of anyone else at all Michael might have communicated with?”
“There’s Keith, I suppose. He’s still here. They went to school together, and they meet up for a game of darts once in a while. But Keith hasn’t seen him. I phoned. Graham, too. He’s married to Angie, who’s my best friend, really. But Graham’s a photography nut, and he and Michael get along well. They go off taking photos at various scenic spots around the Dales every now and then. Graham’s been teaching Michael his way around a camera. As I said, Michael’s a natural in some ways, but he doesn’t know much about theory and techniques, or the history. I can’t say I do, either, but Graham does. There’s Morgan, too, I suppose. Michael works with him up on the farms sometimes. But I don’t like him. He’s too flash and full of himself. Wears a gold chain and has a spider tattoo on the side of his neck. Head shaved like one of those BNP types, though he isn’t. He’s half black. His dad’s from Barbados. And he’s always flirting with me.”
“Does Michael like him?”
“They work together, and they go for a pint together, too, sometimes, after a day’s work. They get along all right. Talk about any work that might be coming up. Morgan’s managed to get Michael in on a couple of decent-paying jobs, and vice versa, so I don’t suppose I should be so down on him.” She gave a little shudder and pulled a face. “You know, it’s just like, if you’re a woman, he makes you feel like a piece of meat.”
“I know exactly what you mean,” said A
“Anything that comes along, really. Morgan does small removals, you know, houses and flats and stuff. He’s got a large van. Michael usually helps him out on jobs like that. They also do a lot of farmyard maintenance, like I said, roofing work, drainage ditches, helping bale hay for forage, that sort of thing. It’s really a matter of who you know, who you’ve worked for before, where you’ve got a good reputation.”
“And this Morgan has a good reputation?”
“I suppose he must have.”
“Could he be the one who texted Michael about a job yesterday morning?”
“It’s likely,” said Alex. “It’s what he usually does. Last minute, as often as not.”
“Have you rung Morgan?”
“No. I don’t know his number. But I know where he lives. He’s got a caravan at that site down by the river, you know, near Hindswell Woods.”
“Riverview?”
“That’s the one.”
“Well, it’s a start, I suppose,” said A
“Can you give me Michael’s mobile number?” Wilson asked. “And tell me the full names and addresses of the friends you mentioned, Miss Preston, including this Morgan character? Phone numbers, too, if you have them. And do you have a recent photograph of Michael we can borrow?”
“Please, call me Alex,” she said, smiling.
A
Alex disappeared into the other room and came back with a photo of Michael posing casually on the balcony, with the view of Eastvale spread out in the background. “That was taken two weeks ago,” she said. “I took it myself. You remember, that nice weekend near the end of last month?” She handed over the photo, then put her hands to her face. “Oh, God, what can have happened to him?”
“I know you’re worried, Alex,” A
“It’s true,” added Doug Wilson. “Leave it to us. Is there anywhere you think he might have gone? A favorite place, a hideaway? You know, if he got upset about his father, or you had an argument or something? Somewhere he’d go to be alone, to think things over, feel safe and secure?”
A
“I don’t really know. I mean, he always feels safe and secure here, with us. He doesn’t need an escape. We haven’t really had any fights, not serious fights where either of us has gone off alone. Michael does like long walks by himself, though. I think it’s a habit he developed in his childhood, you know, growing up on the farm.” She laughed. “You had to walk a long way to get anywhere, where he lived.”
“Anywhere in particular?” Wilson asked.
“Just around the dale in general,” said Alex, “though I’m sure it’s not something he’d do in this weather.”
“We have to cover all the possibilities, Miss— Alex,” said Wilson.
Alex favored him with another smile. “I know,” she said. “If I could think of where he might be, don’t you think I’d tell you? I can’t go looking for him, myself. I don’t have the car, and there’s Ian . . .”
“Don’t worry,” A
They drew a blank on Michael’s computer. Nothing but a lot of spam and a few harmless emails from friends—nothing from Morgan, no references to tractor-thieving sprees, as far as A