When Night Closes in (2 page)

‘Look, officer, I came here with my fiancé, now Jon has vanished and I'm worried sick about him.'

Mr Peters coughed. ‘I would be obliged if you would take Miss Richards somewhere, officer, away from my hotel.' He shrugged. ‘Business is bad enough without me looking for complications.'

Lowri ignored him. ‘Please,' she spoke calmly, ‘can't you search the place or something? Jon could be ill, or he might have received an emergency call while I was asleep and had to dash off. There just has to be a logical explanation.'

The young constable looked doubtfully around the room. He checked the bathroom and then shook his head. ‘There is no evidence of anyone but you ever having been here, miss,' he said slowly. ‘Perhaps you'd better just pay up and go home?'

Lowri sighed. ‘I don't think I've got enough money on me, but I work for a solicitor, a Mr Watson of Watson Jones and Fry. Why don't you ring him, he'll vouch for me.' She paused. ‘And I think you should make a note of the fact that I've reported a man missing. It might be as well to speak to a senior officer in case Jon is in some kind of trouble.'

‘I don't know about that, madam, the senior officers only attend serious cases.'

‘I'm telling you this is a serious case. Now are you willing to take the risk or not?'

The young policeman shook his head again and Lowri saw him click into his radio. She heard it crackle a response. She stared at her hands, unable to think clearly. She shivered, feeling cold suddenly.

‘Better put something on, miss.' The constable sounded sympathetic. He avoided looking directly at her and Lowri felt an insane desire to laugh. Something awful might have happened to Jon and this fresh-faced young man was worrying about her modesty.

Lowri opened the door to the wardrobe and took out the skirt and blouse she had arrived in. Suddenly she felt sick and leaned against the wall for support.

‘Do you feel all right, miss?' the policeman said.

‘I'm wonderful!' she said, her voice rising. ‘Jon has vanished, there's this man insisting I pay up, and I've got no money to speak of. Of course I don't feel all right.'

The officer moved away and Lowri heard him speaking quietly to the manager. He mentioned tea and, suddenly, her throat was so dry it felt as if it was closing up. She began to cry. Silent tears ran down her face and trickled saltily into her mouth. She wiped them away with the back of her hand. This was a nightmare, a real one. The one that haunted her sleep was nothing like this. She sank onto the bed, clutching her clothes against her.

The tea was brought and Lowri sipped it, comforted by the warmth. She pushed aside the balcony curtain, longing for daylight. Outside, darkness filled the balcony; the sea rushed in towards the shore. But now it did not have a soothing sound – it was menacing, cold.

‘Please!' She appealed to the constable again. ‘Won't you go and look for Jon – he could be lying hurt somewhere?' She heard the hysteria in her voice and hastily drank some more tea.

The constable hesitated, and looked up with an expression of relief as another man came into the room.

‘Ah, sir, thanks for coming.'

‘There was no-one else, Constable.'

Lowri studied the new arrival. He was wearing a suit, too dark and heavy for the summer weather, but he was older than the constable and presumably more experienced, and his presence was reassuring.

‘Detective Inspector Lainey,' he said. He stared down at her for a long time.

‘There seems to be a problem.'

Lowri looked up at him hopefully. ‘That's right.'

‘I'll have to ask you some questions, do you understand?' he asked.

She nodded. But she did not understand any of it. All she wanted was to go home.

‘Can I be excused for a minute?' She was surprised at the humble tone in her voice. She was acting as though she was guilty of something; it was absurd. The detective agreed, after making a note of her name. With a sigh of relief Lowri went into the bathroom and closed the door, leaning her head against the cool tiles. At least she had a few minutes to herself to think.

Her knickers and bra, discarded in her haste to get into bed with Jon, lay in a crumpled heap on the floor. Absently, she picked them up, remembering how eagerly she had run naked into the bedroom. They had made crazy, passionate love, not once but several times, and yet the bed had been remade while she slept. Why? She wondered if the sheets had been changed. If not, surely there would be something to prove that Jon had been there with her? For some reason she needed to convince the police and herself that she had not imagined the whole thing.

She splashed her face with cold water and dressed quickly before returning to the bedroom. The detective inspector's next remark threw her.

‘You haven't unpacked yet, Miss Richards. Perhaps you were in a hurry to leave?'

‘No, I wasn't in a hurry to leave, why should I be?' she said, exasperation clear in her voice. ‘I didn't unpack because my fiancé and I had a sudden urge to make love until we dropped, any objections?' She took a deep breath and moderated her tone.

‘Look,' she said, ‘Jon drove us here in his car, it should still be outside.'

‘I'll check, shall I, sir?' The uniformed officer seemed eager to leave the problem in his superior's hands. DI Lainey nodded.

‘Perhaps the manager here could assist you.' He glanced at Mr Peters. ‘Between the two of you it should be easy to establish if the cars outside are accounted for.'

Lowri gave the two men details of Jon's car, and they went out. The detective looked at her. ‘Why is the bed so neat and tidy if, as you explained so graphically, you were overcome with passion?'

‘I don't know!' Lowri dragged back the bedspread. The sheets were pristine, the pillowcases showing no signs of the whisky that had run between her breasts. She flushed hotly at the memory. There was an uncomfortable silence.

‘We can go down to the lounge, if you like,' the detective suggested, ‘we can talk just as well down there.' He picked up her overnight bag and handed it to her.

As she left the room Lowri saw faces staring at her from half open doorways. The other guests, curious about the comings and goings at her door, were clearly wondering if she was a thief or worse. She wanted to scream out that she had done nothing wrong. She had fallen asleep on the balcony a happy woman and had woken up to a nightmare.

In the dimness of the lounge, the constable was waiting. ‘I've searched around, miss, but there's no sign of anyone lying hurt out there. No sign of the car either.' He peered at his notebook. ‘Perhaps you could confirm your friend's name and address, miss?' he asked.

‘His name is Jon Brandon, he lives in a rented cottage in Plunch Lane, number 4.'

The constable looked questioningly at the detective. Lainey nodded.

‘I know it. Got a phone number we can try?'

Lowri shook her head. ‘As I said, the cottage is only a holiday place. Jon doesn't have a phone. I think he's only there until he finds something more permanent.'

The detective frowned. ‘How do you normally contact him, then?'

‘He has a mobile,' Lowri said. ‘I haven't got the number with me. It's so long I can't remember it offhand.'

She rubbed her eyes. ‘Please, I want to go there, to see if he's home. Something has to be wrong for him to go off like that. Why don't you try to find him? Can't you see this is no ordinary situation? Jon and I haven't quarrelled; he could be in all sorts of trouble for all we know.'

Mr Peters loomed up at Lowri's shoulder. ‘I would like proof of identity, madam, before you leave.'

Lowri rummaged in her bag and took out some cash. ‘Is this enough to pay the bill?' she asked, her tone icy.

The manager took it. ‘Not enough, no, there's the bottle of whisky you ordered from room service.'

Lowri took out her driving licence. ‘I've said I'll pay your bill and I will.'

‘Ah but . . .'

Lainey intervened. ‘Look, sir, if I understand you correctly you don't want any trouble.' He smiled, a strangely innocent smile that Lowri was beginning to realize concealed a quick mind. ‘But if you want to make a formal complaint that's fine by me.'

‘That won't be necessary.' The manager spoke hastily.

‘Perhaps you will trust the young lady to send you the balance, then.' Lainey turned to Lowri. ‘Could I check your means of identification, Miss Richards?'

She handed him her driving licence. ‘Will this do, or do you think I'm a master forger on top of everything else?'

‘I'm sure it will be enough to satisfy Mr Peters that you are not going to run off with the few extra pounds you owe.' His sarcasm was lost on the man, who glanced at her licence and industriously wrote down her address.

‘If we learn anything we'll be in touch.' The detective looked at her sympathetically. ‘Better get off home now, don't you think?'

Lowri walked through the foyer of the hotel in a daze and found herself standing in the chilly dawn, her overnight bag in her hand. Her tiny semi was almost eleven miles away in Jersey Marine Village. She had no idea how she was going to get there at this time of the morning.

She began to walk; there was nothing else she could do. The street lamps were paling in the dawn light. Early dew shimmered on the pavements. She felt her throat constrict; now she was alone the full import of what had happened seemed to swamp her. Lowri was angry and fearful in turn; she and Jon had been going out together for only a few months, but she had thought they had something special.

They did have something special! What if he had gone for a drive and had met with an accident? But then why had he taken all his clothes? Nothing made sense.

She suddenly felt faint. She leaned against the wall of a house, trying to breathe deeply. She felt alone and frightened.

‘Are you all right?' A car drew up beside her and DI Lainey looked up at her from the driving seat. ‘Daft question. Hop in, I'll take you home.' He climbed out of the car and took her bag, and Lowri allowed him to help her into the back.

He slid the car into gear and she sank back gratefully, struggling against waves of nausea and darkness.

‘Try putting your head on your knees,' Lainey said, pulling smoothly away from the kerb. She obeyed and after a few moments, she felt the darkness recede. She sat up, gulping in air from the partly opened window, and as she looked at the big shoulders of the man in front of her she wondered why he was being so kind.

‘Aren't you afraid I'll bring out a knife and attack you or something?' she said shakily. ‘Mr Peters obviously thinks I'm barking mad and perhaps you agree with him?'

‘No,' he said. ‘I don't think you're mad, just confused perhaps. Or simply stood up?'

‘Jon would not do that!'

‘I believe you,' Lainey said. ‘There must be some other explanation for your friend's vanishing trick.'

‘Will you help me to find out what's happened to him?' Lowri asked. ‘Please?'

Lainey sighed. ‘The truth is that folk go missing all the time, especially men who might be married and are, if you'll pardon the expression, having a bit on the side.'

Was that the answer: was she Jon's bit on the side? How could she really know? If there was one bright spot in all this, it was that this stranger, this policeman believed in her and was concerned about her.

She leaned forward and touched his shoulder. ‘Thank you, Mr Lainey.'

He moved abruptly. ‘Don't thank me, not yet, sometimes problems of this sort have no solution.' He paused. ‘All I can promise is that I will do my best to trace this man for you.' He glanced at her. ‘Will that do?'

She closed her eyes wearily; it would have to do. ‘Thank you,' she said again, then feeling she sounded ungracious, she added, ‘Thank you very much, Mr Lainey.'

All she wanted now was to get home, to shower and change and sleep the day away. Perhaps, when she woke, an explanation would present itself though, somehow, she doubted it.

She was running in the darkness, her feet sinking into the sand. The small waves lapping the beach were silvered with moonlight. Lowri wanted to scream but no sound would come from her throat. Footsteps pounded behind her, drawing nearer. Then she was caught in a cruel grip and forced down onto the sand. She could feel it in her hair, gritty with sharp shells. He was above her, his face masked, eyes black with venom peering through slits. He was dragging her towards the sea, drawing her deeper and deeper into the water. Just as the water covered her face, she reached out to grasp his mask.

The scream woke her, her own scream. She sat up in bed, panting with fear. She was bathed in sweat. It had come again, the nightmare that had haunted her since childhood. Lowri slid out of bed and padded downstairs to the kitchen. Her fingers were shaking as she switched on the kettle.

She took her coffee into the sun-filled living-room; she could hear the bells of St Mary's summoning the faithful to morning prayer. It was Sunday and she should have been spending it with Jon.

The nightmare receded, to be replaced with reality, and Lowri felt the overpowering weight of loss and pain edged with fear. ‘Oh Jon, where are you?' She moved towards the window and looked out at the small village street. Across the road, the hills, riotous with summer greenery, towered above the houses.

She usually loved Sunday mornings; they were lazy times when she could sit around, have a luxurious bath and get ready to spend the rest of the day with Jon, if she hadn't been staying overnight at his cottage in Plunch Lane. Later they would walk on the beach by moonlight, hand in hand. She shuddered, remembering the nightmare.

She would dress, go out and take a walk in the fresh air – perhaps it would clear her head. But what if Jon phoned, or the police rang with news of him? No, she had better stay in.