He Googled it and it wasn’t a residential address at all. It was a self-storage warehouse and mail forwarding service situated on an industrial estate. Once he got over his disappointment, he realised that would have been too easy. The idea that he could stroll up and knock on her front door and she’d invite him in for another cup of coffee was fanciful in the extreme. It was just further evidence that she wanted to keep a low profile.
He’d sent her an email the previous night as he’d figured she might have access to the Gmail inbox on another device. He’d made every effort to be friendly and sound concerned but if she was running away from him, she’d just ignore it and delete the mailbox. The phone in his hand had pinged receipt, but there had been no reply as yet. He’d also spent time on the House Minders web site looking for her, but none of the profiles or photographs of those registered were even close. In desperation, he’d searched around every other house sitting web site he could find but drawn a blank.
It took him over an hour to drive to Watford and find the address of Your Storage & Mail where he parked in a visitor’s bay. The reception area was cheap but functional with a few plastic chairs, a table, magazine rack and a self-service coffee machine. A young woman stood behind a melamine topped counter, tapping on a computer.
“May I help you?” she said, giving him a cursory glance.
“I hope so. I want to deliver a package to a friend of mine, but I don’t have her home address.” The girl didn’t react, as if still waiting to hear the nature of the query. “I believe she uses your company as a mail forwarding address.” The girl frowned.
“And your name is?” She was young but clearly intelligent and well trained.
“Jack Fleming.”
“And what’s your friend’s name?”
“Sineád O’Callaghan.”
She tapped a few keys on her computer and waited. “Yes, we have a Sineád O’Callaghan listed. That’s no problem sir, just give me your package and we’ll make sure it gets to her.”
“Yes, thanks. But I wanted to give it to her personally. You know, because it’s something valuable. You couldn’t just tell me?”
He knew it would be futile. She’d have no authority to divulge a client’s home address. Data protection had become a major issue in recent years and the legislation surrounding it increasingly onerous, non-compliance, a criminal offence. Anyway, for all she knew, he could be a mystery shopper employed by her company, trying to catch her out. She stuck to the script.
“We never share clients’ data. But I’m sure it’ll be perfectly safe. It’ll be parcelled up with any other mail we have for her and sent at the end of the week.”
“What if I want it to go quicker than that.”
“Basic service is once a week. If a client wants a special delivery, then he or she can request one.”
“Can you call her then and ask?”
The girl looked at him strangely. “You don’t have a phone number for your friend?”
“Oh yes. Of course. But it keeps going to voicemail. You must have her number there on your screen.” He studied his own phone and recited the mobile number. “Is that right?”
“I can neither confirm nor deny that sir.”
“I don’t suppose there’s a landline number as well?”
She ignored the question. “You could always write to our client and tell her you have a package you want to deliver personally?”
“Write to her here?” The girl nodded as if he were simple.
“Or text her? Email perhaps?”
He shook his head. “Look, it’s really important I contact her. Can you just tell me if there is more than one number listed?”
The girl tutted. “There is only one number listed.”
“Can I ask you to ring it? In case it’s different from the one I have?”
She tutted again, bashed the number out on her phone and lifted the handset. The phone in his pocket began to ring. He hadn’t turned it off. She studied him closely and he tried not to react but now she was even more suspicious. It stopped ringing after six cycles. “Voicemail,” she announced and hung up.
“Okay. Thanks.” He tapped the counter pretending to be thoughtful while he weighed up his next move. “You know, I’ll think about it. Thanks for your help.”
“No worries,” she said, and as if to conclude the mystery shopper scenario, “is there anything else I can help you with?” He shook his head, and she went back to her computer screen. The information he wanted was tantalisingly close, but red tape had got in the way. It was no surprise, and ordinarily he supported strict privacy policies when his own identity was at stake so he should expect no less for everyone else, especially one who had made such an effort to stay under the radar.
He got back in the Range Rover and thought through the options. He could either wait for a reply to his email, which may never come, or he could write her a letter, which might take a few days to get there, and she might still ignore, or else he could just send the phone and forget about her. None were particularly appealing. He thought back to the hired car. The hire centre in Watford was only two miles from the storage warehouse which suggested she lived somewhere in the area, the car hire presumably the closer of the two, but it made no difference. He wouldn’t know where to start looking.
He flicked through his contacts and called a number. It answered in two.
“Jack, mate! How the hell are you?”
“I’m well Barry. How are you?”
“I’m good mate. How was the Isle of Widget?” Barry was a chronic malaprop who couldn’t resist using the wrong words to try to make a joke of everything. The problem was that sometimes only Barry saw the joke, making those who didn’t know him think he was either thick or illiterate. As a senior officer in the regional crime squad, he was neither.
“It was fine.”
“And are you chilled?”
“Yes and no.”
“Okay...” His friend was suddenly guarded
“I need to find a missing person.”
“Who?”
“Well, that’s the thing. I’m not sure what her real name is.”
“Her?” He’d picked up on it quickly. He was a copper after all. This was going to be tricky.
“I met her there. On the Isle of Wight, three days ago.”
“Christ mate, you don’t hang about.” Ordinarily, it would have been lad’s banter but there was a hint of reproach. Barry loved Natalie and had been in tears at the funeral. Everyone loved Natalie; no one but Jack had had to live with her.
“It’s not like that. We just met by chance and had a chat and then we had dinner.”
“And…?”
“And nothing. I liked her that’s all. But now she’s missing.”
“Whoa, whoa. Back up a little. When you say she’s missing, what exactly do you mean?”
“I mean she agreed to have lunch on Thursday and disappeared.”
“You mean, stood you up.”
“No. Well yes, maybe. I went to her house and she was gone. Turns out she doesn’t live there and was just house sitting, but she ran off without giving any notice.”
“Someone you just met couple of days ago? How do you know she ran off? Maybe she just went home?”
“I know it sounds pathetic Barry, but something’s wrong. Trust me.”
“So where does she live?” Jack sighed. The conversation was going to end with him looking like a prat and Barry suggesting they go for a pint.
“Don’t know.” He sounded dejected because he was.
“So, you don’t know her name and you don’t know where she lives but you still think she’s missing?”
“I don’t know her exact name. She uses three.”
“Three?” This was getting worse. “Jack, mate. I don’t know what you’re on, but my advice is leave it alone. She sounds like trouble to me, whoever she is.”
“She’s running from something. I feel it in my bones.”
“Maybe it was you sniffing around? Maybe you got too close?”
“I didn’t get close.” Jack was beginning to regret making the call.
“Is she a hooker?”
“No!” He loved Barry to bits but sometimes he could be profoundly irritating.
“Look…” Jesus! “…you’re still in shock…” I’m not in shock “…it’s only been three months and I can understand if you want to fill the void…” Barry, you can be a real prick sometimes “…but I really suggest you back off. She’ll contact you if she wants to.”
“She doesn’t have my number. All she knows is my name’s Jack.” He heard Barry let out a long breath.
“I’m not sure what you want me to do.”
“There are two Paddies after her. Ugly guys. I had a run in with them.”
“Meaning…?”
“Meaning I had a run-in. Knocked them about a bit.”
“You duffed them up?”
“Sort of.”
Barry couldn’t resist putting on his PC plod accent. “Excuse me sir, do I have reason to believe you engaged in an altercation with two Irish gentlemen after an argument with said gentlemen over a lady acquaintance?”
“Cut it out Barry. This is serious.”
“And then she ran off?”
“No! She’d already disappeared and then they came after me. Thought I was her boyfriend or something.”
“And are you?”
“No! Barry. Look…” he was even beginning to sound like Barry, “… I know it sounds crazy, but I think she’s in danger. I know she’s in danger. She tossed her phone away.”
“How do you know?”
“I’ve got it here.”
“You’ve got her phone?”
“Yeah.”
“How did you get her phone?”
“Just by chance.”
“Well give it to me and I’ll have the tech boys analyse it.”
“Already done that. There’s virtually nothing there. She tossed it because it was being tracked.”
“By the Paddies?”
“I guess. I’ve found where she hired a car and her address is a mail forwarding service, but that’s all.”
“You have been a busy boy. Do you want a job?”
“Very funny.”
“I say again; what do you expect me to do?”
“I expect you to put out an alert for a missing person who may be in danger.”
“On what grounds?”
“On the grounds I’m telling you!”
“She’s not missing. Not officially anyway. You’re not family and you can’t say she’s not where she’s supposed to be because you don’t even know where that is. Look, if she flirted with you then she probably flirted with the Paddies and maybe the real reason you’re all looking for her is so you can get into her pants.”
“It’s not like that! Can’t you get the mail forwarding people to cough up her real address?”
“No! I’d have to open up a case file and there’s nothing to go on.”
“Well ask them anyway!”
“I can’t do that! You know I can’t do that. It’s called wasting police time.”
“You’re not helping Barry. One of the Paddies said she stole something from them.”
“His pride maybe? She certainly stole something from you.”
“What?”
“Your ability to think straight. Look, let’s talk about it later over a pint. Okay?”
He jabbed the cancel button in frustration. The worst thing was, Barry was probably right, the plonker. He was getting obsessed and letting his mind run away with this nonsense. He slapped the steering wheel with the palm of his hand and grimaced at the self-inflicted pain. He fingered her phone again and the screen lit up. He checked emails and there were no new ones other than the one he sent yesterday. There was nothing in her sent items meaning she hadn’t sent one from another device and there were no texts or missed calls. She was still laying low.
He loaded Facebook and tried to log in, but the phone had no credentials plumbed in, which probably meant she had no account. He switched to his own phone and logged into his own page. Charlie was a social media diva and had pestered him to set up an account, but he’d never used it, had only three friends and only ever logged in to check what his daughter was up to, which in itself, was often too disturbing to watch.
He searched for Sineád O’Callaghan and found six, but either their photos or locations ruled them out and if she was supposed to be off grid, the first thing she’d do is delete her on-line presence. He searched for Louise Harrison and there were fifteen with exactly the same name and countless others with slight deviations. He paged through a few but had no idea who he was looking for and there was no obvious clue. He’d try later in comfort at home on a bigger screen. Maybe social media had a use after all, and Louise held the key?
He started up the Range Rover, intending to return home, but a thought suddenly occurred to him and a strategy began to form. He knocked the car into gear and headed for the town centre.
***
An hour later, he returned on foot to the multi-storey car park in the centre of Watford clutching his purchases. He’d been into the mobile phone store and bought a new iPhone with a new number and a package which gave him a large data allowance. He also bought a compact power-bank device that would keep a phone charged for up to three weeks. A medium sized padded bag, greetings card and pen completed the set.
He turned on the new phone, skipped through most of the setup options and entered his own number into the contacts, then activated the camera and took a selfie video. He made several attempts before he was happy with the result:
“Hello Siobhán, or Sineád, or Caitlín. I’m not sure which is your real name, but I’d really like to find out. I’m also worried about you and I know you’re in some sort of trouble otherwise you wouldn’t have disappeared like that. I have no idea what you may or may not have done or why people are looking for you and frankly I don’t care. I genuinely want to help you if I can so please get in touch. I promise I mean you no harm. Exactly the opposite. By the way, I’ve met your Irish cousins and I hope I’ve persuaded them to leave you alone, but if not, then more’s the reason you should call me as soon as possible. Bye for now. By the way, if you still want to stay out of sight, then good luck.”
He opened the Find My app and shared its location with Jack Fleming, the only contact in the address book. He checked the app on his own phone, added a new contact Sineád O’Callaghan and the new number and sent a follow request. The new phone pinged, and he accepted the request, his own phone displaying the location of the new. He then wrote a message in the card which had a picture of a springer spaniel on the front.
“Jerry sends his regards together with an early Christmas present. Checkout the video. Jack X.” He’d added the ‘X’ without thinking and for a moment wondered if he was making a mistake, but the deed was done; crossing it out would just make it worse. Finally, he plugged the power-bank into one of the car’s USB ports and the new Iphone into another. The power-bank read 40% and the iPhone 80% so he drove back to the Your Storage & Mail centre and waited in the car park. It took almost an hour for the power-bank to reach maximum but once it had, he connected it to the new phone, wrapped the card around them and stuffed the entire bundle into the padded bag.
“Hello again,” said the girl behind the counter without any trace of irony.
“Hi. I’ve got the parcel here. I think it’s the best way.”
“Cool,” she said, passing him a marker pen “Just write the name on the front c/o Your Storage and this address.”
“When will it go?”
“Next despatch is Tuesday.”
“And will you get proof it’s been delivered?”
“Yes…but” she hesitated, and he finished the sentence for her.
“…you won’t be able tell me that will you?”
“Er, no.”
“Thanks for your help.”
He’d done all he could. She might freak out when she received it and smash it to pieces, or she may not even be there, wherever it was. But as long as the batteries held out, he should be able to follow it to its ultimate destination. He would just have to be patient.
***
He got back home mid-afternoon, made some coffee and slumped on the sofa. He checked the location of the new phone and as he expected, it was still at the Your Storage location in Watford.
An email from Clive Hudson, Charlie’s estate agent, suggested he pop round on Monday to value his property. He was surprised. He couldn’t work out how the guy knew he wanted to sell because he hadn’t mentioned it to anyone. Maybe he was just a chancer. He accepted the appointment at 11 a.m. without acknowledging receipt.
He needed a drink and reluctantly decided he’d take Barry up on his offer. He’d have to tolerate another long lecture, but he could do with the company.