The Scribbler by Iain Maitland (life changing books txt) 📕

picked up one piece and watched as Carrie took the one nearest to her. They both smiled at each other as they ate their toast. As they finished, Carrie spoke.

“You look happy, guv. Have you found a new case for us to investigate?”

He nodded, maybe. “I’ve found two, no three men, married men, who have gone missing over the years and, because they were later reported as being closet homosexuals, they’ve … well, the files seem to have ended up here. I don’t know why. I’d like to have a look at those, but …”

Gayther looked pained and then added, “Boss Man would have my … whatnots for paperweights …” he tailed off.

Carrie laughed. “We can do better than that anyway.” She placed a file in front of him, flipped it open, and then carried on speaking.

“A live case. A report’s just come in of a man gone missing the night before last … just down the road … ticks the boxes … Steve Deacon’s been watching out for me … and he’s passed this over.”

Gayther sat up. “Compelling evidence, Carrie?”

She nodded.

“Going that way.”

* * *

Carrie knocked on the red front door of the neat and tidy terraced house in the back streets of Beccles in Suffolk. She turned to Thomas, standing by her side, and smiled at him. He smiled back nervously. She wondered if this was the first time he’d been out on a case.

“Don’t worry,” Carrie said. “Leave the questions to me.”

He nodded at her. “I thought DI Gayther would want to be here.”

“He needs to keep his head down … don’t worry about that for now … anyway … look, if you think of a question I don’t ask, write it in your notebook and pass it to me.”

The door was opened, and Carrie and Thomas stood and looked at the woman in the doorway. Sixty or so, tall and angular, well turned out. She looked like she was sucking a lemon, thought Carrie.

“Mrs Taylor? I’m Detective Constable Carrie and this is my colleague, Glyn Thomas. We’re here to talk about your husband, Philip Taylor. You’ve reported him missing.”

The woman seemed taken aback. “Goodness, I didn’t expect a detective, I thought you’d send an ordinary policeman … woman … and not so soon. I’ve only just finished my lunch. Has something happened?”

“Just routine, Mrs Taylor. I was there when the report came through and it was given to me and I was coming this way anyway. May I …?” She said, stepping forward.

The woman invited Carrie and Thomas in. They made their way to the small but immaculate front room, pieces of bone china everywhere, and sat down in two wingback chairs facing a matching sofa. Carrie watched as the woman sat opposite and composed herself, brushing her hands across her skirt. Putting on a concerned face, thought Carrie, and no offer of a cup of tea.

Carrie began the conversation. “We’ve the basic details from you, Mrs Taylor … Philip John Taylor, white male, fifty-five years, five foot nine inches, balding, last seen leaving work early, a building society in Ipswich, at about two o’clock on Wednesday … tell me more, please—”

“Yes,” the woman interrupted, “when he wasn’t home as usual at six or by half past, I called his mobile … at about seven. It went straight to answerphone. I thought he might have gone for a drink with a friend from work … he does occasionally … and had forgotten we were going out to eat with friends that evening. By the time it got to nine or ten o’clock I was … disappointed.”

“Did you think of reporting him missing that evening?” Thomas asked, ignoring Carrie’s look.

“No, I didn’t think it was out of the ordinary then … I rang one of his friends in the morning – just in case he had stayed there overnight … he has done that once or twice if he’s had a drink. I thought, if he had been drinking or maybe his phone had run out of charge, well, I’d have looked silly reporting him missing that evening.”

“But you reported him missing the next morning?” Carrie asked.

“Yes, because Brian, the friend I phoned, said that Philip had left work early in the afternoon, about two o’clock, to go to the dentist in Ipswich – our old dentist moved there and, well, as it’s close to his workplace, Philip wanted to stay with him … and he didn’t go back to work afterwards, nor come home. That isn’t like him at all.”

“The dentist’s name, Mrs Taylor?”

“Mathias. M. A. T. H. I. A. S. George Mathias. I don’t know the practice name or address, I’m afraid. It’s in Ipswich, or just outside.”

“We can check that,” said Carrie, making a note. “Does he know anyone else in Ipswich, Mrs Taylor, that he might have gone to see?”

“No, I don’t think so. Not that I know of.”

“Has he done this before? Stayed out for a day or two without telling you?” Carrie pressed.

“No, he’s always very punctilious.”

“When he stays out drinking, does he let you know?” Thomas interjected. Carrie looked at him, but he sat gazing impassively at Mrs Taylor.

“Well …” she smiled mirthlessly, “… he doesn’t go out drinking … as you put it … but he’s stayed out perhaps two or three times over the past year working for the building society. And no, he doesn’t tell me on the night, as we’ve agreed that he might stay over somewhere if he has a drink or two. He won’t drink and drive. He’s very careful like that.”

The woman paused.

Thomas scribbled a word or two in a notebook, but did not pass it to Carrie as she expected.

Carrie waited a moment and then went on.

“You’ve tried calling him again on his mobile?”

“Yes, two or three times. It just goes to answerphone every time.”

“May we take the number, Mrs Taylor, so we have it … for a possible trace?”

The woman nodded, rose and moved to an old-fashioned telephone table in the