Weak Link

By Beaufort Gray

She’s gone. Just vanished into thin air. She didn’t take her car or her purse. Jane is not coming back. Her husband is worried, but some of her friends aren’t. Why did Jane leave? What happened that night of the Dinner party? What was done to her, and ultimately...is Jane dead? Weak Link is a mystery, suspense, crime novel set in 1998. The backdrop is Dublin, Ireland at the height of the Celtic Tiger economic boom. New money is everywhere and everything is changing...or so it seems...

• Language: English
• Publisher: Beaufort Gray
• Release date: Oct 31, 2017
• ISBN: 9781775073505

Beaufort Gray

Elizabeth DeBoer-Ashworth is the author of Weak Link, and writes under the pen name of Beaufort Gray. Raised in Nova Scotia, Canada and now a long-term, permanent resident of St. John’s, Newfoundland. She has been writing fiction all her life, but makes most of her living by being a part-time academic and a research consultant specializing in policy writing. Elizabeth has a PhD in Political Science and can bore people senseless with what she would do if she was Queen of the World.

Book preview

Chapter 1

PART ONE: November 1998:

It was the issue of the dog that kept coming back to Alex. Why had she killed the dog? The question of suicide was one thing. But why have the dog destroyed? It wasn’t that Alex missed the dog. He’d never been fond of the animal. It’s just that the decision to get rid of it was opposite to everything he understood about her, and that made him apprehensive. A greater complication was her vanishing. On the other hand, as he sat in the police waiting room, he realised that it would have to be explained.

There was, of course, the guilt. They had argued that night or to be more precise, he had lost his temper. However, he and Jane had been married for nearly 17 years; since university in fact. It wasn’t like Jane hadn’t weathered his temper before. Anyway, he’d had a bit too much to drink, and didn’t remember that part of the evening very clearly. Yet, as he sat rationalising his outburst in his mind, he couldn’t push away the mental picture of his wife’s eyes looking up at him, full of tears.

They’d been to dinner with friends, and she’d attempted to put on foundation make-up to hide the ridiculous freckles that covered her face. As a rule Jane didn’t wear make-up anymore, but on this night she’d put in the effort, and the result hadn’t been pleasing. As she’d sat crying and looking up at him – she had also been trying to say something, but Alex couldn’t bring to mind what it was – he remembered quite clearly that her tears had streaked her foundation. The effect had been bizarre. Part of her skin looked smooth and white, but all the tear streaked areas were full of her copper dots.

She had gone missing a month ago in October. The first thing the Garda police officer had asked when Alex notified the authorities of her disappearance was: did Jane leave a note? Well she had, but as a suicide note it was almost certainly one of the shortest on record. There were no recriminations, or explanations, just a simple note pinned to the fridge, with a magnet in the shape of a cartoon honey bee. It had read:

Alex:

I’m finished here.

I’ve had the dog destroyed.

Good bye, Jane.

The Garda had asked him to cast his mind back over the events of the day before her disappearance, in case there was some clue, as to why Jane had chosen to go missing. He had told them it was a day like any other, except for the dinner. He had been at work all day. She’d been at home. He’d collected her at seven, and they went together to their friends’ house. They had arrived back around midnight. He’d left early for work the following morning, and when he’d arrived home that night she and the dog were gone. Alex remembered the young female police officer nodding at him sympathetically. She’d smiled at him, and had told him to hope for the best. The officer had suggested that, perhaps, Jane had just gone away for a bit to sort things out. Alex had smiled back weakly, but he saw by the look on the inspector’s face, that she was expecting to find Jane’s body, not Jane.

All things considered, the week that his wife had disappeared was one of his worst. He hadn’t mentioned his work situation to the Garda. It’s not that things were disastrous. It’s just that over the course of the last year or so, work hadn’t been going well. He was constantly fighting a feeling of failure. It had been plaguing him for months. He knew he had what it took; it was just that he’d had some bad luck.

He’d been a good management consultant, and in the early years he’d found it easy to acquire clients, and keep their portfolios. His confidence, and quality presentations, guaranteed work from prospective clients. He’d risen fast, and they’d even made him a partner with equity in the firm.

Alex thought of himself as a good man. But somehow at this stage in his life everything seemed to be slipping. This feeling had been growing even before Jane disappeared. He felt he must have taken a wrong turn. Alex often woke in the small hours, and lay there in the darkness. A subconscious voice would suggest he’d made a mistake. He’d feel himself curl up into a mental ball, and squirm. Even in the worst of his midnight angst he was never able to find out exactly what he was doing wrong. He should have known. Well he did know. Of course he did. But part of him wanted to forget. Yet when he awoke in the morning, his dream would seem to fade. He would push it aside. Granted he had to have his morning coffees, and nightly whiskies, but he was fine. Well, mostly fine.

*****

The Irish November was cold, and its wet autumn weather had brought high wind. Large waves curled over each other. Flotsam from the sea was driven down the coast by the head wind. Battered items found a resting place on some of County Dublin’s sandy beaches. Pushing like fingers, the waves shoved their cache of goods further up the shoreline. A large lump of seaweed and debris came to rest on a busy stretch of beach.

*****

On the day of Jane’s disappearance, Alex had got up early as usual. He and Jane hadn’t talked much. Alex remembered that the dog had been let into the kitchen. The dog had danced around Jane’s legs in anticipation of being fed. It was strange that he had picked up the look between Jane and the dog. Alex hadn’t known why it had made such an impression, but there had been something about the way that Jane’s face had broken into a smile that bothered him. He hadn’t seen the dog’s face from his vantage point, at the kitchen table, but he’d remembered the animal’s tense rapture as it looked at Jane. Its docked tail had wagged madly, and the rest of its body had stood stock still, waiting. Her smile and the dog’s response kept coming back to Alex. Why had she destroyed the dog? Which, of course, left him with the ultimate question: was Jane dead?

Alex had never wanted a dog in the house, and indeed Jane had always respected his wishes. He had indulged Jane because of the house. After he’d been made a partner he’d wanted a classy house he couldn’t afford. An opportunity presented itself that had looked as if it would work. A parcel of land, with planning permission had been up for sale. Alex had seen the architectural plans and they were stunning. True, for commuting to Dublin the property was slightly out-of-the-way, but it also wasn’t in the middle of nowhere. And it had meant he could own the home of a lifetime. The catch of course was that it still had to be built. At the start of the process it had been difficult because someone needed to be on the premises to deal with contractors. Jane had finished a Masters at Trinity a few years back and was working as a university tutor on contract. She had wanted to move on to do her PhD, but Alex had been keen to see the house finished.

The turning point had been a night about two years ago when they had been out to dinner. They had only owned the site for a short while, but Alex had seen that without a site manager the building would take forever. Alex had known he couldn’t afford to keep paying the architect who had been contracted to project manage the job, so Alex came up with an idea.

They had both been on form that evening. Alex had landed a new lucrative contract and Jane; well Jane had seemed happy and relaxed. It was an occasion of some kind. Alex couldn’t remember whether it had been a birthday or perhaps a wedding anniversary, but he did remember the evening. It was at one of their favourite Temple Bar restaurants in Dublin. Jane had her unruly red hair trained back in a tight French roll. Jane wasn’t a pin-up sort of woman, but during the evening of that dinner she had looked fine to Alex. He had asked her whether she would ever consider staying at home. He could still remember the play of expressions that crossed her face as she took in his suggestion. After what had seemed an eternity she’d looked him deep in the eyes and said:

‘Alex, are you serious? Do you really want to….to try again…for a family?’

Alex disliked this topic. He’d been dreaming of his Georgian façade with massive white pillars. He’d been mildly horrified that such a serious subject had been raised during such a pleasant dinner. But, he’d seen how her misunderstanding could be turned to his advantage.

‘Sweetheart….,’ he’d begun, ‘I think we need someone to oversee the building of our house. You’re the only one I trust to do it. If we’re thinking about another try we’ll need a proper home first.’

Jane had looked at him wide-eyed and had remarked: ‘Well I’m surprised. It was very stressful last time…but I’m glad you want to try’ she hadn’t looked unpleased. ‘Would you get yourself tested?’ ‘That is something I don’t want to discuss,’ Alex’s face darkened, ‘you know my feelings about that.’

‘Ok ok,’ she raised her hand and made calming movements, ‘let’s get back to talking about the house. I’m sure I can speed up the building, but I’m a little worried. I’ve been doing contract work at Trinity for a few years now. I should really move on to do my doctorate.’

Alex had assured her that there was plenty of time for all that. She had been silent for a moment and had then agreed to do as he asked.

*****

The jogger felt great that morning. He’d got up early and he really felt like a long run. Wanting to quicken his pace he opted for leaving the soft sand and headed towards the waterline. It’s always easier to run on the wet compacted part of any beach. The November weather was cold, but the jogger was dedicated. About a third of the way along the beach he smelt something rank. He ignored it at first thinking it was just the seaweed, but then he saw something protruding from the detritus. Shocked he fumbled at the Velcro clasp of his jogging belt and removed his mobile phone.

*****

Everything should have worked out for Alex, but the building of the house had been a complicated affair. The biggest problem had been that the mortgage he’d acquired had clearly not been enough to cover the cost. The house was simply out of his price range, but he’d set his heart on the place. This meant that their lives became one long economy drive. Jane was trying to create a millionaire’s mansion on only one salary and her own hard labour. Alex had started to notice that Jane had seemed to be gradually fading. But after a year the shell of the building had been erected, and much to Alex’s delight the front street-side view of the house had been completed. It had looked incredible and, later, pride had led him to take a photo of his house (with Jane and the dog on the steps for scale). He had bought an ornate frame for the photo and had taken it into his office.

Inside, of course, the house had all the charm of an airport hangar. The internal walls didn’t exist. They had managed to complete the kitchen/family room at the back of the house. This, and a large utility closet, doubling as a bedroom, had comprised their living space. There had also been a small toilet/shower room, but the tiling had not been completed so the decorative theme was definitely more concrete block than Georgian. Alex would go to work in the morning, leaving Jane to spend most of her days in the house. Money had become tight, and as the breadwinner he had no choice but to encourage Jane to do some of the work herself. She began to flag.

So Alex had made no difficulty about the dog. The house was in a semi-rural area, and an unfortunate trend had started to occur. Unwanted pets had started to be dumped along lonely stretches of road. The results had been distressing, and the small local animal shelter had its hands full. All too often the shelter had no recourse but to put the animals down. This was why Jane stopped the car when she’d seen an injured dog about a mile from their house.

Chapter 2

‘Ok, ok I’ve got one!’ said Helena her face full of mischievous enthusiasm. The other Garda police officers put down their cups of tea. One of the uniformed officers pulled a sour face and said: ‘Well he didn’t go for my suggestion so I don’t think anything you’re going to come up with will sway Mr-by-the-book’. Helena wrinkled her nose at her fellow officer and ploughed on.

‘No Rafe…don’t look at them,’ she tugged his sleeve, ‘look at me and pay attention I got a good one,’ she smiled. Rafe, her senior officer, looked tired and long-suffering about this stupid game they’d come up with. But what the hell, it did pass the time during their early morning tea break.

‘Alright, go ahead, try me,’ sighed Rafe.

‘Ok, let’s say her husband gambled all her money and most treasured possessions…’ Helena stopped to think of more extenuating circumstances.

‘Still no excuse for murder…,’ droned Rafe in a sing-song voice of someone who had played this game for too long. ‘For the last time,’ Rafe raised his voice and set down his tea, ‘It doesn’t matter what vile paedophile, psychopathic, kleptomaniac arsehole someone is! It is still illegal to kill them. Just like it’s illegal to forge, steal or pilfer money or other objects of value!’

‘Yes, yes we are all agreed on that point Rafe,’ snorted Helena. Some of her colleagues in uniform laughed a little too loudly. ‘We’re just trying to see at what point you’d let someone go. You know if you could, because you knew their situation’.

‘Never!’ repeated Rafe.

‘Well of course you wouldn’t under normal circumstances but what if…’

‘Ah no more, Helena…You can’t take extenuating circumstances into account. We arrest people on evidence and let the courts decide their fate. The End!’ Rafe made a finishing motion with his hands, knowing full well that this would have no effect.

‘Not even if stolen money was given to starving orphans?’ Helena tried. Seeing his expression she gave it one last shot: ‘starving foreign orphans?’

‘Not even if they gave it to Mother Theresa,’ concluded Rafe.

‘She’s dead though…isn’t she?’ remarked one of the slower officers.

‘It’s just an expression…’ Rafe was going to say more when a young officer came from the outer office. ‘A body’s been found sir,’ he informed Rafe.

*****

Alex had been annoyed to begin with, but he’d seen that Jane was willing to spend more time alone in the house with the dog for company. Always a man of style, Alex had wished that the dog had been a bit more attractive. A golden retriever, for instance, would have been nice. Jane’s stray dog, however, had been a Jack Russell terrier crossed with many other breeds. It had had white fur with random orange spots, in colour not unlike Jane’s own freckles. Its legs were bandy and, all in all, it made no fashion statement. Jane was sensible though, and never let the dog sleep in the finished part of the house. She always kept it from under his feet in the evenings.

Thinking back like this, Alex wondered what had gone through her mind when she’d decided to have the dog put down. It wasn’t revenge; he hadn’t cared for the animal, but she had. It was the one thing that made him think that she must truly be dead.

Frustrated he played back through his mind the events of the day of the dinner. He had been in a foul mood when he had collected Jane that evening. He’d had a bad day at work. His boss, in a very friendly manner, had called him into his office for coffee. The firm’s senior partner had come from an established Dublin ‘old money’ family. He was a courteous and private man, not given to friendly overtures. Alex had been eager to have a one-to-one coffee break with his boss. However, his fantasy of taking part in a friendly social break had been quickly dashed.

His senior partner had not openly degraded him in front of his subordinates, but he privately intimated that Alex’s performance over the last year had been lacking. As a senior partner nearing retirement he was a man who no longer needed to impress anyone. He had told Alex straight that he could see there was a problem. He had even probed Alex as to whether he had wanted a career change. His boss had been very good about the whole thing, which had assaulted Alex’s pride in an even more galling way. While the wording had been careful, the message had been obvious. It had been made clear to him that an improvement was expected. It had also been made clear that should he want to be bought-out; the firm would respect his decision. In other words he’d been told to buck-up or please leave. He’d left the senior partner’s office deflated in a way he hadn’t been since his university days. He’d felt small and somewhat persecuted. He thought of all the money he had brought into the firm over the years, but he’d also understood that no company wanted to openly support a no-hoper. People in Alex’s line of work were only as good as the last contract they’d landed.

When Alex had returned to his desk that afternoon he had stared mournfully at the framed photo of his house, pictured with Jane and the dog on the steps. His eyes had fixated on the stray, and in a moment of bad temper and pique, he’d said: ‘I don’t know why I put up with it. Jesus Christ! I should just have had the bitch put down.’ His voice had come out much louder than he’d intended and he’d seen his secretary make an involuntary jump in the outer office.

*****

Rafe just stood there in the sand, staring down while the surf roared noisily. It was mid-morning, but the November clouds denied the sun. The wind was biting. Rafe heard the car door slam as Helena retrieved a heavy coat from the Garda police car. All the people at the scene complained of the bitter Irish weather. Except one, but she was dead.

Despite his job, Rafe never quite got used to seeing dead bodies. He tried hard to treat them like people, and not corpses. He looked at the dead woman in the sand, her naked breasts exposed to the elements. Corpse’s clothes were often in disarray or non-existent. The sight of a dead person exposing themselves touched that fear in all of us. The fear not only of death, but of dying without dignity.

Behind him he heard the sound of Helena zipping her jacket up tight to her chin. He glanced her way and noticed that she had left her long dark plait of hair inside her jacket to stop it blowing around.

‘The weather’s brutal today,’ she said in response to his glance. Rafe looked into her dark brown eyes for only a moment and nodded in agreement. Despite her quick jokes and caustic sense of humour Helena was not unfeeling. She was kind and sensitive. A few years ago she had confided in Rafe that she had to suppress a sympathetic urge to cover the corpse with something warm when they worked in cold weather. ‘I wonder how long she’s been dead,’ Rafe muttered half to himself.

‘We’ll know more after the autopsy, but I’d say she’s been dead a couple of weeks anyway.’ Helena frowned as she examined the body. ‘Rafe have you had a look at this!’

‘Yeah, the face has been severely bashed hasn’t it,’ sighed Rafe. ‘There doesn’t seem to be any teeth left so there goes the hope of matching dental records. I don’t see any rings or tattoos. It’s going to make identification awkward.’

Rafe watched as Helena carefully walked to the head of the corpse, taking care not to disturb the technical staff going about their tasks. She squatted in the sand and looked at the woman’s hair, which was still partially in a knotted bun.

‘What colour do you make her hair?’ Helena asked him. Rafe frowned in thought.

‘It’s wet and there’s lots of dirt and sand in the hair, but I’d make a guess at red.’

‘Me too,’ she agreed. ‘Do you want me to check on some of the missing person files?’

‘Yeah, we may as well get started.’ Rafe hunched his shoulders against the cold, ‘Come on.’ He used his head to indicate that they should return to the car.

*****

Jane’s disappearance a month ago had only made things worse for Alex. He didn’t like being known as the man with a missing wife. Whenever he’d walked into an office at work the conversation would suddenly stop. Alex hadn’t expected people to react in this way. But now, today, he found himself waiting at the local Garda station and he desired an end to this nightmare. But it was complicated and he was afraid of the truth. When he had first made the missing person’s report he had been cagey about talking about the night of the dinner party. He wanted a solution, but there were things he didn’t want the Garda to know. However, as he sat in the waiting room the events of that October evening kept playing through his mind.

The night before Jane’s disappearance Alex had picked her up at seven for dinner. His mood had still been foul because of the meeting with his senior partner earlier. He’d been doing his best to control his disappointment and had been desperately looking forward to a good stiff drink of whiskey. When he’d pulled up in front of his house he’d been horrified to see Jane come out wearing the same stretch mauve top and beige trousers that she’d worn to their last social engagement. He’d decided to ignore the fact that she’d made an effort to smear make-up over her freckles and when she’d got into the car he’d gone for her immediately.

‘For God’s sake Jane, you wore that the last time! Do you really need to wear it again?’

Jane had complained about something to do with a plumbing problem, and hence no clean clothes, but Alex had been in no mood to hear it.

‘Fine, fine!’ he had shouted. ‘Look Jane if you need new clothes just ask for it, I know you’ve been gaining a bit of weight lately. If you need something new then bloody well let me know before we’re on our way to dinner.’ Alex had turned back to the windscreen, had placed the car in gear and pulled away from the beautifully columned façade and down the gravel drive. Alex had had a vague sense of Jane looking down at herself and then raising her gaze to stare straight out of the car, but Alex hadn’t been sorry. All he’d wanted was to get through that night.

When they had walked into Mary and John Hayes’s house Alex had heard the sophisticated strains of a Dvořak piano concerto. He’d breathed a sigh of relief knowing he was in the right environment now to enjoy an evening of good company. His friends Stephanie and Bernard had got there before Jane and himself. Stephanie was a wealthy human resources executive and a stunning blonde while her husband Bernard, an editor for an educational publisher, had a lived-in face. They had two kids and Bernard was devoted to Stephanie.

Stephanie Costello, Bernard Stokes, Mary and John Hayes had all been friends with Alex during their university years. Jane too, of course. Ever since doing an amateur play together the six of them had been a close group of friends. When John had decided to become an auctioneer, specializing in Dublin real estate, auctioneer after graduation Mary had followed suit. During the auctioneer course John had proposed to Mary, and they had been together ever since. They now ran their own successful estate agency, had one four year old child, a strong client base, and after five years on their own they were beginning to feel that they were really going to make it.

Alex had walked into the spacious living room. The polished wooden floor had been covered with an expensive throw carpet meant to evoke the feeling of an informal country house. The fireplace was an impressive Victorian cast iron affair that had been converted to gas. Alex had sat with Jane on a green upholstered settee and John had handed Alex his drink. John and Alex had fallen into a conversation about the current housing market, while Jane had sat on the end of the sofa listening. John had gone over to the CD player and started going through some of his and Mary’s music collection. He had turned to Jane and Alex and had asked: ‘Do you mind if I put on some old pop music?’ Alex had said no, of course not. Soon the music started coming through the speakers. A wail had come from the kitchen, and over the music Mary’s voice had been heard saying: ‘does it have to be so out-of-date….we have newer CDs you know!’

Back in the living room, the music had caused Jane to bounce gently on the sofa. He remembered John had refilled his drink. Alex had cast an embarrassed sideways glance at Jane’s mild enjoyment. Jane had tried to catch his and John’s eye but they had moved on to discussing Gary Spillane; a former flamboyant politician whose corruption trial had turned out to be highly entertaining. She had sat looking around the room. She had said something to Alex and John about the song, but the volume of the music, timed with Mary and Bernard’s return to the living room, had meant it went unnoticed.

Mary was the opposite of her husband. John was a tall and lanky man with sandy brown hair, grey eyes and an open, honest face. Mary, on the other hand, was petite, and waging an eternal war against her body’s natural inclination towards plumpness. Her head was covered with short brown curls, and her face was expertly made up with cleanly arched eyebrows and sharply defined lips. She had smiled at her guests, revealing her small perfectly formed teeth: ‘I’m trying some new recipes tonight. So if you don’t like them please don’t tell me!’

Her guests had laughed, and John had sidled close to Mary, and put his arm around her. Stephanie had finished taking a mobile phone call, and she had returned to the living room to join the other guests. Stephanie had left her straight blond hair loose, and it had flowed over her shoulders. She’d smiled charmingly and said: ‘Mary, John…I’m so sorry about that, I’ve turned my mobile off now. I promise I’m all yours now for the rest of the evening.’

‘Well that sounds promising,’ Bernard had said teasingly. Stephanie looked up at her husband and laughing had responded: ‘Not that kind of "yours" Bernard Stokes.’

Bernard had held out his hand and she had glided towards him. He had asked her quietly whether everything was all right and she had nodded at him. Despite the success of their marriage Bernard and Stephanie did not look, on the face of things, like a natural couple. Whereas Stephanie had taste, grace and style, Bernard had…well…Bernard had personality. It was not that Bernard did not have physical charm it was just well hidden. An intellectual, bookish man, he always seemed to be wearing a shirt or sweater that was either too big or covered with indefinable stains. His social saving grace was his ability to listen to others. Although Bernard had found himself in an affluent situation because of Stephanie, it was not his goal. Bernard simply accepted it because it was part of Stephanie.

Mary had turned towards Stephanie and Bernard and said: ‘Don’t worry about the mobile phone, John and I are absolute slaves to them. Thankfully, one of the lads in the office has agreed to cover our phones tonight. Let’s get down to the business of enjoying ourselves. Also don’t worry about the drinks; we’ve struck a deal with the nanny. She’s babysitting our Jamie in her nanny flat, but she’ll drive you home if you want to let loose. We can drop the cars back to you tomorrow.’

Alex had shot Mary a handsome smile and had laughed: ‘that’s our Mary, ever the girl who knows how to throw a party!’ The drinks and the company of his friends had made Alex relax: ‘You always were a bit of a wild one…eh Mary? Weren’t you the one who kept putting up false slogans on those political election posters?’

They had laughed remembering their various pranks. Jane had raised her index finger over the rim of her empty glass and tried to get their attention. Bernard had been smiling too, but interjected once the crest of laughter had begun to subside.

‘We all did things we shouldn’t have done back then…but it wasn’t Mary, it was Jane who got up to that particular mischief.’

Bernard’s comment had caused Alex, Mary and Stephanie to stop laughing. Alex had stolen a quick glance at Mary whose expression had gone cold. Stephanie had looked down jerkily into her drink and then back up to her husband and had said: ‘You’re right, of course, Bernard,’ there had been a small pause, ‘silly of us to have forgotten.’ There had been a moment of awkward silence. Jane had tried to catch their glances, but they were all looking at Bernard.

‘Well, lads, we’ve all come a long way from university.’ Mary grinned. Alex had grabbed a bottle of wine. John had watched Alex’s regular refilling of his glass with disapproval. Alex had ignored John’s body language, he’d not been in the mood for sobriety, and had soldiered on.

‘Tell me Bernard,’ Alex waded in, ‘why were all English majors so badly dressed. Was it that artsy-fartsy stuff they taught you? Like ooohhh the physical world is actually just a figment of my imagination so I can wear a pair of knit purple trousers with a red t-shirt and that makes it all OK!’ Alex had grinned maliciously at Bernard.

‘At least the English students could dress as they liked.’ Bernard had commented.

‘Well,’ Mary had continued ‘It could have been worse. You could have done Philosophy, like Jane!’ Mary had obviously thought this was a great joke and had broken out in giggles. Stephanie and Alex had joined her in a belly laugh. Jane hadn’t laughed. She’d just stared at those poking fun at her. Bernard had pulled a tight little frown and compressed his lips as he looked sympathetically at Jane, but she’d missed his glance. Later when dinner was over and dessert had been served, Mary had taken advantage of the lull created by the appearance of the cake and had said: ‘Perhaps we should lift our glass to William Shakespeare. I suspect that without him the six of us never would have become friends. Here’s to our great version of A Midsummer Night’s Dream.’

‘Here, Here!’ Alex and Stephanie had concurred. And they had raised their glasses for the toast. Jane hadn’t raised her glass, which was empty, but had sat looking at the activity around her. Afterwards the evening had begun to wind down. They’d work in the morning and none of them had wanted to make a late night of it. Alex, however, had poured himself a large brandy with his coffee.

*****

The autumn light was grey. Somewhere in the station a door closed loudly. Alex’s reverie of the past was broken. There was the sound of voices in the glassed-in section of the Garda police station. One of the Gardai officers coming into the reception area looked at Alex and said:

‘Hello, Mr Maloney isn’t it?’

Alex nodded his head stupidly.

‘Come to check in with regards to your wife’s disappearance. Am I right?’

Alex nodded again, feeling his jaw clench with stress.

‘The inspectors will be with you in a moment, they’re just checking some last minute information,’ the policeman smiled and returned to his paperwork.

Alex continued to sit on the hard uncomfortable bench. He could catch bits and pieces of what was being discussed in the glass-enclosed office. One phrase was said with specific emphasis and Alex heard it. It took him a few moments to realise that the people in the office were talking about him and his situation. He closed his eyes, and when he opened them he looked studiously out of the window. The phrase he’d overheard was ‘alienated housewife syndrome.’ At what stage did his life go from containing a reliable marriage to being characterised as a ‘syndrome’?

Alex had obviously been to see the Garda police to notify them of a missing person in October, but their interest in him seemed to have changed somewhat lately. Now, when he came in to make enquiries they were asking him questions instead of the other way around. A male inspector came out of the office. He was an attractive man with dark eyes and brown hair. His expression was neutral yet his eyes betrayed a sharp inquisitive mind. A young female inspector followed him out of the office. She had an exotic face and long black hair, which spoke of some Mediterranean influence. Her suit was neat, and the long plait of her hair looked pressed into perfection. The female officer addressed Alex directly: ‘Hello Mr Maloney, I’m Helena Ryan; I’ve been going over your original missing person’s report.’

‘Oh right…,’ said Alex as he stood up to shake her hand.

‘Shall we move to an interview room so that we can have a private discussion?’ Helena gestured for Alex to follow her and the other male officer.

They went down a very nondescript corridor decorated in uninspiring grey. At the end of the hallway they turned right and went down a flight of stairs. When they reached the interview room Alex was uncomfortably aware that the door seemed sound-proof. When the three of them sat down at the table Alex began to feel uneasy. Sweat was starting to prickle in his armpits, and he prayed that it didn’t spread to his face. Helena Ryan had Jane’s missing persons file, but he noticed that the male inspector also had a file. Alex couldn’t see the label on the second file, but the look on the male detective’s face gave him no comfort. The man smoothed his dark brown hair back from his forehead and lifted his eyes to meet Alex’s increasingly nervous gaze.

‘Mr Maloney, my name is Rafe White and I’ve been asked to help out on your wife’s missing person file.’

Alex looked from one Gardaí officer to another in growing agitation and then blurted out: ‘Have you heard something then, do you know where she is? Has there been any news?’

Rafe White watched Alex in a disturbingly detached yet intense way. He then looked down and opened the file in front of him.

‘Mr Maloney in your original statement you said that your wife left during the day while you were at work.’

‘That’s correct,’ said Alex, feeling the sweat starting to break out on his hairline.

‘In your statement to Inspector Ryan, you said that your wife took none of her possessions with her. Did that include her purse?’ enquired White.

‘As I told Inspector Ryan, Jane took nothing. No clothes, no purse, nothing,’ Alex swallowed in discomfort and burst out, ‘for God’s sake if you’ve found her or her body please tell me. I can’t live with this uncertainty. I’ve got to know what happened to her, where she went!’

Helena Ryan, put her hand out and touched Alex’s arm. Alex looked into her face and she gave him a no-nonsense stare that was both strong and comforting: ‘If we’re going to get answers Mr. Maloney we have to question the people that knew her.’

Alex’s eyes bounced between Helena and Rafe: ‘Knew her! Knew her!’ his voice was getting increasingly loud and agitated: ‘what do you mean Knew Her! Don’t you mean people who know her? What’s going on just tell me,’ begged Alex.

Rafe White sighed and lifted his gaze from the file to Alex and began: ‘Alex we have to be straight with you. We ran traces on her credit card numbers, her cheque book, and her banking card. She’s missing for a month now and she hasn’t touched her bank account, or made any purchases with her cards. She didn’t have a job…all the signs are not good, and to be honest with you in cases such as these, suicide is a possibility.’

Inspector Helena Ryan, blinked in thoughtfulness, and let her gaze fall on Alex again: ‘Mr Maloney, let’s go back to the night of the dinner in October. Perhaps we’ve missed a clue. Maybe Jane inadvertently gave away her state of mind through her conversation. What did she talk about during the night of the dinner?’

Alex looked from one Garda officer to another, his mouth opened and gaped a bit like a landed a fish, then he vaguely shook his shoulders and responded.

‘I don’t remember. I don’t remember her saying anything. She didn’t say anything that sticks out in my mind