Disappeared Read Online Free PDF Page A

circuit of his fields and orchards.
    Back at the farmhouse, he handed Eliza the Marigold gloves.
    “I take it these are yours. They were part of some kind of memorial garden in the hedge, complete with makeshift crosses and graves.”
    She sat down heavily. “Oh dear, David and his demented games.”
    A look of exasperation filled her eyes. “Inspector Daly, dementia has turned my brother’s mind into an amusement park with its own ghost train. It’s not just a case of forgetting things and getting lost. The illness makes him perform these bizarre rituals, like hanging up old bits of newspaper in the hedges. He keeps talking about the past, and says he can see ghosts. In the last few weeks, he’s started to make crosses out of anything he can get his hands on. Ribbon, sticks, flowers, rope. I try to tidy them up before visitors arrive, but I can’t keep track of all his movements. Then there’s the messages he writes. Horrible things I can’t describe. Filled with curses and threats.”
    Daly decided to push no further. The woman was clearly in a nightmarish predicament. The sole witness to the twilight of her brother’s disorganized mind. He rubbed his eyes and got up to go.
    “We’ll do our best to find your brother, Ms. Hughes,” he promised. Eliza watched him go in silence, gathering her cardigan around her shoulders.
    Outside it was still dark and the branches of the thorn trees pawed in the wind. He could see the tracks of light that signaled his officers’ searches in fields sloping down to the hidden shore. In a few hours, it would be dawn. If they didn’t find Hughes soon, he might die of hypothermia. God only knew what was running through the old man’s mind.
    The mobile in Daly’s pocket rang as he walked back to his car. He hit Answer, not recognizing the number.
    “Where’s your black suit, Celcius?” asked a familiar voice.
    “Anna,” he said, dropping into the driver’s seat in surprise. “Where are you?”
    “In your house. I found the spare key under a cracked paving stone. I’ve searched your wardrobe and a chest of drawers.”
    “What are you doing there?”
    “My sister’s father-in-law died on Thursday, and the funeral is in Dublin this morning. I wanted you to come with me, but it’s too late now. I couldn’t find your mourning suit anywhere.”
    “It’s at the dry-cleaners.”
    “I’ve been thinking of you, Celcius. I wanted you to know that. I have to go now.”
    “I’m working on a case. Can’t you wait an hour?”
    The tenderness in her voice was replaced by a familiar heaviness. “No. I have to leave right now. My sister is waiting for me. You’re always working on a case.”
    “Wait. Can you do me one favor?”
    “What?” She sighed.
    Daly pressed the phone closer to his ear, desperate to prolong the conversation. His breathing grew panicky and dry, as though he were trapped in a cavity of thinning air.
    “Can you get me a lottery ticket?” he said just before she disconnected the call. “I have a feeling these might be our lucky numbers—49, 11, 21, 7. You can pick the last two yourself.”
    There was a pause as she scribbled them down.
    When she spoke, the tenderness had returned to her voice. “Is this the new romantic Daly?” she asked.
    “What do you mean?”
    “The numbers—they’re our first date backwards. Seven p.m. on November 12, 1994. I didn’t think you remembered.” She paused. “I’ll call you if they come up. Bye, Celcius.”
    •
    When Daly returned to his father’s cottage, he was greeted by a dawn burdened with the premonition of rain and a hangover. The sun found a gap in the clouds and streaked across the low-lying bog land and hedgerows. He almost felt his way to the front door, taking in razor-sharp details, the bright stone walls, a windowpane burning with the morning light, the whiskey glass sitting in the shadow of the porch, pale with frost.
    He sensed her presence within the house immediately. She had spent time