The Dead Tracks Read Online Free PDF Page B

Kaitlin. Wouldn't you, Kay?'
        Kaitlin
looked at me and nodded. I underlined Charles Bryant's name. 'Does the name A.
J. Grant mean anything to either of you?' The blank expressions told me
everything I needed to know. I changed tack. 'Did you have any favourite pubs
or clubs you used to go to?'
        'Tiko's,'
Lindsey said immediately.
        'That's
a club?'
        'Yeah.
In the West End.'
        I
made a note of it. 'Any others?'
        They looked
at each other. 'Not really,' Lindsey continued. 'I mean, we go to lots of
places, but Tiko's is the place with the best music.'
        I
took out Megan's digital camera and scrolled through to the picture of her
standing in front of the block of flats. 'Did either of you take this?'
        They
studied it, Lindsey holding the camera.
        'Where
is she?'
        I
shrugged. 'I don't know. You don't recognize it?'
        'No,'
Lindsey said, shaking her head.
        'Kaitlin?'
        'No,'
she said.
        I
nodded, took the camera back and briefly glanced at Kaitlin. Her eyes had left
mine, and she'd gone cold again. Shut down.
        Something
was definitely up.
        
        
        Bothwick
wasn't there when I got back. I glanced at the reception where one of the
secretaries was taking a phone call, and then quickly moved inside his office,
pushing the door shut behind me. I didn't have much time.
        Two
files were perched on the edge of the desk, where he'd left them. Kaitlin and
Lindsey. I left Lindsey's where it was and picked up Kaitlin's. A school
photograph of her, probably a couple of years younger. Below that, a list of
the subjects she was taking and an attendance record. At a quick glance, it
looked pretty good. No long absences, no comments in the spaces provided. On
the next page was her home address in Tufnell Park, and on the final one her
last school report. At the bottom: A for Drama.
        So
she definitely wasn't shy.
        I
snapped the file closed, placed it back on the desk and opened up the top
drawer of the filing cabinet. The Bryant file was about eight in. Inside was a
photo of him. He was a handsome kid; dark hair, bright eyes. Underneath was a
top sheet with his address on. He lived with his father near Highgate Wood.
        Then,
outside, I could hear footsteps.
        Bothwick.
        I
closed the file, dropped it back into the cabinet drawer and closed it as
quietly as I could. A second later, he appeared in the doorway. Ah!' he said.
'Sorry about that.'
        'No
problem.'
        'Did
you get everything you needed?'
        I smiled,
briefly eyeing the files again to see they were definitely where he'd left
them. Then I shook his hand and told him I did.
        
        
        Lindsey
was right: the video store Megan used to work in was shut. Not just shut for
the day. Shut for good. I drove past it and headed along Holloway Road to the
Bryant home in Highgate, a three-storey townhouse with a double garage and a
wrought-iron porch.
        There
wasn't a single light on anywhere inside.
        I rang
the doorbell and waited. Nothing. No movement. No sound from inside. As rain
started to fall, spitting at first, then coming harder, I stepped down from the
porch and wandered around to the side. A path led parallel to the property,
behind a locked gate. I could see a sliver of garden but not much else. Walking
back to the front door, I rang the doorbell again — but when no one answered
for a second time, I headed back to the car in the rain.
    ----
        

Chapter Five
        
        Three
weeks after Christmas, a leaflet got posted through my door. It was advertising
a support group for widows and widowers under forty-five. I wasn't a great
believer in fate. In fact, I hardly believed in it at all. But I understood why
people might when that leaflet landed on my doormat. At the time I was fresh
off a case that had almost killed me, and I'd spent Christmas alone