Chapter 113
Chris takes a taxi home and walks the long walk up to his flat. Is it the booze, or is he a little lighter on his feet?
He opens his front door and surveys the scene.
A few things would need to be tidied away, for sure—take the recycling out, maybe buy some cushions and a candle?
The bathroom door still sticks whenever it’s opened, but it’s nothing that a bit of sandpaper and hard work wouldn’t fix.
Go to Tescos, buy some fruit, put it in a bowl on the dining table.
Of course, also buy a fruit bowl. Clean the bedding. Replace toothbrush. Buy towels?
That should do it. Just enough to convince Patrice that he’s a regular human being and not a man who has given up on life. It wouldn’t take much. Then he could send her a text, invite her round for dinner while she’s in Fairhaven.
Flowers? Why not? Go crazy.
Chris switches on his computer and waits for his emails to load.
A bad habit, checking in before bedtime.
Delaying bedtime, usually. Three new emails, nothing that looked like it would detain him.
One of his sergeants was doing a triathlon, a cry for help for which he expected to be sponsored.
An invitation to the Kent Police Community Awards night, bring a guest. Would that count as a date?
Probably not; he would check with Donna.
Then an email from an address Chris didn’t recognize.
Didn’t happen often; Chris kept his personal account as private as one could these days.
From Kyprios Associates, subject: “Strictly Private and Confidential.”
From Cyprus? Had they found Johnny? Were solicitors warning the police off? But why would it come to his personal account? No one in Cyprus had this email address. Chris clicks on the email.
Dear Sir,
Our client, Mr. Demir Gunduz, has asked us to forward this correspondence to you. Please be advised that any and all information included in this correspondence is to be treated as confidential. Please direct any reply to our offices.
Your faithful servant,
Gregory Ioannidis
Kyprios Associates
Demir Gunduz? Demir, who had laughed when Chris had handed him his card? Well, wasn’t this turning into quite the evening? Chris clicks on the attachment.
Mr. Hudson,
You say my son came back to Cyprus in 2001. You have proof of this. I need to tell you that I did not see him then, and have not seen him since. Not once. I have not seen my son, I have had no letter or no call from my son.
Mr. Hudson, I am old. You have seen this with your own eyes. As you look for Johnny, you must know that I too look for him.
I will never speak to a police officer, you understand, but I ask for help today. If you can find Johnny, if you have information of any type, there is great, great reward for you. I fear Johnny is dead.
He is my son, and I want to see him before I die, or to know this is impossible and be allowed to grieve. I hope you accept this with compassion. I am asking you please.
Greetings,
Demir Gunduz
Chris reads it through a couple more times. Nice try, Demir. Is he expecting Chris to share this with the Cypriot Police? With Joe Kyprianou? Surely he is. Does this mean the Cypriot Police are getting close to Johnny? One last effort to throw them off the scent?
Or is it what he says it is? A plea from an old man to find his missing son? In his younger days, Chris might have believed this. But he’s seen too much, heard too much from people saving their own skins. Any story. And he knows where Johnny Gunduz was on June 17.
Johnny is not dead. Johnny went home, with Tony Curran’s money.
He changed his name, got a nose job and whatever else his dad’s money would pay for, and has been living it up ever since.
Johnny is sunning himself somewhere in Cyprus, happy with his lot.
Without an enemy in the world, now that Tony Curran has been dealt with.
Demir Gunduz will not be getting a reply.
Chris shuts down his computer. He really wishes people would stop doing triathlons.