Chapter 6
SIX
FREDDIE
Having a murder board taking up half of my kitchenette is a little stereotypical, but visualisation really helps my brain.
Well, it’s a partial murder board, partial missing board, but semantics. It’s comprised of three large corkboards, a whole box of thumbtacks and as much information as I’ve managed to muster up. Which is somewhat lacking.
But I know there’s a story here. A link that the police are either missing, ignoring or keeping under wraps. I want this story. The one I know is there. I can feel it bubbling in my veins, like a driving force.
The two men on the board stare at me. Pete’s sullen face, cropped from a picture with his family. Sam’s from his student file. I can find very few images of him throughout his life.
Little links the men. Initially, it was only a gut feeling.
Until one of my many, many rabbit hole explorations led to another photograph.
A slightly blurry black-and-white image from a newspaper some fifteen years prior.
Pete stands in front of a class of primary-aged children, gesticulating.
There for some kind of talk about his job, from what I could decipher.
What snagged my attention was that, from the sea of little faces- some bored, some interested- there was one that stood out. A young version of Sam, who has such marked fear on his face while looking at Pete, that I’ve no idea how they chose to publish this image.
The scan’s not great, but it was enough to spark some new searches. It helped me find other articles from the school, and finally a Year 1 photo with the children’s names. And right there in print: Sam.
It doesn’t prove anything, of course, but with Sam’s disappearance coming just after Pete’s murder, I know deep down in my bollocks there’s more to this.
Visiting Sam’s girlfriend, or ex, maybe, went better than I expected. I expected to be cussed out and sent packing with my tail between my legs. Not that it went spectacularly, but not horrificly either.
The information about him being weird around Ellie’s roommate is interesting. It might be nothing, but you never know which little tidbit of info will lead somewhere.
Ellie’s social media is locked down. Understandably, both journalists and internet-crime-bunnies are sifting through it.
Her university page is open, and from some sifting, I found a picture of Ellie and a sweet-looking blonde woman at a fundraiser, arms linked and huge smiles on their faces.
Both are tagged. Both accounts are locked up tight, but it gives me a name – Kat.
With that, I sleuth further through university pages, searching for Kat, Katherine, and Katrina. There’s a buttload of them.
It takes two further cups of tea and half a packet of gingernuts before I find her in some small column in the university paper.
Katherine Elliott.
Searching her name brings up a handful of articles, mostly about her rich-as-fuck parents. She looks… perfectly nice. Yet Sam froze up around her enough for Ellie to notice it. Did he fancy her? Ellie’s hot as hell, though; why on earth would Sam want her friend?
The printer chugs as I print images of Kat and Ellie and add them to the board. Red string ties both to Sam; neither, as far as I can tell, links to Pete. Only Sam.
I trace my fingertips over the picture of Ellie before snatching my hand away. What’s gotten into me? Sure, I’ve been so focused on solving this case that it’s been a while since I’ve dated, but how is this woman creeping under my skin? I’ve met her once.
The police cleared Ellie of any involvement with Sam’s disappearance, and on meeting her, I agree.
My phone beeps, and after five minutes of searching for it, I find it in the fridge where the milk should be. The milk is next to the kettle, getting warm. Damn it.
It’s an unknown number.
UNKNOWN: Do you actually think you can find him? It’s Ellie, btw.
She must have kept my card. Interesting.
ME: I’m like a dog with a bone when I’ve got a mystery to solve.
I stare at the phone, willing her to reply. Not even a dot dance of hesitation.
The second I give up and lock the screen, a text comes through.
UNKNOWN: Then find him.
I can’t bring myself to promise that I will. Plenty of people are never found, and I don’t want to give false hope. This mystery is different from the others I’ve spent time on. My chest tightens whenever I think about it, in a way that drives me to keep at it, to keep digging.
After shutting down for the evening, brushing my teeth and crawling into bed, I scroll on my phone for longer than I should. My eyes are drooping when I see a post in a local crime lovers group.
Missing person: Bill Corrigan, male, sixties, last seen near the Elver Woods walking trail.
There’s already over a hundred comments. Mostly insane speculation. The group does love to take two plus two and get a billion. Still, there are occasional gleanings of gold among the steaming piles of shit comments.
Pulling up my phone map, I check where the woods are. Outside the city, but still well within range of Pete and Sam. Another missing man. It could be a coincidence, but few things truly are.
The floorboards creak as I make my way back to my desk, flopping down in nothing but my pants. Thank goodness I live alone.
One of the online crime fanatics has already done half my work, posting a picture of Bill. He’s in hunting gear and looks like he’s rolled out of Tatler’s over-sixties edition. Greying. Tweeded. Welly-booted. Smug.
The theories are spinning wildly in the comments, but two interest me. One says Detective Ashworth has come out of retirement to work these cases, and that he’ll do the work the namby-pamby officers of today won’t. And the other points out that none of these guys has anything in common.
I write down the Detective’s name; he’ll take some researching, because despite the commenters' ire for the modern police force, I don’t think there’s anything this guy could do that they won’t. So who is he?
The next point makes me smile. There isn’t an obvious link, but that blurry newspaper photo shows they met.
I post Bill on the board, intending to research him in the morning, but finding myself in Ellie’s messages again.
ME: Do you know who Bill Corrigan is?
ELLIE: No, should I?
ME: Not sure yet. Maybe.
There’s a delay before my phone lights back up.
ELLIE: Another missing guy? He’s much older than Sam, though.
ME: Because so far, you’re the only person I have to grill.
ELLIE: Oh great. Sounds like you’re so close to figuring out where Sam is…