Chapter 31
STEPHEN
Stephen struggles to hide his surprise at how bluntly Frank had spoken.
‘And you know that for a fact, do you?’ Stephen asks.
He has to tread carefully because he’s known for putting his foot in it at the worst possible time, and the last thing he wants or needs is for Frank to turn against him.
Perhaps he needs a lesson in tact from the detective sometime, but his forward approach has won him more battles than he’s lost, so that’s a plus in his book.
Frank appears to consider his answer carefully, rubbing his thick, greying beard for several seconds before replying, ‘No, not for a fact, but what I do know for a fact is that Sophia wouldn’t have run away. Therefore, she must be dead.’
‘You don’t think there’s a chance she was kidnapped?’
Another long pause. ‘No.’
Stephen wonders what’s going through Frank’s mind right now. The long pauses mean he knows the answer to the questions, but is trying to think of the correct way to say it without giving away too much. That’s what Stephen assumes, anyway.
‘Can I ask why you think she’s dead though?’ he asks. ‘As far as we’re aware, there was no news story about her disappearance and a body has never been found. No one in the village seems to be concerned with her whereabouts.’
At the mention of the word body, Frank flinches, almost as if he’s been slapped across the face.
The kettle whistles, signalling the water has reached boiling point. Stephen is patient while Frank pours the water and makes the tea. He moves at a slow pace, not in any hurry.
Stephen glances at the detective who mouths, ‘Tread carefully.’
Stephen nods in response, glad the detective is allowing him to lead this part of the interview.
Stephen used to scribble notes in a book while questioning people, but now he likes to give the subject his undivided attention.
Stephen has a very good memory when it comes to recalling facts, except lately he has noticed a decline in this particular skill. Something he hopes is only temporary.
Frank places a cup in front of Stephen and another in front of the detective, then takes a seat opposite them again.
‘I take it neither of you have children.’
‘No,’ says Stephen.
‘I do not,’ replies the detective.
Frank sniffs loudly. ‘Then you can’t possibly know the pain of losing a child.
No parent is supposed to outlive their child.
It’s not natural. Most people would think their child’s death is the worst-case scenario; the most unbelievably painful experience you could endure.
It’s not. Not even close. When my son died at a young age, it hurt, but I could accept it, move on, in a matter of speaking.
I thought that was the hardest thing I’d ever have to live through, and then Sophia disappeared.
Trust me, it’s the not knowing … that’s the worst possible scenario.
Are they alive and suffering or are they dead, their body buried somewhere it’ll never be found?
Parents of a missing child can go either one of two ways.
Either they constantly obsess over their disappearance, never give up the search of finding them alive one day, torture themselves day in and day out about their child’s whereabouts … ’
Stephen waits while Frank stares out the nearby window at the fields beyond.
‘… or they come to terms with the fact their child is dead and give up the search. I have chosen to do the latter and, because of that decision, I am now alone with only the damn dog for company. There was no other way for me to accept her disappearance, so I choose to believe she is dead.’
Stephen cups his hands around the warm mug.
He understands where Frank is coming from.
Not knowing the truth would drive him crazy too.
His unique mind already causes him enough issues when it comes to leaving things unfinished, let alone never knowing what had happened to someone he loved, someone he cared about.
It would be torture. Never-ending torture.
That’s why he likes to investigate and solve the unsolvable mysteries.
Someone has to. Someone has to keep asking those difficult questions when everyone else has given up and moved on.
‘I understand. What do you think happened to her? You said you believe she was killed, not simply dead. There’s no online activity regarding her disappearance. Why is that? Why is no one in Bethgelert concerned about her?’
‘Which question do you want me to answer first?’
Stephen takes a breath. ‘My mistake. I apologise. My mind often races ahead and lists all the unanswered questions before I can stop it. I know you say she’s dead, but truly … what do you think happened to Sophia?’
Another long sigh from Frank. He taps his fingers on the table.
Possibly a soothing ritual. ‘Sophia was a hard-working, stubborn and highly intelligent young woman. Many years ago, we lost her brother at a young age, as I said. Followed by her mother leaving us because she could no longer stay in this family. Sophia and I were all each other had. She loved me. I loved her. She wouldn’t run away like her mother did.
It makes no sense. Someone must have killed her. ’
‘Why? Did she have enemies? Was someone after her? Was she in trouble?’
Frank stares at Stephen for a beat.
Stephen closes his eyes, understanding. ‘Again. I apologise. Please tell me why you think she is dead and not missing?’
‘If she’s alive, then I am the worst father in the world because I have given up searching for her.’
It’s not the answer Stephen needs. It’s not definitive.
It’s nowhere near good enough to satisfy him, but if he pushes Frank too hard, then he won’t give them anything else and there’s still plenty to ask.
What Frank is really saying is that he can’t bear to be the reason she’s never been found. If she’s dead, then he’s in the clear.
‘Let me ask my other question again. Why wasn’t your daughter’s dis-dis-a …’ He stops, frowns, unable to recall the word he’s after. What’s wrong with him? What the hell is that word?
‘Disappearance,’ says the detective.
‘Yes, thank you. Why wasn’t your daughter’s disappearance announced on any local news sites? Why does no one care that she’s missing?’
Frank shifts awkwardly on his chair. ‘I can’t answer that question.’
‘Can’t or won’t?’
‘Can’t. I told the local police. They asked all of their questions and did all their checks, but in the end, they told me she wasn’t a high-risk case. There was no search. No investigation because one never existed. She’s gone. They believe she left, just like her mother.’
Stephen sucks in a breath and holds it a moment, wondering if he’s heard the man correctly. ‘You did nothing, then?’
‘I wouldn’t say that. I did what I could, but no one wanted to know.’
Stephen doesn’t believe it. There’s a lot that doesn’t add up with his answers, but he decides to make a mental note and do some further research first. Perhaps question some of the locals to get their point of view.
Also, he’s certain the detective will be able to shed some light upon the fact that the police force seemed to give no interest in the case of a missing teenager.
The detective, however, doesn’t appear to be in the questioning mood anymore.
There is one topic of conversation that Stephen wishes to learn more about, so he shifts his weight on the chair and dives straight in.
‘Tell me about your wife, Frank. Why did she leave and when?’
‘She left five years after Tommy died. That was fifteen years ago. Haven’t seen or heard from her since.’
‘Did you ever look for her?’
‘No.’
‘Why is that?’
Frank breathes in deep, holds it, then exhales slowly. ‘She wasn’t missing. My wife made a choice. Losing our son was the hardest, most painful experience, and I don’t blame her for running away. I would have done the same, if I had the choice.’
‘But you decided to stay here with Sophia.’
‘Yes.’
‘So then … you’re wrong … you are a good father.’
Frank doesn’t respond straight away. He looks out of the nearest window. ‘That is yet to be confirmed.’
Stephen glances at the detective who gives the slightest of head nods. ‘Okay,’ says Stephen. ‘Moving on. Can you walk me through that day? The day Sophia disappeared.’
Frank pulls his gaze from the window and stares into his mug. ‘I’m afraid I can’t do that … not without drinking something a lot stronger than tea. Meet me at The Fox tonight; the pub in the village. Eight o’clock. I’m buying.’
‘We’d prefer if you’d answer our questions now,’ says the detective, finally speaking up.
‘And I’d prefer not to talk to an ex-copper. I don’t trust you people. Not after … I’m not talking any more about anything until tonight.’ He turns, looking directly at Stephen. ‘And if you want me to talk freely, then leave your detective friend at home. Come alone.’