The Lies We Told Camilla Way (latest books to read .TXT) 📖

“No one’s going to give up on him, Clara,” Mac told her firmly. “They know what they’re doing. We have to trust that they’ll find him.”

“I feel so fucking useless.”

They sat listening to the rush hour traffic passing below, the noises from the kebab shop on the street directly beneath them. Through the wall came the applause and canned laughter of the neighbor’s TV set. Day was drifting into night, but neither of them moved to turn on the light, and a thick gloom settled into the corners of the room.

“Whoever sent the e-mails knows Luke well,” Clara said. “Someone he must have been close to once, who for whatever reason holds a grudge.”

Mac frowned. “Yes, but surely the police have looked into who that might be?”

She nodded impatiently. “Yeah, maybe, but they said they’d not found anything suspicious.”

“So . . . ?”

“Well, I don’t know—maybe we should start looking into it ourselves? Between us we’ve probably got a good idea of the different girlfriends, colleagues, flatmates, and so on Luke has had over the years. Maybe the police have missed something?”

“Hmmm . . . ,” said Mac doubtfully.

“But they could have. You were at school with him, and we both know some of his old uni friends, past flatmates, or colleagues he’s mentioned. I’m sure if we start digging . . . maybe the police have missed someone? And no one knows Luke like we do—we’d have a better idea if, say, something was mentioned that sounds off about his past behavior, or if they say something that doesn’t fit with what he’s told us. And at least we’d be doing something. I feel like we’re going slowly insane here.”

He pulled on his lip. “That’s true.”

“Will you help me?” She looked at him beseechingly until he sighed.

“Okay. If it’ll make you feel better, sure.”

She smiled. “Good. We need to make a list of people to approach. Ex-girlfriends from school and uni, old flatmates and female friends, women he used to work with—before Brindle, I mean. Anyone at all that he might have got on the wrong side of, or who might know of someone he fell out with at some point.” She pulled out her phone. “Get your laptop. Let’s start with Facebook.”

—

For more than an hour they sat side by side in silent concentration. It was slow work: Miles, a friend from Luke’s uni days, was still in touch with the sister of Luke’s ex-girlfriend Jade. Andrew, who once worked with Luke at the digital publishing company he’d been at before Brindle, was Facebook friends with a woman who’d been on his team there, who herself still kept in contact with a couple more of their female colleagues. Yet despite the difficulty of their task, for the first time in days Clara felt a sense of purpose, and bit by bit, a list of women began to emerge.

“I’m worried this could be a massive waste of time,” Mac said.

“Keep going,” she replied, her eyes still on her phone. “At least it’s a start.”

They were about to take a break when Clara noticed the new-message symbol on her Facebook page. She frowned in confusion when she saw she’d been contacted by someone using the name Rumpelteazer. But when she read the message, she felt the hairs on the back of her neck stand up. “Oh my God!” she shouted.

Mac looked up in alarm. “What? What’s happened?”

Wordlessly she handed him her phone. The message had been sent from a locked account, with a blank profile picture. Mac read it out aloud.

“‘Clara. I saw you on the news. I’m Luke’s sister, Emily Lawson. It’s very important you don’t tell my family I’ve contacted you. Do not tell the police. Can we meet?’” Mac’s mouth fell open in shock. “No way,” he said as he looked from the message to Clara’s face, then back again. “No way that’s her . . .”

“I don’t know. I mean . . .”

They stared at each other. “Why has she called herself Rumpelteazer?” Mac asked.

Clara gave a gasp of realization. “It’s from the book! Luke’s book, the one Emily gave him before she left. Don’t you remember? The T. S. Eliot one about cats.”

Mac shook his head. “Is it?”

“Yes!” Her eyes were wide with excitement. “The message she wrote inside the cover. ‘For Mungo something, from Rumpelteazer. Love you, kiddo.’ It’s her! It must be! How would anyone else know about that?” She jumped to her feet, feeling a mixture of elation and shock. “Bloody hell, Mac! Bloody hell!”

“He could have shown it to loads of people over the years,” he said. “This could be from any old nutcase. Some weirdo who’s seen the news story and thought they’d stir up trouble. It’s probably just a sick joke. Seriously, Clara, I wouldn’t—”

“But it could be Emily,” Clara persisted. “No one ever knew what became of her. And her disappearance was pre-Internet—it’s not like it was common knowledge.”

“Why all the ‘no police’ drama, though? The ‘don’t tell my family’ stuff. Bit cloak-and-dagger, isn’t it?”

But Clara was undeterred. “Look,” she said impatiently, “we don’t know why Emily left when she did, or what she’s been doing since. But bloody hell, Mac, what if it is her? She’s heard about her brother going missing and wants to help? Imagine if, because of this whole horrible nightmare, Emily comes back to her family!”

“But what if it’s the nutjob who’s been stalking Luke, who’s abducted him?” Mac persisted. “What if this is just some fucked-up trick?”

She turned back to the screen. “Then all the more reason to agree to meet them,” she said quietly, and after a moment’s thought, she began to type her reply.

FOURTEEN

LONDON, 2017

No matter how frequently she checked her inbox over the following hours, Clara’s message to Emily remained unanswered. Perhaps Mac was right; maybe it had been some lonely weirdo with too much time on his hands—yet she couldn’t quite shake the hope that it really had been Luke’s sister who’d