6.The Alcatraz Rose Read Free

keyboard, looking at the spread-out photos that Letty had given him. When he’d first studied them, he was immediately taken by the attractiveness of her mother, Fiona. Letty had inherited her wide and mesmerizing eyes and affectionate smile. It wasn’t so much her pretty, photogenic quality, but more a natural warmth, a calm contentment and kindness that seeped from the oft-fingered photos. He looked away momentarily. An uneasy pause, stifling a fleeting thought that she was someone he might once have known, perhaps in a dream or another life. Not in just one or two photos, but in each and every one. He slid them aside gently, thinking nothing more of it.
    He’d had plenty of time to think about the letter he’d promised to write, but he was now struggling to find not so much the right words but, more, the right tone. Of the several inspectors with whom he had collaborated, he’d decided to write to Detective Inspector Sheffield of the Thames Valley police. He’d chosen Sheffield because Oxfordshire bordered Gloucestershire, where Letty’s mum had disappeared. But despite what he’d told Letty, he knew it was highly unlikely that any letter, no matter how much bowing and scraping he did, or how persuasive he was, would result in reopening the case. After eight years, the odds of a break now were slim. Only new, compelling evidence would achieve that. He realized now that he had perhaps been far too indulgent and should have been more honest with her from the start.
    Combing the Internet, he’d managed to find barely a handful of reports on the disappearance of Fiona McGuire, all brief and nonerevealing anything worthy of note. Given the modest press coverage and the passage of time, he wondered if Sheffield would be familiar with the case. And even if he was, would he be able to recall any details? The more he thought about it, the more he realized that if his letter fell on deaf ears, his request politely dismissed, it might not be such a bad thing. To the best of his ability, he would have fulfilled his promise to Letty. Staring at his ghosted reflection in the blank screen, he realized how petty and self-serving the thought was. He shook his head and started typing.
    Dear Inspector Sheffield
,
    Recently, I had a chance meeting with a thirteen year-old named Letty McGuire. A bright child with an admirably persistent nature, she asked, innocently, if I would help to put her mind at rest by trying to find out what happened to her mother, who disappeared eight years ago. It grieved me to tell her that I was no longer active in such affairs and could not conduct an independent inquiry of any kind. However, in a moment of vulnerability in the company of one so young, distressed, and determined, I made a hasty promise: that I would break a self-imposed principle by contacting you, to ask for advice
.
    I realize that the Fiona McGuire case (the mother’s name) was handled by the Gloucester police and will be filed by now. Nevertheless, I am bound to ask you for any help you could provide, no matter how trivial or inconsequential, that could shed more light on the case, if nothing else, to give Letty a thread of hope to cling to or, at worst, confirm my suspicions that no proverbial stone has been left unturned to solve the case and that nothing more can be done
.
    The investigation started in the autumn of 2003, and the senior investigating officer on the case was Detective Inspector Endersby of the Gloucestershire Constabulary. If he is still on the force, and it doesn’t violate internal procedures, perhaps you could drop him a letter of inquiry, mentioning my request, asking his opinion, thoughts, and any advice that could be passed on to the child to bring closure, after all these years of uncertainty and grief
.
    I wish you well and appreciate your collaboration and consideration in this matter
.
    Sincerely
,
    Lawrence Kingston
    He read the letter twice, making a few minor changes. While he would have preferred it