The Unquiet Dead Read Free

went out to meet a friend for coffee in Soho and didn’t come back. She hasn’t phoned and she didn’t take anything with her.’
    ‘Had there been a row?’
    ‘No.’
    ‘Boyfriend troubles?’
    ‘No boyfriend.’
    ‘Well, not one that the mother knew about, anyway.’ Niaz and Jessie had arrived at their floor. ‘Tell me Ms Klein isn’t here.’
    Niaz lowered his crescent-shaped eyelids.
    ‘Good grief!’ said Jessie. ‘I’m not feeling up to this so early in the morning.’
    ‘Another hangover?’ asked Niaz.
    ‘Don’t say it like that. Right, as punishment you can go and get me a large coffee from the canteen.’
    ‘Didn’t you say you were giving it up for Lent?’
    ‘I was. Then I remembered, I don’t believe in Lent. Thank God. Ask them to make it strong, sweet and milky, and tell them I’ll pay them later.’
    ‘You said that yesterday.’
    Jessie growled.
    ‘Yes, ma’am.’
    Tucking a rogue piece of hair behind her ear, Jessie put on her mental body armour and pushed open the double doors that led to the Criminal Investigation Department. Someone had put up a new sign on the notice board. It read: YOU CAN ALWAYS GET ANOTHER WIFE. YOU ONLY GET ONE CHANCE IN CID . Jessie sailed past it. It wasn’t the worst she’d seen. Or the last.
    She took a surreptitious peek through the window of her office door and saw two overly dressed, heavily made-up, middle-aged women sitting in front of her desk. Ageing actresses were a sight for sore eyes, and that morning she had very sore eyes. The two women were talking animatedly; one of them Jessie did not know, but she recognised Sarah Klein immediately. Over the years Jessie had seen her in numerous TV dramas and stage plays. But not so many recently.
    As she pushed open the door she took in Ms Klein’s appearance – the underwired bra, the unladdered stockings, the matching shoes and handbag, the repeatedly applied lipstick – and wondered how long it had taken her to dress that morning. Too long, Jessie decided, if you thought your daughter was missing.
    ‘Good morning,’ she said, interrupting the women.
    ‘Jessie Driver!’ exclaimed Sarah Klein, standing up. ‘P.J. said you’d –’
    Jessie stuck out her hand. ‘Detective Inspector Driver,’ she cut in, trying to get her point across without sounding prim. ‘You must be Sarah Klein.’
    ‘Well of course I am. P.J. said you’d –’
    Jessie interrupted her again; she didn’t want to hear his name for a third time. ‘Please, let’s deal with the problem in hand. My colleague tells me that you think your daughter is missing.’
    ‘I know she is missing! Don’t you give me that policeman crap as well. I came directly to you so that I wouldn’t have to go through the usual hoops.’
    ‘The usual hoops are there because, thankfully, most “disappearances” are nothing more sinister than simple misunderstandings.’
    ‘She is missing, I tell you. Her phone is switched off – she never switches her phone off, she even keeps it on during the movies!’
    How considerate, thought Jessie.
    ‘P.J. is a very good friend of mine. Call him, if you don’t believe me.’
    ‘Ms Klein, it isn’t a question of believing you; it’s a question of dealing with this in an appropriate manner. What did she say to you when she left?’
    ‘Bye, Mummy, I love you.’ Sarah Klein spoke in a far-away, slightly childish voice. ‘I remember it specifically because it was so odd.’
    ‘It was odd that she told you she loved you?’
    ‘No,’ she replied defensively. ‘It was odd because she wouldn’t normally say it when she was popping out for coffee. She also told me what time she’d be back. Usually she’s very vague about that sort of thing, always changing her plans, but yesterday she said she’d be back at five because there was something she wanted to watch on TV.’
    ‘So she changed her plans often, you say?’
    ‘Yes, but …’ Ms Klein frowned. Jessie stared as the actress’s