Chapters (156)
- A DATE WITH DEATH
- Also by Mark Roberts
- A Date With Death
- Copyright Page
- Contents
- The Past
- 1977
- Day OneWednesday, 1st December 2021CatoptrophobiaFear of mirrors
- 1
- 2
- 3
- 4
- 5
- 6
- 7
- 8
- 9
- 10
- 11
- 12
- 13
- 14
- 15
- 16
- 17
- 18
- 19
- 20
- 21
- 22
- 23
- 24
- 25
- 26
- The Past
- 1979
- Day TwoThursday, 2nd December 2021OneirophobiaFear of dreams
- 27
- 28
- 29
- 30
- 31
- 32
- 33
- 34
- 35
- 36
- 37
- 38
- 39
- 40
- 41
- 42
- 43
- 44
- 45
- 46
- 47
- 48
- 49
- 50
- 51
- 52
- The Past
- 1980
- Day ThreeFriday, 3rd December 2021MonophobiaFear of being alone
- 53
- 54
- 55
- 56
- 57
- 58
- 59
- 60
- 61
- 62
- 63
- 64
- 65
- 66
- 67
- 68
- 69
- 70
- 71
- 72
- 73
- 74
- 75
- 76
- 77
- 78
- 79
- 80
- 81
- 82
- 83
- 84
- 85
- 86
- 87
- 88
- 89
- 90
- 91
- 92
- 93
- 94
- 95
- 96
- 97
- 98
- The Past
- 1982
- Day FourSaturday, 4th December 2021ThanatophobiaFear of Death
- 99
- 100
- 101
- 102
- 103
- 104
- 105
- 106
- 107
- 108
- 109
- 110
- 111
- 112
- 113
- 114
- 115
- 116
- 117
- 118
- 119
- 120
- 121
- 122
- 123
- 124
- 125
- 126
- 127
- 128
- 129
- 130
- 131
- 132
- 133
- 134
- 135
- 136
- 137
- About the Author
- An Invitation from the Publisher
Norma Maguire stopped on the pavement and looked into the front office with a dead-eyed stare.
‘She was very fond of Francesca. She was like the daughter Norma never had. But when it came down to the end, Francesca dropped Norma like she was a diseased dog.’
Norma wheeled herself towards the front door.
‘Why are you looking for Francesca?’ he asked.
‘We’re not sure yet,’ replied Clay. ‘Are you OK, Mr Ball?’
‘How do you mean?’ he replied.
‘You seem a little stressed.’
The office manager opened the door for his boss.
‘I see we have visitors. This early?’ asked Norma Maguire.
Clay showed her warrant card to her. ‘Can we go to your office, Ms Maguire?’
‘With respect, why are you here on my business premises?’
‘It’s about Francesca Christie,’ said Clay.
‘I need to stay down here and talk to your staff,’ said Stone. ‘Once the staff are over the front door, I need to keep it closed to customers for as long as it takes to find answers to my questions.’
‘If you’re going to talk to my staff,’ said Norma. ‘I’d like to be here also, at least for a few minutes to try and support them. We’re not used to having the police around here.’
‘By all means reassure your employees about us being here,’ said Clay, walking towards Norma Maguire. ‘But please don’t keep me waiting too long. Where’s your office?’
‘Upstairs.’
‘I’ll meet you up there shortly,’ said Clay, heading out of the office and towards the stairs.
63
8.59 am
Alone in Norma Maguire’s office, Clay was drawn to a wall of framed photographs of the happy teams who had worked at the estate agency down the years. On her iPhone, she took three pictures of each portrait, the last one with Francesca Christie sitting at her boss’ right-hand side in the office downstairs.
There was something about the group portraits that made Clay feel as if a large bird had landed on her head and was steadying itself on the curve of her skull by digging its talons into her scalp.
What is it? she asked herself. Who is it? She skimmed the smiling faces of the most recent portrait, saw Francesca Christie on the seated front row, her shoulder connecting with Norma Maguire’s, and felt bitterly sorry for her.
Clay stood at Norma Maguire’s desk and went through the pictures she had taken, noting the change in fashions and hairstyles as time passed and that, over the years, staff turnover was negligible.
She emailed the images to Cole with a message.
Barney – print off the best picture of each group and stick it on the noticeboard with the other images. Sandra O’Day. Annie Boyd. Amanda Winton. The real Richard Ezra. Springwood Cemetery Plot 66, etc. Cheers, Eve.
She heard the lift arriving and, moments later, Norma Maguire wheeled herself into the office.