‘He is dead,’ Perry responded. ‘He died in 1989.’

‘Then I don’t understand.’

She felt like she needed to puke now.

‘I think he might have been involved in the disappearance of a woman called Beatrix Steards. The two of them were at university together in London.’

Grabbing a pad off the counter, Jo said, ‘Steards?’

‘Yeah. S-T-E-A-R-D-S.’

‘So this girl disappeared and never turned up?’

‘No. Never. She vanished in March 1987.’

Jo retched; and then again.

‘Are you okay?’ Perry asked her.

‘Look … Patrick, is it?’

‘Yes, that’s right.’

She started hurrying through to the bathroom.

‘Patrick, you’re going to have to give me a few hours, okay? I definitely want to hear what you have to say – definitely – but I’m …’ She got to the bathroom, covered the mouthpiece of the phone and heaved into the toilet. Nothing came up. ‘I’ve woken up with a bug or something, so could you call me back in a couple of hours?’

‘I’ve got to get back for a dinner tonight.’

She remembered then that it was 4 p.m. in the UK.

‘Okay. How about tomorrow morning?’

‘That sounds great,’ he said. ‘I’ll speak to you then. I can’t promise you anything new – and Adrian Vale is still the best fit for a suspect – but I don’t know. I just think …’

Jo felt dizzy now, unsteady even with a hand on the basin.

‘You think what?’ she muttered, bile burning at the back of her throat.

‘I think there’s something even worse going on here.’

53

‘You said you remember the man who murdered Beatrix?’

‘Probably murdered,’ Zaid responded. ‘Adrian Vale, his name was. He just always seemed the most likely suspect.’ He uncrossed his legs and shuffled forward on the sofa. ‘Actually, this isn’t the first time someone’s come asking me about Beatrix in the last few years – and it’s not the first time I’ve tried to put it all together in my head.’

‘Who else wanted to talk to you about her?’

He rubbed a hand against his mouth, thinking.

‘It was a man from up north. Manchester, I think.’

‘Do you remember his name?’

He nodded. ‘Someone Perry.’

‘Patrick Perry?’

‘That’s the chap,’ he said. ‘That’s him. We talked over Skype. He was some kind of journalist – or used to be. I’m afraid I don’t recall the specifics of what we discussed. I mean, I’m trying to think when we actually chatted.’

I waited, wanting to see how this story unfolded.

‘I guess it must have been two, two and a half years ago,’ he said.

‘So around October 2015?’

‘Yes, I think so.’ He whistled. ‘It’s hard to remember things I did two and a half weeks ago. He asked me about Beatrix, I know that, about when she went missing – probably what I talked about to the police too. I’m sure I would have spoken to him about Adrian.’