I sat down on the sofa and tried to eat some dried toast, piling several lumps of sugar into my coffee to counteract the bitter taste in my mouth. I scanned the local paper which I’d picked up from the corner shop, vacantly browsing the property section. News items concentrated on the disappointing festive trade and advertising sales banners blinded the reader with offers of toasters and cameras at half price. At the bottom of the front page a small heading caught my eye.

Christmas Morning Drugs Raid

Police carried out a surprise dawn raid on suspected drug dealers who had been under surveillance. Several tonnes of cocaine was seized and two of the ring leaders have been arrested. Charges include trafficking, dealing and using.

Chief Constable Moreton, who headed up the raid, justified the action of targeting the gang on Christmas morning as the surprise element had been crucial to a successful outcome.

There was a picture of Chief Constable Moreton proudly centred under the article heading. He bore an uncanny resemblance to his son, Oliver. The broad beaming visage and solid countenance assured the public that their safety and well-being were of the utmost importance. I had a vague recollection of meeting this same Chief Constable at the rugby club where he sat on the committee; a former dynamic prop forward according to his son. I topped up my drink and wondered if father and son discussed local issues and if Oliver had been privy to the drugs dealing.

As I sipped the bitter coffee, an uneasy thought crossed my mind. The small white pile of powder by Mitch’s bedside table hadn’t seemed important at the time, but now, I found myself questioning what the powdered granules might have been. If my boyfriend had been toying with illegal drugs, where had he got them from? Could there be a link between the drug dealers targeted by Chief Constable Moreton and Mitch’s disappearance?

21

Rebecca

I ignored Jodi’s pleas to join her on New Year’s Eve for some wild fun. Instead I took the phone off the hook and fell into bed, relieved that the year was over.

In the dark, my mind whirled with possibilities of what might have happened to Mitch. Maybe he was in trouble, hiding from the police over some mistaken identity issue relating to a recreational use of cocaine. The newspaper article had spun my thoughts in all directions. Perhaps he was hiding from me, scared to tell me about his secret habit. He knew my aversion to using.

The following morning I set off early and arrived at the sumptuous offices of Baines and Hopkins Solicitors half an hour before the meeting time. I waited across the road in a small café and watched clients come and go. Oliver arrived some fifteen minutes later.