Abigail Read online

  ABOUT THE BOOK

  When Charlie Diamond is asked to find Abigail's missing husband she knows the pair can't be as happily in love as she's being led to believe. There's always more to every story and the wife is always the last to know. But Charlie finds Abigail's courage infectious and agrees to help. Along the way she's forced to face her own demons and confront her beliefs around happy endings.

  What really happened to Abigail's mystery man that night? Can Charlie find him and what if she's too late?

  For Dai, who reminds me to keep writing instead of just talking about it.

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  Nineteen

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  Twenty-One

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  Twenty-Nine

  Thirty

  Thirty-One

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  Thirty-Nine

  Forty

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  Forty-Nine

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  Fifty-One

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  Fifty-Nine

  Sixty

  Sixty-One

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  Sixty-Four

  Beverly

  One

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  About The Author

  Free Fiction

  Copyright

  ONE

  “I think I’ve killed my husband.” The voice on the other end of the phone sounded tearful.

  “Let me guess,” I said. “In the library with the candlestick?” I smiled but then mentally told myself off.

  “What? No!” The voice hesitated. “Is this Ms Diamond?”

  “Speaking, although you can call me Charlie. And you are?”

  “Abigail. Abigail Rogers.”

  “Have you phoned the police Mrs Rogers?” I enjoyed getting my information fresh but a bloody corpse was likely to put me off my lunch.

  “They weren’t very interested. Said he was a low risk.”

  A low risk death? I could feel my head starting to throb. That made no sense at all. I glanced at the time and realised I’d completely missed lunch. I’d been sitting outside the same boring white house for nearly three hours now. It was time for a break and Mrs Rogers and her dead husband sounded like as good an excuse as any.

  “And you thought I could help?”

  “I was hoping so, yes.”

  “Tell you what,” I said, feeling uncharacteristically charitable, “how about I pop round, you can make us both a cuppa, and tell me all about it?”

  “You’d do that?” Abigail’s voice sounded instantly lighter.

  “Of course. What’s the address?”

  I listened as she rattled off an address in a nearby town, mentally calculating how long it would take me to reach her with traffic and agreed to be there in about an hour. With one last glance at the still deserted house, I started the van and headed home. By my calculations I had just enough time to make a quick coffee and let the dog out to do her business before meeting with Abigail. If the police were in no rush, I didn’t see why I had to be.

  As I drove I thought about my morning. When people ask the, ‘so what do you do?’ question I usually tell them I’m a plumber, but very occasionally, when the wind is blowing from the right direction or I fancy a change from being quizzed about leaky faucets, I tell them about my side gig as Charlie Diamond, most sought after private investigator this side of the Severn Bridge. I can tell they think it’s really exciting and glamourous. Their eyes light up and after asking me if I’ve ever killed anyone, they usually tell me about their brother’s wife’s cousin’s friend of a friend who used to be a detective once and, do I know them? What they don’t see and would never believe is the hours and hours I spend hanging around on my own waiting. If I were less comfortable with my own company some might even go so far as to call it lonely but not me. I love the anonymity, drifting between the shadows. The invisible woman, fighting crime and going where even the police fear to tread. Or so I like to tell myself.

  It didn’t surprise me that Abigail had been fobbed off by the boys in blue. Although, if she’d really killed him, that had to warrant at least a little of their time, didn’t it? I decided to hold off making any judgements until I’d met with her. Jumping to conclusions was a mug’s game and never ended well, especially not for an investigator like me who worked on commission and had a reputation to maintain.

  I gave my front door a shove as I turned the key. Stupid thing always stuck in winter but Jonathan had never got round to fixing it and the only thing he was likely to fiddle now were his child support payments. As the door opened, my crazy dog Missy jumped up from her position on the sofa and came to welcome me home. She followed me as I led her in the direction of the kitchen, dancing around in little circles. As I reached into the tin to grab her a biscuit she sat obediently on her hind legs and looked at me, her head titled slightly. As soon as the treat was in her mouth she ran off out of sight to devour it. I couldn’t help but smile, she was very easily pleased.

  After opening the backdoor to let her go out, knowing that as soon as the food was eaten she’d be back, it was time put the kettle on. I was long overdue a caffeine fix although this one would need to be drunk on the road. I was about to call Missy when she started barking at the front door. I hadn’t heard anyone knock but she was always more reliable than me.

  Standing on the other side of the door was Julie, my well-meaning and ever so earnest if a little overbearing, neighbour from across the road.

  “Got a parcel for you Charlotte,” she said, waving a brown box in my direction.

  I hid my grimace. It didn’t seem to matter how many times I reminded her that my name was Charlie, she always insisted upon trying to make me sound all girly. I’d never introduced her to my mother but I had a feeling they’d be firm friends.

  “Thanks.” I took the parcel and made to head back inside but Julie it seemed, had other ideas.

  “How are the children? Such a difficult age.” She shook her head sadly. She seemed to take it as a personal affront that one of her neighbours should end up a divorce statistic.

  “They’re both fine thanks. In school.”

  “And how are you? Busy day?” She smiled.

  “Much the same as any day really.” I always hoped that by keeping my answers short she might one day take the hint and let me escape quickly. Today was not going to be that day.

  “Did you hear the racket from three doors down?” Julie’s eyes had gone wide. Ah, now we’re getting to it, I thought.

  “No?”

  “Right old fuss and nonsense. Shouting and arguing. It’s a wonder they didn’t wake the whole street!”

  “Can’t say I notic
ed, Julie.” I paused, waiting to see if she had anything more to say on the subject and when she didn’t speak, took that as my cue. “Anyway, thanks for this.” I gestured to the parcel. “Better be getting in. Need to feed the dog.”

  “Was thinking about starting a petition. Get a cease and desist from the council.”

  “I don’t think you need a petition for that Julie. Just ask to speak to someone and they’ll sort it out. Although, it’s not a cease and desist you’re after. They might not do much about a bit of arguing.”

  Julie raised her eyebrows. “Didn’t have you down as the expert Charlotte.”

  “It’s Charlie, and I’m not.” I shrugged. “Just trying to help. Anyway, must go. Thanks again for taking this in.” I gestured to the parcel with a smile and then closed the door. I knew that if I stopped to open the parcel now I’d be late so I stored it neatly in my office and, after calling Missy in, gave her a fuss and headed back out to the van. Julie was still standing outside her house, apparently watching the traffic in and out of the village. I gave her a wave and then jumped in the van. My tummy gave that now all too familiar flutter of nervous excitement. Okay Abigail, let’s see what you’ve got for me.

  TWO

  As I walked up the little path leading to her house, Abigail’s front door swung open and a barefooted woman came bounding out. Her face broke into a wide grin.

  “Charlie Diamond? Abigail. Thank you so much for coming!”

  Before I could offer her my hand she’d wrapped me in a hug. I’m not really a touchy feely person so was a little taken aback. She certainly wasn’t acting like a woman who’d just killed her husband.

  “My pleasure,” I said, when she released me. “Shall we go in?” I gestured to the front door and followed her as she led me inside.

  “Tea or coffee?”

  “Coffee please. Plenty of milk, no sugar.”

  She left me in the lounge while she went to make coffee and I took the opportunity to look around. Her house was one of those new builds; boxy, impersonal, but what it lacked in original features was more than made up for by the vibrant paintings on the wall. Every inch of space seemed to be taken up with art, a mixture of framed prints and originals, acrylic at a guess. What caught my eye though was the mountain range above the faux fireplace. Purples, greens and yellows mixed to give a startling vision of solitude.

  “Toby painted that,” Abigail said as she walked back in with our drinks and caught me staring at it. “My husband. Stunning, isn’t it?”

  “It really is quite something.” I’m useless at art but there was something captivating about the colours.

  Abigail handed me my coffee with a smile and gestured for me to take a seat. I sat and waited for her to say more but after her initial burst of energy, she’d gone quiet. After sipping at my coffee I decided I’d have to lead the conversation.

  “So what happened?”

  She shrugged and seemed to study her coffee intently but when she looked up again I saw her eyes were damp.

  “You said you thought you’d killed him?” I spoke softly. I didn’t want to add to her grief but I needed to get to the bottom of things. With no evidence of a struggle, no blood soaked carpets or stray carving knives, I was at a bit of a loss.

  “We argued, the day he disappeared. He hadn’t wanted to go that day, said he didn’t feel great, but I made such a fuss. And now he’s gone, and it’s all my fault.”

  With a thump of clarity the penny finally dropped. “So you didn’t actually kill him? He’s still missing?” I tried to ignore the fizzle of excitement in the pit of my belly. I loved missing people, they were one of my favourite cases to work on. And, not wanting to sound too full of myself, but I like to think I’m pretty good at them too. I kept the smile off my face as I spoke to Abigail though, poor woman.

  “What? No, of course not.” She shook her head. “Sorry, is that what you thought? Goodness!” She let a little laugh escape but then clapped her hand over her mouth.

  I smiled. “Well you did say you thought you’d killed him.”

  “True.” Abigail’s eyes glazed over but then she seemingly pulled herself together because when she looked up and spoke again, she sounded determined. “So, will you find him?”

  Despite my excitement, I needed to know more before making a decision. “How long has he been gone?”

  “Six months, three days and …” she glanced at the clock. “Nineteen hours. Not that anyone’s counting.” She smiled.

  She seemed like such a sweet, young thing, I couldn’t imagine anyone wanting to be away from her for such a length of time. But appearances can be deceptive, a voice in my head whispered. What isn’t she telling me?

  “And what happened in the lead up to Toby’s disappearance Abigail?” I hesitated. “Had you argued? Any problems with money?”

  The look that passed across her face made me feel like I’d kicked a puppy. “No.” She shook her head firmly. “Really, nothing like that at all. I love my husband. And he loves me. That’s why I went to the police. He wouldn’t choose to disappear. Someone must have …” Her voice trailed off, tears in her eyes. “Please find him. I’ll do anything, pay anything. Whatever it takes.”

  “Okay, look, of course I’ll do what I can but you’re going to have to be straight with me.” I hesitated again, choosing my words with care. “And I’m going to have to ask some difficult questions. I wouldn’t be doing my job properly if I didn’t.”

  “I understand. Ask me anything. I’ll tell you everything. What do you want to know?”

  The puppy dog look had returned, her eyes wide.

  “Let’s start with some details. Last known whereabouts, place of work, other family members, that kind of thing. I have a form in the van which I can leave with you. Let me go and get it.” I stood up and headed back outside to get the paperwork.

  In my experience, people like having something to do, it makes them feel like they’re having an impact, that their case is being heard and worked on. It hadn’t taken me long in this job to realise that a nice, official looking form was the perfect way to give a new client something to do. They always missed bits out, that was inevitable, but I liked that first initial documentation of a life, written by the person nearest and dearest to them.

  I glanced over the form as I walked back towards Abigail’s house. I knew that some of the questions would make her feel uncomfortable but they were a damn sight more pleasant than having to talk about it face to face.

  Abigail was waiting for me in the hallway, feet still bare. I put the form, a letter of engagement, my business card and information about my fee into an envelope and handed the whole lot to her with a smile.

  “Take a look over these tonight, it’ll take you a little while I’m afraid. I’ll come back, tomorrow afternoon shall we say? And we can go from there.”

  I offered Abigail my hand and she pulled me into another of her hugs. “Thank you,” she whispered. “I feel like he’s almost home already.”

  They always said that, the euphoria of actually getting started. I just had to hope her confidence wasn’t unfounded.

  THREE

  My tummy rumbled as I got back in the van and I decided I’d done more than enough work for one day. Besides, I knew that when I got home I’d spend the next little while typing up my notes, just like I did every day. I had a shocking memory and details were important. If it wasn’t written up it didn’t happen, that was my rule. It’s just a shame the kids couldn’t learn from their mother’s example. I’d lost track of the number of late nights I’d spent with one or both of them as they caught up on long overdue projects. I couldn’t be too hard on them though. After everything we’d been through it was little wonder they weren’t more messed up than they were.

  As I headed home I thought about how much my life had changed in such a relatively small amount of time. Two years ago we’d been the perfect family unit. Him working all hours and me with my plumbing business to keep me out of mischief, such that i
t had taken me longer than it really should have to even notice anything was wrong. The truth is, I wasn’t looking for the deception. With hindsight of course it was blatantly obvious, but not to me, not right there and then. Naive fool that I was, I’d believed him when he said he had an overnight stay in Doncaster or Durham or any other of the faceless places he’d mention. And so what that he often came home smelling of other women’s perfume. He was a tactile guy and most of those tarts wore so much of the stuff, you’d have to be a total loner not to end up carrying some of it home with you.

  Until the day I brought Louise home early with a toothache. The school had phoned me on my mobile and I hadn’t thought to pre-warn him and so it was that we walked into the front room to find him stark naked on the sofa, his pasty white buttocks dancing about like something possessed, writhing on top of a blonde tart from the office. I didn’t wait around long enough to catch her name. Poor Louise. I simply turned myself and Louise around and headed straight back out the front door, slamming it loudly on my way out. By the time he caught up to us I was already knocking on Julie’s door.

  “What are you going to do?” The panic in his voice had torn at me, just briefly. For all his faults he’d always been a good dad but whatever I did next, he’d brought it on himself, I remembered.

  “Piss off! And take the tart with you.”

  I left Louise with Julie, who took great delight in fussing around her with offers of chocolate biscuits, then went back to the house. The tart was long gone but Jonathan was still standing in the front room looking pathetic.

  “Charlie I …”

  “I don’t want to hear it. I can’t believe you would do something like this. And in front of Louise. Are you crazy?!”

  “But I …”

  Before he could say another word I took him by the arm and led him to the front door. “Fuck off!” And with that I slammed the front door behind him.

  I went round the house and bagged up all his belongings, waiting until his car had gone, and then took them to the nearest charity shop. The woman behind the counter looked like she might cry when I handed over iPads and his entire CD collection. The locksmith was waiting for me when I got back and by home time he’d changed all the locks, handing me a shiny new set with a smile and a business card.