Abigail: Chapter 9
Having sent Rob back to work, I dialled Abigail’s home number and listened as her overly cheerful voice informed me that no-one was available to take my call right now. Blah, blah, blah. I hated answering machines so hung up. What I really wanted to do next was start talking to some of Abigail and Toby’s friends and family. I needed to paint a picture of their family life. Getting Abigail’s permission to visit her parents had merely been a courtesy and since she wasn’t taking calls, it was one I was happy to skip. I looked again through the file, found the address I needed and added it to the sat nav on my phone. Based on current projected traffic conditions I could be there within the hour. Perfect!
As remote as people think South Wales is, one big advantage is that, thanks to the motorway, everywhere is relatively close to everywhere else and even if you don’t exactly know where you’re going, so long as you get your car pointing in the right direction, sooner or later you’ll spot a place name you recognise. This was true of my journey to Abigail’s family home. I’d never heard of the tiny village but knowing that it was vaguely near Bridgend, I was all set.
As I drove I took in some of the signs along the way, trying to spot the turning for Toby’s last known sighting. According to Abigail’s forms, he’d been working on a construction site somewhere along the M4. I made a mental note to call in the service stations with his photo. With all the travelling Abigail said he did, he had to stop somewhere. He didn’t have the most memorable looking of faces but maybe, if I was very lucky, someone might remember him. Forty-five minutes later I pulled in front of a small detached bungalow. I tried ringing Abigail once more, just in case, but when her cheery voice kicked in for the second time that morning I hung up. I grabbed my bag and headed up a little path that led to the front door.
After listening to the doorbell sing one of those annoying chirpy little tunes, I saw a figure approach the door. A lady answered, presumably Abigail’s mother. It was then that I realised I’d totally forgotten to check what Abigail’s last name had been before she became Mrs Toby Rogers. I felt my face flush. I hated it when I made myself look like an idiot.
“Hi there, I’m Charlie Diamond.”
“Whatever you’re selling we’ve got more than enough of it.”
“I’m not selling anything. You’re Abigail’s mother? Abigail Rogers?”
“Yes.” A look of panic flashed across the lady’s face. “Is she okay?”
“Oh sorry, yes of course, she’s fine.” I took one of my cards out of my pocket and held it out. “I’m a private investigator. Abigail’s asked me to look into Toby’s disappearance. I wondered if I might come in and we can have a little chat?”
“You want to talk to me? About Toby?”
I nodded. “If you wouldn’t mind.”
“Well I don’t know. I’d have a check with my husband. Wait right there would you?”
I watched as she closed the door, leaving me standing on the wrong side of it.
After what felt like hours, the door opened again and Abigail’s mum stood to one side. “Please come in. My husband will see you in the drawing room. Can I get you some refreshments?”
I bit my top lip to stop myself from laughing out loud. Drawing room? In a bungalow? It was like something from a bad fifties sitcom.
“No, nothing for me thanks. I’ve not long finished a coffee Mrs James.”
I mentally congratulated myself for having had the foresight to check through my notes while waiting to be admitted and followed as I was led along the hall. I’d imagined the drawing room to be grand with high ceilings and ornate oak furniture so when Mrs James led me into a poky little lounge with mismatched furniture and a squat, slightly scruffy looking man sitting in the corner, I couldn’t help but grin.
I turned my grin into what I hoped passed for a warm smile and offered the man my hand. “Mr James? Charlie Diamond. Thank you for seeing me.”
He ignored my hand and cut straight to the point. “What’s all this about?”
“I’m helping your daughter Mr James. Abigail?” I didn’t know how many daughters he had but figured it never hurt to clarify. “She wants me to help her find Toby.”
“That's very generous of you. Friend of hers?”
“It's my job Mr James.” I handed him my card. “Private investigator.”
“You any good?” He scowled.
“I like to think so. I mean, my track record’s pretty solid. Did you want to take references?”
“Expensive?”
“No find no fee.”
“And if you find him?”
“Five.”
“Thousand?”
“Yes sir.”
He let out a low pitched whistle and then turned to face me fully and smiled. “You’ve got yourself a deal young lady. Now sit yourself down here and tell me what I can do to help.” He patted the space next to him on the sofa.
Wait, what? This was Abigail’s case. She’d already signed a contract. “I’m not sure I understand.”
Mrs James walked in with a tray of tea as I spoke. She laughed. “Oh you mustn’t mind him. He’s helping Abigail with your fee and just wanted to be sure you were up to the job.”
“Oh.”
“And you passed with flying colours.” Mr James sounded delighted. He was so animated I thought he might actually giggle. “But please sit down. I really do want to help.”
I did as I was asked and even found myself accepting a cup of tea. I was more of a coffee drinker but with everything laid out so neatly on the tray, it would have felt churlish to refuse. I already knew a little bit about Abigail’s parents, him a retired headteacher and her, at home with the children, but I listened patiently as they told me stories about Abigail’s childhood. Judging by the furniture, they’d downsized considerably over recent years but I could easily imagine Mr and Mrs James lording it over their neighbours when Abigail was a little girl.
“And that’s how young Toby was able to secure such a terrific position.”
“All thanks to you eh Mr James?” I smiled sweetly, happy to stroke his ego if it meant a way in to Toby Rogers’s work colleagues.
He nodded and puffed out his chest. “All thanks to me.”
“It occurs to me …” I hesitated.
“Yes?” Curiosity piqued, he sat up poker straight.
“I don’t suppose it would be possible to meet some of Toby’s colleagues? It would be a great help. Build a picture of the time leading up to his disappearance.”
“Do you know, I was just about to suggest that.”
“Were you Mr James? Well what a terrific idea!” I hid a smile.
After a challenging start, this was turning out to be a great visit. Carry on like this and I’d have that missing husband home in no time. I patted myself on the back for a job well done and accepted a second cup of tea. What could possibly go wrong?