Page 126 of The Love Letter
‘Simpson has gone AWOL,’ said the old man opposite him.
‘I see.’
‘And so has your friend, Miss Haslam.’
Simon wanted to quip that maybe they’d eloped, but thought it unwise.
‘Could it be a coincidence, sir?’
‘I somehow doubt it under the circumstances. We’ve just had the evaluation of Simpson’s psychological report. The psychologist was concerned enough to recommend he receives urgent and immediate treatment.’ He wheeled his chair around the desk. ‘He knows too much, Warburton. I want you to find him, and fast. My instincts tell me he may have gone after Haslam.’
‘I thought her flat was bugged? And Marcus Harrison’s? Did the listeners not give you an indication of where she might be?’
‘No. We think they’ve discovered the bugs as nothing of interest has been heard in the past few days. In fact, the device at Harrison’s flat has not been transmitting correctly, but our men are preparing a replacement. In Miss Haslam’s case, nothing has been heard at all, apart from irate calls on her landline from Marcus Harrison, wanting to know where she is.’
‘And no one has any idea where either of them might have gone?’
‘You’ve read the file, Warburton,’ he replied irritably. ‘If you were Haslam, wishing to ferret out further information about our man, where would you go?’
‘Dorset perhaps? To continue searching through the attic? I took a look in the attic last time I was there and there are endless boxes of material, sir.’
‘Don’t you think we know that?! I’ve had a dozen men working night and day up there since Zoe Harrison left with HRH for Spain. They’ve found nothing.’ He wheeled himself back behind his desk. ‘Harrison is still in residence at his London flat. Maybe you should have a word with him.’
‘Yes, sir. I’ll pay him a visit.’
‘Report back to me when you have. And we’ll take it from there.’
‘I will, sir.’
‘I hear you went to visit young Jamie Harrison yesterday?’
‘Yes, sir, I did.’
‘Business or pleasure?’
‘I did it as a favour for Zoe Harrison, sir.’
‘Watch it, Warburton. You know the rules.’
‘Of course, sir.’
‘Righto. Let me know when there’s news.’
‘I will.’
Simon rose from his chair and left the room, praying that the old man hadn’t seen the blush heating his face. Even if his mind and his body could be trained and disciplined, it was obvious his heart could not.
Having found no one at home at Marcus’s flat, Simon had gone back to the office and called Joanna’s parents, who hadn’t heard from her either. He was convinced she was still on the trail.France, maybe?he’d thought, then spent a fruitless couple of hours going through passenger lists of all planes and ferries that had departed in the past few days. Her name was on none of them.
So, where else was connected with the mystery they were both desperate to uncover . . . ?
Simon thought back to the day he’d memorised the file. No written notes had been allowed. There was somewhere else, he was sure of it . . .
Then, finally, it came to him.
Forty-five minutes later, he’d found Joanna’s name on a flight to Cork three days ago, and immediately booked himself on the late-afternoon flight that day. He was just on his way to Heathrow through a log-jammed Hammersmith when his mobile rang.
‘Hello, Zoe.’ Simon was so startled by her voice that he had to pull over and park, which proved a tricky operation in the heavy traffic. ‘Where are you?’
