Missing Believed Dead by Chris Longmuir Page B

Evie in love with him, and he had been besotted with her. He hadn’t recognized the danger signals. The one drink too many, the way her eyes lit up when an attractive man entered the room, the way she flirted with his pals. The wedding had been ostentatious. She’d wanted to be married in white, and she’d wanted everyone to see her special day. It had almost bankrupted Bill, but he hadn’t cared because he’d been so much in love. He would have given her anything.
    However, Evie had been more in love with the idea of being married than she was with him. She craved excitement. Sometimes she got that from the bottle, but there were the men as well. At first Bill tried to ignore it, but the lying and cheating got to him and he became more and more depressed. If he’d been able to face her with her infidelities it would have been better, but he couldn’t bring himself to do that. Eventually things came to a head and she ran off with one of his best mates, Craig, a sergeant in the drug squad.
    Bill shook his head. He had to stop thinking of Evie, it made him depressed all over again. Grabbing the greasy wrapping paper from the footwell, he got out of the car, strode to a nearby rubbish bin and tossed it in. He turned to face the river, dark and tumultuous, with waves battering against the wall. Spray stung his skin and the wind battered his body. Faraway lights from Newport-on-Tay, at the other side of the river, gleamed in the darkness. The river beckoned him, but he didn’t have the guts to do anything that would end his misery.
    Pushing Evie out of his mind, his thoughts turned to what he remembered of Diane Carnegie. She’d seemed vulnerable at the time, and her agony had struck a chord with him. He’d wanted to reach out and wrap his arms round her, protect her, keep her safe. But he couldn’t do that because she was part of his work. And now that old case of a missing child had become entangled in the murder case he was currently investigating.
    Sighing, he turned back to the car, got in the driving seat, and drove home.
    The ground floor flat in the Victorian villa was cold, dark and unwelcoming. It hadn’t always been like that. Evie may have had her faults but she’d made the flat a home. That was before she’d run off with Craig. Some mate Craig had been, sneaking about with Evie when Bill’s back was turned. But that was ancient history now, and it was time he moved on.
    Bill flicked a light switch, nothing happened. Either he’d forgotten to pay the bill or it was a power cut. He felt his way into the kitchen, and fumbled for the torch on the welsh dresser. A cup, dislodged from its hook, shattered on the floor before Bill’s hand found what he sought. He shone the torch on the fragments, picked them up and deposited them in the bin under the worktop.
    At times like this Bill regretted his bachelor existence, but he didn’t seem to have much luck with women. First, Evie who had left before their first anniversary. She hadn’t stuck with Craig either, served him right. Then Julie had come into his life, that hadn’t worked out, and she’d returned to Edinburgh. And he’d never got beyond first base with Louise, although it had been looking hopeful before that fiasco in Templeton Woods.
    He shone the torch round his kitchen, the beam flickering over the pile of dirty dishes in the sink, the newspapers piled on the chair, the littered table. What a mess he’d got himself into. ‘Oh, shit,’ he muttered, ‘can’t do anything in the dark, and turning round he left the flat. At least the pub would be bright and warm.
    * * * *
     
    Megan had never been as scared in her life as she was now. To begin with she’d struggled against her bonds, twisting this way and that, but to no avail. It only left her with bruised wrists and ankles which ached worse than toothache. Then she’d screamed until she became hoarse, after that she’d cried for her mum. Nothing helped.
    At least he’d left her bread and