Missing: Presumed Dead by James Hawkins

mind.”
    The shooting of Mandy Richards, he remembered instantly, then worked desperately hard to keep the memory from clouding his face again. “Just the death of the Old Major,” he lied, “There’s something very puzzling about the case. I feel as though I’ve sneaked into a play halfway through the first act and can’t pick up the plot because I’ve missed some crucial bit of the action.”
    Daphne wasn’t convinced, “And the ghost that’s bothering you?”
    â€œJust an old memory, graveyards have a way of bringing back old memories for me.”
    â€œThey do for everyone – that’s the whole idea of graveyards surely. If we just wanted to dispose of our dead we’d take them to the dump ... Come on,” she said, brightening her tone and gathering the dishes together. “Stuffed pork chops with young broad beans, the tiniest new potatoes and a nice tender savoy. All out of my own garden – apart from the chops.”
    â€œWherever did you learn to cook like this?”
    â€œMy mother, of course, and in France. I lived there for a while.”
    â€œHence the portrait.”
    â€œYes,” she nodded, with a longing glance at the picture in his hand. “Hence the portrait.”
    â€œWine?” offered Daphne as Bliss seated himself at the head of the table. “This is rather a splendid Puligny Montrachet – I’m assuming you like a red with a bit of heart.”
    â€œOh, yes. Very much. But can you afford ...”
    â€œDon’t worry, Chief Inspector. Like I said, I haven’t always been a cleaning lady; I’m not short of a few bob ... Bon appetit .”
    â€œYou were going to tell me about the Major,” he said, digging in.
    â€œWas I? Oh yes, well I’m not sure if I have anything terribly useful to offer.”
    â€œWhen did you last see him?”
    â€œDifficult to say,” she started vaguely. “Time distorts time.” She looked at him across the table, “Is everything alright?”
    â€œAbsolutely delicious – this stuffing ... mmm.” He let a rapturous mask slide over his face then picked up where she’d left off. “Time – the Major – When?”
    She gave it some thought but seemed at a loss, shaking her head. “In thirty years time you’ll probably be wondering who died first, Kennedy or Diana. I won’t be around then, so that’s something I won’t have to worry about.”
    â€œBut Major Dauntsey. Can you narrow it down? Was it this year or last?”
    â€œGood God, Chief Inspector, my memory’s not that bad. No, I’m trying to remember whether it was before the Suez Crisis or after.”
    â€œBut that was in the 1950s – before I was born ... I think.”
    â€œOh – so it would have been. Yes, I suppose that does seem a long time to you.”
    Bliss had frozen, a piece of pork chop hung expectantly in the air in front of his face. “Are you saying you haven’t seen him for forty-odd years?”
    Daphne, failing to register the note of astonishment in Bliss’s question answered nonchalantly. “The Major sort of kept out of the way after the war. Not that we saw much of him before the war to be honest. He wasn’t usually allowed to play with us riff-raff. I sometimes caught a glimpse of him peering out at life through the hedge up at the big house, and he’d be at church on Sunday mornings during the school holidays but otherwise ...” Her words faded as she failed to come up with any other memories. “We always thought he was a bit of a nancy-boy if you know what I mean – just rumours really – probably because he had a sort of upper crust nasal whine and a silly hairstyle.”
    â€œNancy-boy?” questioned Bliss, “Do you mean ...?”
    Daphne was nodding. “Just rumours. He was at Oxford, or Cambridge, and got sent down for it we