Missing: Presumed Dead by James Hawkins Page B

would call a good catch in anybody’s book, in fact she had something of a reputation, if you get my meaning, but the Colonel treated her as if she were a princess.”
    â€œSo, she was a sort of Cinderella.”
    Daphne gave herself time to digest the thought along with a forkful of beans. “I would have difficulty imagining Doreen as a Cinderella figure,” she said after careful consideration. “Put it this way: If you try to imagine Cinderella in the nude she always has the naughty bits air-brushed, whereas Doreen Mason ... well, from what I can gather, half the boys in the town wouldn’t have needed any imagination.”
    â€œSo what did she see in the Major?”
    â€œIt wasn’t his looks, that’s for sure.”
    â€œHis money?”
    Daphne let her raised eyebrows do the talking.
    â€œWell, what did he look like?” continued Bliss. “Mrs. Dauntsey didn’t have a photo. I found that a bit strange.”
    â€œI don’t ...” She paused and picked up the wine bottle. “More?” she asked but didn’t wait for a response before pouring. “If Rupert Dauntsey was a bit of a poor specimen before he went to war, when he came back ...” she shook her head in sorrow, “I didn’t recognise him – no-one did.” A chill shuddered through her. “Half his face was blown off; he’d lost an arm and the one he was left with wasn’t a lot of use. He looked like a horror movie monster.”
    â€œCouldn’t they do anything for him – plastic surgery?”
    â€œToday they could, but not then. It was wartime. Doctors used to pray that men with injuries like his would die quickly, that way they wouldn’t have to face their inadequacies. Can you imagine unwinding the bandages, holding up a mirror and saying, ‘Congratulations, this is your new face – scary isn’t it?’”
    â€œIt must be a bit like seeing a ghost.”
    â€œLike the one you saw in the churchyard?”
    â€œMandy Richards,” he said inwardly, and suddenly found himself falling into a black hole. “Stop! Stop! You’re going to hit something,” he was shouting inside.
    Dark images of the dead young woman were swirling through a dirty fog and he tried telling himself, “There’s nothing there. Stop this! Stop this! You can stop this. Change the picture. Re-focus your mind. It wasn’t your fault.” But he was still racing onwards into the blackness, his heart pounding to keep up, and beads of sweat bursting out of his brow.
    â€œIs there something the matter, Chief Inspector?” A voice from outside broke through the blue haze. Daphne’s voice.
    â€œGet a grip on yourself,” he told himself.
    â€œAre you alright?”
    Alright – Alright. What’s alright? Somebody’s blown Mandy Richard’s heart out with a shotgun – IS THAT ALRIGHT?
    That was eighteen years ago.
    No, it was only yesterday ... for her parents; her husband-to-be; her brother; it’s still yesterday. It will always be yesterday. How can you move forward when Mandy can’t? Mandy’s still dead. It’s still a week before her wedding for her. Still the day she went to get her savings out of the bank to pay for her honeymoon. Still the most joyous, expectant day of her life – and still the very last day of her life.
    â€œChief Inspector,” a note of serious concern in Daphne’s voice got through the images of Mandy and shook him back to the present.
    â€œOh – Sorry. I was miles away,” he said, disentangling himself from the nightmarish memories.
    â€œI thought you were having a panic attack,” she said, scooping the empty crockery toward her, chattering away as if nothing had happened. “I get them sometimes. Shakes you up a bit. Makes you want to run, but you can’t get away from your own ghosts.”
    â€œI was just thinking about the