Presumed Dead by Shirley Wells

Clough.”
    Left the Clough. Not vanished or disappeared, but left the Clough.
    “Any idea why she might have done that?”
    “No.”
    “Odd, isn’t it? Her leaving the Clough, I mean, when she had a daughter waiting for her.”
    “It’s not the action of a normal woman,” Cheyney said, “but Anita wasn’t like anyone I ever knew.”
    “How do you mean?”
    “I mean she needed to be having fun. All the time. The Clough bored her. Everyone in the town bored her.”
    “What’s your theory?”
    “I don’t have one. I’ve no idea where she went, and I’ve got far better things to do with my time than invent stuff.”
    “I knew Anita, too,” Dylan said.
    “Oh?” Perhaps he hadn’t heard the story of the lovelorn southerner.
    “Yes. About fifteen years ago. She said something to me about Terrence Armstrong. Did she mention anything to you?”
    At the mention of Armstrong’s name, Cheyney flinched, Dylan was sure of it.
    “No,” the man said.
    “Are you sure?”
    “I’m sure.”
    “Do you know him?”
    “He owns the ground you’re standing on.”
    “Really? Ah, I heard he had a bit of property in the town.”
    “You heard right then. Look, I can’t help you, and I’ve got things to do.”
    “Fine,” Dylan said. “Thanks for your time. I appreciate it.”
    Walking back along the street, Dylan ran a word-for-word replay of the encounter in his head. Mention of Terry Armstrong in the past had brought blank looks and the conviction that Anita couldn’t possibly have known him. Cheyney, though, had visibly flinched at mention of the man’s name.
    Why?
    He knew something, Dylan was sure of it.

Chapter Ten
    “Is your mum going to be in later?” Dylan asked his son.
    They were enjoying the usual Saturday afternoon halftime ritual of a meat pie. Arsenal were beating Manchester City one nil and that always made the pies taste better.
    “Dunno,” Luke said between mouthfuls. “She’s been out a lot lately.”
    “Has she? Where?”
    “Dunno.”
    Dylan had hoped to worm his way back into Bev’s good books, but that was going to be impossible if he couldn’t see her. She’d come round, she always did but, given that his mother was still in residence and filling the place with the evil smell of scented candles, he wanted it to be sooner rather than later.
    “Come on, Dad, they’ll be kicking off in a couple of minutes.”
    They fought their way back to their seats and prepared to cheer on the Gunners.
    Dylan was struggling to concentrate on the match. He couldn’t rid his mind of four women who thought it acceptable to drug a so-called friend and leave her to her fate in a dark alley on a cold November night. The thought made him shudder.
    Bev had her funny little ways, hundreds of them, but she could never do something like that. Few people could.
    How strongly would you have to hate someone to pull a stunt like that?
    Anita’s crime? She had, allegedly, slept with her employer’s boyfriend. Yvonne Yates was right about one thing—it takes two to cheat and Anita had merely proved that the boyfriend wasn’t worth knowing.
    Dylan could have kicked himself for not learning more. Yvonne had said that Sandra wasn’t going to let either of them get away with it. So what had happened to the boyfriend?
    According to Sandra, she would have been out with the girls that night if her Eddie hadn’t been home on leave. Had the others dealt with Anita while she dished out Eddie’s fate?
    If anyone else had wanted revenge, Dylan might have expected Eddie’s clothes to have landed in the street, or a fresh mackerel to have been hidden in his car’s engine. With Sandra, anything was possible.
    Dylan needed to find this Eddie. Just as he needed to find the man, if indeed there ever was a man, who had gone to Anita’s aid in that dark alley.
    The words haystack and needle sprang to mind…
    Dylan slapped his gloved hands together for warmth. Despite his thick coat, scarf and hat, he was chilled and,