Presumed Dead Read Online Free

another pile of stuff. “The photographer from the local paper was at a charity dinner in Dawson’s Clough and I liked it so much, I bought a copy out of my pocket money. It shows her—ah, here it is.”
    “Good God!” For the first time, Dylan felt the stirrings of interest.
    The photo showed Anita Champion in whispered conversation with none other than Terry Armstrong.
    “Do you know him?” Holly asked.
    “I know of him.” As would most coppers or ex-coppers. “When did you say it was taken?”
    “About a month before Mum vanished. There was a big dinner dance in Dawson’s Clough. I’ve no idea what it was for or even how Mum came to be invited, but I remember her excitement. A reporter from the local paper was there and, although this was never published, they had a display in the office window with about fifty pictures of the event. I liked this one.”
    “Did your mother know Terry Armstrong?”
    “I don’t know. Why? Who is he?”
    Dylan gazed at the photograph. It looked as if the couple were sneaking two minutes together. Perhaps two minutes to arrange a rendezvous. Or two minutes for Anita Champion to end their affair. Or blackmail him…
    Dylan couldn’t be described as an expert on relationships, but they looked close.
    “Terry Armstrong.” His mind was racing. “A Londoner. East End villain. It’s said he has several members of the police force on his payroll.” It was also said that he was a cold-blooded killer, but Dylan kept that to himself.
    “Are you sure?”
    “I’m sure. His face will be familiar to one hell of a lot of coppers.”
    What had taken Armstrong to Dawson’s Clough? And what was the connection between him and Anita Champion?
    “What happened to your father?”
    “He walked out on us when I was three years old,” Holly said in a matter-of-fact way. “Mum said it was no surprise. Said it was a relief really. They’d both been kids when they got married. And they only married because Mum was expecting me.”
    “You don’t keep in touch?”
    “I don’t remember him. I haven’t seen or heard from him since I was three.”
    She didn’t seem bothered about that. Perhaps this obsession she had for discovering the truth about her mother pushed out everything else.
    “My mother’s birth certificate. Hairdressing qualifications—” she handed over the certificates, “—medical card, dental appointment that, of course, she never kept. Cards she sent on my birthday and suchlike—oh, I know you don’t want those but I thought her handwriting—”
    “Yes. Thanks.”
    “Her diary for that year. There’s not much in it—mainly birthdays, working days, reminders to pay the rent—that sort of thing.”
    She left the room for a moment and came back with a sheet of paper. “Here are names of everyone I can think of who knew her back then. I know it’s a long time ago, but—”
    “It is.” He looked at the list of names. Holly was nothing if not thorough. Against every name was a physical description, relationship to her mother—usually acquaintance —and approximate age. “You do realise that you could do all this yourself? You could see these people and ask them about your mother.”
    She shook her head. “I remember at the time how everyone was convinced she’d gone off with some man. Even her friends believed that. It hurt.”
    It would. But it was probably true.
    Two hours later, a box full of paper in his arms, Dylan was walking to his car. “I’ll be in touch.”
    “Thank you.”
    It was Dylan who should have been thanking her. Not only was she the answer to his current financial problems, she had given him something to think about. He was curious about the beautiful young woman who had vanished on that November night thirteen years ago. He was even more curious about her relationship with Terry Armstrong.
    Perhaps, after all, this wouldn’t be as dull as he’d thought.
    “Dylan?”
    He already had his hand on the car’s door. Another car was