Sophie is still Missing

Sophie is Still Missing:

A Jacaranda Dunne Mystery

PROLOGUE.

HOLY WEEK

March 2018

The old man unlocked the heavy wooden doors to the Brotherhood to which he’d belonged for most of his life. Jorge was wearing the clothes they always wore for the Holy Week processions: his best black cloak over a simple twill tunic tied at the waist with a belt of esparto. His capirote was tucked into his belt ready; he would pull that over his head once they were about to start. He sighed as he remembered that this was the last time he would be taking part in the procession, and a feeling of sadness overwhelmed him as he put his shoulder to the massive door and pushed it open. The heady smell of carnations came out to greet him as he stepped inside their gloomy headquarters. This year he had been honoured for his long years of devotion by being chosen to carry the Guiding Cross and lead the Brotherhood of the Virgin of Remorse on their slow, twelve-hour walk through the streets of Málaga. He hoped his gammy knee wouldn’t let him down.

‘Come on Jorge. Get a move on,’ said one of the Brothers; it was Felipe, a young man who worked as a solicitor. Behind him were almost two hundred of the Brotherhood, all dressed in their traditional robes and some even had their capirotes already covering their faces. It was a special day for them all. The Virgin of Remorse only ventured out on this one day a year, and the men had been preparing for it for months. It was the moment when they could forget their humdrum lives as waiters or bank clerks, teachers or builders; this was when they could rise above it and carry the Virgin through the streets for everyone to see, the faithful and tourists alike.

Jorge stepped forward and pushed the doors as wide open as was possible, letting his companions into the room where the Virgin’s enormous throne was kept. Some of them knelt in homage to her, others made the sign of the cross, while some of the young ones were too excited to do more than stare up at her sorrowful face. Jorge paused, the glint of sunlight on her gold halo dazzling him for a moment. He looked up at the throne, four tonnes of wood, steel and plaster covered in gold leaf and silver mouldings, and thought back to the first time he’d been allowed to be one of the costaleros; Jorge hadn’t even left school at the time and he had almost collapsed from exhaustion by the time they’d finished carrying the Virgin through the streets. He had felt such love for her that day and was proud to have been one of the two-hundred costaleros. His feelings had never changed. But he couldn’t carry that sort of weight any longer. Not anymore. Not at his age.

He paused. Something looked out of place. For a moment he puzzled over what it was. If only the other brothers could show more respect and maintain a dignified silence, but the atmosphere was electric; this was the moment when they would take their places as the Virgin’s throne bearer and carry her through the streets to her church. He peered up at her again. Yes, something was wrong. Of course. He shouldn’t be able to see her halo from here; it was normally obscured by a dark red, velvet canopy, decorated with gold and silver thread. This morning that canopy tilted wildly to the right, exposing her serene image to those below. How had that happened? Such a nuisance. Some of the younger members of the Brotherhood must have dislodged it. They were too boisterous; they still had to learn the seriousness of their task. The Virgin had been set on her throne a few days previously, and everything was supposed to be ready for them to collect her and start the procession this afternoon. With their tight timetable, there wasn’t time for any mistakes; they would be walking for hours, until well after midnight. He muttered a short prayer to himself to try and quell his annoyance and restore his calm.

‘Someone’s knocked over the candles,’ a voice behind him said. It was Juan, one of the newer members to the Brotherhood, and a baker from Churriana.

‘I’ll see to them,’ said another Brother as he clambered up onto the throne. ‘Santa Madre de Dios,’ he shouted. ‘What in God’s name is this? How has this happened?’

‘What is it?’

‘Ring the police. And hurry. There’s a dead body up here.’

‘What are you talking about?’ asked Juan. ‘Whose body?’

Jorge felt a chill down his back as though a cold wind had blown into the room. Then they all began clamouring at once.

‘How can there be?’

‘Did someone forget to lock up, last night?’

‘Is it a joke?’

‘A pretty poor one, if you ask me.’

‘Who is it?’

‘Who’s dead?’ The Brothers pushed and shoved, trying to see what had happened.

‘It’s a woman,’ one of them exclaimed. ‘She’s covered in blood.’

‘A young girl, more like,’ said another. ‘A scrap of a girl.’

‘I think we’d better all move back,’ said Jorge. ‘Show a little respect. If it is a body, then the police won’t want us disturbing it before they’ve seen it. Come on now, gentlemen. Move away, please.’

Reluctantly the Brothers trooped outside to wait, but they didn’t stop grumbling.

‘We’ll be late,’ one said.

‘I can’t believe this is happening,’ said another.

‘I knew it was too good to be true. This was to be my first time,’ said another, a youth of no more than eighteen. None of the Brothers appeared to give much thought to the person who had died.

Jorge made his way closer to the Virgin and climbed up the steps, silently praying that she had suffered no damage. He sighed with relief; she seemed as beautiful as ever, her painted porcelain face, framed by its golden crown, looking sadly down at the body of a young woman. The girl lay propped against the Virgin, her hands placed together as though in prayer. She was definitely dead; her face was as pale as the porcelain hands that supported her frail body. She looked undernourished and was dressed in a plain cotton dress. She had no shoes and her feet were bruised and cut. He stared at her, feeling an overwhelming sadness engulf him. Had she come in here herself and climbed up there to die in the arms of the Virgin Mary? It was a nice thought, but somehow he couldn’t imagine that fragile creature climbing up onto the throne. And why would she scatter pink carnations over herself? A glint of gold attracted his eye. Something was caught in her hair. Instantly he recognised it. The poor girl hadn’t got there alone. Someone had brought her here; someone who knew the Cofradía well. Jorge began to tremble with fear then he dropped to his knees and prayed for her soul.

SIX MONTHS LATER

CHAPTER 1

JD unlocked the door to her new office; she’d been working from there for almost two months but still considered it new. It was tucked down a narrow street behind the Bishop’s Palace, right in the centre of the city, and very convenient. She’d been lucky to find it; vacant properties in the centre were rare. Tim had told her about it as soon as he saw it was to be advertised in the local paper. Yes, Tim had his uses sometimes.

She had no sooner shut the door and switched on the lights when her young computer assistant, Nacho, arrived, carrying a bundle of newspapers and a half-drunk cup of coffee.

‘You’re early,’ he said. ‘Couldn’t you sleep?’

‘Don’t be cheeky.’ JD sat down at her desk and switched on her computer.

‘Guess what, JD,’ said Nacho.

‘What?’

‘The police have closed the case.’

His boss looked at him.

‘The murdered girl. The one who was found with the Virgin.’

‘Have they found who murdered her, then?’ she asked.

‘No, I don’t think so. Doesn’t give much detail.’ He opened one of the newspapers. ‘They’ve tucked it away on page five, so it wouldn’t draw too much attention.’

‘I’m not surprised. Six months and they don’t seem to have found anything,’ said JD. ‘I’m sure we could have done better.’

‘It’s her family I feel sorry for.’

‘Do they mention her friend? The one who’s still missing?’

‘No. Nothing.’ Nacho closed the paper and drank the rest of his coffee. ‘So what have you got for me today? he asked, as he skilfully tossed the empty coffee cup into the waste paper bin.

‘See if you can find out any more about that car. Señor Ramirez is very upset about it.’

‘Well, it’s his own fault, letting his son drive it when he was underage.’

‘Maybe, but the other car could have stopped. There was a lot of damage and his insurance company won’t pay out.’

‘Actually, I have found something. A witness said he was sure the other car had foreign plates, but he couldn’t say what they were,’ said Nacho, checking his notes.

‘That’s good. Could he describe them?’

‘Not really. All he said was they weren’t in the usual format of four numbers followed by three letters, but it was too dark to make them out clearly.’

‘Anything else?’

‘Possibly black, or blue, as I said it was dark. Oh yes, and it was driving very fast.’

‘Well, see if you can rake up anything else.’

She clicked onto her open cases folder. There wasn’t a lot in there. All small stuff, the damaged car, a woman whose bracelet had been stolen and she wanted it back before her husband found out—that was unlikely to happen— two cases of missing dogs and one wayward husband. She’d get Linda to check up on the bracelet, and she’d try and talk to the husband. Where was Linda by the way? She wasn’t usually late.

She opened the file on the missing husband and stared at it. It seemed plain enough to her that the husband had done a bunk and wasn’t coming back, but his wife wouldn’t have it. What else could it be? He’d taken all his clothes with him and closed his bank account. Money troubles? Or was it another woman? She sighed. Her thoughts kept returning to the dead girl and her missing friend. Why weren’t the police continuing with the investigation? Was it because the girls were foreigners? It wasn’t the first time a teenage girl had disappeared in that area. Her mother had told her of a young Irish girl, no more than fifteen, who’d disappeared one New Year’s Eve. Nobody had ever found out what had happened to her; they’d searched for a few months then given up. That was over ten years ago.

The door swung open. ‘Morning all. You should get this sign put up, properly this time,’ said Linda, brandishing JD’s new door plaque at her. ‘How are people going to know we’re a detective agency if it doesn’t say so?’

‘Good morning to you. You’re late.’

‘Not much. I got fed up seeing that old plaque lying on top of the photocopier, so I took it to get it repaired, but it was beyond all hope. So I bought you a new one. Ahí tienes,’ she said with a flourish. ‘Nacho can put it up.’

‘Oh, can he?’ said Nacho, taking the plaque from her. ‘Great job, Linda. I see it’s in Spanish and English. That should be good for business.’

‘Show me,’ said JD. The new brass plaque was engraved with JD Detective Agency and underneath it said, Private Investigator and beneath that, Investigador Privado. ‘Shouldn’t it be investigadora privada?’ she asked. ‘I am female after all.’

‘Technically yes, but I thought this might look more serious. Our clients aren’t expecting a woman detective. You can see the surprise on their faces when you tell them you’re the PI, and not the filing clerk. I think we’ll get more clients this way.’

‘Linda, you’re a traitor to your sex. Get it changed.’

‘Can’t do that. They’d have to do a completely new one. I can tell you the price, if you want.’ JD thought about their dwindling bank balance and shook her head. Most of their clients came by personal recommendation or through the internet, anyway; that’s why she hadn’t bothered to put the old sign up. ‘Leave that for now. I want you to try to find out what’s happened to that missing bracelet. Have there been any similar burglaries in the area? Has it really been stolen or is this an insurance scam?’

‘Okay, JD.’ Her tall, blonde assistant sat down, took a mirror from her handbag and repaired her lipstick, then she opened the file on her desk and began to work.

JD had discovered where the missing husband worked and was busy concocting an excuse to ring and speak to him, when her mobile rang. She sighed. It was Tim. He was becoming a bit of a pest lately. Didn’t he have any work to do? Shouldn’t reporters be out looking for stories, not ringing their friends all day?

‘Hi, Tim. What can I do for you?’ she said in her most neutral voice.

‘Just thought I’d give you a heads up, JD. You know the police have closed the case of the Virgin Princess?’

She shuddered. That was the name the English press had given to the poor girl; it sounded like a cruise liner. ‘Yes, I saw it in the paper.’

‘Well, did you know that they’ve closed the case on her friend, too?’

‘The one who disappeared at the same time?’

‘Yes, and I’ve just had her mother in here. She’s not happy, and she’s determined to find her daughter. But guess what?’

‘What?’

‘She wants you to help her. I gave her your mobile number.’

‘Not my private one, I hope.’

‘Of course not. Your office one. Do you have a private one? I didn’t know that; I don’t have it.’ He sounded peeved.

JD ignored him and said, ‘Did she ask for me by name?’

‘Well, actually, no. She asked me if I could recommend a private detective, and naturally I mentioned you.’

‘Naturally. Well thank you, Tim. I’ve been ruminating over that case for a while. Pretty sure the police could have done more. There’s something they aren’t telling the public. Any idea what it might be? Anything to do with people trafficking?’

‘If I knew anything, I’d tell you; you know that.’

‘Mmmn. I hope so.’

‘So, you’ll speak to her?’ he asked.

‘Of course. Thanks again.’

‘Hang on, JD. How about a drink tonight? By way of a thank you?’ Tim asked.

‘Nice idea, but I’ll be very busy. Got to tie up some open cases before I can tackle anything new. You don’t want me to delay the poor woman, do you?’

‘No. Of course not. Another time, then.’

‘Another time, Tim.’ She hung up quickly before he could suggest an alternative.

‘What was that all about?’ asked Linda.

‘Tim, with a new client for us,’ JD said, with a big smile. That should help their bank balance.

She remembered reading about poor Julie at the time; it was all over the newspapers and on the tv. Her mother had been very upset about it, mainly because her friend’s grandchildren went to the same school as the murdered girl. It was big news for a few days then suddenly it went quiet, buried in the coverage of the Holy Week processions. She had expected to hear more from the police once Easter was over, but apart from a couple of paragraphs stating that the Guardia Civil were continuing their investigations into her death, there was nothing. And now it seemed as though they’d given up.

CHAPTER 2

Jim and Beverley Anderson were right on time. Linda ushered them into the room at the back which they used for interviews and meetings; it was a bit on the small side, but it was at least private.

‘Nice to meet you, Mr and Mrs Anderson,’ JD said, shaking hands with them each in turn.

‘It’s good of you to see us,’ said the husband. He was extremely thin and his face was puffy from either lack of sleep or an excess of alcohol; she wasn’t sure which. What she was sure about however, was that these were two very unhappy people. They both stared at her with such longing in their eyes that she could hardly bear it. For once her confidence wavered. Why did they think she could find their daughter when the police had come up with nothing?

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