Page 23

23

JACOB

I’m sitting with my head in my hands on Skye’s parents’ sofa, answering questions the police detective keeps throwing at me.

The same questions she’s asked me three times now.

I’m trying not to lose my patience, but it’s hanging on by a thread.

“And that was the last time you saw her?” she asks again.

“Yes,” I sigh frustratedly. “She left with a man named Jules. Although I don’t even know if that’s his name. He lied about his gender. How can we be sure of anything now?”

“Thank you for the clarification, Mr. Baxter.” The sharp-nosed detective closes her notepad and looks at the uncertainty around the room.

I keep talking. I want her to know how serious this is and what I found out myself. “I looked up the creative arts group she said he was the founder of. It doesn’t exist. I’ve checked Skye’s video channel too, and all of his comments have disappeared. His username was Crazy4Blue.”

That fucking name.

It all makes sense now, as everything starts slipping into place; he’s crazy for her. I feel wretched.

“So are you saying he’s just disappeared, Mr. Baxter?”

Like Skye. Vanished.

I keep sharing what I know. “Yes. Skye showed me the website for the art group the other night. There was even a social media presence. It’s been taken down. The whole lot, just gone. He asked a lot of questions. What makeup did she wear? Where did she buy her clothes from? She, I mean, he, always said Skye had pretty eyes and told her how beautiful she was.”

How did I miss this?

I look up, avoiding Skye’s mom’s anguished face. I can’t handle it. She’s been crying since I arrived.

She called me immediately after I called the police and I rushed to their family home.

Having spent hours in this house as a teenager, wanting to spend lots of time with Skye, I no longer want to be here.

Not like this, when my girl is missing, and no one knows where the hell she is.

My mood’s about to go thermonuclear if they don’t stop their line of questioning and start searching for her.

“Please find my baby,” Mr. McNairn begs the police detective, his voice laced with pain while holding his wife tight.

Skye looks just like her mother; it’s almost too painful to look at her.

Oh God, this is awful. Worse than awful. There are no words to describe the atmosphere of dread in the room. It’s thick with unanswered questions. Desperation and fear all rolled into one weigh heavy on our shoulders.

“It’s all my fault.” I can’t help saying what’s playing on my mind.

“What makes you say that, Mr. Baxter?”

“Stop calling me that. I’ve told you, it’s Jacob,” I spit back, pushing my fingertips into my throbbing temples. “I’m sorry. I’m just worried. Should you not be out there looking for her?” I point to the street out the window.

The detective subtly nods, ignoring my question. “Jacob,” she stalls, “what makes you say it’s your fault?”

“I bought that tablet for her, the one she used to set up and create her video channel. That’s how he found her. That’s how he’s been contacting her. Without that channel, she wouldn’t be missing. It’s all my fault,” I admit guiltily, my voice full of anguished pain and apology.

What have I done?

“I was there last night when she met him. I should have made her wait for me. I would have taken her home myself. He said he was a girl!” I bellow, unable to hold it in any longer. “She told me it was a girl she was talking to online. I should have gone with her to meet her. I mean, him. Is it him? Does he have her?”

Skye’s mom, Rhona, wails. “Oh no, my poor girl.” She covers her mouth, trying to hold in her fear.

I’m making everything worse.

“I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have said that.”

A uniformed police officer ambles into the living room. “We found Skye’s car. It’s parked on Morris Way.”

That’s three streets over from the coffee shop. That’s not the information I was hoping for. She’s been gone all night. Without a trace.

Detective Becket clasps her notebook tight against her lap. “Unfortunately, Mr. and Mrs. McNairn, there is no evidence of anything suspicious. She met with someone she knew and had been talking to via email for a number of weeks. And left with him. There is no evidence of her being taken against her will. Jacob, here, saw her leaving with him. This man, Jules, and Skye, were chatting as they left together.”

“No.” I shake my head furiously. This can’t be right.

She continues spewing words I don’t agree with. “She may have stayed at his house for the night. Was she unsettled in any way? Not happy in her work, perhaps?”

Now, I’m fucking furious. “Most definitely not. This is so out of character for her, and she was about to be promoted. She was ecstatic about it. She’s the happiest person I know.” I take another deep breath before I really lose my shit with the detective. “She was going to text me when she got home. She promised she would and didn’t.” I grit out my words.

“Is that normal for your employee to text you their whereabouts, Mr. Baxter?” The detective sounds patronizing.

Detective Fuckface is walking a thin line. “Of course it is. We work late, often, and sometimes meetings run over. It’s my duty to check their safety.”

She eyes me suspiciously. “We need to wait another twenty-four hours, but as a favor and because we’ve found her car, we will check the town’s CCTV.”

Skye’s mother gasps, “No, that’s not good enough.”

“Castleview Cove is a very safe place. No one has ever gone missing from here.” The detective’s careless words piss me off.

“How long will it take to check through the footage?” I ask with force.

“It will be tomorrow before anyone can look at it, then they need to write the report, maybe another day for that,” the police officer replies.

I shoot to my feet, pulling my phone out of my pocket. “Days? That’s too long,” I rage.

Fuck this. I’m hiring a private investigator.

Storming into the hallway, I call my dad.

He answers straightaway. “Any news?”

“No. I need your help.” My words are frantic now. “What is that friend of yours called, the PI that helped find the schoolgirl that went missing in the city? The one that was all over the news? Do you have his contact details?”

“I do, but Jay, you need to let the police do their job.”

I fling my free arm to the heavens above. “No, I don’t, Dad. They won’t do anything for twenty-four hours and it’s going to take two days—that’s forty-eight hours—to check through the CCTV and write a report. They aren’t taking what we are saying seriously. We need someone on it now and I’m willing to pay… anything. I’ll never forgive myself if something has happened to her.” I cover my mouth to hold back the bile I feel rising in my throat. “What if we don’t find her?” Feeling empty, hope seeps from my body, the weight of my words stabbing through my heart.

My gaze lands on a photograph of Skye. I pick up the picture frame and take every inch of her in. Looking back over her shoulder, it looks like this was caught in an innocently candid moment. Full-on wide smile, her crystal-blue eyes shine down the camera.

“We have to find her, Dad,” I whisper.

For a moment he goes quiet, then he finally says, “His name is Walter Forrester. Ex-Special Forces. Tell him you’re my son. I’m sending you his contact details now.”

“Thank you.” I feel slightly relieved that he might be able to help us.

My father lowers his voice. “Can I ask you something, Jay?”

“Anything.”

“Are you and Skye?—”

I don’t let him finish. “I’m in love with her.”

“I’ll pay for Walter. Tell him to do whatever it takes.”

My eyes blur with tears. “Thank you.”

“Go find your girl and keep me informed. I want to know everything.” He hangs up.

I open his contact details and dial Walter immediately.

When he takes my call, I move into the kitchen to fill him in. I don’t leave out any of the details. From the suspected bedroom break-in, Jules’ social media comments, the lies about his gender, the coffee shop meeting, his website disappearing, and the local arts group. Without hesitation, he agrees to meet me in an hour at the exact coffee shop where Skye was last seen.

When I hang up, exhausted from going through it all again, I leave the kitchen just as Detective Becket steps into the hallway. Her hawk-like eyes narrow as she says, “Just a heads-up, if …”

If … is she fucking messing with me? There is no doubt about it. Skye is missing. I’m so fucking glad I decided to get a PI involved.

Detective Fuckface continues, “If we do have to escalate the missing persons’ report, we may need to check all of Skye’s digital devices. Including her work computer and emails.”

“Call me and I will have the IT department give you full access.”

The detective looks back over her shoulder and then back at me again. Lowering her tone, she says, “Is there anything I should be made aware of Mr. Baxter—forgive me—Jacob?”

Unsure about what she means, I ask, “Like?”

“For instance. The relationship between you and Skye? Is it strictly business? Or…”

“We went to school together. She’s my best friend’s ex. She’s worked with me for years. She’s like family to me.” I’m not telling this woman, who is too calm, and who shows no tenderness in her eyes, fuck all. Yet.

“If she shows up, please call me.” She passes me her business card.

Taking it from her, I push it into the back pocket of my dress trousers.

“So, what now?”

“Now we wait…”

Skye’s mom bustles through the door. Whipping past us, suddenly brimming with determination, she says, “I’m not sitting here waiting for you to find her. I’m putting a search party together myself.” Her whole demeanor has changed since I left the living room.

She runs up the stairs, shouting as she goes. “Jacob, use that Facebook thingy to put a request out for help. I want everyone looking for her. I want her face all over social media and I want to do a press conference.”

Atta girl. Here we fucking go.

Still shouting instructions at us from up the stairs, Skye’s mom bellows, “Ring the local television networks. The nationals too and the newspapers. Call them all. I want posters and tee shirts. I want everything.” She zooms back down the stairs dressed in warm clothes. “We are getting our girl back.”