Fear twists in my veins. Tom touches my shoulder. ‘She’d have taken this,’ I say again.
Tom and I begin to search the lounge, looking for any valuables, her phone or purse. Her passport, even, in case the police weren’t thorough enough.
‘Please,’ I say to Anthony, ‘sit down.’
‘It’s OK.’ He smiles.
I don’t know if I should insist, if he’s being polite or if he’s averse to sitting on the grubby couch, with its threadbare red and green checked cover, mottled with stains. Everything is sanded with dust, despite the frequent rain. Along with the pollution from the traffic, there must be millions of particles of cement and earth and brick dust from all the building work.
Some notes lie on one of the low stools. I sift through them – her plans for teaching. Apple Balloon Cat Dog Elephant. How are you today? What is your name? Copies of a weekly timetable. I show it to Dawn.
‘Her students,’ she says. ‘She keeps a record of what they covered. Well, that was the plan.’ Dawn’s voice goes squeaky and she tugs at her hair with one hand. I have a glimpse into the life the two of them shared, Lori letting her paperwork slide. Did Dawn chide her? Dawn seems more settled, conscientious. I look at the paper: there are names and addresses blocked in with space below each entry to make notes. I work out Lori’s routine. ‘So, she’d be off Mondays and Tuesdays?’
‘That’s right.’
I put a copy of the schedule into our file.
A little bamboo bowl holds hair slides and elastic bands, scissors and pens, a friendship bracelet. ‘Phone charger,’ I say, holding up the cable, ‘but no phone.’
I look at the photo on the wall. We’re all smiling, even Isaac. ‘What about her camera?’ I ask Dawn. ‘Where does she keep it?’
‘There.’ Dawn points to the tray table. ‘She always has it handy.’
‘And her laptop?’
‘Usually around here somewhere.’
‘The police didn’t say they’d taken anything,’ Tom says, ‘so she must have.’
Clearing my throat, I keep on looking.
Tom is going through all the stuff in the box by the couch. He sits back on his heels, pushing the hair out of his eyes. ‘No phone, no passport.’
‘Why leave her charger if she was going away?’ I say. ‘And she’s hardly taken any clothes. Left stuff in the fridge to go bad.’
Tom tilts his head, raises an eyebrow.
‘OK, maybe that’s not so unusual, the food, but the rest…’
‘She could have forgotten the charger,’ Tom says.
I can hear Dawn on her phone, talking to someone about the meeting tonight.
