Candleland by Martyn Waites Read Free Book Online Page A

welcome. Larkin found himself warming to her already.
    â€œAnyway, my real name’s Jackie Fairley and when I’m not sorting out Northern Ireland I run this place. What can I do for you?”
    â€œWell, as I said on the phone,” began Larkin, “I’m here on behalf of Henry Moir. He was a client of yours.”
    She clicked a few keys on the keyboard and looked at the computer screen. “That’s right. He wanted us to find his daughter.”
    â€œYeah,” said Larkin. “He sent me to pick up your findings and settle up with you.”
    Jackie Fairley nodded. It was a professional nod, giving nothing away. She pressed a button and the printer whirred into life. She passed the A4 sheets to Larkin.
    â€œThere you are,” she said, “Karen Moir.”
    Larkin gave the pages a cursory once-over. “Anything here that I should go to first?”
    â€œYou mean have we found her?” She gave a small, sad smile. “No. Perhaps we would have done, given more time and money, but ’fraid not.”
    Larkin put the pages on his lap. “Thanks.” Looking round the office he found he was curious. “How do you find a missing person? Presumably they’re missing because they don’t want to be found.”
    â€œUsually, yes,” She drew deep on the Rothmans. “But not always. There’s various routes. Most people looking for a misper – official slang, you can guess what it means – they start with the National Missing Persons Helpline. They’re the ones who do the posters and have the appeals on TV. They also do detective work, counselling, checking records, the lot. They’re bloody good, the best. We work with them from time to time, and vice versa. They know the routes to follow. There’s also the Salvation Army, the National Missing Persons Bureau at Scotland Yard – although that mainly matches data on mispers with unidentified bodies the police have come across – those are the main ones. If they get no joy from any of them, people come to us. Or someone like us.”
    â€œAnd then?”
    â€œWe talk to the people looking for the misper. Find out what they know. Try and find out what the misper is running away from. Sometimes they can’t cope, sometimes they think they’re unloved. Often they’re running from some form of authority figure, parents, step-parents, children’s home, whatever. If we find the runner and there’s, say, a history of abuse, then we organise counselling and don’t return them.” She gave a small laugh. “We draft in extra strongarm operatives for the days when we have to give that news to people. If the people doing the looking are genuinely concerned, we do all we can to reunite them.” She took off her glasses, rubbed her eyes. “Most of the kids on the street are just out of institutions and spiralling down.” She stubbed her fag out. “We get the lucky ones. The ones with someone at home, waiting for them.”
    Larkin nodded. “Interesting you said authority figure.”
    Jackie Fairley smiled grimly, looked at the screen. “I see Mr Moir is a detective. Policemen are all the same. He might be in plain clothes but he still wears the uniform on the inside. A fair few runaways have police as parents. It’s not unconnected.”
    Larkin opened his mouth to speak.
    â€œNow before you start,” she said, a teasing smile on her face, “I was speaking generally. I had fifteen years in the force, so I should know.” She leaned back, lit up another fag. “So Mr Larkin, why didn’t Mr Moir go to his own to find his girl?”
    â€œI don’t think he wanted them involved. He didn’t want them to see –” His pain, thought Larkin.
    Jackie Fairley nodded. She seemed to finish the thought too. “I see. I know what the force can be like. I had enough of it.”
    â€œHow d’you end up