The Truth-Teller's Lie
him.’
    He nods amiably. ‘Could be,’ he says, putting our drinks on the bar. ‘That’ll be seven pounds twenty-five, please. There are lots of faces I can’t put names to.’
    I pull my phone out of my bag, trying to prepare myself for the worst, as I do every time. It doesn’t get easier. If anything it gets harder. I want to howl when I see that there is no small envelope icon on the screen. Still no message from you. A fresh burst of pain and fear mixed with sheer disbelief makes my chest contract. I think about DS Zailer and DC Waterhouse, and want to smash their dense, unresponsive heads together. They as good as admitted that they planned to do nothing.
    ‘What about Sean and Tony?’ I snap at the barman, scrolling through the photographs on my phone while Yvon pays for our drinks. ‘Do you know them?’
    My question elicits a throaty laugh. ‘Sean and Tony? You’re having me on, right?’
    ‘No.’ I stop fiddling with my phone and look up. My heart is racing. The names mean something to him.
    ‘No? Well, I’m Sean. And Tony also works here, behind the bar. He’ll be in this evening.’
    ‘But . . .’ I am at a loss for words. ‘Robert talked about you as if . . .’ I assumed that you, Sean and Tony came here together. Thinking about it now, you never actually said that was what happened. I must have made it up, leaped to the wrong conclusion.
    You come here alone. Sean and Tony are here already because they work here.
    I turn back to my phone. I don’t want Yvon to see that I am confused. How can this development be anything but good? I have found Sean and Tony. They know you, they’re your friends. All I need to do is show Sean a photograph and he’ll recognise you. I choose the one of you standing in front of your lorry outside the Traveltel, and pass my phone across the bar.
    I see instant recognition in Sean’s eyes and allow myself to breathe again.
    ‘Elvis!’ He chuckles. ‘Tony and me call him Elvis. To his face, like. He doesn’t mind.’
    I nearly burst into tears. Sean is your friend. He even has a nickname for you.
    ‘Why do you call him that?’ asks Yvon.
    ‘Isn’t it obvious?’
    Yvon and I shake our heads.
    ‘He looks like a bigger version of Elvis Costello, doesn’t he? Elvis Costello after he’s eaten all the pies.’ Sean laughs at his witticism. ‘We said that to him an’ all.’
    ‘You didn’t know his name was Robert Haworth?’ says Yvon. Out of the corner of my eye I can see that she is looking at me, not at Sean.
    ‘I don’t think he ever told us his name. He’s just always been Elvis. Is he okay? Tony and me were saying last night we haven’t seen Elvis for a while.’
    ‘When?’ I say sharply. ‘When did you last see him?’
    Sean frowns. I must have sounded too fraught. I’ve put him off. Idiot . ‘Who are you, anyway?’ he says.
    ‘I’m Robert’s girlfriend.’ I have never said this before. I wish I could say it over and over again. I wish I could say wife instead of girlfriend.
    ‘Did he ever mention a Naomi?’ asks Yvon.
    ‘Nope.’
    ‘What about Juliet?’
    Sean shakes his head. He is starting to look wary.
    ‘Look, this is really important,’ I say. This time I make sure my voice is calm and not too loud. ‘Robert’s been missing since last Thursday . . .’
    ‘Hang on . . .’ Yvon touches my arm. ‘We don’t know that.’
    ‘I know it.’ I shake her off. ‘When did you last see him?’ I ask Sean.
    He is nodding. ‘Would’ve been around then,’ he said. ‘Thursday, Wednesday, something like that. But he’s normally in most nights for a sly pint and a chat, so after a few nights of him not turning up, me and Tony started wondering. Not that it doesn’t happen, mind. We get loads of punters like that: regular as clockwork for years and then suddenly, boof! They’re gone and you never clap eyes on them again.’
    ‘And he didn’t say anything about going away?’ I ask, though I already know the answer. ‘He

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