Vanished by Jordan Gray Read Free Book Online

would he keep one boot?” he asked Dylan.
    â€œThe other one’s probably around. Maybe that’s wherehe keeps his drug stash. I’ll have a look,” Dylan replied, and headed back to the kitchen.
    Still clutching the boot, Michael walked into the living room to find Molly standing by a fiberboard desk. It was cluttered with odds and ends, from dirty cups to DVDs to a sleazy magazine and a dead plant. She pointed at several sheets of blank paper. “Those are pages torn from a spiral-bound notebook of drawing paper. I didn’t notice if this was what Naomi was using when I saw her drawing by the church, but then, we’re not trying to find out whether she was here, just where she’s gone.”
    Michael glanced toward the kitchen, where a thud indicated Dylan was eviscerating any remaining cupboards. “Is that your big discovery, then?”
    â€œNo. Look here.” She indicated the bracket clamping the lamp to the desk. From its protruding edge hung a long, thin, ragged strip of dark cloth, swaying in the draft from the partially open front door. “Maybe it’s from a costume or coat worn by whoever was searching the flat but was startled away when Dylan knocked.”
    â€œOr maybe it’s from one of Willie’s coats.”
    â€œHe wasn’t wearing a dark blue coat or jacket when I saw him earlier today—he was wearing a Fair Isle sweater.”
    â€œA what?”
    â€œA Fair Isle sweater. One of those with lots of intricate colored stitching around the yoke. The top. This part.” Molly patted the area beneath her throat.
    â€œAh. Yes, that’s what he was wearing, right enough. And there’s no dark blue coat in the wardrobe, though that doesn’t prove anything. For all we know, that thread’s been there for months.”
    â€œI doubt that. It’s just about the only thing on this desk that isn’t dusty, greasy or both.” She noticed theboot in his hand. “I think I saw the mate to that under the couch.”
    Michael squatted down to peer beneath the settee. Aha, there was a lump of battered green vinyl there.
    He reached warily under a sagging spring, past a rancid fish and chips wrapper, and pulled out the second boot. It weighed a lot more than the first. Some of Willie’s drugs?
    Dylan emerged from the kitchen, using a dishtowel to mop a brown stain from the hem of his Motocross sweatshirt. “He left an open can of beans in the fridge…What’s that?”
    Michael sat down on the chesterfield, Dylan and Molly on either side. All three heads bent together as Michael pulled away the ragged T-shirt stopping the mouth of the boot. He tipped it up. Into his hand fell four coins, so heavy that he almost dropped them. Instead he let go of the boot, and turned the four coins over and over.
    Each was polished to a shine that dazzled even in the gloom of the apartment. Three were gold with Latin and Cyrillic inscriptions—Michael could make out only the word Transalpina. The fourth coin was a huge silver disc stamped with a lion’s head.
    â€œThat’s it,” hissed Molly. “Willie was trying to show Trevor Hopewell one of those gold coins.”
    Dylan whistled. “So where’d a bloke like Willie get those? No one woulda ever given him those for drugs.”
    â€œMaybe we were right when we thought the place’d been sacked. Maybe they were searching for these?” Michael asked. “Who knew they were here?”
    Before she could react, the front door slammed open. They all jumped, startled, and instinctively Michael clutched the coins to his chest.
    Down the hall and into the living room came DouglasFotherby, his fleshy shoulders coiled beneath their epaulettes like a bull entering a china shop. “Making yourselves at home, are you? Stewart, I thought I told you to leave Willie alone.”
    This time Dylan was steady enough to stand up and lean into Fotherby’s