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Megan. I realize that perhaps, after all, she isn’t so different from me.
She’s isolated and lonely, too.)
When she was sixteen, she moved in with a boyfriend who had a
house near the village of Holkham in north Norfolk. The school friend
says, “He was an older guy, a musician or something. He was into drugs.
We didn’t see Megan much after they got together.” The boyfriend’s
name is not given, so presumably they haven’t found him. He might not
even exist. The school friend might be making this stuff up just to get her
name into the papers.
They skip forward several years after that: suddenly Megan is twentyfour,
living in London, working as a waitress in a North London
restaurant. There she meets Scott Hipwell, an independent IT contractor
who is friendly with the restaurant manager, and the two of them hit it
off. After an “intense courtship,” Megan and Scott marry, when she is
twenty-six and he is thirty.
There are a few other quotes, including one from Tara Epstein, the
friend with whom Megan was supposed to stay on the night she
disappeared. She says that Megan is “a lovely, carefree girl” and that she
seemed “very happy.” “Scott would not have hurt her,” Tara says. “He
loves her very much.” There isn’t a thing Tara says that isn’t a cliché.
The quote that interests me is from one of the artists who exhibited his
work in the gallery Megan used to manage, one Rajesh Gujral, who says
that Megan is “a wonderful woman, sharp, funny and beautiful, an
intensely private person with a warm heart.” Sounds to me like Rajesh
has got a crush. The only other quote comes from a man called David
Clark, “a former colleague” of Scott’s, who says, “Megs and Scott are a
great couple. They’re very happy together, very much in love.”
There are some news pieces about the investigation, too, but the
statements from the police amount to less than nothing: they have spoken
to “a number of witnesses,” they are “pursuing several lines of enquiry.”
The only interesting comment comes from Detective Inspector Gaskill,
who confirms that two men are helping the police with their enquiries.
I’m pretty sure that means they’re both suspects. One will be Scott.
Could the other be B? Could B be Rajesh?
I’ve been so engrossed in the newspapers that I haven’t been paying
my usual attention to the journey; it seems as though I’ve only just sat
down when the train grinds to its customary halt opposite the red signal.
There are people in Scott’s garden—there are two uniformed police just
outside the back door. My head swims. Have they found something?
Have they found her? Is there a body buried in the garden or shoved