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missing from her home since Saturday evening.” That’s Scott, I’m sure
of it. I can only hope that he read my email before they picked him up,
because questioning under caution is serious—it means they think he did
it. Although, of course, it is yet to be defined. It may not have happened
at all. Megan might be fine. Every now and again it does strike me that
she’s alive and well and sitting on a hotel balcony with a view of the sea,
her feet up on the railings, a cold drink at her elbow.
The thought of her there both thrills and disappoints me, and then I
feel sick for feeling disappointed. I don’t wish her ill, no matter how
angry I was with her for cheating on Scott, for shattering my illusions
about my perfect couple. No, it’s because I feel like I’m part of this
mystery, I’m connected. I am no longer just a girl on the train, going
back and forth without point or purpose. I want Megan to turn up safe
and sound. I do. Just not quite yet.
I sent Scott an email this morning. His address was easy to find—I
Googled him and found www.shipwellconsulting.co.uk, the site where he
advertises “a range of consultancy, cloud- and web-based services for
business and nonprofit organizations.” I knew it was him, because his
business address is also his home address.
I sent a short message to the contact address given on the site:
Dear Scott,
My name is Rachel Watson. You don’t know me. I would like to talk to
you about your wife. I do not have any information on her
whereabouts, I don’t know what has happened to her. But I believe I
have information that could help you.
You may not want to talk to me, I would understand that, but if you do,
email me on this address.
Yours sincerely,
Rachel
I don’t know if he would have contacted me anyway—I doubt that I
would, if I were in his shoes. Like the police, he’d probably just think
I’m a nutter, some weirdo who’s read about the case in the newspaper.
Now I’ll never know—if he’s been arrested, he may never get a chance
to see the message. If he’s been arrested, the only people who see it may
be the police, which won’t be good news for me. But I had to try.