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An hour and a quarter later, when there was still no sign of him, she broke an unwritten rule and rang his home number. Sarah Russell did not reply, so she left another message. Ten minutes later, Sarah rang back, and after a brief conversation, said she would come in and help.
‘What the hell does he think he’s playing at,’ was Sarah’s first reaction on reading the note that Francesca handed to her. ‘Back later! How many hours is back later?’
‘Where do you think he is?’ Francesca asked anxiously. She was rather fond of her boss, and it did seem some way beyond his normal bounds of unreliability.
‘If I knew that,’ Sarah snapped, ‘I’d not be here, now would I!’
But there was no more time for Sarah to snarl or for Francesca to worry about Dominic Russell – there were customers to humour and, besides, Francesca was in urgent need of a comfort break. For the next hour and a half, there was little respite for the two women, and it was in fact not until approximately 2.45 p.m. that they had a chance to revisit Dominic’s absence.
‘Wherever can he be?’ Francesca asked in urgent undertones.
This time Sarah responded differently. ‘I think,’ she said unsteadily, ‘I had better make a phone call.’
‘Who to?’
‘The police.’
‘What is it?’ Holden’s response to the call she received shortly after 3.00 that Saturday afternoon was hardly gracious. But as she soon heard the words ‘I’m sorry to be ringing you at this time, Inspector’, she knew it could be only bad news, that is to say, news that was going to spoil her weekend.
‘We thought you’d want to know, Inspector, that Dominic Russell has been reported missing by his wife.’
Ten minutes later and she was heading across the Donnington Bridge. Had she looked left or right, she would have seen eights, and pairs and single sculls out on the river as enthusiastic students and members of the city rowing club honed their skills, but her mind was focused on the new development in her case, not in her environment. Had Dominic done a runner? Was his wife panicking just because he’d gone off her radar for a while? Or had something worse happened? Time would tell, but for now she’d better go and see Sarah Russell and make a judgement. And fast.
Approaching the station, she almost ran into Lawson, who lived close by in Temple Road, and was hot-footing it across the Oxford Road. She’d asked control to try and contact her team. So that was one of them, at least. In fact, as she discovered inside the station, that was the only one of them for now. Neither Fox nor Wilson was contactable. ‘I think Wilson’s gone to the Oxford game,’ Lawson told her. ‘Maybe he’ll switch his mobile on at half-time.’ But of Fox’s movements, she had no knowledge.
‘No worries. You come with me to see Sarah Russell, and then we’ll take it from there.’
They made it to D.R. Antiquities in double quick time, taking full advantage of the flashing blue light and the very light traffic on the ring road. As they pulled up outside, Sarah Russell and another woman tumbled out of the front door, both clearly in a state of alarm.
It took several minutes to calm them down, find out who the other woman was, move them back into the office of the building, and then get them to each tell their story. Though as Holden soon realized, in fact, it was Francesca Willis who was most voluble and was the most distressed of the two, and by some way. Initially, Holden made little attempt to interrupt or interfere. It was, she judged, better to let her say what she had to say, and then try and pick up on the missing details afterwards. All that dammed up emotion and anxiety – let it all flood out. Time wasn’t that critical.
‘So,’ she said at the end, ‘can I see the note Mr Russell left?’ She looked at both of them as she spoke, but it was Sarah who responded, pushing her hand into her jacket pocket and pulling out a folded note. ‘Here, I didn’t want it to get lost.’
Holden tried not to look bothered by the contamination of the evidence. She read the note closely, as if examining it for a secret code, before passing it to Lawson. ‘Mrs Russell, are you certain it is your husband’s writing?’
‘Yes, of course. I would have said so otherwise, wouldn’t I.’
Holden ignored the sharpness in her voice. It was only to be expected, and her brief experience of Sarah suggested that her natural mode was sharp. The fact was that the note seemed unexceptional, whereas Dominic’s disappearance was decidedly worrying. Either he didn’t want to be contacted, or it was beyond his control. Holden turned towards Francesca.
‘What time do you normally open up here, Francesca?’
‘I only work here on a Saturday. We officially open at 9.30, but I try to get here a bit earlier, because more than once I’ve arrived and found people peering through windows, and if they make the effort you don’t want to lose their business, do you.’
Holden turned back to the other woman. ‘Sarah, was it unusual for Dominic to leave home quite so early?’
‘He said he had a lot of paperwork to catch up on. You know how it is. If the office is empty and no one is bothering you, you can get on with things.’
‘Yes,’ Holden replied calmly. She didn’t like Sarah, but she knew she mustn’t let that get in the way. ‘I do understand, Sarah, but I don’t think you’ve quite answered my question. Did Dominic usually leave for work at 7.30 a.m. on a Saturday?’
Sarah Russell looked back at Holden, as if weighing up her options. For a woman whose husband had gone missing, she seemed to Holden to be remarkably unflustered. ‘Not usually, no,’ she admitted finally.
‘So typically, what time did he leave home on a Saturday? Because I can’t imagine that it would take very long on a Saturday morning to get here.’
‘Any time. I don’t monitor him and I sure as hell don’t get up specially to wave him off to work. I work too, as you may recall, and Saturday is my chance of a lie-in.’
Holden turned back to Francesca Willis. She might be a more cooperative witness. Not to mention more truthful.
‘Francesca, you normally get in a little before 9.30. Was Dominic usually here when you arrived?’
