AllFreeNovel
Share Us
He headed upstairs. I looked at the files. Morgan was a disciplined and law-abiding man. Was he really suggesting I look at confidential information?
I picked up the top folder labeled with Bryn Lloyd’s name and opened it. The letter lay on top. It was torn on the edges, which suggested it had been ripped from a book or journal. The writing was shaky but stated exactly what Morgan told the press. She was unhappy, and she felt like a burden. She no longer could bring herself to live in the same home where her mother died, and she wanted a fresh start. She asked that no one come looking for her and for them not to worry about her. When she was settled and happy again, she would reach out. Behind the letter was an evidence sheet. The letter had been found and turned in by DC Havard.
I heard Morgan coming down the stairs, so I returned the papers to the file and closed it, my mind swimming with questions.
He had changed into jeans and a soft blue sweater, which brought out the color in his eyes. The water in the saucepan had come to a boil, and he turned it off, covering it with a lid. “There are hundreds of reports of runaways in the UK every day. Bryn was eighteen, which made her an adult. She was free to leave,” he said somberly. “I’ve put a report and her picture out to all my contacts in the bigger cities. It’s about all I can do now.”
“Why was the letter not found right away?” I asked. “If she took the time to write it, I think she would have left it somewhere in plain sight.”
“It slipped between her bed and the nightstand, probably during the initial search. Everyone assumed she had been taken by the same person who took Mary and Anwen. We were rushing. Every minute counts in an abduction situation. It’s no excuse.”
“And she left all her stuff,” I pointed out.
“Also, not uncommon. Her phone has been turned off.”
“What will she do? What about money?”
“Her father said she had about forty dollars on her. It won’t last long. I hate to say it, but most runaways end up being victims of sex trafficking.”
I shook my head. It could have been me. I considered running away several times and probably would have if I had not ended up with a scholarship to university. “It’s so sad.”
“It is,” he said, refilling my glass. “But I have two other girls and, unfortunately, no leads at the moment. I need to focus my attention on them.”
“I know. Thank you, Morgan.” I looked at the file. “Really.”
“I didn’t do anything.” He gave me a lopsided smile. “You’re a very smart girl. And it’s nice to have a confidant to discuss things with. I appreciate your insight.”
“Likewise,” I said softly.
“Let’s eat.”
He set the table, and we sat down. Dinner was delicious. Buttery salmon, spicy couscous, and a green salad. “This is wonderful,” I said. “Where did you learn to cook?”
“Mainly from the telly and cooking shows.”
“Well, it’s amazing.”
I helped him clear the dishes before we moved to the couch. He refilled my glass. “I’ll be drunk before the night ends at this rate.”
“You’re not driving, so you’re fine,” he said, setting the bottle on the coffee table.
“I suppose, but I still have to work tomorrow.” I giggled, feeling the alcohol take effect.
“Relax,” he said. “It’s been a trying week. You need to learn to put it in perspective, or it will get the best of you.”
“I suppose. How do you do it?” I asked. “How do you not get caught up in everyone’s story.”
“Like I said, I follow the evidence and the facts, not the feelings. And I wasn’t always good at separating the two.” He swirled his tonic and lime. “I learned the hard way not to confuse them. Why journalism?” he asked.
I hated the question. It was like asking someone why they breathed or why they liked vanilla over chocolate. I didn’t have a spectacular answer. “I don’t know. I’ve always liked to write, and I like the truth.”
“I wouldn’t often equate the press with the truth,” he countered.
“You’re right. There are a lot of reporters who print false information if it will benefit them, but I hope to be different.”
“Smart and altruistic.”
It was getting late, and the rain continued to come down in a steady stream. “I should get going,” I said.
