12

"Do you recognise either of these guys?" Marafioti asked Adrian when he visited that evening.

Adrian studied them closely for a moment, before he shook his head.

"No... I don't think so. Who are they?"

"There was a car-jacking near Nottingham, the day Rachel disappeared. The only two witnesses swore the girl fitted Rachel's description, but the guy they described are these two."

"They look completely different," said Adrian, glancing at the sketches again.

"That's what I said. But these are the only leads we have, so..."

Adrian opened his mouth to reply, when there was a loud knock at his front door.

He glanced at his watch, wondering who it could be, before going to answer it.

He barely had time to take in the aging woman stood on his doorstep, her greying hair tied into a loose ponytail, her clothes shabby, before her hand shot out and slapped him hard across the face.

"Anthony King!" The woman screeched, her voice pitched high in anger.

Adrian, clutching his cheek in surprise, felt his jaw drop open.

"Mum?" He stared at her in shock. "What're you doing here? How do you know I'm...?"

"Alive?!" The woman shrieked. "I didn't! Not for six years!"

Marafioti, alerted by the screaming, came into the hallway, frowning.

"Are you alright Adrian?" He asked, his voice concerned.

Adrian nodded slowly, before he went deathly white, and shot the detective a horrified look.

"Adrian?" The woman asked. "Oh, you changed your name did you, Anthony? When you ran away, pretending you were dead? Taking my only granddaughter with you."

Marafioti stared at Adrian.

"I can explain," Adrian said quickly, more to Marafioti than his mother.

"This should be good!" She hissed venomously, before sliding past Adrian, forcefully pushing Marafioti away from the living room doorway, and settling herself comfortably on the couch.

"You couldn't get me a cup of tea, could you?" She called through. "I think I might be here for a while."

Adrian looked ill at the thought, but obediently went to make tea; he looked like he was in shock.

Marafioti, after shooting the woman a half-curious, half-annoyed look, followed him into the kitchen.

"Are you alright?" He asked gently. "I thought you were going to faint out there."

"I'm fine," said Adrian quietly.

"Alright," said Marafioti, clearly not believing him. "Do you... want me to leave?"

Adrian paused, before he shook his head.

"You'll ask me about it sooner or later, so you might as well hear it now."

Adrian took his mother her tea, and sat down in the armchair opposite her.

Marafioti, after a moment's hesitation, went and stood beside the dresser, out of the way of what would undoubtedly be an uncomfortable conversation, but close enough to comfort Adrian if he needed it.

Adrian was silent for a while, contemplating how to start his story.

Marafioti's phone rang shrilly, breaking the awkward silence in the room. He stepped outside to answer it, and came back a moment later, smiling.

"What is it?" Adrian asked, his eyes hopeful.

"The hair we found in the back of the abandoned car in Nottingham. It's definitely Rachel's. The DNA matched the sample we took from her hairbrush."

"But... you've not found her yet?" Adrian asked, looking defeated all over again.

"This is good, Adrian," said Marafioti firmly. "It means we've been following the right lead for two days, not wasting our time looking for a different girl."

Adrian sighed heavily, before he nodded and impulsively wrapped his arms around Marafioti's waist.

"I'm sorry I'm so tetchy," he mumbled into Marafioti's leather-clad shoulder. "I'm normally much better company."

"It's completely understandable," Marafioti said in a low voice, which rumbled against Adrian's ear. "Besides... I like the company you are at the moment, grumpiness and all."

Adrian's mother cleared her throat loudly behind them, breaking their moment.

Clearing his own throat, Adrian returned to his seat.

"How did you find me?" Adrian asked her.

"Why does that-"

"How?" Adrian demanded, harshly.

Cynthia scowled at him.

"I saw your daughter's photo on that crime program. You know, the one with the blonde woman and the bloke who looks like an ogre. The girl looked exactly like you when you were her age. My friend, Frieda, knows one of the cameramen who works on the program, and I asked her to get your name. Then I just looked up the name the cameraman gave me in the phonebook. I figured you lived in this area, because it's where the girl disappeared from."

"What if it wasn't me who lives here?" Adrian asked.

"Well, then, I would have said I'd made a mistake and left. But I knew it would be you who opened the door. She looked too like you to not be yours."

Adrian nodded slowly.

He won't be able to find me, then. He thought to himself, relieved.