Free Deception by Adrian Magson Page B

end. Still, if hard work was the way to succeed, Maureen made sure that was how Vanessa would do it.’ She waved a vague hand towards the bungalow. ‘Makes you wonder why she keeps this place on, though, doesn’t it? If she’s never coming back.’
    In exchange for her number, Harry left his card with Mrs Crane with a request that she call if she thought of anything useful, and returned to the car. Mrs Crane stood and watched him leave. Maybe, he thought, strange men calling on houses in the area constituted real excitement up here.
    He got the number of Menai Management and got through to the office manager, Ian Griffiths, who said, ‘Sorry, Mr Tate. Can’t help you. There’s a standing order for the management fee, paid up to date. Instructions are to continue until notified otherwise. We don’t have authority to sell, if that’s what you’re after. I can’t give any further information, though, not over the phone and without proper authority—’
    Harry cut the connection and drove into Caernarfon. The man was only doing his job, but he could do without the confidentiality runaround. He found the offices of Menai Management next to a chemist and stepped inside. The staff consisted of a pasty-faced man in his early thirties with a premature comb-over. He was sprawled behind a PC looking bored, and glanced up as Harry entered. He tapped a key, shutting down the screen.
    â€˜Can I help?’
    Harry flashed his MI5 card and said, ‘MOD police, Mr Griffiths. I’m trying to trace Miss Vanessa Tan.’
    Griffiths jumped up.’ Oh, you’re the bloke who rang earlier. Police, you say? What’s happened to her, then? Nothing serious, I hope.’
    â€˜That’s what we’d like to find out.’ Harry gave him a level look. ‘Are you going to help me or do I need a warrant?’ He looked at the PC humming on the desk and tapped the monitor reflectively. ‘Are all your records computerized?’
    â€˜Of course. Why?’
    â€˜We’d have to impound that, for a start.’
    Griffiths looked stunned. ‘What? But there’s nothing on there. I mean  . . . work stuff and a few games, stuff like that. Nothing that would interest the police, though.’ He put a protective hand on the monitor. ‘Um  . . . what exactly do you need?’
    â€˜A contact number or an address. Either would do. I presume you have one?’
    â€˜Of course, yes. Standard practice. I’ll just call it up.’ The manager’s throat sounded dry, as if he was having trouble gauging how much damage could be done by having his computer taken away. He slid behind the desk and tapped at the keys, then frowned. ‘That’s odd.’ He tapped again but the frown stayed. He looked up at Harry in a mild state of panic. ‘I don’t understand it; there’s nothing on here. No address, telephone – nothing. But we always have contact details  . . .’ He stared at the screen as if willing it to give up its secrets. ‘Just the house itself.’
    â€˜How long is it since you last looked at the file?’ Harry was sceptical about the man’s air of surprise. Whatever had happened, whether by accident or design, he was willing to bet that a long-term arrangement with automatic payments made through a bank would soon become part of the wallpaper, rarely checked or updated because anything more would be too costly. Until something went wrong.
    â€˜I don’t know.’ Griffiths looked embarrassed. ‘A while, I admit.’
    â€˜You did some patching work on a window recently. Is that part of the agreement?’
    â€˜Yes. I mean, it doesn’t include anything major or structural – we’d have to get permission to do that. But we had instruction to look after the basic skin, if you like, make sure the property’s secure, no burst pipes and so forth. I saw the