Free The Mystery of Mercy Close by Marian Keyes

had to go through a dispiriting song and dance with a biro. ‘That office number doesn’t exist any longer.’ I crossed it out. ‘And that home number has changed.’ I scribbled out my landline number – my
ex
-landline number. God, it was heartbreaking. I wrote my parents’ number instead.
    ‘I should really get new cards printed …’ I said vaguely. There wasn’t a hope. ‘And can I have your number?’
    He gave me a mobile number – just the one. People like him usually have at least four different mobiles and a plethora of home and office contacts, but one mobile was all he offered and, in fairness, I suppose that was all I needed to get in touch with him.
    ‘Right, John Joseph, you’re the last person we know of who spoke to Wayne. You rang him last night? Twenty-six hours ago? How did he seem to you?’
    ‘Not good … Finding the whole reunion thing hard. He said he’d moved on from all that boy-band stuff, that he wasmortified singing the songs, that he couldn’t stick to the diet and he’d never fit into his costumes.’
    ‘So you weren’t surprised he didn’t turn up for rehearsal this morning?’
    ‘Actually, I
was
surprised. He’d made a promise to me last night that he’d show. I’d believed him.’
    ‘Are you worried about him?’
    ‘In what way? Do you mean, like, that he might …?’
    ‘Well, yes, you know, top himself.’ Call a spade a spade, I didn’t have all night.
    ‘God, no! He wasn’t that bad.’
    ‘Could someone have abducted him?’
    John Joseph seemed astonished. ‘Who’d abduct him? He’s not that kind of person.’
    ‘What were his last words to you?’
    ‘“See you in the morning.”’
    ‘Not exactly illuminating. Obvious question, but any idea where he might have gone?’
    He shook his head. ‘Not a clue. But it won’t be a luxury hotel or anything like that. Wayne’s a bit … quirky …’
    ‘I’ve already asked Jay and he didn’t know for sure, but you’d probably know the answer to this question.’
    ‘Work away,’ John Joseph said.
    ‘Does Wayne have a girlfriend?’
    ‘No.’
    He was lying.
    I didn’t know how I knew, maybe he’d answered too quickly or his pupils had contracted, but there was some sort of subconscious tell that I’d picked up on.
    ‘What’s the story?’ I asked.
    ‘No story.’ Hard to tell in the medieval-style lighting but John Joseph looked like he’d gone pale. Silence stretched between us and, going against all my training, I was the one to break it.
    ‘Gloria.’
    ‘Who’s Gloria?’ He was so blustery and defensive that I actually felt sorry for him.
    ‘You don’t know who Gloria is?’
    ‘I don’t.’
    ‘How about if I show you a picture of her? Refresh your memory.’ I rooted around in my bag and found the photo of Wayne and the girl. ‘There,’ I said.
    He looked at it for half a second and said, ‘That’s Birdie.’
    ‘Who?’
    ‘Wayne’s ex-girlfriend. Birdie Salaman.’
    ‘Never heard of her.’
    ‘She’s a civilian. Not in the business we call show.’
    No, no, don’t say things like that.
    ‘They split up – I dunno, maybe nine months ago.’
    Nine months, eh? A long time ago and he still had a photo of her face-downwards in the spare room, radiating sadness.
    ‘You have a number for Birdie?’
    ‘I’ll find it. I’ll text it to you.’
    ‘And you really have no idea who Gloria is?’
    ‘Really no idea.’
    There was
def
initely something there: a flicker, a twitch, too small for the naked eye to see, but it was there. I’d have to come back to it, though; I wasn’t going to get anything from him right now. After a while of doing this job you learn when to press things and when to park them. Time for a different tack.
    ‘You’ve been in touch with Wayne’s parents?’
    ‘His mum rang me around six this evening, wondering if I knew why he wasn’t answering his phone. His parents haven’t a clue where he is. He has a sister, Connie, also living in