Free The Fourth Season by Dorothy Johnston Page B

Thomas phoned to say that Rowan had turned up at the cafe again.
    I made sure that Peter felt comfortable about me going out, and that the doors and windows were all locked. Kat was quick to say they would be fine, too quick in my opinion, but I was keen to get to the cafe and swallowed my misgivings.

Nine
    Rita was behind the counter, looking tired and worried.
    Rowan frowned when he spotted me. I thought it best to wait until he’d finished whatever he was doing, but kept him in my line of sight while I asked after Owen.
    â€˜He’s taken poorly,’ Rita said.
    â€˜I’m sorry to hear that.’
    â€˜I should be home looking after him, but he wanted me to come in here and open up. He says we’ll lose our customers otherwise.’
    Rita pressed her lips together. I felt doubly grateful that she’d taken the trouble to ring me when she had so much on her mind.
    Rita noticed my expression and gave me a thin smile. ‘Owen said to be sure and let you know. He has to go into hospital for an operation. He’ll be there for at least a week. I’ll have to close then. I don’t see how I can manage, running back and forth.’
    â€˜I could take over for you,’ I said.
    Rita gave me a startled look. ‘There wouldn’t be much money in it.’
    â€˜That’s okay.’
    â€˜At least we wouldn’t lose our regulars.’ Rita sounded a bit more optimistic. ‘I’ll tell Owen. We’ll have to talk about it. But thanks anyway for offering.’
    I’d been forgetting to watch Rowan, who pushed his chair back suddenly, dropped some coins on the counter and made swiftly for the door.
    I caught up with him to ask, ‘The car you saw Laila getting into, how big was it?’
    Rowan walked faster, throwing back over his shoulder, ‘I don’t know.’
    â€˜Did you see who was driving?’
    â€˜No!’
    Rowan was young and fit and pissed off, but I wasn’t going to let him get away. ‘Did you notice anybody else in the street?’
    He stopped and faced me. ‘What?’
    â€˜Think back, please. The street can’t have been deserted.’
    Rowan stared at me, a pointed stare for someone with such ­cushioned features.
    â€˜What was the weather like?’ I asked him.
    â€˜What?’ he said again, sarcastically this time.
    â€˜The weather. Was it raining? Fine?’
    â€˜I don’t remember.’
    â€˜Do your parents know where you are?’
    Rowan made a strangled sound as though he was trying to say ‘yes’, and took off in the direction of the shopping centre.
    His legs were longer than mine, but I was used to pursuing people who didn’t want to be pursued. ‘Do your parents know how much time you spend at the internet cafe?’ I called out. ‘Do they know why?’
    The street light accentuated Rowan’s angry frown. Shadows squashed his eyebrows down into his cheeks. He looked suddenly much older, a man got up in boys’ clothing, a deceitful person who hid his age beneath a teenager’s preoccupations.
    â€˜It was nine-thirty on a fine evening,’ I said patiently, catching up to him. ‘You stood on the footpath. Laila had just left the cafe. You saw her get into a car.’
    Rowan cleared his throat. ‘People were going in and out of the Tradies .’ I knew he was at last trying to remember. ‘The lady who brings Owen his hot chocolate. I saw her.’
    The woman Owen had called Pam had been walking slowly up the Tradies steps. Rowan described her as ‘old and small with frizzed up hair.’ I asked who else he’d seen, and he replied that he wasn’t thinking about other people.
    â€˜Which way did the car go?’
    After a moment’s hesitation, Rowan said, ‘Towards Civic.’
    â€˜Maybe someone else was watching. Maybe one of the guys who came out of the cafe just after you did saw it too.’
    Rowan stared at