before.’
Zan pulled the sweater over her head quickly so she could see Katie’s face. ‘You’ll tell him about me, and I’ll never forgive you. I’ll leave here so fast … and I’ll never come back.’
‘I won’t,’ Katie reassured her. ‘I promise. It’s not just that, anyway,’ she sighed. ‘It’s this police thing. We’ve never been involved with the police before. I still can’t get over them coming to give me a warning.’
‘Nothing would surprise me about the police. Did you expect them to believe you? To help you? Ha! I bet you still believe in Santa Claus!’
There was a bitterness in her voice that Katie just couldn’t understand. ‘What did the police do to you, Zan?’ she asked softly. But she knew she wouldn’t answer. She never answered any of Katie’s questions about her past. ‘Don’t ever ask,’ was all she would say.
‘Ta-Ra! There, how do I look?’
Katie gasped as Zan began to strut about like a model on a catwalk, wearing Katie’s sweater and Katie’s shirt, with Katie’s anorak draped across one shoulder.
‘Well, what do you think?’
What did she think? It was like looking into a mirror.
‘Why, Zan,’ she said at last. ‘You look exactly like me.’
Her parents were at home. She saw their car as she turned into her street. Katie had her excuses for being out all ready. She had simply felt like a walk. It was a brisk November day and her parents, who loved walking and encouraged it, would understand that.
It was only as she drew nearer to her own house that she noticed another car parked behind her parents’. A dark green Volvo, battered and old, like a tank. Menacing. The very look of it made Katie shiver.
She hurried up the path to her house and opened the door.
‘Katie, is that you?’ her mother called.
‘I went for a walk, Mum.’
‘That’s OK, dear. Come in here. There’s someone wants to meet you.’
There was a stranger sitting on the sofa beside her mother, a thin man in a dark green raincoat. He stood upas Katie came into the living-room and she was astounded at his length. His face was long and thin too, and his dark eyes were sunk deep into the sockets. She knew the old Volvo was his. It so resembled him. Menacing.
He tried a smile, but only his mouth made it. His eyes stayed sombre, watching her closely.
‘This is Mr Whittaker, Katie,’ her mother said.
‘Hello.’ She sounded more nervous than she meant to.
‘Hello, Katie.’ His voice was very soft, and very low.
It was her father who spoke next, watching closely for her reaction to his words. ‘Mr Whittaker’s a private detective, Katie. He’s come all the way from London.’ He paused, and Katie held her breath. ‘He’s looking for the girl in the cardboard box.’
Chapter Eight
‘But I tell you there is no girl. I made her up.’
Katie had been trying to convince her parents and this Mr Whittaker for the last half-hour. She had a feeling they still didn’t believe her.
‘I don’t mean her any harm, Katie.’ Mr Whittaker’s words flowed from his mouth like smooth chocolate. ‘You must believe that.’
Katie didn’t. Something about his unsmiling eyes, the low voice, something she didn’t trust.
‘Why don’t you tell us the reason you want to find her then?’
‘I’m a private investigator, Katie.’
How she wished he wouldn’t use her name in every sentence. She didn’t trust that either.
‘There is such a thing as client confidentiality.’ His eyes narrowed. She had a feeling he was trying to smileagain. ‘You understand what client confidentiality means, don’t you, Katie?’
As if she didn’t know what it meant indeed! Well, she didn’t! But she’d look it up later. For the moment she concentrated on looking intelligent.
‘Mr Whittaker has to have his client’s permission before he can tell you who they are, or why they want to find this girl,’ her father explained.
‘Can I just say this, Mr Cassidy? And I don’t think I’m
Zan pulled the sweater over her head quickly so she could see Katie’s face. ‘You’ll tell him about me, and I’ll never forgive you. I’ll leave here so fast … and I’ll never come back.’
‘I won’t,’ Katie reassured her. ‘I promise. It’s not just that, anyway,’ she sighed. ‘It’s this police thing. We’ve never been involved with the police before. I still can’t get over them coming to give me a warning.’
‘Nothing would surprise me about the police. Did you expect them to believe you? To help you? Ha! I bet you still believe in Santa Claus!’
There was a bitterness in her voice that Katie just couldn’t understand. ‘What did the police do to you, Zan?’ she asked softly. But she knew she wouldn’t answer. She never answered any of Katie’s questions about her past. ‘Don’t ever ask,’ was all she would say.
‘Ta-Ra! There, how do I look?’
Katie gasped as Zan began to strut about like a model on a catwalk, wearing Katie’s sweater and Katie’s shirt, with Katie’s anorak draped across one shoulder.
‘Well, what do you think?’
What did she think? It was like looking into a mirror.
‘Why, Zan,’ she said at last. ‘You look exactly like me.’
Her parents were at home. She saw their car as she turned into her street. Katie had her excuses for being out all ready. She had simply felt like a walk. It was a brisk November day and her parents, who loved walking and encouraged it, would understand that.
It was only as she drew nearer to her own house that she noticed another car parked behind her parents’. A dark green Volvo, battered and old, like a tank. Menacing. The very look of it made Katie shiver.
She hurried up the path to her house and opened the door.
‘Katie, is that you?’ her mother called.
‘I went for a walk, Mum.’
‘That’s OK, dear. Come in here. There’s someone wants to meet you.’
There was a stranger sitting on the sofa beside her mother, a thin man in a dark green raincoat. He stood upas Katie came into the living-room and she was astounded at his length. His face was long and thin too, and his dark eyes were sunk deep into the sockets. She knew the old Volvo was his. It so resembled him. Menacing.
He tried a smile, but only his mouth made it. His eyes stayed sombre, watching her closely.
‘This is Mr Whittaker, Katie,’ her mother said.
‘Hello.’ She sounded more nervous than she meant to.
‘Hello, Katie.’ His voice was very soft, and very low.
It was her father who spoke next, watching closely for her reaction to his words. ‘Mr Whittaker’s a private detective, Katie. He’s come all the way from London.’ He paused, and Katie held her breath. ‘He’s looking for the girl in the cardboard box.’
Chapter Eight
‘But I tell you there is no girl. I made her up.’
Katie had been trying to convince her parents and this Mr Whittaker for the last half-hour. She had a feeling they still didn’t believe her.
‘I don’t mean her any harm, Katie.’ Mr Whittaker’s words flowed from his mouth like smooth chocolate. ‘You must believe that.’
Katie didn’t. Something about his unsmiling eyes, the low voice, something she didn’t trust.
‘Why don’t you tell us the reason you want to find her then?’
‘I’m a private investigator, Katie.’
How she wished he wouldn’t use her name in every sentence. She didn’t trust that either.
‘There is such a thing as client confidentiality.’ His eyes narrowed. She had a feeling he was trying to smileagain. ‘You understand what client confidentiality means, don’t you, Katie?’
As if she didn’t know what it meant indeed! Well, she didn’t! But she’d look it up later. For the moment she concentrated on looking intelligent.
‘Mr Whittaker has to have his client’s permission before he can tell you who they are, or why they want to find this girl,’ her father explained.
‘Can I just say this, Mr Cassidy? And I don’t think I’m
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