Empty Vessels by Marina Pascoe

pretty desperate,ʼ volunteered Algernon, ʻfrom what my brother tells me.ʼ
    Ê»I say, Iʼm in a blasted rush, Bartlett,ʼ ventured Rupert. Ê»If I hear anything that might help you, Iʼll contact you immediately, howʼs that?ʼ
    Ê»Off somewhere nice, sir?ʼ enquired Boase.
    Algernon finally lit his cigarette and drew long and hard on it.
    Ê»Off to meet your gentlemen friends at your club, no doubt? Give my regards to Harry, old sport, wonʼt you?ʼ
    Rupert extracted his cigarette from its holder and, throwing it on the fire, marched towards the door.
    Ê»Iʼm sorry, but I really do have to go. Goodbye.ʼ
    Bartlett turned to Algernon Hatton.
    Ê»When I recently came to see your brother, I asked him if he knew anyone by the name of Francis Wilson – he said he didnʼt. Do you, sir?ʼ
    Ê»No, the name doesnʼt ring any bells with me either. Sorry.ʼ
    Bartlett persisted.
    Ê»Oh, I think it must – he was your batman, wasnʼt he? Why are you denying all knowledge of him?ʼ
    Hatton looked flustered.
    Ê»All right then, have it your way – yes, yes, I knew him – unfortunately for me. He got into some very serious scrapes, not least being charged with murder. I got him out of it, back in ʼ17 and I havenʼt seen him since, thatʼs all there is to it.ʼ
    Ê»Well, thank you for being so honest with us, sir – eventually. Good day.ʼ
    Bartlett and Boase returned to Berkeley Vale and walked into the police station. As the younger of the two opened the door, Peggy Berryman crossed the lobby towards them. This time she was alone.
    Ê»Good morning, Mrs Berryman, how are you?ʼ Bartlett enquired politely.
    Ê»Ow dʼyou think I am?ʼ the thin, ill-looking woman answered. Ê»What do you think itʼs been like all over Christmas without my daughter, not knowing where she is, whether sheʼs …ʼ at this she paused, Ê»dead or alive. Iʼm begging you Mr Bartlett, sir, please do something to bring ʼer back to me. Itʼs the not knowing thatʼs so ʼard.ʼ
    Ê»Iʼm really doing everything that I can, I assure you, Mrs Berryman. Boase, fetch Mrs Berryman a strong cup of tea. Have a seat, wonʼt you? Stay as long as you like; youʼre all out of breath. Would you like me to get a car home for you?ʼ
    The tired old woman sat on a long leather bench seat. Ê»Iʼll take the tea, thank you, but Iʼm quite capable of getting ʼome.ʼ She coughed vigorously into a handkerchief.
    Bartlett followed Boase into their office.
    Ê»That womanʼs not well. I wish I could find the girl for her, Boase.ʼ
    Ê»Maybe weʼre barking up the wrong tree, sir,ʼ said Boase.
    Ê»What do you mean?ʼ Bartlett was removing his hat and coat.
    Ê»Well, think about it. That day we went up to London, you said you followed a girl because you thought it was Norma Berryman.ʼ
    Ê»I was having a bad day – and it was very early in the morning.ʼ
    Ê»Right, but why did you decide it wasnʼt her after all?ʼ Boase persisted.
    Ê»Because I lost her in the crowd and I suddenly realised how stupid I was being – wishful thinking and all that.ʼ
    Boase took Peggy Berryman her tea and returned immediately.
    Ê»Listen,ʼ he went on. Ê»Weʼre assuming that something terrible has happened to her, if weʼre honest, right?ʼ
    Ê»Go on.ʼ Bartlett was listening.
    Ê»What if nothing terrible has happened? What if sheʼs just run away from home?ʼ
    Bartlett sat down behind his desk.
    Ê»Thatʼs not likely – she was a very nice young woman; she wouldnʼt do something like that to her parents, she was devoted to them.ʼ
    Boase perched on the end of Bartlettʼs desk. Ê»Youʼre doing it again, sir.ʼ
    Ê»Doing what?ʼ
    Ê»Was, was, was. You keep referring to Norma Berryman in the past tense – havenʼt you thought that she might just