extensions weren’t identified. It was her contact, Polly Seaton, which meant progress on Mrs Petrie’s case. Polly had been in Jasmine’s class throughout secondary school, and now worked at Centre One in East Kilbride. Tax records were the most reliable means of tracing anybody, and though there were strict limits on what details Polly could divulge, it was usually enough.
She always felt a little guilty at how obliging Polly was, as theyhadn’t been bosom buddies or anything back in the day. Truth be told, she’d always found Polly a bit dull and literal-minded, so she felt a little hypocritical about coming across so friendly when it was really only a means of securing a favour. Jasmine didn’t feel comfortable using people and she kept telling herself she ought to take Polly out for a few drinks some night by way of gratitude, but thus far that sentiment was in the same pending tray as buying new office furniture, finding an accountant and acquiring a social life.
‘You’re in luck,’ Polly reported. ‘There’s only one Tessa Garrion on record, so no worries about whether I’ve retrieved files on the right person.’
This was always good to know. The experience of spending two days sifting through piles of information in order to find the right Jean Clark was still fresh in Jasmine’s memory.
‘I had to go back a long way, as you warned me. Got her P60 filings starting from October 1980: her payee was the Pan … technician Theatre. Does that sound right?’
Jasmine smiled at Polly’s misreading but considered it impolite to correct her.
‘That’s definitely her. She worked as an actress, but gave that up some time around the mid-eighties. I’m trying to find out what she did next.’
‘Early eighties, by the look of it. Her last wages from this Pantechnithingy Theatre were paid April 1981. After that, looks like she moved briefly into retail footwear. The Glass Shoe Company. She was only with them one month, though.’
‘And where did she go next?’
‘After that, I’ve got nothing. No further filings.’
‘So she moved away. Do you have a record of what district would have her tax records after that?’
‘No, I’m saying she had no tax records after that: not here, not anywhere. She didn’t pay tax after August 1981.’
Jasmine thanked Polly and hung up, realising as soon as she’d done so that she’d forgotten to suggest a drink. Then she accepted that maybe she hadn’t really forgotten.
There’s a grace to receiving, she remembered. She had to remind herself that people weren’t always playing an angle, only giving in order to get. There was a grace to not being a using cow as well, though.
‘You look a bit dischuffed,’ Rab observed. ‘Dead end?’
‘Missing person. Trying to follow her tax trail. Turns out it ends in 1981. Doesn’t sound like the first step towards a happy ending.’
‘Ah, but maybe it was,’ Rab countered. ‘Mr Right comes along and sweeps her off her feet. Lassie never has to work another day.’
‘Her sister did moot that possibility, but if she got married she never invited anybody to the wedding.’
‘Had they fallen out?’
‘More drifted apart.’
‘Aye,’ Rab considered, narrowing his eyes. ‘You’d get a card at least. And if there was no big melodramas you’d have to think she’d let her sister know if she had any weans. Could have been living over the brush with some fancy man, maybe somebody the family wouldn’t have approved of. You said she was an actress? Rich, older admirer. Rich,
married
admirer?’
‘Plausible enough,’ she agreed. ‘But not easy to trace.’
Rab reached down and disconnected his mobile from the hands-free cradle, offering it to Jasmine.
‘Go into contacts and call Annabel Downie,’ he told her.
Jasmine complied and replaced the handset in its cradle as it began to ring. Switched to speaker, the tone pulsed loud inside the car for a few rings, before being answered by a female
She always felt a little guilty at how obliging Polly was, as theyhadn’t been bosom buddies or anything back in the day. Truth be told, she’d always found Polly a bit dull and literal-minded, so she felt a little hypocritical about coming across so friendly when it was really only a means of securing a favour. Jasmine didn’t feel comfortable using people and she kept telling herself she ought to take Polly out for a few drinks some night by way of gratitude, but thus far that sentiment was in the same pending tray as buying new office furniture, finding an accountant and acquiring a social life.
‘You’re in luck,’ Polly reported. ‘There’s only one Tessa Garrion on record, so no worries about whether I’ve retrieved files on the right person.’
This was always good to know. The experience of spending two days sifting through piles of information in order to find the right Jean Clark was still fresh in Jasmine’s memory.
‘I had to go back a long way, as you warned me. Got her P60 filings starting from October 1980: her payee was the Pan … technician Theatre. Does that sound right?’
Jasmine smiled at Polly’s misreading but considered it impolite to correct her.
‘That’s definitely her. She worked as an actress, but gave that up some time around the mid-eighties. I’m trying to find out what she did next.’
‘Early eighties, by the look of it. Her last wages from this Pantechnithingy Theatre were paid April 1981. After that, looks like she moved briefly into retail footwear. The Glass Shoe Company. She was only with them one month, though.’
‘And where did she go next?’
‘After that, I’ve got nothing. No further filings.’
‘So she moved away. Do you have a record of what district would have her tax records after that?’
‘No, I’m saying she had no tax records after that: not here, not anywhere. She didn’t pay tax after August 1981.’
Jasmine thanked Polly and hung up, realising as soon as she’d done so that she’d forgotten to suggest a drink. Then she accepted that maybe she hadn’t really forgotten.
There’s a grace to receiving, she remembered. She had to remind herself that people weren’t always playing an angle, only giving in order to get. There was a grace to not being a using cow as well, though.
‘You look a bit dischuffed,’ Rab observed. ‘Dead end?’
‘Missing person. Trying to follow her tax trail. Turns out it ends in 1981. Doesn’t sound like the first step towards a happy ending.’
‘Ah, but maybe it was,’ Rab countered. ‘Mr Right comes along and sweeps her off her feet. Lassie never has to work another day.’
‘Her sister did moot that possibility, but if she got married she never invited anybody to the wedding.’
‘Had they fallen out?’
‘More drifted apart.’
‘Aye,’ Rab considered, narrowing his eyes. ‘You’d get a card at least. And if there was no big melodramas you’d have to think she’d let her sister know if she had any weans. Could have been living over the brush with some fancy man, maybe somebody the family wouldn’t have approved of. You said she was an actress? Rich, older admirer. Rich,
married
admirer?’
‘Plausible enough,’ she agreed. ‘But not easy to trace.’
Rab reached down and disconnected his mobile from the hands-free cradle, offering it to Jasmine.
‘Go into contacts and call Annabel Downie,’ he told her.
Jasmine complied and replaced the handset in its cradle as it began to ring. Switched to speaker, the tone pulsed loud inside the car for a few rings, before being answered by a female
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