Ghigau 13

Lenny peered around the velvet curtain that separated the waiting area from the red-carpeted main room, observing the crowd chattering noisily as they streamed in and jostled to find a good seat.  

    Six rows of chairs, ten seats wide, were filled in minutes. Bright lights shone down on a trestle table set across the dais at the front of the room. On the dark-red tablecloth, a jug of water and four glasses sat beside pads and pens, and two black microphones stood sentry like emaciated crows. Behind the table, mounted up high so as to afford everyone a good view, a large monitor showed a head and shoulder image of a smiling Nikki.  The photograph was very slightly out of focus giving it a nostalgic air, as if it showed a past Nikki, no longer quite real. A phone number scrolled across the bottom of the screen. To one side, a large video camera on a tripod stood waiting, its panel blinking. On the ceiling an old air-conditioning unit rattled and squeaked as it struggled to keep the temperature down to acceptable levels. The room was almost unbearably hot and humid.

    Lenny took a deep breath, then exhaled loudly. He was apprehensive, but determined to make his words count.    

    “You’ll be fine.” Said Sam, from behind him. “Just be yourself and leave any questions to me.”

    “There’s more people than I expected.” Lenny said. “Are they all journalists?”

    “Yes, although the lines are blurred these days. And social media is a powerful tool when it comes to spreading a message.” Said Sam.

    “You mean, influencers? That kind of thing?” Lenny looked perturbed.

    “Not here no, only accredited journalists, print, radio and TV, can attend,” Sam said. “But once the appeal is broadcast and the Podcasters and You Tubers get hold of it…” She shrugged.        

    “I’m not sure I want a podcast made out of my life.” Lenny said.

    Sam nodded, “I can understand that, but some of these social media channels have thousands of listeners. An appeal for information from one of those guys can produce results. I’ve seen it before,” she said. “Anything that helps is good isn’t it?”

    Lenny looked doubtful, “If you say so.”

 

DI Conway entered from a side door and moved purposefully to the centre of the table. His tailored uniform hung creaseless and taut as he shot his brilliant white cuffs, shuffled his papers and sat down in the central chair. The heat didn’t appear to affect him at all. He motioned for Sam and Lenny to join him and waited for the room to settle down. 

    “Good morning everyone and thank you for attending this press conference regarding the ongoing search for missing person Mrs Nikki Talbot. My name is Detective Inspector Arnold Conway. On my left is Detective Sergeant Samantha Tate, the investigating officer on this case and on my right Mr Lenny Talbot, husband of Nikki.” 

    Conway adjusted his tie, before continuing. “Nikki Talbot is 39 years old, a wife, mother and business owner”. He wasn’t using notes and his eyes scanned the crowd as he spoke. He was used to public speaking, in fact he’d taken courses. “She is five feet six inches tall or 1.67 metres,  weighs 54 kg  — around eight and a half stones — with dark brown hair cut below the shoulder and brown eyes. She was last seen at approximately 5pm last Monday afternoon leaving an address in Silas Place, London NW1 following an appointment with a client.  She was wearing a yellow and blue patterned dress, like the one you see behind me on the screen, cream coloured canvas shoes, and was carrying a ‘tote bag’ with the brand name Prada, again like the one on the screen behind me.” Without turning his head he raised a hand to indicate the monitor behind.            

    Conway paused to let this information sink in, then resumed. “When Mrs Talbot left her meeting she was, as far as we know intending to walk to her home in Primrose Hill, a journey of about fifteen minutes on foot.”  

    Conway now turned towards the monitor. “On the screen you can see a map of the route that we believe Nikki would most likely have taken.” The screen flickered and an image of a street map appeared, on which a blue meandering line could be seen. He carried on, “Somewhere on that journey, Nikki disappeared. She never made it home.” He paused again, for effect. 

    “Nikki is in good health and in full control of her mental faculties.” Conway continued. “Her family and friends are very concerned for her welfare, as are we. We are appealing to the public, and especially anyone in the vicinity of this route between the hours of 5pm and 7pm on Monday evening, to come forward. I must stress that it is important that we speak to everyone who might have been in this area, whether or not they feel that have anything to report." 

    Conway, took his papers and shuffled them in to a neat stack. “And now may I introduce Nikki’s husband, Lenny Talbot, who would like to say a few words, after which I will be happy to take questions.” He moved one of the microphones in the direction of Lenny and indicated he had the floor.

    Lenny looked at the crowd. His mouth felt dry. Most of the faces were male, perhaps 75%. The front row however, was almost all women. He wondered if this was by arrangement or had people just felt somehow that the men should take a back seat. Was that because whenever a woman disappeared it was usually a man that was responsible?

    “Good morning,” He began. “Thank you Inspector Conway.” His voice sounded like someone else’s to him. He cleared his throat and dropped down a half octave. 

    “My wife Nikki is a very strong person. She has been through things that would have finished off a lesser person.” He felt the room flutter and realised his choice of words had raised some eyebrows. “She would never do anything to harm herself and she loves her family too much to leave them. I can only think that there has been some kind of accident or incident that has prevented her from coming home.”

    He looked straight at the camera, “If anyone, anyone at all, knows anything or has any information that might help us find Nikki, please, please contact the police.” He stopped speaking and looked down at his hands, which suddenly seemed to him to look like the hands of someone who could possibly be lying. He remembered watching these kind of things himself on TV and casually commenting to Nikki ‘well that guy looks guilty, definitely something going on there’. 

    When he looked up again he could see the crowd holding their breath. 

    He re-focused and concentrated on the camera. “Nikki, if somehow you are watching this, wherever you are, whatever is keeping you away, please call home, just let us know you are safe.” He realised he was clenching his fists in an effort to hold himself together. 

    The room stayed quiet, it seemed the audience expected him to have more to say. But he didn’t. He just wanted Nikki home. How many ways were there to say that?

    After a few seconds, Conway thanked Lenny and opened the room to questions. The first of which was from a tall, hook-nosed woman with large glasses, seated in the middle of the front row.

    “Lauren Blake, Evening Post,” she began. “Do the police have CCTV footage from the route? And if so was Mrs Talbot on it?”

    Conway looked to Sam. “Detective Tate, perhaps you would like to answer that?”

    Sam nodded. “Thank you sir. We have requested all the CCTV footage, public and private. There are almost twenty public safety cameras and around thirty doorbell cameras along this route, and the two or three possible alternative routes that Nikki Talbot could have taken. We expect the footage to be compiled by tomorrow and we’ll be studying it in detail. Obviously this is a time consuming task with over one hundred combined hours, but we will be working round the clock to analyse the data and follow up any relevant information.”

    Sam pointed to a man in the second row who had his hand raised, noticing Conway bristle as she did so. “ Yes, the gentleman with the cap.”

    “Tariq Hussain, Diginews.” The man had a pad open and glanced down at it as if to quote something. “Is it true that Nikki Talbot had contacted the police and reported being harassed online more than three weeks ago?” The room immediately buzzed and several hands shot up.        

    Sam glanced sideways at Conway briefly but recovered quickly. “I’m afraid we can’t reveal details of any communication between Mrs Talbot and the police.”

    “So she did report something then?” The reporter pressed.

    “I cannot confirm or deny any such report, but I can assure you that we are taking Nikki’s disappearance very seriously and that all leads will be followed up, and investigated  thoroughly, until we find her.

    Lenny was looking at Sam with incredulity. What the hell is going on? His face said.

 

After the press had left, and somehow Inspector Conway had slipped away, Sam tried to placate Lenny.

    “It’s not what you think Mr Talbot.” She reverted to addressing him formally. “There are rules about what we can divulge.”

    Lenny was fuming. “My wife reported online abuse to you? I mean it must have been bad for her to report it right? And you’re only telling me now? Who was trolling her? What were they saying?” He paced up and down, slapping the back of his right hand against the palm of his left. “And have you talked to whoever was harassing her? Don’t you think this might have something to do with Nikki not coming home? I mean what the actual fuck is going on?”

    “Please calm down.” Sam placed a hand on Lenny’s forearm. “Why don’t we sit for a minute?” She suggested.

    Lenny looked at her as if she was recommending he stick his head in the oven. He spoke through his teeth. “I don’t want to sit down, I want to know what’s going on.”

    Sam flinched at his anger but ultimately she knew she would have been the same. “Ok, ok,” she said. Sitting down herself in the hope that Lenny would follow suit. “Look, Mrs Talbot did report some online abuse — emails and social media direct messages — and they are being looked in to, but there isn’t anything to connect them to her disappearance at the moment. A lot of women get this kind of thing, especially attractive ones that have a fairly high online profile. 

    “Why didn’t she tell me?” Lenny had seated himself next to Sam. His anger was subsiding.

    “I can’t answer that for sure. But usually the person being pestered doesn’t want the family to be worried or bothered. Some partners might take things in to their own hands, you know? I’m not saying that’s you — but some would.”

    “It just doesn’t seem like Nikki, we tell each-other everything.” Lenny looked downcast.

    “I’m sure she was protecting you, not hiding from you," Sam reassured him.

    Lenny shrugged. “I hope so,” he sighed, adding, “I want to see these messages.”

    Sam screwed her face up. “Weeell…”

    “Don’t tell me I can’t see them, my wife’s gone missing for Christ’s sake.” Lenny was becoming animated again.

    “Strictly speaking data protection rules don’t allow —“

    “Oh come on!” Lenny scoffed.

    Sam didn’t want him to get angry again. “Let me see what I can do ok?” She said.

 

On the way home Lenny pulled the car over and picked up his phone. He searched <Tariq Hussain—Diginews> and a photo of the man who had asked the question in the conference appeared, alongside a brief bio on the Diginews website. There was no telephone number but there was an email address. Lenny typed out a brief message asking to meet, or at least talk, and sent it straight away.