The Road North

Daniel Reid returned her call the next morning. He sounded older than Emma remembered, if she remembered him correctly at all. He said he would answer questions about procedure but would not discuss protected personal information over the telephone. They agreed to meet in a public room at the charity office.

Emma had reached the charity office early. In the waiting area, a volunteer was sorting envelopes for elderly passengers who needed lifts to medical appointments. The ordinary work going on around her made the old case feel strangely intrusive. Whatever Reid had done in 2011, he had also spent the years since helping people get to places they could not reach alone. Neither fact cancelled the other.

She opened her notebook to a page headed Questions I can ask without naming a source. Beneath it she had written: what was the assignment, what action followed, what record should exist, and who was responsible for recording it? She deliberately left out the question she most wanted answered: where had Claire gone?

Reid arrived with a folder containing his own handwritten chronology. He placed it on the table but kept one hand over the cover.

"I don't have police records," he said. "These are notes I made for myself after you contacted me. Memories, not evidence."

Emma thanked him for the distinction. She showed him the redacted incident-log extract.

"I recognise the notation," he said. "But I can't tell you what was in the withheld pages."

"Were you assigned to the possible sighting?"

"I was asked to make an enquiry."

"Did you?"

He did not answer immediately. Outside the window, two volunteers were loading folding chairs into a van. Emma heard each chair strike the next with a hollow metallic sound.

"I spoke to someone," Reid said at last. "And I did not put everything I learned into the follow-up note."

Emma kept her pen still. "Why?"

"Because I believed a person might be in danger if I did. I also believed I could decide that for myself. I was wrong about the second part."

"Are you saying Claire was alive?"

"I'm saying I withheld a relevant detail in a missing-person enquiry. I won't turn that into a public statement about another person's life without understanding what the consequences would be."

Emma glanced at the redacted log. Reid's initials were still there, beside an enquiry that appeared unfinished. He had offered a reason, not an official record. She turned the page in her notebook and wrote a question for the newsroom's legal adviser: What duty did an officer have to record this?

Emma felt the pressure of a hundred questions. Had he driven Claire north? Had he spoken to her? Was he protecting someone who had asked for help, or someone who had done harm? She chose the one question he might actually answer.

"Did your decision affect the investigation?"

"It may have. I can't measure that now."

"Did you tell your supervisor?"

"Not then."

"Have you told anyone since?"

"I've sought advice about how to correct the record. I'm not asking you to keep my conduct secret. I'm asking you not to confuse my conduct with proof of where Claire is today."

Emma wrote his words as closely as she could. He watched her do it.

"You published things about the family," he said.

"I did."

"Then you know why I don't trust an easy story."

She did not ask him to forgive her. She asked whether he would agree to a further interview once he had taken advice. He said he would consider it.