I stopped staring at the television long enough to see the expression of fear leave Teresa’s face. She sat almost perfectly still except for the twiddling of her thumbs and it was then that I realised, from that moment on, nothing would be the same again.

It wasn’t long before Sheriff Bronson had located the detective in charge of the Kyle Macintyre murder case. It was a man called Detective Anthony West.

“He’ll want to question you,” said the Sheriff. This didn’t come as a surprise.

Sheriff Bronson gave me one more smile through leathered wrinkles and then without confirming plans, we called it a day.


Yet again, I found myself having another sleepless night. I paced the floor, eagerly awaiting the call that would never come. It was possibly for that reason that I had accepted to give up on Rachel the first time. But now things were different.

“Come back to bed, Chris.” Her voice was alluring.

“I just don’t get it.” There was a silence. “This kid could only have been about seventeen when Rachel went missing,”

“What’s your point?” she asked.

“Who is he?”


The next morning I arrived at Sheriff Bronson’s room on the second floor, only to be greeted by a stranger. Teresa had gone to the shop so I had been given no choice but to go alone.

The man was at least a decade younger than the Sheriff and was wearing a suit and a pair of smart black shoes. “Mr Young,” he announced.

I didn’t know what to say so I settled for nothing. The silence drew in as he smiled and reached out his hand.

“I’m Detective West,” he said. “Come in.”

I scanned the room. It was similar to my own with the same furnishings and watercolour paintings on the walls. The same table and chairs sat in the corner of the room. It was the kind that looked like it belonged on a garden patio, except it was wooden. Sheriff Bronson was seated in the corner.

“Good morning,” I said.

West moved aside and allowed me to enter. “Please, take a seat.”

I followed West to the table and sat opposite the Sheriff who remained silent.

West began the questioning. “I have a few questions about Mr Macintyre if that’s okay with you, Mr Young?”

“But my niece –” I began.

“Please, Mr Young. I’ll get to her in a moment.” He waited for me to sit back on the chair before continuing. “Did you know Mr Macintyre before yesterday?” he asked.

“No,” I replied.

“Had you ever seen or heard of Mr Macintyre before yesterday?”

“No. I’ve never seen or heard of him before in my life.” I decided to clear that up now before he continued.

“Do you mind if I see the photograph that you claim is of your niece?”

“It is my niece!” He was deliberately trying to wind me up. I slid it over the desk as he examined it for a moment before handing it back.

“And you say this is the girl that phoned you?”

“Yes.”

He nodded. “I’ll need to take that phone in for examining if that’s okay with you, Mr Young.”

“But she might phone again.”

The Sheriff spoke for the first time. “Detective West will handle that.”

I felt reluctant to hand it over but something in his stare seemed to threaten me.

“Can you at least tell me if you’ve found anything concerning Rachel?” I asked.

The two men looked at each other for a brief moment as though debating whether to tell me.

Eventually the Sheriff spoke. “Chris, tracks have been found at the murder scene.” He paused. “We believe they belong to the murderer.”

“What has that got to do with my niece?” I asked.

“We believe they belong to Rachel.”

All I could think about was Rachel. True, tracks proved that a girl had been at the scene of the crime, but how could they know for sure they were Rachel’s? And for that matter, how could they be sure they belonged to the murderer?

I was on my way out of the hotel when I ran into Teresa in the lobby. She new immediately something was wrong.

“What is it, Chris?” she asked.

“It’s Rachel. They think she’s the murderer.”

“What? How can that be?”

I didn’t bother replying. I didn’t have an answer. I just continued to walk into the car park as Teresa followed.

“Chris, talk to me.” She sounded panicked.

“Tracks!” I almost announced it to the whole car park. Teresa went silent after that. “I’m going for a drive,” I said, this time in a mere whisper.


I ended up in a bar facing the beach. There weren’t many people at the bar, just me and a couple of women in bikini’s.

“What can I get for you, mate?” The bar tender was young. Too young for a bar job, perhaps.

I escaped from my thoughts for a brief moment. “A Jack and Coke, please.” The barman nodded.

Gazing up at the television I noticed the news playing the same story of Kyle Macintyre. The television was muted so I asked him to turn it up.

“Kyle Macintyre, a student at the University of Florida was found murdered.” It was the same old story. “His mother, Elizabeth Macintyre, was taken in for questioning early yesterday morning but it has been stated that the police are no closer to finding the killer.”

I gazed at the Television. Why hadn’t thy announced they had a suspect? I mulled it over for a second before a name flashed in my head. For the first time in a while, it hadn’t been Rachel’s, nor had it been Kyle’s.

Elizabeth Macintyre. Maybe she had answers. Is it possible she new Rachel? Without finishing my drink, I upped and left.


I found a phone book on the next street and searched for Macintyre. Within moments I had found her.

Punching in the numbers to make another nervous phone call, I waited as it began to ring.

“Hello?” Her voice was distraught.

“Mrs Macintyre?” I asked.

“Yes?”

I paused. “Mrs Macintyre, you don’t know me but my name is Christopher Young. I’m terribly sorry about your son but I was wandering if I could ask you a few questions?”

“I already spoke with the police,” she said.

“Yes, I know. But I’m not phoning about your son.” The line went silent. “I was wandering if you could tell me about Rachel Young, my niece.”

“Who?” She hadn’t heard the name. “Who is this? What do you want?”

“Mrs Macintyre, I don’t know if the police told you but your son came to see me the other day. He left a photograph of my niece under my door.”

“I don’t know any Rachel Young, and neither did Kyle.” I was ready to end the call when she said it. “Kyle went missing with his girlfriend a week ago.”

“His girlfriend?”

“Yes. Jennifer.”

“Mrs Macintyre, this may same like a random question but have you got three young children, two boys and a girl?”

The phone went silent once again. “How did you know?”