Chapter 9: Unhappy Returns - November

It's 8 Days After Jenny's Disappearance

I get back to London — at last.

In the past 48 hours I've explained the position to Chris Parker, with a mixture of embarrassment and dismay, and then taken the first available flight home.

Chris was very sympathetic, agreed that I should come back to the UK at once and arranged for the firm to book me a business class return flight. The journey back was a trial: the aircraft seemed to crawl across the world map on the TV screen by my seat, none of the in-flight movies held any attraction and sleep completely deserted me.

Then there was the moment of return, the moment when I emerged into the Arrivals Hall in Terminal 4. Last time, Jenny ambushed me unexpectedly, scooped me up and carried me off to that hotel, with all the strangeness that followed. This time there is no Jenny. I'm all alone and there are only the other jostling passengers to keep me company.

But now, at least, I am back. Back and able to take charge of the situation.

Andrew Palmer, Jenny's dad, has booked me into the Paddington Hilton. I walk off the Heathrow Airport Shuttle train and straight into the hotel. As I check in, the Receptionist hands me a package, from Andrew. The contents of the package and the accompanying note, show why Andrew had a successful career in the Army.

Andrew does not waste words, his note is brusque and completely to the point.

"Joe: Please find -

1. A map of Central London, marked.

2. A list of Central London hospitals, visited

3. The address of Marylebone Police Station and your appointment.

4. A note of the Missing Persons website.

"The Map - I have estimated Jenny could cover two miles after she left you, maximum. I have assumed she was on foot." (A two mile circle centred on Fitzroy Square is drawn on the map.)

"The Hospitals - Inga has visited them all asking if Jenny had been admitted. Actually she told them she received a message from a friend to say Jenny had been admitted. Unfortunately, no success at all.

"The Police — I reported Jenny's disappearance. Marylebone Police Station covers the area. They need to speak to you urgently. I made you an appointment for 09.30. Ask for Sergeant Borland."

I smile. Andrew is not going to give his daughter up easily. And, neither am I. I strip and shower and fall into a deep, dreamless sleep.

It's already 8.00 when I wake. I haven't time to waste. By 8.45 am I'm dressed, and breakfasted. I've arranged to keep the room for another 24 hours.

I walk out onto Praed Street and into a bright crisp morning. The sunshine lifts my spirits. This is the day, I feel, that I begin to get my wife back!

Marylebone Police Station stands at the end of Seymour Street near Wigmore Street, not very far from the Venetian Restaurant. The last place Jenny and I shared a meal together. The last time we were happily in each other's company. Now I'm here again, but this time, I'm all alone.

The anxiety begins to rise as soon as the building comes into view. Will they take Jenny's disappearance seriously? Will I be able to answer their questions? Will they think I'm responsible in some way? That I've driven Jenny away?

The police station is guarded by an incongruous Victorian blue police lantern - and by several sets of security cameras. The entrance smells of disinfectant. There's a sense of the dreariness and unhappiness that life can bring. After the sunshine outside, the gloom simply deepens around me.

I approach the receptionist— a uniformed officer — safe behind a plate glass screen. He could be a constable. I'm not sure. I clear my throat.

"Yes sir?"

"My name is Joseph McEwan," (it feels strange to use my full name but surely this is the occasion for it?). "I have an appointment to see Sergeant Borland at 9.30. It's about my wife. She has ... has disappeared." I can hear my voice trailing off as I get to the end of my little speech.

The official narrows his eyes and inclines his head slightly as he listens to me. He looks sceptical about what I'm saying; an automatic reaction, I suppose.

"Just take a seat, Sir, I will see about it." It takes several minutes before he returns. "Just follow me Sir," he says. "Sergeant Borland can see you now."

I allow myself a momentary smile. It sounds like being shown in to see the dentist but my smile dies rapidly; I don't want to make light of this.

At the end of a corridor I'm shown into a room. There's an overpowering sense of déjà vu as I sit on a hard chair in front of a plain desk, my feet on the linoleum floor, waiting. It's a scene from countless police movies.

There is a movement behind me. A young woman enters in a sergeant's uniform. She's an attractive woman. How unexpected.

"Mr McEwan?"

"Yes, that's me."

"I'm Sergeant Borland. I spoke to your father in law, ... er ... Mr Palmer, when he came to report the disappearance of your wife."

"Yes."

"Mr McEwan, I am very sorry about what has happened. I want you to know that my colleagues and I will do all we can to find Mrs McEwan. There is a lot of work to do and we have to start with quite a lot of questions."

"Thank you but please let's get on. I, I mean anything I er can do..." My voice just seems to trail away once more. How unconvincing I must sound. Or do I? How do you sound when your wife has vanished?

Borland opens a file and shuffles paper. She begins. Her questions come thick and fast. She's reaching into every nook and cranny. It's like I'm in some detective drama. But then, I suppose I am...

Jenny's name, address, age, nationality, date of birth, age, height, religion? What was her native language, which languages did she speak? What's her accent? Her email address, phone numbers, mobile number, mobile network provider? What circumstances lead to her disappearance? Had this happened before?

"Yes, I think I you could say so."

The Sergeant looks up, her brow wrinkled: "Pardon?" It's obvious she wasn't expecting me to say that.

"I said it had happened before in a sort of a way."

"In a sort of a way? Can you be more specific?"

I feel myself start to blush. This part of Jenny's story will sound so ridiculous. They will show me straight out of the building. Accuse me of wasting police time. I stumble on; "Jenny — that's Mrs McEwan - was doing research last year at an organisation called Inward Bound. One evening some men came and took her into custody for interrogation. They brought her back, er, a couple of days after."

"A couple?" The Sergeant picks up on Joe's vague turn of phrase.

"Two — or maybe it was three."

"And these men were from the Police?"

"No, they said, — look this all sounds silly I know - they said they were from the CIA."

Sergeant Borland stops writing. She leans back in her chair and looks steadily at me across the table. She's wondering what to make of this fantastical revelation. However, I'm not just a man walking in off the street; I'm here in the wake of the very-down-to-earth Mr Palmer, Jenny's father, who first made the missing person report. The Sergeant begins again more slowly. "Have you any corroboration for this," she pauses, "— event?"