4

Sophie eyed the Twitter page with doubt.

What was she supposed to write? What witticism or truth would inspire people to follow S & S Investigations, to hang on their every digital utterance, and to use their services? She sat back with a sigh. She was the one who had suggested they should have some sort of social media presence, thinking Paige would do it because Paige operated under the (partly) delusional belief that she said interesting things. But Paige had insisted Sophie, knowing more about personality and human behaviour, would be the better choice.

“Paige?”

“Just write something. Or better yet, take a photo of yourself doing something investigatory and Instagram it, then link it back to Twitter.”

“Investigatory? What would that look like?”

“I don’t know, sit at the computer and look intelligent and tenacious, and take a photo.”

Sophie eyed her phone warily, but then dutifully picked it up and aimed it at herself, making sure her computer—on a split-screen with their blank Twitter page on one side and her incomplete ASOS order on the other—wasn’t quite visible. She took a few shots from a couple of different angles, keeping her face half-turned to the laptop, trying to look, as Paige said, tenacious. But all the photos demonstrated was that Paige was right about Sophie’s constipated thinking face. She would not be putting up a photo that looked like a “before” ad for laxatives.

Sophie abandoned her phone and picked up her mug of peppermint tea, cradling it against her chest as she tried to think. She had major doubts about her ability to be an investigator, despite what Paige thought, but she wanted to contribute. She wanted to help get this business running. When it came to getting new business she was too shy to do much in a face to face situation—as had been proven yesterday—so she needed to come up with something for their website and their social media platform.

What would she want to see on a website or twitter feed, Sophie continued to muse. Maybe some interesting crime facts? Sophie sat up, the idea injecting a bit of enthusiasm into her veins. She could research interesting crime-related facts and post them. She could definitely do that. Oh! Sophie sat up even straighter. And psychological facts. They were a psychological investigations agency after all. People loved titbits about human psychology. Especially weird or self-indulgent ones. And yes—personality! People loved to think about their personality and what it might mean. Her colleagues had always been amazed at how many volunteers she used to get for her research experiments. The trick was to use the word personality in the study description. Bung in a quick personality test, and people got interested pretty fast. Everyone had at least a hint of narcissism.

Sophie set down her tea with a bang and opened up a search engine.

Paige looked over at the sound of this rush of activity and smiled. She’d known Sophie would get there. She didn’t even need to know what angle she was taking; she knew it would turn out great. Sophie was smart and creative, and determined in her own way, with an ability to focus Paige could only dream about.

Paige’s mobile phone rang. It was a landline number she didn’t recognise but she answered it anyway.

“Hello?” a woman shouted. “Paige Garnet? It’s Mary Burmeister.”

Paige held the phone away from her ear and winced. “Yes, yes. Mrs Burmeister, this is Paige.”

“Penny told me to call you... if... and now... I got a note... this morning.” Mary’s voice cracked and Paige couldn’t help but feel sorry for her. “He has Mr Minx.”

“Okay. I’ll be right over,” Paige said. “What’s your address?”

Paige shoved a notepad and a pen into her bag and signalled to Sophie, who was now wearing headphones.

“Hey, I’m going to see Mary Burmeister. She got the ransom note.”

“Do you need me to come? I’m happy to stay here and keep working on the social media stuff... I was thinking, rather than both going everywhere together, we could probably use our time more efficiently by working on different aspects of the case, or the business in general... unless you need me, of course, I think there will be times when we’re both needed, right?” Sophie faltered, suddenly worried she was being bossy.

“No, you’re totally right.” Paige smiled. “Good thinking. Hey, since you’re already online... do you want to see what you can get from Polly’s Facebook or whatever other platforms she’s on? There has to be something there, right?”

“But the Dixons didn’t hire us.”

“I know, but I say, let’s not let that stop us. Let’s just go for it. If we find her they might pay us, or at the very least, we’ll get publicity and some real clients.”

Sophie shrugged. It wasn’t as if they had heaps of other options.

Paige grabbed her bag and moved toward the door. “Shall I bring back lunch? Sushi?”

Sophie hesitated. She’d read, only yesterday, a story about how white rice had a high glycaemic index, and she’d downloaded a paper on the damage of repeatedly spiking insulin levels. Not just because of its effects on mood, blood-sugar levels, and all that stuff, but because it made you put on weight. The weekend had been a sugar-fest for Sophie, who had found herself unexpectedly at a couple’s dinner, sitting across from a guy who was clearly meant to be her date. This particular guy’s attempts at chatting her up had her cringing for most of the meal and she ended up excusing herself before dessert, pleading a stomach-ache.

“Uh... not sure I feel like sushi.”

“We can sort it out later.”

As Paige left the office Sophie allowed herself to re-live, in a blush-inducing, cringe-worthy memory, the worst bit of the whole night. Her date had followed her out of the restaurant—unbeknownst to Sophie—to check she was okay, and had caught her coming out of a nearby KiwiMart with her arms full of decadent treats for the pity-party she was throwing for herself when she got home. Sophie shook her head as she turned back to the computer—she needn’t worry about fielding any follow-up phone calls from him.

***

PAIGE MADE HER WAY down Symonds Street, a mishmash of vacant and refurbished offices, liquor stores, rundown eateries, $2 shops offering crap at cheap prices, and a handful of good restaurants and cafés, and retrieved her car from a pay-and-display spot. There was a bus that went straight down New North Road, virtually a door-to-door service from home to office, but most days Paige couldn’t face taking the bus. Plus, she needed a car to run errands like this, she reasoned. For the good of the business.

Fifteen minutes later, she arrived at her destination—Clonburn Road—a pretty, leafy street in the heart of Remuera. She parked on the street and got out, wondering whether the Pet Napper lived near here or whether they had chosen Remuera because of the people who lived here—rich and likely to pay for the safe return of precious pets. Hard to tell with so little to go on. She knocked on the beautiful wooden door and waited.

“Yes, dear? Can I help you?” Mary Burmeister was small and anxious looking with large grey eyes.

“I’m Paige Garnet,” Paige said with a smile.

Mary Burmeister looked perplexed.

“I’m here about Mr Minx? From the detective agency.”

“Oh yes, of course, sorry... I’m not sure what I was expecting.”

After a pause Mary abruptly thrust a piece of paper at Paige, folded up into a square, and raised an already sodden handkerchief to stem a tide of imminent tears. “It was in the letterbox this morning.”

Paige opened the note.

I’m in the business of borrowing, so no need for alarm, your treasured pet will be returned to you without harm. As long as you follow my instructions. Don’t tell anyone about this, and do not get the police involved or you will never see your cat again. Place $5,000 in unmarked bills into a nondescript sports bag and wait for instructions regarding the drop-off.

Yours, Billy the Borrower

“Why don’t we go inside and sit down so we can talk properly,” Paige said.

Mrs Burmeister nodded, composing herself. “This way.” She led Paige into an over-decorated and overheated room.

“I’ll make us some tea,” Mrs Burmeister said.

“Jeeves off today, is he?” Paige blurted. Mrs Burmeister seemed like exactly the kind of person who would have a butler.

“Pardon, my dear?”

“Nothing.” Paige bit her lip. Mocking your first and only paying client was a dumb move.

Paige pulled off her scarf and looked around the room. Despite its size, it felt claustrophobic. Paige wondered if there was a Mr Burmeister, or if there ever had been. How did this small and somewhat vacant woman own a house like this in this part of town? Was it a rich husband, or rich parents? Or had she been some sort of ground-breaking pioneer, a single woman who had accumulated immense wealth all on her own, living life as a gleeful spinster. The rattle of a tray of tea brought Paige out of her speculations.

“Here we go,” Mrs Burmeister said, her birdlike arms trembling under the weight of a full teapot.

“Thank you, Mrs Burmeister.”

“Please, call me Mary.”

While Mary busied herself at the tea tray, Paige pulled out her black notepad—with a flip cover, just like the ones cops and detectives used—and her pen. One of the first things she’d purchased for the business was a few of these for her and Sophie. She found the mere presence of them thrilling beyond words.

Mary spooned an alarming amount of sugar into a cup and handed it to Paige.

“I remembered something about the day poor Mr Minx was taken,” she said, once she’d settled down with her own cup of tea.

“Good. I was just about to ask,” Paige said, pen poised.

“There was a man. I remembered seeing a young man walk past my garden,” she began. “I called out hello to him but he didn’t respond.” Mary’s wide eyes conveyed her surprise at this behaviour. “At the time I thought he was just a rude young man, but now I think about it, it was rather suspicious, because he increased his pace after I called out, until he was almost running away. And he had a coat bunched under his arm. It looked... unnatural.” Mary looked to Paige for confirmation that this was indeed significant.

“That is a good clue,” Paige nodded as she wrote it down. How on earth was this not the first thing she thought of? Perhaps losing your cat was traumatic.

Paige tapped her pen against the notepad. It was very possible this was the guy, carting away the poor Mr Minx in his coat. And if it was him, maybe he wasn’t a local. A local would’ve known that people like Mary, who live in neighbourhoods like this, notice each other and say “hello”. It would also make such a brazen kidnapping a foolish move. What if a neighbour saw him, wanted to stop for a chat while he had a squirming, possibly meowing, bundle under his arm. How on earth would he explain that away? No, it was more likely he lived elsewhere, but perhaps not too far away.

“And what did he look like?” Paige asked.

“He has dark grey fur, round inquisitive eyes and a cheeky bottom—”

“Uh, no. The young man. Do you remember?”

“No. Not really. I do remember he was wearing a hat, one of those American-style baseball cap perhaps? And I think he had glasses. Not sunglasses, but prescription glasses. And I’m not certain, but I have the impression he was on the hefty side.”

“Hmm,” Paige said, writing this down too. She flicked her eyes over Mary, who must weigh 45 kgs at the most, and wondered whether she could trust this hefty description.

“How old do you think he was?”

“Oh goodness. I find it so hard to tell,” Mary squinted and looked at Paige. “Around your age perhaps?”

“How about a ten-year window from, let’s say, twenty-five to thirty-five—just to be safe?” Paige suggested.

“Perhaps that would be wise,” Mary agreed, taking a sip of her tea.

“Are you aware there have been two others? Two other pets taken?” Paige waited for a nod before continuing. “One of them was my mother’s cat, but I don’t know who the other pet owner was. I don’t suppose you have her name?”

“Oh, no, dear. I don’t.” Mary shook her head slowly. “But I may know someone who does. My friend Susan, she’s the one who told Penny about Mr Minx. I’m seeing her for lunch today so I could find out for you?”

“Yes, please. It’s very important.” Paige nodded and made a note to follow up with Mary this afternoon. “Unless there’s anything else, I’ll get right onto this.” Paige stood up abruptly and made to leave. “But please, be sure to contact me the moment you hear anything,” she added. Mary’s chin started wobbling. “I’m sure it’ll be okay, we’ll find him for you.” Paige eyed Mary with alarm. Waterworks were imminent and she wanted to get out of there. There was a reason she’d opted to work with digital representations of neural activity rather than the human creators of such activity.

As she walked back to her car, Paige thought she might indulge in some optimistic thinking. It looked as if they now had an actual case, not to mention an actual clue.

***

SOPHIE WAS ON FACEBOOK looking up Polly Dixon.

Luckily for Sophie, Polly wanted a public voice and had an open profile. Studying Polly’s profile photo, Sophie noted she’d undergone some changes since the photo published in the paper was taken. Her pretty eyes and wide smile remained, but her hair was now bright pink, and her expression more guarded and knowing. The overall impression Polly gave was not one of a militant environmentalist, but it was clear from her Facebook feed that she was. She wasn’t someone who just ranted about the environment on the internet from the comfort of their carbon-footprint-increasing lifestyle; she raised money, implemented local programmes, and had even organised a couple of anti-TPPA rallies. Polly appeared to be the real deal.

Sophie scrolled through the posts and pages, amazed at how much information was right here for the taking. Two days before she disappeared Polly had made an oblique reference to working on uncovering something big but hadn’t posted a follow-up. She’d posted twice the next day, but on the night she disappeared her account was dormant. Friends had started posting on her page the next day, asking where she was. In the five days following that, there’d been only one post from her saying she was fine, she’d just gone “off the grid” for a break.

Talia Ioane, who Sophie guessed was Polly’s best friend by the amount of posting, tagging and commenting traffic between the two of them, didn’t seem satisfied with this. She’d demanded more of an explanation, for Polly to DM her, and to call her back. In fact, with “where are you?” posts starting on Thursday night, around the same time her parents had noticed she hadn’t come home, it seemed Talia had been worried from the start. This was the first real indication Polly’s disappearance might be out of her own control. Sophie made a note of Talia’s full name, then composed a message to her.

“Hi Talia. My name is Sophie and I want to ask you about Polly. Have you heard from her? I’m worried she’s missing. Can we meet somewhere?”

Sophie attempted a ‘concerned friend’ tone. She thought it was worth letting Talia know she was looking for Polly for non-nefarious reasons, and she should be considered on her side, just in case there were sides to be had.

Talia responded straight away.

“Finally! I have some stuff to tell you. Can you come to uni? Albert Park. Next to the fountain?”

“I can be there in half an hour.”

Sophie sat back and allowed herself a smile. She had a lead. It wasn’t for a case they had been hired to solve, but still, it was a lead.

***

PAIGE POPPED BACK INTO the office to type up her notes. If she didn’t do it now, it would never happen.

Munching on the takeaway salad she’d picked up from Farro, she typed up a summary of her interview with Mary and printed it out. She put down her fork and, making sure she’d wiped off any remnants of oil and vinegar, reached over to retrieve a new manila file from the second drawer of her desk. She uncapped the lid of one of the black vivids in her pen holder and grinned. Instead of using the Cloud or sharing documents on Google, she and Sophie had opted for the old-school approach of manila files, pens and paper. It would probably prove to be a pain down the line, but for now, it made them both feel more like investigators.

Paige’s mobile phone rang.

“Mrs Burmeister... I mean, Mary. Yes? You’re with Susan now? Great. And does she have the name... uh-huh... okay... yes I have a pen.” Paige wrote down the name and phone number of the woman whose dog had turned up dead after being taken. Mrs Myerson. “Thanks very much. I’ll be in touch.”

Paige ended the call and turned back to the manila file to write Case File: The Remuera Pet Napper on the front. She held up the file and studied it, sighing with pleasure. Straight after the meeting with Mary Burmeister, Paige had called Penny Milton and an hour later picked up their retainer cheque, thus securing their first official case.

It made her shiver with excitement.

With her salad finished and the container in the bin, she moved on to typing up the notes Sophie had taken. She printed these out too, added them to the file, and then picked up the office phone to dial Mrs Myerson’s number.

“Hello, this is Dr Paige Garnet, Alice Garnet’s daughter,” she began.

Twenty minutes later she hung up.

Mrs Myerson, still distraught over the death of her beloved dog, had kept the ransom note and was able to recount, if tearfully, the events surrounding the abduction of her Yorkshire Terrier, who was called, somewhat ridiculously Paige thought, Baby.

She’d taken Baby, as she did every day, for an after-lunch frolic in the Remuera dog park. She’d stopped to chat to a friend for a couple of minutes, after which she’d realised she couldn’t see Baby anywhere. After a panicked search of the park and surrounding area, she’d returned home hoping she had, for some reason, run home herself. By the time Mrs Myerson had the presence of mind to remember Baby was microchipped, the chip had been disabled. Three days later the ransom note had been hand-delivered to her letterbox.

Paige had waited on the phone as Mrs Myerson retrieved the note and read it to her. The note was almost identical to the one Mary Burmeister had received. The only difference was the word “dog” instead of cat. When Mrs Myerson had received the note, scared out of her wits, she had called her son. He’d told her to stop being hysterical and to call the police. “He’s very busy,” she’d said to Paige in explanation. But the instructions had been clear about involving the police and Mrs Myerson just couldn’t risk it. So, she’d withdrawn the cash from the bank, purchased a sports bag into which she’d put the money, and waited anxiously for further instruction. The following morning she’d received a call from the Mt Eden Veterinarians. Baby was there. The ensuing moment of elation had been crushed by the information that Baby was in fact dead. Poor Mrs Myerson, believing she was to blame, was wracked with guilt. She’d broken the rules by talking to her son and now Baby was gone. At this point Mrs Myerson had ended the call with Paige, saying with an anguished sob that she had to go lie down. Paige felt guilty for dredging it up again, but she needed information. This was a real case, they had a real client, and these were all real clues.

Paige turned back to the case file.

Her mother’s cat TomTom had been taken two months ago and while she couldn’t remember all the details, she had given Sophie the basics. TomTom, like Mr Minx, could have been taken from anywhere within a one-kilometre radius, as he liked to roam the streets. Her mother thought it had been three days after TomTom disappeared that a ransom note had appeared in the letterbox. It had instructed her to get $5,000 in cash, put it in a sports bag, and await further instructions. Alice Garnet thought another three days had passed before the instructions had arrived, again in her letterbox. This note had told her to drop the money off the following morning. Somewhat incredibly, Alice couldn’t remember the exact time or the exact location, just that it was Newmarket Park. She did know, however, that she had followed the instructions and TomTom had shown up that same afternoon. He had sauntered into the garden as if he had just returned from a refreshing mini-break, and that was that. Alice Garnet, being the person she was, had thrown away the note and washed her hands of the whole incident.

Paige sat back in her chair and looked up at the ceiling to think. Her chair spun lazily. All three ransom notes seemed to be the same, if her mother’s memory could be relied upon, which therefore indicated a pattern, which was helpful. But there was something else, something more. It niggled at her. There was something so familiar about it all.

She shrugged. It would come to her.

***

SOPHIE SCANNED THE park benches surrounding the fountain. It was not difficult to spot Talia; she’d seen about a million photos of her on Facebook.

Slumped on the bench doing something on her phone, with black clothes, dark hair streaked with green and a moody expression, Talia looked like an anti-establishment poster child.

“Talia? Hi, I’m Sophie.”

“You don’t look like a police officer.”

Sophie sat down next to her on the bench. “I’m not. I’m, uh...” Sophie couldn’t bring herself to say private investigator. “I’m investigating on behalf of the Dixons.” This was only a sort of lie—she was, she just hadn’t been actually hired to do so.

“Whatever. I’m glad someone is looking into it. I can’t believe the police are just acting like it’s nothing.”

“You think her disappearance is suspicious.”

“That Facebook post, the one that said she was taking a break? Whatever. Not likely.” Talia broke off and bit her lip, suddenly looking like a child. For all her bravado and the tough-girl persona she exuded in person and online, she was obviously worried about her friend.

“Before she disappeared she mentioned to me she’d just stumbled on something that could be a massive deal, but she wouldn’t tell me what.”

“Why not?”

“I don’t know. She liked to be the one with the information and the one leading everything, I guess.” Talia shrugged. “Or maybe she was worried about accusing someone without enough evidence? You don’t want to get sued by a corporation with big-deal lawyers, you know?”

“Sued? Was this something to do with her activism?”

Talia nodded.

“And she didn’t tell you anything more?”

“No, all she said was... hang on I’ll show you.” With a few taps and scroll, Talia brought up a text exchange.

Polly: OMG. Big news. Will find out deets 2night. Tell u 2mrw.

When Sophie saw the date, she inhaled sharply. “The night she went missing.”

Talia nodded, pleased that someone was paying attention to her.

“What did the police say about this?”

“The police? They haven’t even interviewed me,” Talia said with a scowl. “Like I said, they aren’t interested.”

“What issues were top of Polly’s, uh, activism list?” Sophie knew what Facebook said, but she wanted to hear it from Talia.

“Um, I would say animal testing, sustainability, fossil fuels, but I guess her main concern was corporate practices affecting the environment. She’s a member of Earth Systems, we both are.”

“Earth Systems?”

Talia looked a little put-out at Sophie’s ignorance. “It’s an international group dedicated to protecting the environment.”

“Okay.” Sophie made a note.

“And Polly also helped set up a local group called ENVIRONZ. She set it up with a guy called Jay.”

“Jay? Was that just a... uh... business relationship?” Sophie wondered if the friendship Mr Dixon had referred to could be him.

“Ew, yes. Jay is like, thirty,” she said, wrinkling her nose.

Sophie winced.

“No... she wasn’t tight with him,” Talia continued, gnawing on her thumb, staring off into the distance.

“But she was seeing someone?”

“Yeah. Sort of. Dominic.”

“Sort of? So not serious, but...?” Sophie prompted.

“I don’t know. I never liked him. He’s a bit aggro. Polly liked how intense he is, he’s part of Earth Systems as well, but I think he’s—”

“Dangerous?” Sophie offered, her stomach clenching.

“I don’t know.” She shrugged. “He’s kind of unpredictable, I guess. Polly was into all this stuff, but Dominic? He was super hard core. And look.” Talia swiped and tapped her phone again, scrolling down to posts from a couple of weeks ago. Sophie leaned in, shielding the screen from the sun.

“See these posts? Dominic was talking about Polly. He doesn’t name her, but he totally is. And here, you can see what Polly said back.”

When Sophie read the exchange, she froze.

Dominic and Polly had a bitter Facebook fight just a few days before her disappearance.