He led them both into the main room of the house, a double-height living room that captured the light from large slanted windows. There was a galley kitchen in the far corner, a breakfast bar with barstools arranged around it. There was a large television tuned to CNN, a shelf of medical textbooks and, on the wall, a picture of a younger Brady — perhaps ten years younger — posing in army uniform with a group of soldiers. The photograph was taken in a desert; it looked like Iraq. He cleared the sofa of discarded remnants of the newspaper so that they could sit down.

“Could I get you something to drink?”

“No thanks,” Trip said, struggling with his impatience.

Milton smiled encouragingly at the boy. “No,” he repeated. “That’s alright. We’re fine.”

Brady lowered himself to the sofa. “So what did Victor have to say about me?”

“Just what he said that you’ve been saying.”

“Which was—”

“That she — the girl, Madison — was here. That she knocked on the door and you took her in. He says you used to specialise in getting kids off drugs and that you run a retreat here. Kids with problems come up here and you help them get clean. That true?”

“Yes, that’s true.”

“And Madison?”

“No, that isn’t true. And I don’t know why he’d say that.”

“It didn’t happen?”

“I heard the clamour — my God, the noise she was making, it’d be impossible not to hear her. She must’ve clambered over the wall at the bottom of the garden and went straight across, screaming for help at the top of her lungs. I was up working.”

“At that hour?”

“I was an Army doctor, Mr. Smith. Served my country in the Gulf, both times.” He indicated the photograph on the wall. “Second time, one of our men ended up with both legs blown off after he stepped on an IED. I went to try and help stabilise him before we got him out. Didn’t notice the second IED.” He closed his hand into a fist and rapped it against his leg; it sounded a hollow, plastic knock. “Gets painful sometimes so that I can’t sleep. It was like it that night. Kept me awake so I thought I might as well make myself useful.”

“I’m sorry,” Milton said.

“No-one notices. That’s the beauty with prosthetics these days. You wouldn’t know unless you’re told. They’re not quite so inconspicuous if you have to wear one, though. But, you know, we’re getting better at it all the time. Another five years…” He spread his arms wide. “It’ll be good as new. You won’t even know it’s there.”

“Nevertheless.”

“I manage.”

He tried to make a connection with him. “I served, too,” he said.

“Iraq?”

“Yes. Both times.”

“Doing what?”

“Just a squaddie the first time. Then special forces.”

“SAS?”

“That’s right.”

“You boys are tough as hell. Came across a few of your colleagues.”

“That right?”

“Helped one of them out. Crashed his jeep. Ended up with a broken leg.”

“You know what,” Milton said, smiling at him. “I will have that coffee.”

Brady smiled. “Not a problem. Young man?”

“No,” Trip said. “I’m fine.”

Brady got up and went to the kitchen. There was a coffee machine on the countertop and Brady made two cups of black coffee. “You been to Afghanistan, too?” he asked.

“Several times,” Milton replied.

“What’s it like?”

“It wouldn’t be on my bucket list, put it like that.”

“Never been out there myself but that’s what I heard from the guys I know who have. Ragheads — you ask me, we leave them to get on with whatever it is they want to do to each other. One thing you can say about them, they know how to fight — right?”

Milton ignored his distaste for the man. “They do.”

“Gave the Russians a bloody nose when they tried to bring them in line, didn’t they? They’ll end up doing the exact same thing to us. If it was my decision, I’d get us out of there as soon as I could. We should never have gone in the first place.”

Brady rambled on for a moment, his remarks scattered with casual racism. Milton nodded and made encouraging responses but he was hardly listening; he took the opportunity to scan the room more carefully: the stack of unpaid bills on the countertop; the newspaper, yellow highlighter all over a story about the Republican primary for the Presidential elections; a precarious stack of vinyl albums on the floor; the textbooks shoved haphazardly onto the shelves; framed photographs of two children and a woman Milton guessed must have been Brady’s wife. Nothing stood out. Nothing out of the ordinary. Certainly nothing that was a reason for suspicion.

“Milk and sugar?”

“No thanks. Black’s fine.”

He passed him a mug of coffee and went back around to sit. “So — the girl.”

Trip leaned forwards. “Madison,” he said.

“That’s right.”

“Did you speak to her?”

“Not really. I went to the door and called out but she didn’t even pause. Kept going straight on.”

“She didn’t come in?”

“No, she didn’t. Like I said, she ran off.”

“Why would Mr. Leonard tell me that you said she did come in?” Milton asked.

“You’ll have to ask him that. Between us, Victor’s an old man. His faculties… well, let’s be charitable about it and say that they’re not what they once were.”

“He’s lying?”

“I’m not saying that. Perhaps he’s just mistaken. It wouldn’t be the first time.”

“Right.”

Brady spoke easily and credibly. If he was lying, he was good at it.

The doctor sipped his coffee and rested the mug on the arm of the chair. “You’ve reported her missing?”

“Of course,” Trip said tersely.

“And?”

“They were useless.”

“Well, of course, in their defence, this isn’t a lost child, is it? She’s a grown-up. I suppose they might be inclined to think she’s gone off somewhere on her own and she’ll come back when she feels like it.”

“She’s missing,” Trip said, his temper up a little. Milton felt the atmosphere in the room change; the boy was angry and the doctor’s air of self-importance would only inflame things. They had got all they were going to get from this visit. It was time to go.

He stood. “Thanks for the coffee. I’m sorry we had to bother you.”

Brady stood, too. “I’ll tell you what,” he said, reaching into his pocket and fishing out a business card. “This is my number. I’ll be happy to help out if you need anything. I’m on the board of the community association here. If you want to speak to anyone else or if you want to put flyers out, that sort of thing, please do just give me a call. Anything I can do, just ask.”

Milton took the card. “Thank you,” he said as they made their way back down the corridor. They shook at the door. Brady’s hands were bigger than his but they were soft and his grip was flaccid and damp, unimpressive. Milton thanked him again and, impelling Trip onwards with a hand on his shoulder, they made their way down the steps to the pavement. Milton turned back to the house and saw Brady watching them from a side window; the man waved at him as soon as he realised that he had been seen. Milton turned back to the car, went around and got inside.

“Bullshit,” Trip said. “One of them is lying, right?”

“Yes,” Milton said. “But I don’t know who.”

13

Milton met Trip in Top Notch Burger at noon the next day. Julius bagged up Milton’s cheeseburger and the Original with jalapeños that the boy had ordered and they ate them on the way back to Pine Shore. Trip had printed a missing person poster overnight and they had stopped at a Kinko’s to run off two hundred copies. The poster was a simple affair, with a picture of Madison smiling into the camera with a paper birthday hat perched on her head. MISSING was printed above the photograph in bold capitals, her name was below the photograph and then, at the foot of the flyer, was Trip’s cellphone number and his email address.