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I leaned over the desk and took the shot-glass from Tillyfor's hand, which trembled slightly as I touched it. She didn't fight me. I placed the glass, now nearly empty, on the desk in front of her, just out of easy reach. Then I settled back in my swivel chair, which squeaked softly as I moved, and looked at her solemnly. "We had an argument," she said eventually, "We were at home, getting ready for bed. Very late. I'd come in tired after the last show, just wanted to sleep. She wanted to talk. It wasn't a good start." I just looked at her some more. "Tillykerie wanted more excitement in her life," she explained with a sigh, "She wanted to try out as a dancer. Wanted me to get her into the chorus line." "Would she have been any good?" I asked, more to keep her talking than anything else. "We both studied ballet as children. Mother insisted. She's pretty good, maybe better than me. But Mom wouldn't have wanted her anywhere near a place like the Midnight Square." I didn't ask whether Mother would have approved of Tillyfor appearing on-stage in a burlesque review. People have such capacity for self-delusion. "So you told her you wouldn't help her, that she wasn't to do anything your old Mom wouldn't approve of?" Tillyfor nodded. "She accused me of trying to run her life, that I wasn't Mother. She got angry, shouted at me, then stormed out of the apartment." "Do you often argue?" "We're sisters. Of course we argue sometimes. But we always kiss and make up afterwards." "So what happened next?" "I followed her out of the apartment. I could hear her running down the stairs, crying. I chased her into the street but, by the time I got there, she had disappeared completely." "Disappeared?" "I couldn't see her anywhere," Tillyfor said sadly, "She couldn't have gone far. She wasn't properly dressed, just pyjamas. Nothing on her feet." "So where's your place?" I asked, still scribbling in my notebook. "Thwarthammer." That figured. A low-rent but tolerably respectable cavern full to the ceiling of steeply-stepped terraces, each containing hundreds of tiny old-fashioned apartments. The kind of place somebody who wanted to live cheaply and quietly without their neighbours knowing anything about them would choose. She added the street and block names, and the apartment number, which I jotted down. "Then what happened?" I demanded. "I searched everywhere. I wandered the streets all night. Not a sign." "And when was this?" Tillyfor glanced in the direction of the shot-glass, but thought better of it. "Three nights ago. I haven’t slept well since." "Anyone she might have gone to, a friend? Somebody she knew from the restaurant?" She shook her head. "I went to the restaurant, talked to people there. Nobody had seen or heard from her. She hadn't turned up for work the following day. They were a bit annoyed about that. Short-staffed, I suppose." "And she's not been to the Theatre?" "No. I've asked everybody there. Nobody’s seen her." "Did you talk to the cops?" "I went to the precinct station yesterday. The police were very polite and wrote everything down, but didn't seem very interested really. People go missing all the time, they said. She's an adult. Maybe she's got a job somewhere else, they said." That sounded about right. The cops know that most people who go missing are absolutely fine, just wanted a change in their life, to get away from overbearing parents or inconvenient relationships. But they have to make a report, to cover their backs in the rare event that something bad happens. "That's not a lot to go on," I said dubiously, frowning at the notes in front of me, "Are you sure you want me to investigate?" "Yes!" Tillyfor squeaked, "I’ve got money. I can pay you. Just find my sister for me!" "Okay, okay. But is there anything else you can tell me?" I pressed, "Anything at all?" She thought for a moment, her forehead wrinkling prettily. "When I chased Tillykerie onto the street," she said hesitantly, "I thought I saw Mister Balloch in the distance." I frowned again. "Who's he?"
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Part 6