Munroe pulled out a copy of the diary entry and handed it to Denise. ‘She was quite affected by your abduction too. She followed the case on the news. She wrote a few prayers for you.’

Denise felt her emotions stir and she tapped the wall hard.

‘Dr Goldenberg has this theory that she might be disappearing to emulate you in some unconscious way. Maybe she sees it as a means of getting some attention. Her mother’s a real live-wire. Doesn’t have much to do with Abby.’

Denise shook her head. ‘That’s bullshit.’

‘He’s trying to imagine why she’s not come home. He doesn’t want to think she’s just cut loose on him and run away with some guy.’

‘And what do you think, Detective?’

‘Looks like she planned to go away. She stowed her books and a set of clothes in a tree in the woods near her home. A dog-walker found them. She faked a phone call to a friend to get out of the house. We think she was going to meet someone. Maybe it was to run away, maybe she got into trouble.’

‘If she was planning to run away, would she leave her diaries? This stuff is quite intimate. She’d know it’s the first place you’d all look. She mention any boyfriend in the diaries?’

‘No, she didn’t.’

Denise turned. ‘She’s not a runaway. But you’re not here for an opinion, are you?’

‘Listen, we’re ticking boxes here, Dr Levene. We’ve got a list, your name’s on it. We got to ask. Have you seen her? Has she contacted you? Anything? This would’ve been a phone call if you ever picked up.’

‘No. Nothing. As you know, I’m not easy to get hold of.’

Denise used the towel around her shoulder to rub her hair. She looked at Abby’s picture again. She saw a bright, kind face, both cheeky and prepossessing. If she was to take a guess on the girl’s attitude, she’d say that she was a fun-loving risk-taker who had her father wrapped round her little finger. The smile would get her a long way, not necessarily in the right direction.

‘Is that all?’ said Denise. ‘I’ve got an appointment to keep.’

Chapter Seven

Apartment, East Harlem

March 7, 8.51 a.m.

The door to Harper’s bedroom opened. The drapes were drawn back and Eddie Kasper stood over his partner, saying, ‘What the hell happened?’

Harper’s eyes remained shut. He lay flat out on his bed, his face all cuts and bruises, each one of which he felt reverberating through his head.

Eddie flicked the switch on the radio that lay askew on an old crate and turned the volume high. It blared out a news report complete with high-pitched crackles. The man on the bed failed to stir.

‘The parents of the missing high-school girl, Abby Goldenberg, have made a fresh appeal for witnesses. Abby’s mother and father have come together to make a video appeal to help find their daughter who went missing at 5.15 p.m. on February 26.’

‘She’s probably already lying dead someplace,’ said Eddie and turned the radio off.

‘Optimist.’

‘So now you’re awake.’

‘What do you want, Eddie? I’m not on shift for two days.’

‘Leave has just been cancelled.’

Harper turned and moaned. ‘What’s going on?’

‘Just get up, Harper. I’ll tell you all you need to know on the way. Come on, we got to go.’ He threw a bag of grapes on to Harper’s stomach. ‘And there’s some get-well-soon food for you from the girls at the precinct. They love a loser. Shirley was almost weeping when I told her about the fight, Harps. Weeping. You should think about it. She’s not a bad-looking woman.’

Harper listened without response. He was finding it difficult enough to open his right eye. The left one was completely closed over. All he could see was a cloud of pinkish red. He was almost blind.

‘I need ice,’ he groaned. ‘I can’t fucking move.’ He lifted his head and it shrieked like a train rushing towards a subway station. ‘Get me something, Eddie. Codeine. Anything.’

‘Hell, you’re a sad mess of a man,’ said Eddie. ‘And it smells like a goddamn locker room in here. Harps, come on, what the hell are you doing to yourself?’ Eddie threw open a window and headed into the tiny kitchen that was hidden behind a torn drape.

Harper moved his legs to the floor and lifted his torso off the bed. He sat for a moment, feeling the thumping of pain, then coughed violently and felt his ribs ache like they were broken in several places. He spat blood on to the floor, then looked out through a thin slit of light at the tall, slim figure of Eddie Kasper looming above holding a glass of water and a handful of pills.

‘I’m guessing I didn’t win,’ said Harper.

‘There we go. Make a joke of it. You could have got seriously hurt and I’m not going to be pushing you to no crime scene in a wheelchair.’

Harper grunted and tried to rouse himself from the bed but as he moved, his head thudded with bolts of pain. Every part of his face felt too large: his lips, gums, jawbone, and eyes. His chest, kidneys and stomach felt raw. Every muscle was yelling at him.

Eddie passed him the glass of water. ‘Shit, I couldn’t believe what I was seeing, Harps. I was not prepared. I am upset, man. I was feeling emotional for you last night. Nearly jumped in the ring myself.’

‘Should’ve helped me out,’ said Harper out of the corner of his mouth. His lips cracked and he tasted blood on his tongue.

Eddie walked close and pushed Harper’s head back. Harper struggled with the pain. ‘What the hell, Eddie?’

‘I lost a hundred on you, Harps. I’ve got a very expensive date tonight and I’ve been promising her some fancy place. Now I got nothing. So much for a sure bet.’

‘Then don’t gamble.’

‘What am I going to tell her?’

‘I don’t know, Eddie, just cut out the middle man and take her to bed.’

Eddie stood up straight for a moment. ‘Not a bad idea, maestro. Looks like that little Italian didn’t mess your head up too bad.’

Harper tried to stand and felt a fresh stab of pain across his chest and stomach. He sat down again and breathed deeply.

Eddie looked at his partner’s face. ‘You were never handsome, Harps, not like me, but you weren’t no monster, either. But now, I gotta tell you, you look like someone took that ugly stick and beat you half to death with it.’

‘You’re way too sympathetic, Eddie, you know that?’

‘What you want sympathy for? No one forced you to fight. We all told you to stay clear.’

‘You’re right, no one forced me.’

‘A hundred bucks, Harps — where’s the sympathy for my losses?’

‘It’s boxing, Eddie — remember not to bet on the white guy.’

‘The other guy was a white guy, Harps.’

‘Then I really was no good.’

Eddie took one of the coffees he’d brought with him from the deli in the street outside and handed it to Harper. He sat down and shook his head. ‘Man, your face is like some close-up of a fungus. You should see a doctor.’

‘I’ll survive.’ He threw four pills down his throat and gulped back water.

‘And when the doctor’s finished with you, you should go see the psychiatrist and get your head mended. And when the shrink’s finished with you, you should take your gloves and throw them in the Hudson. You stank, man.’

‘That bad?’

‘It was like someone had switched you off. You didn’t land a single punch, Harps. Not a single punch. You let him boss you round the ring. He was taking pot shots at you. Using that pretty face of yours for target practice. It was a massacre.’

Harper stared across, unable to smile. ‘First time I slept that well in a long while, though.’

‘Being unconscious doesn’t count as sleep.’

‘It gets you from night to day just the same. Look, these injuries may look bad, but he wasn’t packing much in those punches. No lasting damage.’

‘It upset me, man, and I don’t like that. Come here, big guy.’ Eddie pulled Harper to his feet, wrapped his arms around him and squeezed him tight.