The Lost

Book 1: Stone and Oliver

by Mari Hannah

Genres: Police Procedurals; Crime Fiction; Suspense

Synopsis

The gripping first novel in the exciting new Stone and Oliver series by award-winning author Mari Hannah.

Alex should never have agreed to the spur-of-the-moment holiday with her sister. Seven days felt like a year without Daniel, her 10-year-old son. This was the first time they had been apart since he was born, and her husband had convinced her it was a good idea. It was a bad idea. Daniel has gone missing.

Local CID officers David Stone and Frankie Oliver have been assigned their first case together. A small boy's fate lies in their hands, and the pressure is on. And when someone close to Daniel is found dead, they begin to feel the heat.

Release date: July 16, 2019

Publisher: Orion Publishing Group

Print pages: 416

Sample

 

Prologue

Without Tim, Alex would be dead. Every time that thought entered her head she loved him a little bit more. Right now, the urge to see him was greater than it had ever been. Apart from business trips, this was the first time they had been separated since they married. Seven days felt like a year. She should never have agreed to the holiday without him. Seeing Kat had been worth the sacrifice, but now Alex wanted her life back.

She looked up, a tinkling sound grabbing her attention. Long faces with straggly beards stared at her. There was nothing sinister about them and yet she felt tense. Fortunately, goats slept at night. Their cowbells hadn’t kept her awake. Shame the same couldn’t be said for her sister. Kat had whined continually, complaining that the villa’s owner should have warned them that they would get no peace. She cared less than Alex that farming was important to the economy and culture of Majorca and its people.

She cared less than Alex, full stop.

Looking left along the driveway to the dusty road, Alex focused on their redundant hire car, eyes straying beyond the garden gate to the southern face of the Serra de Tramuntana dominating the near distance. In the foothills beneath, white villas baked in the searing heat. Alex longed to look inside. Not that she had the means to purchase one just now. Her money was tied up in Tim’s business and her own expanding public relations company.

More than once this week Kat had pointed out that being married to an ambitious entrepreneur had its downside. She viewed Tim as a reckless risk-taker. As far as Alex was concerned, her opinions were immaterial, although it pained her to think that two of the three people she loved most in the world had never really hit it off. Last night, as she floated the possibility of owning a holiday home within striking distance of the UK, Kat reminded her that there was no cash for second homes when the first was re-mortgaged to the hilt. Alex got that. She did. All the same, she bridled at the dig. Apart from Daniel, her ten-year-old, Tim was her world. He had plans her sister was unaware of – ones that Alex was OK with if it made him happy.

She owed him.

Lifting her wine glass, she savoured an aged Rioja, a blend of grapes local to the area, rich, earthy and well rounded. Alex eyed the vines all around her, long branches and thick leaves flourishing in the warm climate. Tim would appreciate the simple lifestyle here, the relaxed pace, the opportunity to read and swim and feel hot earth beneath bare feet. But, as it had for Alex, the novelty of living the island dream would soon wear off.

They’d be bored in a few days.

‘Welcome to Casa Pegueña.’ Kat was reading the visitors’ book over Alex’s shoulder. ‘You’re not going to write War and Peace, are you, Ali? Check-in closes in four hours. There’s time for one last dip and a shower before we head off. C’mon, get your kit off.’

‘No, you go ahead. I’m done.’

Sulking, Kat sat down, stripping the shirt from a deeply tanned body. Alex felt pale by comparison. While she’d enjoyed her break, much of the week the heat had been oppressive. Most days she’d taken refuge in the shade of the terrace. She’d not ventured up the Puig de Maria to the monastery to take in its amazing views, walked the kilometre to the Roman town of Polença or driven to the port. Other than trips to the supermarket, she’d not gone out – not even to the beach. And whilst the idea of a place here held a certain appeal, she’d be glad to get home to Northumberland where it was green and cool, she thought, but didn’t say.

A breeze picked up. It swept across the parched land, rustling surrounding vegetation, kissing her face. Though the rippling pool water was enticing, she didn’t move, except to remove her sunglasses, the better to see her sister.

There was mischief in Kat’s eyes.

‘What?’ Alex said.

‘I was just wondering what state your place will be in when you get home.’ Kat’s point was that, unlike Alex, she had a tidy bijou flat to return to in upmarket Marylebone. No kids. Never wanted any. No clutter. Probably no soul. Alex hadn’t yet seen the property. She would, as soon as she got the opportunity. Her life had been crazy of late.

‘It’ll be spotless,’ she said.

‘Yes, I forgot you had a maid.’

‘Justine’s not a maid.’

‘You sacked the last one, as I recall.’

‘That’s not strictly true.’

‘That’s right,’ Kat teased. ‘You let her go. Either way, Maria ended up on the dole.’

Alex went quiet. When Daniel was born, she’d returned to work within weeks of giving birth. With a husband and two businesses to support there was no other choice. Maria was her saviour. During Alex’s second pregnancy things were different, financially and in every other way. She was happy, hopelessly in love with the new man in her life – in a totally different place. After ten years of loyal service, she’d dispensed with Maria with no inkling that she’d live to regret it. The plan was to take a year off to spend time with her newborn – a decision her husband supported wholeheartedly. Little did they know that there would be no baby to stay home for . . .

Tim had been heartbroken when told that it was too dangerous to try again. Her biological clock had beaten them, a diagnosis he accepted without apportioning blame or making a fuss. Unable to live with the guilt of losing their child, his first, Alex had returned to work at the earliest opportunity. By then Maria had found another family to care for and Alex accepted Justine in her place.

As dark memories faded, Alex ached to be home. Although she’d hidden it from Kat, she had been planning her return journey from the moment she left the UK. Not a second had gone by without thinking of her family. She’d been parted from Tim for too long. They had undoubtedly lost their way as a couple but things were set to improve when she got home. This break had given them time to get their shit together. Thinking of him stirred her physically.

Soon . . . she’d be home within hours.

Poised to write in the visitors’ book, she picked up her pen and put it down again, unable to describe her top tips of exciting places to visit, favourite restaurants or points of interest – and there were many on this beautiful Balearic island. She was losing the will to make any comment on their stay.

‘Coming in?’ Kat was poolside now.

Alex made a lame excuse that she didn’t want wet washing in her suitcase. Begging her to change her mind, Kat stepped in at the shallow end one final time, bare legs shimmering as she splashed them with water. When Alex wouldn’t be persuaded to join her, she disappeared beneath the surface, emerging at the other end a few seconds later, hauling her body out in one athletic motion.

Alex turned more pages, looking for inspiration, not wanting to sound dull for having done so little during her stay. People from far afield had paid homage to the villa, naming nearby towns and coastal locations worth a look, amazing drives and lunch venues:

 

Perfect for two; ticked all our boxes; you can’t leave without exploring the beach at Formentor – divine! Reading last week’s message about ants makes me smile. They returned!

 

Alex’s heart almost stopped beating as words crawled across the page like an army on the move. She tried to still them but they kept coming, growing larger by the second. A feeling of dread crept over her, soaking through her skin until it filled her. Kat was lying on a sunbed, eyes closed, unaware of the unfolding drama. Tim was over a thousand miles away. Alex palmed her brow, unable to think, utterly helpless. As panic attacks go, this one was sizeable and sudden. She would never recover from it.

 

1

Tim Parker waited for action. It didn’t come. For the umpteenth time since he’d arrived at the police station he checked his watch: 11.30 p.m. It had been hours and still there was no news. The door to the interview room stood ajar. Two detectives loitered outside talking in dull tones: a confident male, mid-thirties, short-cropped hair; a female about the same age: a little on the petite side for a copper, brunette, sharp eyes, a grave expression on her face. They appeared to be having words.

The station was noisy – on the outside as well as in – the scream of sirens a constant reminder of the danger out there. There was no let-up of foot traffic toing and froing past the open door, a succession of uniforms and civilian personnel. The squawk of radios was getting on his nerves. There was laughter but also agitation. Tim didn’t need to see it. He could feel it through the walls. The stress was unbearable. How could people work in a place that never slept?

A scrawny lad with earphones hanging around his neck was being escorted along the corridor by the arm, moaning about the length of time it had taken for police to deal with his complaint. Tim knew the feeling. He’d been there since nine thirty, just after dark. He was beginning to think that he should have driven to meet Alex at the airport before reporting Dan’s disappearance to the police. With a mind full of possibilities too painful to contemplate, he’d bottled it, unable to face her.

Where the hell was Dan?

Guilt tormented Tim. The fact that he couldn’t get out of a meeting to pick his stepson up himself was not an excuse his wife would accept. Dan was her precious boy. No matter how successful she was in business, her son always came first. He was the thing she was most proud of. Tim could hear her now: It’s a question of priority. You promised to keep him safe.

And she was right . . .

A lump formed in his throat. Alex never wanted to go to Majorca. He’d encouraged her to. After the sad loss of their child she needed a break and so did he. He couldn’t get away from work. If he were brutally honest, he’d not tried that hard. And when her sister had twisted her arm to accompany her to the Balearics, it solved a problem, even if potentially it might cause another.

The trip was an impulse buy. Paid for with a hefty divorce settlement. If Tim knew anything about Kat, anything about money – and he did on both counts – that pot of gold would be gone within the year. Still, he couldn’t fault his sister-in-law on a point of generosity. She and Alex hadn’t taken a vacation together since they were students at universities three hundred miles apart, Alex in Edinburgh, Kat at Cambridge. And they had gone through some rough times since.

Tim’s hopes rose as the female detective in the corridor grabbed the door handle. Instead of pushing the door open, she pulled it to. Whispers diminished and footsteps moved away. Tim’s head went down. Traumatised by nightmare thoughts, he shut his eyes, trying to calm himself. This was no bad dream.

It was all too real.

More chatter outside involving the red-faced sergeant he’d seen at the front desk. He was ambling past with a colleague, his casual attitude spurring Tim into action. Impatient for information, he shot out of his seat, hell-bent on speaking to police, whether they were ready to listen or not. As he raced into the corridor, the man with three stripes on his epaulettes turned to face him.

‘Can I help you, sir?’ His colleague walked on without him.

‘I wish you would,’ Tim said. ‘You know why I’m here and it’s been hours. Please, what’s happening?’

‘Take a seat in the interview room and try not to worry. I realise this is difficult for you but, as I suggested earlier, Daniel probably took a detour on his way home. He’ll turn up soon enough, suitably repentant with his tail between his legs.’

‘You don’t know that—’

‘It happens every week, sir. Believe me, it’s common with lads his age.’

‘And we just wait? Is that the best you can do?’

The sergeant bristled.

Tim tried not to sound pissed off. ‘With respect, officer, I’d love that to be true, but as I explained when I reported Dan missing, he’s not the type. His mother and I drilled it into him: never talk to strangers, never accept a lift. He’s a sensible, sensitive kid. There’s no way he’d have gone off without telling anyone. Besides, “probably” isn’t good enough.’

‘You need to be patient—’

‘No! You need to start listening.’

‘I am and I have. I’ve—’

‘Please, Sergeant, I’m not challenging you or trying to put your back up, but you have to listen to me. Daniel is genuinely missing. I need to speak to someone in authority now. Unless you’d like me to ring the Chief Constable. I have his mobile number.’ It was a veiled threat but Tim was getting desperate.

A face off in the corridor.

‘Is there a problem here?’ A female voice.

Tim swung round to find a woman in plain clothes. She was checking him out, taking in his gold cufflinks and the silk handkerchief flopping out of his breast pocket. She was also the one bending the ear of the detective outside a moment ago and had obviously overheard the escalating row.

‘I’m DS Oliver, sir. Is everything OK?’

‘Tim . . . Parker. Please, I need your help.’

As soon as he gave his name, she seemed to know who he was.

She eyeballed her colleague. ‘I’ll take it from here, John.’

The man in uniform moved away.

 

DS Oliver had been attentive and much more sympathetic than her colleague. After a brief conversation, in which she’d pointed out that she’d read the missing persons report, she’d asked Tim to wait while she spoke to her boss. She hadn’t been gone long and had promised to update him. Tim sat down, relieved that someone was finally taking positive action. The interview room was muggy. Wiping a film of sweat from his brow, the reality of his situation hit him hard. The newspapers were full of appalling crimes against children, including murder. Child abuse was rife, a large proportion of it carried out by adults they knew: carers, parents, priests and counsellors were in the firing line, if not high on the list of suspects.

Right now, Tim could see their point.

Looking up at CCTV in the corner of the room, he wondered if he were under surveillance, if DS Oliver was watching him . . . judging him. Those you looked to for protection could turn on you in an instant. He was feeling the heat and it had nothing to do with temperature.

How much longer?

Another check on the time: eleven forty-five.

Tim imagined a plane touching down at Newcastle airport. So vivid was the image, he could almost hear the screech of brakes, the scream of the engines as the aircraft raced along the tarmac before leaving the runway and pulling up on its stand. It would signal instant and profound relief for one passenger. He should’ve been collecting Alex about now. Worse than that: he should’ve been doing it with Dan. It wasn’t a school night and his mother had decided he could stay up late and meet her at the terminal.

A text alert pierced the silence of the interview room. Fumbling his mobile from his pocket, expecting, praying for his au pair to put a contrite Dan on the phone, his hopes died as Alex’s name appeared on screen:

 

I’m down . . . See you when I clear baggage control.

A x

 

Tim lost it. Alex was home and he wasn’t there to pick her up. She travelled all over with her job but hated flying. He pictured the stress leaving her face as she walked toward passport control, phone in hand, dying to get through security, grab her luggage and head out to be reunited with her son. His absence would trigger a panic attack.

Christ!

Tim was hyperventilating, unable to get his ragged breathing under control. His wife was a formidable woman but, after all she’d gone through recently, could she, would she, cope with this? How could he look her in the eye and tell her he’d lost Dan and didn’t have a clue where to start looking?

Pressing the home button on his iPhone got rid of the text. The background image on the screen made him weep. The cute, embarrassed smile of a shy ten-year-old who hated having his picture taken. It was one of very few photographs in existence, taken by his mother before Dan could turn away. Tim thought about phoning Alex but he couldn’t do that. She’d know instantly that something was up. He imagined her reaction when she finally heard the news, worst-case scenarios worming their way into her head.

His eyes found the door.

Was that the reason for the delay? Were detectives waiting until his wife arrived so they could tell her what an irresponsible arsehole he was, that he should never have been allowed to fly solo and wasn’t up to the job? Or maybe that she ought not to have abandoned her child to someone who clearly had no parenting skills.

Self-hatred consumed him.

He took out his mobile, his forefinger hovering over the speed-dial options. He had to be the one to tell Alex. No, he couldn’t do it. He just couldn’t. He didn’t want to be the one to break the news. He slipped the phone back in his breast pocket. For the first time in his life, he cowered in the face of adversity. He was good at communication, even when there were unpalatable truths to convey. This was different . . .

This was personal.

Rigid with fear, he sat down and waited, the last few hours rewinding again and again like a nightmare loop inside his head. Panic was a strange thing. The realisation that there was something terribly wrong, something sinister, began like a punch to the gut, making him retch. His ability to think straight seemed to stutter and slow, like a toy running out of battery. Alex had left Dan in his care. He was her child. The only one she’d ever have. It would kill her to learn that he was missing.

 

2

Detective Inspector David Stone had been in the job less than a month, having transferred from the Metropolitan Police and returned to his roots in Northumberland. The last thing he needed right now was a bolshie detective sergeant on his case. In London kids went missing every second of every day. Unless they were very young or there were extenuating circumstances, finding them was a uniform task, not one for the CID. And yet his new Northumbria sidekick, Detective Sergeant Frances (call me Frankie) Oliver, was like a coiled spring, itching to involve them in a misper case.

For ten minutes, they had been quietly arguing the toss; even so, she had yet to explain herself properly. David liked her a lot. She’d shown no resentment when he blew in from the south as a replacement DI. His predecessor – an old soldier who’d retired with a bad back and good pension – was a hard act to follow. Everyone said so and David was on orders from HQ to prove his worth. That he could confidently do to his superiors. Not so to the live wire he was presently facing across the corridor.

‘It’s a feeling I have,’ she said.

‘I need more than that, Frankie.’

‘I have no more, beyond the fact that he’s a child and it’s getting on for midnight.’ Her eyes were pleading with him to change his mind. ‘Boss, I’m asking you to forget protocol and take the lead.’ She’d not called him boss for days. David had asked her to drop the formality of rank. And she wasn’t finished yet. ‘Look, I know what’s in the manual,’ she said. ‘I’m asking you to show some common sense.’

‘Then give me the rationale.’

‘I can’t.’ Frankie spread her hands in a gesture of frustration. ‘Write it up as gut feeling. Intuition. Sixth sense. Anybloodything you like. Just do something.’ She thumbed towards the occupancy indicators above the doors of the interview suite. Only one was lit. ‘Exactly what is your problem, David? We’re hardly run off our feet, are we?’

‘That’s beside the point. We’re not talking about a four-year-old. If we were, you could have air support and every other kind of resource. The lad is ten. He’s probably pushing the boundaries, dicking his parents around, in a strop because his mother didn’t take him on holiday. You know what kids are like—’

‘Yes. Do you?’

It was a direct challenge to his authority. She knew fine well he had no children. Puzzled by her tenacity, David frowned. Frankie held his gaze defiantly. A flicker of distress in her eyes made him hesitate before knocking back her request a second time. He wondered what was driving her point of view.

Time to clear the air.

‘Is there something you’re not telling me?’ he asked.

‘No.’ Clearly there was.

‘You’d never win at poker.’

His comment didn’t raise a smile. It had angered her more than it should and she didn’t give a damn that he knew it. David hadn’t yet sussed her out. Her file said she was single, no children, a third-generation copper with a great track record and personality to match. Having been deployed in many departments, she’d found her niche as a DS in the CID where she’d worked for the past two years. She was diligent, confident in her abilities, but underneath the surface he detected a hidden vulnerability.

This woman had a story to tell.

‘Suck it up or persuade me, Frankie. My office. You have five minutes.’

 

Frankie flung herself down in the chair, trying not to show her frustration. Stone had a valid point, but she had the bit between her teeth and wasn’t letting go. New into the department, she could understand his position; on the other hand, Daniel Scott was out there in the dark. She wouldn’t rest until he was found. She couldn’t explain herself. Why should she?

For a moment there was a deadlock.

Frankie allowed the silence to stretch out between them. Stone was nothing like her former boss and mentor, DI Drake. If only he was. She could twist him around her little finger. They had known each other since she was a little girl. He’d joined the force in the same intake as her father and was under instruction not to argue with DCI Frank Oliver’s pride and joy. Drake had been ready for retirement for a couple of years. The man facing her now was different. He was ambitious and couldn’t afford to put a foot wrong in the first few weeks of his tenure.

So here they sat, staring each other down.

From the second they had been introduced they had hit it off. There was an instant spark, something intangible that drew her to him. And she wasn’t the only one intrigued. The station grapevine was on fire. There was some suggestion that he’d left London in a hurry. With no details available, speculation was rife. Whatever it was, it must have been catastrophic if he’d taken a demotion to run from it.

It can’t have been a kid, or he’d be eating out of her hand.

Stone relaxed into his swivel chair, deep penetrating eyes glued to hers. He didn’t need telling that it was their duty to safeguard the child, but things were not that simple. Frankie had to make a case for treating Daniel’s disappearance as a serious crime and she couldn’t. Not yet, anyway. There were very clear guidelines in situations like these. On a hiding to nothing, she climbed down, prepared to beg if necessary.

‘David, trust me on this.’

‘Believe me, I’m trying.’

‘I’ve spoken to the stepfather, Timothy Parker. He claims Daniel isn’t a kid who’d run away. He’s not a street kid. He’s cared for 24/7, mollycoddled in a way that makes him inherently vulnerable. He even has a nanny. What he doesn’t have is the means to communicate. Parker doesn’t approve of kids having mobile phones. The guy is past himself. I think we should treat this as high profile, log it on HOLMES and run it as a major incident.’

‘On what grounds?’

‘I’ve given you grounds.’

‘With respect, you’ve given me sod-all.’

Much as she might like to, Frankie couldn’t argue with his logic. Stone was right, but she wasn’t listening. ‘I’ve done some checking on Parker. The man is minted, something he failed to mention when questioned. For all we know, Daniel could’ve been abducted—’

‘There’s been no demand—’

‘Yet.’ She held up a hand by way of apology. ‘David, this isn’t the Met! We care about our bairns up here. They’re not all little bastards who need a good hiding. Wherever he is, and for whatever reason he went AWOL, Daniel is exposed to harm. If that’s not good enough reason to look for him, I don’t know what is. Please reconsider. He needs our help.’

Stone’s eyes were warm. ‘Run it by me one more time.’

 

Frankie bit the inside of her cheek, considering the angles, working out what to say, feeling under tremendous pressure to perform. This was far from a done deal. The fact that Daniel’s future came down to her ability to convince her boss that he was in imminent danger scared her.

She took a deep breath. ‘Parker claims the boy’s nanny, Justine Segal, should’ve picked him up from footy training because he was tied up – an important business meeting.’

‘And was he?’

Frankie nodded. ‘When the meeting was over he allegedly checked his phone. There was a voice message from Justine berating him for having picked Daniel up without letting her know. He hadn’t, or so he says. Confused, he drove straight home. By the time he got there, Justine had calmed down. She apologised, said she’d missed his message that he’d collect the child himself, then freaked out when she realised the boy wasn’t with him.’

Stone was beginning to give a little.

Not enough.

A pause in the conversation didn’t last. Frankie had to keep up the momentum. ‘Parker claims he sent no message. At first, he thought it was a wind-up, that Daniel was hiding somewhere in the house, that he and Justine were playing a practical joke. That wasn’t the case. So, if neither of them collected Daniel, who did?’

The question hung in the air unanswered.

Stone stroked the stubble on his chin, eyes fixed on Frankie. ‘What kind of message was it? Email, text . . . ?’

‘DM.’

‘Who communicates through Twitter?’

‘Dunno. Personally, I’d rather eat worms.’

‘Did you check his mobile?’

Frankie gave a nod. ‘The DM wasn’t there. The discrepancy bothered me, so I got Justine to send a screenshot of her phone. Twitter streams don’t lie. It’s there all right, in black and white. David, trust me, there’s something suspicious going on here.’

‘We’ll revisit this. When is the mother due in?’

Frankie checked her watch. ‘Now.’

‘Did you speak to the call-taker?’

‘There wasn’t one. The informant is Parker. We didn’t go to him. He came to us.’

‘Who was the last person to see Daniel?’

‘His football coach, Roger McCall. He witnessed the boy wave at a car and walk towards it after training, a vehicle he wasn’t sure he’d seen before.’

‘Any form?’

‘No. But how could he not question that? Dan was under his supervision. It was his responsibility to hand him back in one piece, not let him wander off alone. Listen, if I’m wrong about this you can slap my hands later. I’ll take full responsibility. You can transfer me. Send me blue forms. Do what the hell you like, but we need to act now. The longer we leave it, the more difficult it will be to pick up the scent.’ Frankie waited, Stone’s hesitation irritating her all over again. The formality was back. ‘Boss, clearly one of them is lying—’

‘Who did you say Daniel’s mother went on holiday with?’

‘I didn’t.’

‘You don’t know?’

‘Yes, I know! I just didn’t say. She went with her sister, Kathryn something or other. Posh double-barrelled name. She lives down south somewhere. What does it matter? The important thing is, the boy needs our protection and he needs it now.’

‘Back off, I’m thinking.’

Frankie eyeballed him across the room. ‘Are you going to do something, or sit there until we have a corpse on our hands?’ It was the sucker punch she felt guilty using, but one she hoped would force a reaction from her new boss. No copper wanted the death of a child on their conscience.

Stone picked up the internal phone, hit a couple of keys and waited for an answer. ‘Brian, we have an interest in the missing boy. Run everything you have past Frankie until I say otherwise. And while you’re at it, raise an action to search the kid’s home. Yes . . . now!’

Stone hung up and got to his feet, gesturing for Frankie to do likewise. She couldn’t speak as he opened the door to let her out of his office. Her smile was the nearest he’d get to a thank you. She’d never be able to tell him why it meant so much.

 

3

Alex Parker eyed the female passport controller expectantly, urging her to get a move on. It seemed she’d picked the wrong security queue yet again. Despite having been out of her seat the moment the aircraft’s forward door was open, one of the first to set foot on UK soil, she was going nowhere fast. The parallel line of weary travellers was moving much quicker, a young male controller letting people through with hardly a glance. Hers wasn’t dawdling exactly but the woman checking ID was under supervision – new to the job, Alex assumed – examining every traveller, the man standing behind her watching her every move.

Alex shuffled closer to the happy family in front of her. Their wide-eyed kids were in a state of high excitement, desperate to get into the baggage hall where their parents would collect luggage, lift them on to a trolley and wheel them through customs into the arms of doting grandparents waiting in the international arrivals hall.

Alex was almost as impatient and, it had to be said, a little annoyed that Tim had ignored the text she’d sent as she asce