Frobisher sighed inwardly. Why did these girls all want to be famous? It was almost impossible for them to achieve their ambitions. Why not set their sights on something more worthwhile （if equally difficult to attain）—becoming a doctor or a lawyer, for example? Frobisher was not at all averse to women taking on masculine roles, he suspected they would be rather good at them. They had managed well in the war, after all. He thought of Gwendolen. He could imagine her in the police, giving crisp orders to all and sundry. She would sort Bow Street out better than he appeared to be managing to at the moment. And look at Nellie Coker, she could probably run the country, although not necessarily for its own good.
He wrote down “Wilhelmina Taylor, known as Minnie” but Mrs. Taylor, monitoring his note-taking, corrected him. “Taylor’s my new name, my married name,” she said. “Minnie has her dad’s name—Carter, he died at Amiens. He was a good man. Harold is, too,” she added hastily, as if her second husband’s failure to die in the were was a flaw in his character.
“I don’t doubt it, Mrs. Taylor,” Frobisher said, crossing out “Taylor” and writing “Carter” in its place.
“It’s just that Minnie’s got used to a bit too much freedom and Harold doesn’t think it’s right.”
“Of course,” Frobisher soothed. “Tell me, Mrs. Taylor, does Minnie wear any jewellery? A crucifix, for example, or a locket?” He was relieved that Mrs. Taylor did not see the implication of the question.
“She has a locket, a silver one. Given to her by her godmother, my sister.”
“Anything in the locket?” Frobisher asked. He closed his eyes for a second. He didn’t want to know. The woman’s tears were noisier now. “A photograph of me,” she said. “We’re close. Just because she’s run away doesn’t mean she doesn’t love me, you know.”
“Of course not. And…just you, Mrs. Taylor—no other photograph in the locket?”
She gave a little laugh that prompted more tears. “Our old dog, Sammy. Died a few months ago. Minnie loved that dog.”
“A terrier?” Frobisher asked, his voice barely above a murmur. He was relieved he had left the dog with the desk sergeant. He realized that it bore a remarkable resemblance to the dog in the photograph in the locket.
“Yes, Sammy was a terrier,” Mrs. Taylor said. “Why do you ask?”
* * *
—
The locket, the crucifix, the spectacles and the solitary silver shoe now all lay in cardboard boxes in a cabinet in the evidence room. It was fast becoming a reliquary. Frobisher retrieved the box that contained the locket. He braced himself for maternal grief and opened it. “Is this Minnie’s locket?” he asked gently as he showed the contents of the box to Mrs. Taylor.
She surprised him by snatching the locket eagerly from the box and cradling it in her hand. “Oh, you’ve found her!” she said. “Thank you, thank you. Where is she? Is she here? Oh, she’ll be ever so glad to see me.”
Minnie had probably been sent to a cold pauper’s grave by now, Frobisher thought, but he delayed telling her mother that, it would be too much to bear in one day. He would make enquiries, he told her. Frobisher wished the locket had been buried with the girl. Minnie. She had a name now. It made it worse, rather than better. It would have been preferable if she had remained missing for ever, stranded somewhere between two worlds, rather than being committed to the endless night without any hope of recall.
“What happened to her?” Mrs. Taylor asked between retching tears.
Frobisher hesitated before eventually saying, “The river took her.” It was not entirely untrue. He poured more tea in her cup. His own hand was trembling slightly, he noticed.
* * *
—
He saw Mrs. Taylor out and into the street. He could think of no words of comfort to send her on her way. He came back inside feeling desolate. The world he traversed every day was a barren desert.
A woman was talking to the desk sergeant. Respectable, well dressed, out of place in this den.
“Who was that?” he asked after she’d left.
“A Mrs. Ames, sir. She came in last week to report her daughter Cherry missing.”
“And you didn’t tell me?” Dear God, what did he have to do to make them understand there was a problem that had to be tackled?
“You want to be told about all the missing persons?” The sergeant looked bewildered. “There’s quite a few, sir.”