The Pursuit of Emma - Dave Moyer (top business books of all time .txt) 📗

after Emma and save her, if indeed she needed saving. The problem was that the whole of Scotland Yard, M15, the FBI and Interpol couldn’t find her so I wasn’t sure I could do much better. I had thought as hard as I could but nothing came to me. Eventually I had to turn my attention to going back to work on the Monday. That wasn’t happening. After working for a few days I didn’t feel like I could just phone in sick, certainly not without having to explain everything. I did however think they would allow me to miss work if I was seeing Dr Davies. My boss was under the impression that it was for my own good, as well as the safety of all the staff/electronic equipment at Hamilton’s, that I kept up regular visits to Dr Davies.

‘I see you came well prepared,’ she noted, glancing at the bag I had brought with me.

I smiled, ready to get down to business.

‘Yeah, thanks for seeing me at such short notice.’

She looked at quizzically.

‘Not at all,’ she replied. ‘It wasn't a problem.’

I had seen Veronica’s schedule regularly and finding any space was difficult. She must have been concerned. I felt honoured. I still wasn’t sure why I was here. That feeling was nothing new. I never knew why I was there. There was the inescapable feeling that whenever I was there, no matter how much I protested, I always found it helped. And right now I was out of ideas. So, with a heavy heart I had gathered up every bit of evidence of Emma, packed it in a bag and made my way to her office.

‘So what brings you here today, Tom?’ she enquired gently.

I had to approach this question carefully. I knew I could never tell Veronica everything and could certainly not involve her in anything criminal but I did want to think out loud.

‘I need to find Emma,’ I said at last.

‘Tom, we have agreed that what she did was awful and, whilst I do believe you need closure on this, do you really think you want to see her again?’

‘More than anything. She might need me,’ I countered.

‘Why, what makes you think that?’ Her question was invasive and I realised how careful I needed to be.

‘It’s just a feeling. I am worried that she didn’t want to leave. Anyway I don’t want to talk about why, I want to look at everything I know about what happened and hope we can come up with something.’

She frowned slightly, but didn’t say anymore. She clearly didn’t agree that this would help me but she was still being paid handsomely.

‘Right. Let’s start at the beginning. What do we know?’

This was tricky. I had to get it all out of my head but make sure nothing slipped about her past. At the same time, I didn’t want to just go over old details.

We spoke for a few minutes, simply rehashing old ground. She knew most of it and looking at the facts wasn’t helping me in any way. Then I said something I thought I never would.

‘Can we use the whiteboard?’

Veronica looked a little taken aback but composed herself quickly and smiled. It was the sort of smile that spoke volumes, saying ‘see I told you my methods always work’.

‘Of course, what a good idea.’ She got to work setting up its stand and moments later I stood in front of the board, pen in hand, feeling like a naughty school kid writing lines.

‘So let’s start from the beginning. You come home and...’ she waved her hand out, asking me to continue. If I was going to do it, I might as well do it properly.

‘OK, so I came in before six. I’m never later than six, even when I’m out late,’ I spoke slowly, trying to write the key facts as I spoke. My writing was slanting and messy and I remember feeling shame. You’re a grown man, damn it, why can’t you write in a straight line?

‘So I shout out, hear nothing and carry on as usual, checking emails and whatever. Emma is normally home first but she was so busy at ‘work’ that it wasn’t a surprise she wasn’t it. I remember deciding to cook her dinner.’

I caught up with my horrendous writing and looked at Dr. Davies. She didn’t reply so I carried on.

‘About fifteen minutes later, I found the note...it’s in my bag there.’ I stretched over, unzipped my bag and pulled out the note. It was a little creased but you could still read her writing clearly enough. I looked at the two words mournfully and then passed it to Veronica to examine. She'd heard about the note but had never seen it in real life. She inspected it in the same way that she inspected me. Clinically.

‘Was this the only thing she left?’

‘Yes. I mean some of her old items were in the house but they were just an old shirt and some magazines, you know. The note was the only thing she intended to leave me. Oh... and her key.’ I plunged another hand into the bag, felt the cold metal and passed it to her quickly.

‘So you are sure there are no messages left behind. Or perhaps a hidden code in the note?’ She was doing her best to entertain my opinions. We both knew how she felt. She believed Emma had left me, not wanting to be found, and I was too scared/sad to move on. I hoped she was wrong.

I glanced over at the note in the hope it was encoded with a secret message just the two of us would understand. I doubted it. ‘I’m sorry’ seemed fairly self-explanatory and I couldn’t see how you could hide a code in it. We had a few attempts at deciphering it but came up empty handed.

The rest of the hour raced by. At the end of the session all I had to show for it was several sheets of childlike print and a sore writing hand. I was no nearer to finding Emma and felt incredibly low. I don’t really know what I was hoping for, but I had pinned my hopes on Dr. Davies.

‘I’m sorry Tom, that’s about our time up for today,’ she whispered slowly. She may not have agreed with me but I did feel she wanted to help me if possible.

I smiled sadly, and stood up readying myself. I grabbed all my useless belongings and began bundling them back into my rucksack.

‘I’d like to see you again Tom. I’m sure we can help you, we are making good progress.’

I couldn’t say I agreed with her but I was too exhausted to argue. I made some non-committal statement about coming back soon. She passed me the note and held the key up, about to give it to me.

‘Why this key?’ she asked innocently.

I was confused. It seemed such a strange thing to say, I literally had no reply. I cobbled together my reply.

‘What?’

‘Well, don’t you have normal door keys?’

‘What?’ I was still no nearer to understanding her.

‘Tom, this looks more like a garage key or window or something. Why has she left this key? That’s not your front door key is it?’

I froze. What was she talking about?

She tossed me the key and I caught it. I stared at it and for the first time I properly looked at it. Holy Shit. It wasn’t our front door key. Of course it wasn’t. How could I be so stupid?

It was the same colour as mine but far too small. As Veronica had said, it looked more like a window or padlock key. It had no recognisable brand on it. I ripped my own keys out of my pocket and compared the two of them. Nothing like each other. I ran it past all of my other keys, with mounting excitement as I did it. It was nothing like any of them. This was a clue!

‘Of course, it makes sense. I have never given it any attention you know? The note hit me like a bullet and I just assumed... it would be... Shit!’ I flicked my eyes up at her. She had responded well to me swearing. I think she believed it might be a clue for me to follow.

‘What do you think the key is for?’ she asked. That was not just therapist to patient; that was genuine concern. She cared.

‘I have no idea. But it’s got to mean something, right?’

‘OK, well that’s your homework before I see you next time. Find out what that key is for.’ She commanded, further adding to our teacher-pupil vibe.

‘I will. Thank you so much.’ I jumped towards and hugged her before I'd had time to think about what I was doing. I was tempted to add a cheeky kiss on the check but decided against it. I released her after a few moments and could see her visibly shaken up. She wasn’t sure where to put herself.

‘Sorry, and thank you again.’ I smiled at her and ran out of the room and after a swift pause to pay for my session, I was away.

*****

I ran most of the way to the tube station. The weather was pretty sunny for the first time in a while and by the time I had reached the tube, I was wet-through. I didn’t care. The truth was even if I did have a small lead it didn’t really help me. I estimated there must be millions of locks in London alone and trying each one wouldn’t be very time-effective. I needed to work out why she had left it and what it was for. Jack must have been right. This seemed to support his theory at least and as much as I wasn’t keen on the thought of the Kozlov brother’s being alive, let alone after us, I was in love with the idea that Emma still loved me. This was the first bit of hard evidence that she was the girl I loved. However small it was, it was a glimmer of hope.

As I settled on an almost empty tube, I began forming a plan. It wasn’t the most incredible, sophisticated scheme but it seemed a good place to start. I was going to go back to my flat and check every inch of it in case there was a box or a padlock or something I had never noticed before. It seemed logical that Emma may have left whatever she was hiding in our home. It also made sense that she had left it the way she did. If she knew someone was after her she could leave the key as if she was leaving her house key and nobody would suspect anything. It had taken me weeks (and someone spelling it out) to suspect something. Clever girl.

Soon enough I was off the tube and walking through the streets leading home. I was smiling again at last. I was still a million miles away from finding her but at least I felt like I was pointed in the right direction. What was this key for?

I eventually reached my apartment block and was striding towards the stairs when I heard a voice call my name. It was Sophie. I realised it had been several days since I had spoken to her and she must have been worried. She really was a good friend.

‘Tom?’ she called again. I reappeared around the corner, smiling.

‘Hey Sophie, how are you?’ I spoke calmly but cheerfully. She had looked after me so much and I wanted to give her a break from worrying about me.

‘How are you, darling?’ she asked rushing up the stairs and hugging me tightly.

‘Yeah, I’m surviving,’ I whispered as she had choked most of the breath out of me by hugging so strongly. Internally, I laughed darkly at how true to life the term ‘surviving’ was to my situation.

‘Are you free? Come and have a drink and talk; I want to know everything.’

So