She went through the debit-card payments and found a regular monthly spend at an Italian restaurant and a weekly variational cost to Just Eat.
Both healthy salaries went into the account except for one payment that was always transferred on the last day of each month manually. It was always the balance of the account minus £1,000.
Stacey reached for her phone and dialled Beth’s number.
‘Hello,’ she answered, breathlessly.
‘No news yet, Beth,’ Stacey said, not to get her hopes up.
‘Oh, okay,’ she said and Stacey could hear the disappointment in her voice.
‘It’s just a question but I notice on the bank statements that there’s a variable sum transferred into an unnamed account monthly.’
‘Oh yes, we leave some emergency money in the current account and transfer the rest to our savings.’
‘I don’t have that account,’ Stacey said.
‘We never touch it. It’s our pension top-up. We swore we would only use it in the most dire circumstances.’
‘In the interests of thoroughness I’d like to check it.’
‘Of course. It’s the same bank and sort code.’
Stacey noted the account number and then opened up the log-in screen. Within seconds she was in.
‘You’ll see, I’m sure, that there have been no withdrawals for the last eight years, since our last IVF attempt.’
Stacey could see that the account held almost one hundred thousand pounds and indeed twenty-five thousand had been transferred just over eight years earlier.
Stacey felt a wave of sadness that clearly the treatment hadn’t worked, as the couple were childless. She could only imagine the pain it had caused them both. Given that eight years had elapsed since their last attempt, she guessed they hadn’t tried again.
But her heart sank even further when she saw something else.
‘Anything big you were planning to purchase in the near future?’
‘No nothing. Why do you ask?’
‘Because ten thousand pounds was withdrawn from the account on Monday morning.’
‘No, there must be some mistake. I’ve told you we never…’ Her words trailed away as she put two and two together. ‘But that’s when he disappeared.’
Yes, it was.
‘He must be in some kind of trouble. He must have been forced—’
‘Beth, do you keep your passports together?’
‘Yes, yes, of course. They’re right there in the kitchen drawer next to the—Oh.’
‘What?’ Stacey asked, although she already suspected the answer.
‘Gabe’s isn’t here. He must have moved it for something. Let me check around and give you a call back once I’ve found it.’
Stacey said goodbye and wondered how long it would be until she got that call.
TWENTY-FIVE
The What Centre was located on Coventry Street in Stourbridge, sandwiched between a chippy and a pub.