When the phone rings at 3am, it's never good news. Van rolled over in his bed and picked up the phone. It was the Inspector.
'Yeah…what it is?' Van asked. There was silence on the line for a moment.
'We've got a problem, Van.' It was the Inspector. 'We've got a big problem.'
'And? I'm still unofficially on sick-leave, why do you need me?' questioned Van, snappy at being disturbed. Wasn't he supposed to be grieving?
'It's Ford.'
'What of her?' asked Van, but the Inspector's tone didn't bode well.
'She's missing. She's gone.'
'What?'. Van actually started to his feet at this, despite the pain that ran along his side as he did.
'She disappeared about two days ago. We've heard nothing. No note, no calls, nothing. We're treating it as suspicious.'
'Of course it's bloody suspicious, you fool. What can you tell me? Anything? Anything at all?'
'Van, calm down. Look, I can't see you. You can't even officially know about this. You're in the shit list again, like after the Loren Case. You can't say anything to anyone. But I'll give you this. Ford lived on 22nd Fox Street. She kept her keys under the red flowerpot behind the house. The bureau's full up with work, Van. I can't do anything. You're on your own. They'll be an official investigation, but…you know how the rest of the bureau sees us. We're the oddballs, the nutters, the guys who find aliens. I don't think they'll find anything. I'm relying on you, Van. Don't screw it up.' The phone clicked off.
Van waited for a moment, mobile still to his ear. Then he slammed the phone down on the table next to him, and opened his door, throwing his clothes, trying to lose himself in it. It didn't work. He had to find her. He had to. Van pulled his issued SIG-Sauer P228 from his trousers and shoved it into the holster on his side. Then he returned to his room and gathered together a selection of his gun collection, cradled it in his arms, and headed outside. Van threw the set of guns into his car boot, ready to drive anywhere, but didn't get in himself. He took a few weapons, perhaps four or five, from the pile, and secreted them in various pockets and holsters. Van walked quickly out of his drive, then set off running. Eventually he arrived at Ford's house. It seemed deserted, though the car was still in her drive. Van walked carefully round to the back of the house, took the key from where the Inspector had said it would be, and opened up Ford's back door. He drew an S&W 5906 from a hip holster, holding it in his uninjured left hand. Even as worried as he was now, Van could never totally banish the doubt that it could all be a trap.
Ford kept her kitchen neat and tidy, Van noticed as he entered. The next few rooms seemed much the same, there was nothing dislodged, nothing obviously wrong. Van edged through into the next room, and the one after that. He walked slowly up the stairs, pistol still in hand, then body-slammed the door at the top open. The room was in disarray. Van knew this was it. Within the messed papers and overturned chairs of this room lay the clues to the fate of Professor Jenny Ford.