Unexpected Find

I cleared out my sister's room. After throwing away discarded shoes, cosmetics and uneven pairs of stockings, I decided to empty her chest of drawers. There was the usual mess of scarves, gloves and other small items almost blocking the drawers from closing, but she had never been the tidiest of people. By contrast, I was the one who would fuss even over a speck of dust.

I had almost finished clearing out her top drawer when I found a buff coloured envelope addressed to her. I was of a mind to throw it away. She had moved out three months before. I was pretty sure that if she wanted it, she would have taken it with her or, if she no longer needed it, she would have taken it with her. It must have been important to her at some stage.

Quickly I opened it up. I read:

"Dear Samantha,

You owe me £100,000. I have not forgotten. Pay it now or there will be dire consequences.

Darren."

I swallowed nervously. £100,000! She was working as a nurse in Colchester. How on earth would she pay up £100,000 and more importantly, what had she got herself into that she should receive such a threatening letter? Did she borrow £100,000 from anyone and, if so, why?

I did not tell Mum or Dad. The shock would have killed them.

At dinner, I was unusually quiet and barely ate. I excused myself from the table saying that I thought that I was coming down with a bad cold, went to my room and reread the letter.

I seriously thought of forwarding that letter to Samantha, but then I thought that I should try to help her. Why did she leave that letter behind? Who was Darren? As far as I knew, she never had a boyfriend. Although I was three years younger than her, I was the more extrovert one and it was assumed that I would marry while she would remain single.

Darren did not leave a forwarding address or telephone number. More importantly, he did not leave a surname. I could not contact him.

Drugs. That was all I could think of.

Yet my sister did not seem to be the type of person who took drugs. She was slovenly, yes, but there was no indication of her being a drug addict. She was always cheerful and bubbly. She seemed sensible enough.

I phoned her number, but it went straight to voicemail. I left a message for her to telephone me, but she never did.

I phoned her several times after that, but she never returned my phone calls. Worried, I took the envelope with the note demanding the £100,000 and set out to her new address, but when I got there, a thin, dark-haired, young man answered the door.

"Is Samantha Lewis in?" I asked. "I am her sister, Louise."

The young man shook his head.

"There is no Samantha Lewis living here. No woman in fact. I am the sole occupier of this flat."

"Did she live here before you?"

"No. I bought it from a family of three."

So she had lied about her address. Anger, as well as worry, built up in me. I thanked the young man and went to a local park. I sat down on a bench and reread the letter. Where could she have gone?

I worried that she may have committed suicide. I did hear of people who had got themselves into trouble ending their lives. I did not wish to believe this of my sister.

Tears began blurring my eyes. I wanted to throw the letter away, but I was afraid. It seemed genuine enough. I was afraid to show it to the police. I did not want to incriminate my sister, even though I could not find her.

I returned home, none the wiser.

I typed the name "Samantha Lewis" onto my computer. Thousands of identical names sprang up. As she had not left a correct forwarding address, my sister could be anywhere. She could even have gone abroad. At this point, I was so desperate, I wished that she would phone me, even to confess that she had committed a terrible crime and stolen or frauded £100,000 - anything to hear from her.

I could not wait any longer. I decided to go to the police.

The kindly desk sergeant told me to sit down. He waited patiently as I took out the letter and showed it to him.

"I- I was clearing out her room after she moved out," I babbled. "I don't know anything about this - I promise you."

He read the letter.

"Darren," he said slowly. "Darren White. A criminal. He was jailed three years ago for mugging an elderly man."

My head began to spin. What had my sister got herself into?

"So you know him?"

"He was always trouble. I remember him being brought here by his own mother for stealing a mobile phone. He grew up on a council estate. His father died young."

"Are you sure that it is the same person?"

"Pretty sure. We have only one Darren White on our records. He is my nephew."