‘So?’ Fiona was so far beyond the edge she reminded Jenny of those Roadrunner cartoons she used to watch as a kid, Wile E. Coyote suspended in thin air off a cliff, turning to camera with a ‘Help!’ sign, then plummeting. With Sophia still gone, Fiona was perpetually in that moment.
They were back in Thomas’s office, but Jenny didn’t know if they were any further forward. It felt like Groundhog Day. Outside the window, the ridge of Salisbury Crags had the same implacable look it’d had for millions of years.
‘We’re doing everything we can,’ Thomas said from behind his desk. He was trying to help. Jenny watched his calm body language, appeasing hands, sombre tone. If Jenny was in Fiona’s position she would be just as angry.
‘You keep saying that.’ Fiona scratched her neck as she leaned forward. Jenny thought she caught a whiff of vodka, but so what? ‘It means fuck all.’
‘Fiona,’ Jenny said. She placed a hand on Fiona’s arm and it was like an electric shock went through both of them as Fiona jerked away.
‘Fuck that,’ she said, waving her arm around. ‘Fuck all of you, fuck this.’
‘It does no good getting worked up,’ Thomas said, and Jenny flinched at his calmness. Maybe he didn’t realise how it must sound. ‘You’re going to be in front of the cameras in a few minutes.’
‘What?’ Jenny said.
Fiona nodded. ‘Television appeal.’
Jenny leaned forward. ‘I’m not sure that’s a good idea in your current state.’
Fiona gave her an evil stare. ‘I’m fine.’
Jenny backed off. Fiona made her think of that jaguar on the loose, the power inside her. She turned to Thomas.
‘Please tell me you interviewed our leads.’
‘Of course.’
‘And?’
‘Nothing.’
‘What do you mean “nothing”?’ Fiona said.
Thomas pressed his fingers together. ‘We don’t even know for sure Jenny’s text came from Craig.’
‘Of course it did,’ Jenny said.
‘It could be a hoax.’
‘And you got no trace on the number?’
Thomas frowned. ‘A complicated system of misdirects. From someone who knows what they’re doing.’
‘And the three pricks we confronted?’ Fiona said.
‘They say they know nothing about Craig since he stopped working on their PR.’
Fiona gripped her seat. ‘Can’t you threaten them, fuck them up a bit?’
Thomas stared at her for a long time. ‘That’s not how policing works.’
‘You would if they were black,’ Fiona said.
‘Pardon?’ Thomas looked genuinely shocked. Saying that to a black cop was not going to help.
‘Look,’ Jenny said, trying to smooth things over. ‘Let’s just concentrate on what we can do.’
Thomas sat in silence, controlling himself. Jenny admired him all over again, her mum had made a good choice.
‘We’re getting warrants to search their properties,’ he said eventually, ‘and examine all their communications.’
‘All their properties?’ Jenny said.
‘As many as we can.’
‘But this Anster cunt owns half of Scotland,’ Fiona said.
Thomas bowed his head, embarrassed. ‘And some incredibly expensive solicitors, but we’re doing our best. It takes time.’
Fiona launched out of her seat. ‘We don’t have time, don’t you understand? Sophia is missing, and that fucking…’
She broke into tears and grabbed Thomas’s desk for support, as if she might pass out. Jenny leapt up and put an arm around her, and she buried her face in the crook of Jenny’s arm. Definitely the smell of vodka.
Jenny held on and spoke over Fiona’s head. ‘Charlotte Cross has a second home in the East Neuk.’
‘Do you have an address?’
‘Landline number.’
‘OK, we’ll look into it.’
Fiona lifted her head. More tears, which she sniffed and wiped at.
A knock on the door and a uniformed woman came in. She was barely older than Hannah, blonde hair in a sharp fringe. ‘We’re ready for Ms Ellis for the press conference.’
Thomas stood. ‘I don’t think it’s happening today.’
Fiona pushed herself away from Jenny. ‘I’m OK.’
‘You’re clearly not,’ Jenny said.
‘I need to do something,’ Fiona said, suddenly forlorn. She let herself be led like a zombie out of the door and the pressure in the room changed. Jenny felt her shoulders relax and hated herself for that.
Thomas splayed his fingers at Jenny’s seat and they both sat down again.
‘This is a nightmare for her,’ Jenny said.
‘I know.’
Something in his voice made Jenny believe he understood.
Jenny sighed. ‘OK, what about Vanessa Chalmers?’
Mentioning the name gave her a visceral rush, the smell of her bedroom, the look on her face. Jenny was used to dead bodies but coming across her like that had made her skin crawl.
Thomas nodded. ‘Francesco is downstairs being interviewed.’
Jenny had told Thomas everything. She’d phoned the police and ambulance from Vanessa’s room. Paramedics took her to the morgue and Jenny rode with the officers to the station, where she laid it out for Thomas, including the hidden cameras. Cops waited outside the house in Cumin Place and Francesco pulled up an hour later with a boot full of groceries.
‘Camera footage?’ Jenny said.
‘Officers are working their way through it.’
Jenny shook her head. ‘Come on, just check for the hour before I got there, it’s not rocket science.’
Thomas looked at her like she was a baby. ‘We did.’
‘And?’
He typed at his computer, turned the screen to her.
She saw Vanessa inching her way from the door to the bed, tiny shuffles, using furniture as support. Then she lowered herself onto the bed, lifted her withered legs up, breath heavy at the strain, then pulled the covers over and settled in. Closed her eyes. The image stopped.
‘That’s it? Did you check the cameras in the bathroom and kitchen?’
‘She went to the toilet.’
‘That’s all?’
‘So far. It takes time to analyse every moment of every day in every room.’
Jenny shook her head and thought about Francesco downstairs, Maria and Matthew, Craig and Sophia, Fiona in front of the cameras.
‘You keep saying that,’ she said. ‘We don’t have time.’