19

It was 10 p.m. and Sarah was driving east across London, dipping out of the busy traffic-laden roads into quiet, leafy Hampstead Garden Suburb. Her mind was on Skye: another night missing.

After Tania’s father had accepted the police caution, Sarah had called Fedden from the police station to ask him again to delay re-interviewing Walker so she could assist in the hunt for Brannon. But Fedden had been adamant.

‘We need a result for Egremont and I want you to concentrate on that. You said yourself: the moment we put Walker’s door in this became a live investigation.’

And so Sarah had disciplined herself. She had put out of her mind her nasty suspicion that it was Walker’s lawyer’s complaint that was making Fedden so desperate to get a charge and made herself focus instead on Tania, walking out of the front door and disappearing. She thought too of Claire Mills, waiting since 1987 to know what had happened to her daughter.

Although it was late, she’d explained to Ben Mills the need to get some background questions answered urgently, and he’d agreed to talk to her back at his place.

The street of large detached brick houses was lined with young silver birches, the fronts of the houses wrapped in thick hedges. The cars in the drives were all high value or sweet little runners for the nanny or the grown-up children: two Porsches, a Daimler, a light blue Fiat 500, a classic Morris Minor Traveller.

Ben had changed into a soft grey sweater and indigo denim jeans. His handshake was quick and effective. He took Sarah through to a reception room at the front of the house. A large jug of fresh irises and tulips stood in a carved stone fireplace. There was a walnut baby grand in the corner, and Sarah, sitting, said, ‘Do you play?’

‘My daughters do. I couldn’t stand it at first – the sound of practising in the house – but Olivia insisted. Her father’s a pianist.’

It was hard to believe that Ben had ever been married to Claire Mills, or even that they were the same age. They seemed to belong not only to different worlds but to different eras.

There were no photos in the room, and she commented, ‘Your ex-wife, Claire, she has a . . . well, a kind of shrine to Tania.’

‘She does indeed. Every day I came home from work, there would be another photo up.’ He reached into his back pocket and pulled out a dark leather wallet. ‘This is the only picture of Tania I keep to hand.’ He handed the wallet to Sarah. Behind a slightly cloudy plastic cover, she saw a photo of a toddler: a bit plump, fair curly hair, on a beach, sand on her knees and hands.

‘How old was she then?’

‘Must have been about three. I figure I’m allowed to remember her at any age since she’s gone now. I accepted a few years ago that she must be dead.’

He took the wallet from her, slipped it quickly back into his pocket.

‘You choose to remember her as a little child?’ When he did not reply, she added, ‘Why is that?’

His expression was unforgiving. ‘I don’t want to remember how she was when she disappeared. Claire may have made her into a little angel but she was up to all sorts of stuff behind our backs. I’d believed for some time she was putting herself at risk.’

‘Up to stuff? What do you mean?’

‘She was rude. She came back late and didn’t tell us where she was. She’d stopped practising her violin . . .’

None of this sounded so bad.

‘There was a shoplifting incident? Tell me about that.’

‘I got a call from the police at work. She’d been in Selfridges. She’d stolen a belt.’

‘Your ex-wife said she didn’t steal it.’

He nodded. ‘That’s typical. Claire likes to go round with her eyes closed. Of course Tania had stolen it. When I turned up, a man had offered to pay for it. He was obviously a valued customer, because after that the shop dropped it.’

‘This man – can you describe him?’

‘He’d gone by the time I arrived. I thought nothing of it. Thought my daughter was just a pretty girl who had learned to cry her way out of trouble. Now you bring it up I have to wonder.’

Sarah wondered whether this could have been Walker. But he didn’t strike her as the kind of person who, even then, could have smoothly intervened in such a way. Who had it been then? But there was no point speculating. Although she would try to trace the officers who had dealt with the matter she recognized it was probably impossible to identify the man in the shop now.

‘So you took her home and that was an end of it?’

‘I told her that I wasn’t fooled by her story about forgetting she was wearing the belt.’

‘You didn’t trust her?’

‘It wasn’t just the shoplifting. There were other things. She had a tin in her room – undeveloped film, apparently. It was a hiding place, of course. It had cannabis and magic mushrooms inside it.’

‘So, she was interested in photography?’

‘So she said. There was an evening class at the local college of further education. I think she only went a couple of times. She’d stopped sticking to anything really.’

‘Do you know the name of the college?’

‘No, but Claire will.’

There was a brief silence. Then Ben said, ‘What I’ve said doesn’t mean I don’t miss her every day.’

Sarah remembered her first sight of him in Walker’s flat: blood on his hands, blood down his fine striped shirt. He’d punched until his knuckles were swollen. He was not a man at peace with himself – that much at least was clear.

She said quietly, ‘Of course you do.’

He made no reply and she was mindful how late it was. She needed to review other evidence before interviewing Walker in the morning. She’d have to follow up on those evening photography classes with Claire, too.

‘If there’s anything else that would help me, anything . . . It might be something you don’t even think is relevant.’

‘I don’t know whether it is relevant but . . .’

‘Yes?’

‘I was having an affair, you may be aware?’

Sarah nodded, waited.

‘A couple of days before she went missing, I was in a café with the woman who became my second wife. It was bad luck – Tania spotted us. She marched right in. Furious. Swore at me. I was embarrassed. I took her by the arm, led her out of the café. I said, “This isn’t what you think.” She called me a liar and I slapped her. I told her it was none of her business: she needed to concentrate on her school work and do some violin practice and stop bunking off school.’

He curled over and held his head in his hands.

‘I still can’t believe I slapped her.’

Sarah wanted to lean forward and put a hand on his shoulder, but he didn’t give the impression of a man who would welcome being touched. She said, ‘I’m sorry for bringing all this up . . .’

He glanced up. His face looked as if it had been pulled tight by a string.

‘If I’d reacted differently. That’s what haunts me.’

Sarah couldn’t help but think of Tania. Increasingly she did seem isolated, lost in teenage secrets.

She said, ‘Please, Mr Mills. Don’t blame yourself.’

‘Yes, but it might have made a difference! Do you see that? If I’d been honest with her, she might have talked to me. Perhaps I’d have known more about what she was getting up to. Perhaps she’d still be here.’