“So, just you and your daughter live here?” Detective Constable Rebecca Reynolds was rummaging around the lounge, squinting closely at the photographs on the mantelpiece, as if the answer were hidden within them. PCSO Teddy Carson was perched on the end of the sofa clutching a notebook, ready to scrawl down any information. I hovered in the doorway, chewing nervously on my nails as Tonks patrolled the doorway.
“Yes, just the two of us. Well, and the cat.” As if on cue, Tonks arched his back and hissed at PCSO Teddy, before turning and scooting up the stairs. “Sorry. He doesn’t tend to like men.”
He looked a bit nervous — clearly not a cat man. “Uh, no problem.”
“Can I ask where her father is?” said Detective Constable Rebecca Reynolds.
“Her father’s never been in the picture. Literally since her birth.” The word birth griped at me. My mind started playing the word association game.
What do you think when I say birth?
Death.
“You raised her alone?” There was sympathy in her voice.
“Yes.”
She peered closer at the photos, picking up the one in the Like Mother, Like Daughter frame of the two of us on Christmas Day three years ago. We were both pulling the same silly face. “You almost look like sisters here. Do you have any siblings yourself? Any family support?”
If I’d been linked up to a lie detector, it would have immediately clocked the jump in my heartrate. To the constable, her question was simple. To me, she had asked two very separate questions. Just because you have a sibling doesn’t mean you have any family support. My sister certainly hadn’t provided any support for her niece; in fact, she barely even knew her.
“No,” I answered quickly, before I had the chance to think about it. “It’s just me.” My mind wandered to my memory box tucked away in my wardrobe and the past it held within it. I turned my attention away from DC Rebecca Reynolds and her questions before I had the chance to implicate myself. I hit the call button next to Teigan’s name on my phone for the fifth time since they’d arrived. It went through to voicemail, again.
“Teigan, it’s Mum. Again. Please, please call me. Or come home. I know you’re cross with me, but you need to come home now. The police are here looking for you. Call me.” I hung up and my eyes found DC Reynolds, who was watching me closely, her expression oozing pity.
“I know how hard this must be for you, Ms Walker. In these cases with teenagers, it is most likely that she has run away somewhere, especially considering that you say you argued yesterday morning. I’m sure that wherever she is, she’s safe.”
“Mm.” I tried to take comfort in what she was saying — that Teigan was most likely doing this to punish me. But it offered me little relief.
“Do you have contact details for Teigan’s friends? Their parents?”
I nodded. “Yes, yes. Well, some. Her closest friends. I’ll ring Poppy’s mum.” I started scrolling through my contact list, slightly mortified that I was going to have to admit to her that I hadn’t known the whereabouts of my daughter since yesterday morning.
“That’s a good idea. If we could have a recent picture of Teigan, we’ll start getting the word out on local news.”
I nodded in response, with a sinking feeling that soon the whole of Norwich would know that I was the social worker who didn’t know where her own daughter was. Some of my anxiety gave way to frustration. How could Teigan do this to me?
“Could you just talk me through exactly what happened yesterday, Ms Walker? From the argument all the way through to when you left the house,” said PSCO Teddy. “Just need to make sure I’ve got the details right and all that.”
“Oh. Yes, sure.” Could I, though? No matter how hard I tried, I couldn’t remember anything after Teigan’s comment. What about me? You care about them more than me! My mind was a blur of Teigan and Emma, a fog of anxiety closing in around me. Then, I’d been on my way to work. It was almost as if the time in between had just melted away. I knew it was just a case of me being over-stressed and on auto-pilot on my way to work, but I also knew how it might look to the police.
“Great.” PCSO Teddy had his pen poised above his notebook, ready to write down my story.
I started from the beginning. “So, we’d both got up and ready, as usual.” The images started playing in my head like a slideshow. “I was downstairs — I’d just been on the phone to my boss, and Teig came down. She started asking me about her scarf.”
“What scarf was this?”
“A purple one, with butterflies on. She couldn’t find it.”
“Did she find it in the end?”
“Yes, on the coat hook under the stairs.”
“So, she was wearing it when she left the house, was she?”
I faltered. Was she? She was definitely wearing it when we were in the kitchen … and when we were arguing … but I wasn’t sure after that. I couldn’t picture her leaving the house. “Um, yes, I think so.”
“You think so?” DC Rebecca Reynolds interjected. “If you could remember for definite, that would be really useful. We need to state in our appeal what she was wearing when she left the house.”
I nodded. “Yes, she was. She’d put it on while I was making my lunch in the kitchen. She was on the iPad for a bit, and that’s how she found out about potentially moving. She saw the tabs I’d left open.” My voice cracked a little. I wished more than anything I had closed those links.
DC Rebecca Reynolds leaned forward, cupping her hands together and resting her arms on her knees. “This argument, how bad was it?”
“Um, it was quite intense. I suppose.” My cheeks flushed red with embarrassment.
“That’s okay, just be honest. All parents argue with their teenagers, and, believe me, we see lots of teenage runaways where they’re back before you know it, tail between their legs. It’s just …” She frowned, unsure how to word herself.
“Yes?” I prompted.
“Well, it’s just the added complication that she’s been gone nearly two days already.”
My heart rate quickened again at the insinuation. Not only had I argued so badly with my daughter that she had run away, but I also hadn’t noticed she was missing. My eyes started to well with tears as they both looked at me, the deafening silence of judgment hanging in the air.
“So,” PCSO Teddy broke the silence. “This ‘intense’ argument. Can you describe it for us?”
The tears started to overspill, creeping down my face. “She said some things, quite personal, about my work. About me always putting work before her.”
DC Reynolds’ trimmed eyebrows raised. “Do you? Put work before her?”
“No. Of course not, Teigan’s the most important thing in my life. But, it’s hard. The kids at work are important, too. And what with the Emma stuff that morning, I just … I wasn’t in the right place for that conversation with Teigan.”
“Emma?”
“The case that had been on the news that morning,” I clarified.
“Was this the Emma Beale case? Were you the social worker?”
I swallowed what was left of my pride. “Yes.”
She shot me another sympathetic look. “Gosh. I’m sorry.”
“Wait, is that the one Donaghue worked?” said PCSO Teddy, not to me, but to DC Reynolds.
“Yes,” she replied. “It’s the case that was known to Children’s Services. The mother killed the daughter during an argument — she threw the kettle at her head, dragged her to the floor, completely lost it. Emma died within minutes.”
Both PCSO Teddy and DC Reynolds turned to look at me at that point, the same horrific thought clearly going through both their minds.