“What the fuck you doing here?”
There he was. Rhys Dannot. Emaciated with grey bags under his eyes. The last time I’d seen him, he was a messed-up seventeen-year-old cowering over his brother”s limp body.
“Rhys,” I nudged my foot in the doorway, in case he tried to slam it shut. “I need to talk to you. It’s serious.” His eyes flickered questioningly to Steph, who was standing behind me in the doorway. “She’s my sister, and she’s here for emotional support.”
Steph gave a nod of reassurance to Rhys, who narrowed his eyes at us both. Eventually he stepped back, throwing his arms in the air.
“Whatever. Come in.”
Carly was spot on when she called the place a dive. It could have been a nice flat, but, instead, it was full of junk, with empty bottles littering the floor and takeaway boxes piled up in the corner, seeping questionable liquids. A stale smell lingered in the air, suggesting no one had taken out the rubbish, nor opened a window for weeks. Rhys leaned against the door-frame, arms crossed and brow furrowed in distaste. His clothes were practically hanging off him. I could still see the scars on his wrists from that day, only half hidden by cheap tribal tattoos.
“Thank you,” I said, standing awkwardly in the room, suddenly losing all my professional ability to build rapport. I had no idea where to begin. So much had happened since I’d last seen him. There was so much I wanted to say, and, yet, I knew my words would mean nothing to him.
He groaned, everything about him screaming that he wanted me gone.
“Come on, man. What do you want?”
I was thankful for the direct question. “I want to ask you something, Rhys. And I need you to be honest with me, putting everything else to one side for a moment, because it’s too important to lie about.” He just shrugged in response. I carried on. “Do you know anything, anything at all, about the disappearance of my daughter, Teigan?” I spoke slowly and clearly, watching his face for a reaction. “Because I have reason to believe you do.”
“What? No,” he said, a little too quickly. “Why would I?”
My heart skipped a beat. That was defensiveness I could hear in his voice. “Rhys, this is about a young girl in trouble. She’s almost the same age as Carly. How would you feel if it were Carly in danger?”
“Leave Carly out of this. You’ve wasted your time ‘cause I don’t know nothing about Teigan.” His eyes flicked up to the left side of the ceiling.
My breath caught in my throat. He was lying. I stepped closer to him. “Rhys, I think you know something. Whatever it is, whatever you may have done or not done, I forgive you. I just need to know.” I kept steady eye contact with Rhys.
“I, uh,” his said, his eyes flickering again from me to Steph. “I really don’t know what you’re chatting about. So, d’you wanna fuck off now?”
“You do know.” I stepped forward so my face was only a couple of inches from his and placed my fingers a little too firmly on his upper arms. “You do know what I’m talking about. You’re going to tell me. Right now.”
He yanked his arms away. “Get the fuck off me. You ain’t allowed to touch me. The social ain’t allowed to do that!”
“I’m not your social worker anymore, Rhys. Hell, I’m never going to be allowed to work as a social worker again, so actually I can do what I like.” I gritted my teeth and leant in even closer, tightening my grip on his bony arms. “So, I’m going to ask you, one last time. What do you know about Teigan’s disappearance?”
I could see the same look in his eyes as I had two years ago. He was frightened.
After several moments of silence, he broke.
“I didn’t mean to — it wasn’t meant to go this far,” he stammered.
My whole body stayed perfectly still, as if even a fraction of a movement could endanger this moment. “Tell me.”
“I just did my part, I wanted you to feel some of the pain you caused me, but …”
“But what?” The truth was tantalisingly close, and his pauses were almost too much to bear.
“It wasn’t my idea, I swear. I just, like, helped out. I didn’t hurt her, honest.”
“Well, what DID you do? I need answers, Rhys.”
“I just did what I was told.” He’d lost the cockiness he had shown off when I’d arrived. His shoulders hunched, and his head hung low.
“And who told you to do it?” I urged.
His eyes darted past me to the right. I let go of his arms and turned, following his eyeline.
There she was, blocking the doorway, pointing a knife right at me.
My little sister.