Sian looked through the closed iron gates at the large five-bedroom house. There were lights on, obviously someone at home. She had no reason to turn around and go back to her car, though that’s what she wanted to do. She took a deep breath and pressed the button on the intercom.
‘Hello,’ came the reply.
Sian cleared her throat. ‘My name is Detective Sergeant Sian Mills from South Yorkshire Police. I’d like a word with either Sally or Philip Meagan please.’
‘Hold your identification up to the camera, please, above the speaker.’
Sian wrestled with her warrant card and pulled it out of her inside pocket. She held it to the small lens. There was no reply, no more comment, just the gates starting to open.
Pocketing the warrant card, Sian made her way up the gravel drive. She felt she was being watched from the house and tried to be confident and professional. With her shoulders back and her head high, she took long strides. At the solid wooden front door she raised a gloved fist to knock, but it was opened before she had a chance.
‘DS Mills, I’m Sally Meagan, please, come on in.’
Sally Meagan was five-foot nine in heels. She was dressed elegantly in flowing black trousers and a white shirt with frilly collar. Her naturally wavy hair was dyed blonde and rested on her shoulders. Her understated make-up was a cover to add life to her painful face. The unknown, the grief, the worry was a permanent feature.
She stepped to one side and closed the door behind Sian, who looked in awe at the tastefully decorated hallway.
‘Do you have any news?’ Sally asked, a glimmer of hope in her eyes.
Before she could answer, a large golden Labrador bounded into the hallway from the living room. With tail wagging and tongue lolling, he came to a stop by Sian and started sniffing her.
‘Woody, stop that. Sorry. He’ll calm down in a minute. He’s the nosiest dog in the world.’
‘That’s OK.’ Sian smiled, bending to stroke the dog. ‘I remember him from … well, when we first met. He was just a puppy then.’
‘Yes. We got him for Carl when he was six. They were inseparable. Woody hasn’t barked since the day Carl disappeared. He still pines for him in the evenings.’
Woody had lain down and rolled onto his back for Sian to scratch his tummy. He seemed to be enjoying the attention.
‘Is it about Carl, why you’ve come here?’ Sally asked, a hint of hope in her voice.
‘No, I’m sorry, I haven’t,’ Sian quickly replied.
‘Oh.’ Her face fell. Another knife in the heart. ‘Would you like to go through to the lounge?’ she asked, pointing the way. Her voice suddenly cold.
‘Thank you.’
Sian walked to the living room which was almost as big as her house. The first thing her eyes fell on wasn’t the oversized expensive sofa, the thick Chinese rug, the large marble fireplace or the tastefully simple chandeliers, but the photograph of Carl Meagan on the mantelpiece. It wasn’t big, but it was in a beautiful solid-silver frame. The smiling child, the spitting image of his mother, on a Christmas morning, surrounded by presents, a large tree in the background.
‘Please, sit down,’ Sally instructed.
The silence was awkward while both women made themselves comfortable. Woody gave an audible sigh and curled up on the floor beside Sally.
‘Can I get you a drink or something?’ The offer was made for the sake of being polite. It wasn’t genuine. The icy stare and the arms firmly folded told Sian that.
‘No, I’m fine, thank you. Is your husband home?’
‘No. He’s at one of our restaurants in Barnsley. If it’s not Carl, what is this about?’
‘Mrs Meagan—’
‘Sally.’
‘Sally. I’m really sorry to have to ask you this, but, have you had any contact with Matilda Darke recently?’
Sally’s face twitched at the mention of the DCI’s name. ‘Contact? What do you mean?’
‘DCI Darke is currently receiving some negative attention and we’re contacting people who may have a grudge against her …’
‘You think I’m stalking her?’ Sally said, slapping a hand on her chest. She raised her voice in what could have been shock or anger. Woody lifted his head.
‘No, I don’t. I’ve been asked to cover all bases. I wouldn’t be doing my job properly if I didn’t ask,’ Sian tried to be placatory.
‘If you’re doing your job properly, then you’re the only one in South Yorkshire Police who does. Why don’t you try to find my son? You think I’ve got time to piss about stalking Matilda Darke? Come with me.’
Sally jumped up, grabbed Sian’s arm and pulled her to her feet. Sally headed for the door, her right hand firmly gripping Sian’s wrist.
They went down the corridor, past the dining room, through the kitchen and down a few steps. Woody trotted closely behind them. There were two closed doors. Taking a key from her pocket, Sally unlocked one and pushed it open. She practically threw Sian inside.
Standing in the middle of the makeshift office Sian looked around. The walls were covered in photographs of Carl, maps of South Yorkshire and the UK with pins scattered at various locations. The desk had a bank of three computer monitors and a large printer on it. A stack of posters, with Carl’s face and the word MISSING at the top, were ready to be distributed. In the corner was a large pile of the hardback book Sally had written. This was a nerve centre in trying to find a child who had been missing for two years.
‘This is what I spend my days doing. I’m scouring the Internet for any mention of Carl. I’m updating the website. Emailing missing persons charities offering my services to help find other children. Talking to other parents who have lost their children. Posting on message boards and forums asking for people to keep searching for my Carl. I’m updating Facebook and Twitter. I spend about sixteen hours a day in this room. Do you think I’ve got time to go hassling Matilda Darke?’
Sian looked at Sally. It was obvious she wasn’t living, merely existing, until she knew the fate of her child. This was not a woman capable of killing two people and stalking a DCI.
‘This is what I do every day.’ Sally went over to the desk and picked up a mailing list. ‘Here’s all the people around the country who are also searching for missing relatives. We help each other out. I send them posters of Carl to add to their own collection.’ She moved over to the tower of hardback books and picked one up. ‘The paperback comes out in the autumn. I’ve been asked to write a couple of extra chapters, updates on the investigation. I’ve nothing to say. It’s like he’s just disappeared off the face of the earth, as if he never existed in the first place. This is my life now,’ she said, looking around the small room.
‘I’m sorry,’ Sian said for want of something better to say. It sounded pathetic as soon as she opened her mouth.
‘I blame Matilda. I hate the fact she was allowed back to work, that she can just get on with her life as if nothing happened. I hate her.’
‘Sally, there isn’t a day goes by without Matilda beating herself up for not being able to bring your son home. She thinks about him all the time. She isn’t getting on with her life as if nothing happened; she’s a changed woman. She will never forget him, and she will always be looking for him.’
‘I don’t want to hear this.’
‘Sally …’
‘Please, go,’ she said quietly. ‘There are only two things that keep me going – trying to find Carl and hating Matilda. If you can’t give me Carl back, then please don’t take away my hatred.’
‘I’m sorry,’ Sian said. She stepped around her and left the room. ‘I’ll see myself out.’
Sian was halfway down the corridor before Sally called to her. ‘I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to take it out on you. I hate Matilda. But I have more important things to do than make her life a misery.’
Sian offered a sympathetic smile then turned to leave. Once she was outside, she leaned back against the closed door and took a deep breath of cold air. It was stifling in the house, not due to heat, but the atmosphere, the depressive shroud that weighed heavy in every room.
Sian walked quickly down the drive. She couldn’t leave fast enough. She wanted to go straight home and hug her children.