Will rubbed his hands over his face, and pushed the chair back from the small desk. He’d gone back to the room after Erin had left, the echoes of their conversation filling his mind.
He’d decided to spend the rest of the morning completing his search through Amy’s files and notes before doing anything else.
He’d gone round in circles, trying to find anything that would lead to a clue about Rossiter’s university days, but the search engine results were noticeably thin.
Someone had ensured that the man’s background information didn’t include whatever he’d done in Northern Ireland, or once he’d first arrived back in England.
Will groaned. It would have been incredibly easy to erase any unsavoury history before the internet search engine had really taken off, and that was exactly what someone had done.
He leaned over and picked up the mug of tea next to the laptop, then grimaced as he took a sip and remembered it was an hour old.
He realised he had to catch up with where Amy had got to in her investigation – and fast.
Too many gaps in his knowledge were beginning to show, evidenced by Erin’s knowledge of Amy’s visit to his mother.
And the fact that Amy hadn’t told him about the visit.
***
The low-set brick clad building formed an L-shape around the asphalt driveway, the space outside its front doors accompanied by signs demarking their use by ambulances only.
Will had parked in a space in the visitor’s car park, then had walked the length of the building, signed in at reception and now tried to ignore the fact that his backside was turning numb in the hard plastic chair he’d been directed to.
The facility manager had frowned at his calling in without phoning ahead.
‘It upsets her routine,’ she’d grumbled.
Will had apologised, and asked to meet with his mother in her private room, away from the prying eyes and ears of the facility’s staff and more alert residents.
She’d huffed, but said she’d go and see if his mother was awake and comfortable, then turned her back on him and stalked away.
Twenty minutes later she reappeared, beckoned to him to join her, and led him to his mother’s room before closing the door behind him.
He pulled a chair over to where his mother sat, her white hair haloed by the sunshine pouring through the window, the panes smeared from the recent rainfall.
She played with a loose thread on the blanket across her legs, and smiled at him as he joined her.
‘How’re you doing, mum?’
He tried to recall when he’d last been to see her, the guilt coursing through him as he realised it had been months, rather than weeks.
‘It’s good to see you,’ she murmured. ‘I know you’re busy, but I worry you work too hard.’
Will lowered his gaze to his hands and shuffled in his seat, trying to get comfortable. ‘Amy’s in hospital, mum.’
Her hand found his, and she squeezed. ‘Is it bad?’
He nodded, fighting back tears. ‘She was injured. Badly.’ He sniffled. ‘I still don’t know if she’s going to be okay.’
He exhaled as his mother squeezed his hand, then her fingers returned to the blanket, pulling the thread.
He wondered how much she was listening, how much she was taking in, whether her damaged brain was working through what he’d told her.
‘It was so nice of her to visit.’
‘When?’
She waved her hand. ‘Oh, I don’t know. You know how it is with me and time.’
‘Well, how about a guess? A few weeks? A month?’
His mother turned her face towards the window, her features devoid of expression. She seemed to be watching a pair of sparrows frolicking in a bird bath in the middle of the threadbare lawn, her eyes flickering back and forth.
Will clenched his fingers into his palms and forced down his impatience. He knew how this worked. Sometimes his mother would retreat into her own thoughts for minutes, days even, and it did no good to try to hurry her along.
He followed her gaze to the bird bath, just in time to see a large pigeon dive-bomb into the water, sending the smaller birds scattering in its wake.
His mother giggled, then turned to him. ‘Oh, it was only a couple of weeks ago – I remember now.’
‘Why?’ He paused. ‘I mean – why did she come to see you, without me?’
His mother shrugged, a blissful smile on her lips. ‘She didn’t say.’
‘What did she want?’
‘I-I don’t remember.’
‘Can you try?’
‘Mmm.’
Will exhaled, forced his frustration down deep, and waited. When it was apparent his mother wouldn’t volunteer any more information without being prompted, he tried a different tact.
‘What was she wearing?’
His mother laughed again, a beautiful sound that filled the room.
Will tried desperately to keep his emotions in check. It had been so rarely that he’d heard his mother laugh freely.
His mother was still giggling when she spoke again. ‘She was wearing an awful old cardigan – goodness knows where she’d found it. It was much too long for her,’ she said. ‘And a hat – a big floppy one that hung over her ears.’
Will’s mind raced. The only reason he could think of why Amy would wear such strange clothing was that she had disguised herself to visit his mother, which meant she was already fearful for her life, and concerned that she was being followed by someone.
‘And she was wearing sunglasses,’ added his mother, a wide smile on her face, the giggles subsiding. ‘It was raining outside, I remember – and she was wearing sunglasses. I told her she should have brought an umbrella instead.’
She fell silent, and her gaze dropped back to the blanket. She tugged hard at the thread and it came loose.
‘Can you remember what she came here for?’ asked Will.
His mother twisted the thread around her index finger, her mouth downturned. She sniffled.
‘I can’t remember,’ she whispered.
‘Come on, mum,’ he urged. ‘Please.’
He slid off his chair and knelt on the floor by her side, took her hand in his once more, and prised her fingers away from the threads she had tugged from the blanket.
Her skin felt cool to his touch, smooth and comforting. He screwed his eyes shut against the memories that threatened tears, pushed the thought aside, then looked at her.
‘I need your help, mum. So does Amy,’ he said. ‘The smallest thing – it doesn’t matter if you don’t think it’s important.’
He squeezed her hand, and then sat on his heels. His heart raced. If he pushed too hard, her mind would close down, block him out and he’d lose her again. But if she could remember…
‘The bible,’ his mother said, a smile lighting up her face. ‘She wanted my bible.’ Her gaze turned to him, her eyes shining. ‘I remembered!’
‘You did, mum – you did great.’ Will stood, then leaned down and hugged her. ‘Did she say why she wanted it?’ he asked, returning to his chair.
He couldn’t understand why his mother would let her most treasured possession out of her sight, let alone give it to Amy. He held his breath as he watched his mother’s mouth work, a frown creasing her brow, and opened his mouth to speak.
She held up a finger, before shaking her head. ‘Shh, Will. Don’t rush me.’
He leaned forwards, his elbows on his knees, holding his breath.
A smile lit up his mother’s face. ‘That was it! She said she was going to put it somewhere safe!’
Somewhere safe?
Will turned over the phrase in his mind.
Why? What was so important about his mother’s old bible?
Was that why the apartment had been broken into?
He tugged at his earlobe. ‘I don’t suppose she told you where she was going to put it?’
His mother shrugged. ‘She said she was going to put it back where it belonged.’
Will sighed. ‘It couldn’t be simple, could it?’