NICK’S DISAPPEARANCE HAS FINALLY CAUGHT THE attention of the press. Tim went out for the paper this morning and wordlessly handed it to me. It isn’t a big item; a few column inches to say that thirty-four-year-old Nick Ritchie has been missing since the fourteenth of April. That’s followed by a human-interest piece on how many people go missing each year. A set of startling statistics. So far there’s been nothing about me, but I reckon it’s only a matter of time before some bright spark comes asking questions and discovers that I’m not the conventional mother I appear to be.
I put the paper down and call Marsh to ask whether Anna has been back to see him.
‘And?’ I ask when he confirms this.
He sighs. ‘And I don’t know. She thinks you’re fixated on what happened eighteen years ago.’
‘If I’m fixated, it’s because it was a massive upheaval in Nick’s life. What if he went back to the place where she died? What if he has some sort of guilt complex about what happened? The police should search the river. Maybe he’s in the house or camping out. They were all there; all these people that are, or were, part of Nick’s life: Angus Moody, Anna Foreman, his parents. And now Alex Wells.’
‘Slow down. Supposing he did go down to Devon, how did he get there? His car is parked in your driveway and there’s no CCTV footage of him beyond the Queen’s Arms. The Paddington station sighting wasn’t him.’
‘I don’t know. But it’s not impossible, is it? Maybe he hitched a lift. Please can you at least look at it?’
He gives in. ‘I’ll talk to Devon and Cornwall Police for you, but don’t expect them to organize a search without a very good reason.’
It’s something. I’ve driven a small wedge in the door. I risk another push.
‘I think Nick was so upset by meeting Anna Foreman and her brother, and the memories that triggered, that he may have harmed himself or be intending to.’ A lump rises in my throat, causing a break in my voice.
‘Has he ever given you reason to believe he’s capable of something like that?’
Once upon a time I would have said absolutely not, but now I know about his depression, I’ve had to rethink our entire relationship. ‘It can happen to anyone, surely? Given the right set of circumstances.’
He is unimpressed. ‘If we assigned officers to every what if, we wouldn’t have time to deal with the crimes that are actually being committed. We haven’t been sitting on our hands. We’ve uploaded Nick’s details on to the Missing Persons database. We’ve looked at his computers both at work and at home. We’ve spoken to his colleagues. We’ve been through his phone records and his bank and credit card statements. I have a list as long as my arm of things that need my attention and people who need my help. I cannot devote every hour of every day to finding Nick. If he wanted to go back there to kill himself, why not drive, or get the train?’
‘Because he didn’t want to be found.’
I can almost hear the lift of his eyebrow. I can certainly picture it.
‘My point exactly.’
Cornered, I groan. ‘It’s not that simple.’
‘Ms Trelawney.’ He sounds exasperated. ‘If you know something, you should tell me, even if it doesn’t show Nick in the best light. If what you’re saying is true, then we need to act quickly.’
What Anna told me – what she implied about Nick and Izzy’s relationship becoming blurred around the edges – is hard to articulate, because it goes against everything I know about Nick. I could repeat it to Marsh, but the slightest suggestion that a sixteen-year-old boy assaulted a thirteen-year-old girl, and possibly has some indirect connection to her death, has implications that could be life-changing and career-destroying.
‘I’ve told you everything I know.’
‘OK,’ he says after a pause. ‘I’ll talk to Moody again.’
‘And the Wellses. You need to talk to Anna’s parents.’
He sighs.
‘I’m sorry. I’m telling you how to do your job. Please can you email me Nick’s bank statements? I want to go through them.’
I hang up and go in search of Cora. She’s in Lottie’s bathroom, bent over the bath, a green sponge in one hand, a bottle of lemon-scented cream cleaner in the other.
‘You shouldn’t be doing that,’ I say, trying to sound friendly. ‘You know Lottie cleans her own bathroom.’
Cora turns and smiles. ‘She’s a child. Now, if you want to do something helpful, you could strip our bed. I’ve noticed you do have some clean linen in the cupboard.’
I stare at her, my mouth gaping. I want to respond, what did your last slave die of? but refrain, instead telling her, politely, what I’ve talked to Marsh about, and that he’s going to speak to her old friends, Jess and Sean Wells.
‘I need to talk to Jess first,’ she says, dropping the sponge into the bath and getting to her feet. She peels off her rubber gloves and rubs the small of her back.
‘I got the impression you weren’t on speaking terms,’ I say.
She hesitates at the door. ‘This is important. We’re all involved in this whether we like it or not. Jess and I were close once. I can’t believe she won’t care about what I’m going through.’
I feel a tiny twinge of compassion for this intelligent, bitter woman, although she evidently feels little for me. It must be sad when you lose a close female friend, sadder than losing a lover. If Cassie dumped me, I’d be devastated.
I follow her downstairs and make us both a cup of tea while she takes the phone into the front room. Jess is obviously prepared to speak to her, because I can hear the murmurings of conversation. I go out into the hall and stand close to the sitting-room door, not quite putting my ear against it, but almost. The floor creaks and I wince, holding my breath.
‘Grace thinks he may have gone to Devon,’ Cora says. ‘To the house … Why am I calling you? To tell you … Well, no, I know it’s nothing to do with you but … Jess. Look, I’m sorry, I was just reaching out. It’s been so long … What? No. No, of course we can’t. Well, if that’s the way you feel—’ She breaks off and says, ‘Jesus. What a bitch.’
I nip back into the kitchen and pretend to be rummaging through my bag. I glance over my shoulder when she comes back in. ‘So, what did she say?’
‘You were listening, weren’t you?’ Cora says.
She picks up her book and, without waiting for her tea, takes it upstairs.
Since I spoke to Marsh, I’ve been obsessing about Devon. I want to see the place where Anna’s little sister died. The more I learn about what happened, the more I’m certain that the waves caused by that summer have followed Nick down through the years. My gut tells me those waves broke on the day he left this house to buy a pint of milk and ran into Anna Foreman. I have nothing against coincidence, but there are far too many for credibility here. Nick and Anna were estranged childhood friends who happened to wash up in the same corner of suburban London. Anna’s brother happened to contact Nick the day after she spoke to him. I don’t think so.
I sit cross-legged on the sofa, cradling a cup of mint tea, thinking about the logistics. I don’t want to stay overnight, not when things are on such a knife-edge here. I’ll do the drive there and back in a day. It’ll be exhausting but even if I’m not back in time to see Lottie before she goes to sleep, I want to be there in the morning when she wakes up.
The only obstacle is that I’ll need permission and that means getting in touch with Angus Moody. I bite my lip. I don’t want to ask him if I can have a snoop round his house and land; he could react badly.
Anna, I think suddenly. She can get me in, and she can guide me; she can help me picture what happened to her sister and she can explain the relationships between the various family members. I put my drink down and reach for my mobile. Is this wise? Do I really want to share my intentions with a woman I don’t entirely trust? I hold the phone in the palm of my hand. Time might be running out for Nick. I have no choice. It’s Anna or nothing.
‘But why are you going at all?’ Anna says when I explain what I want from her.
‘Because it was a significant event in Nick’s life that I didn’t know about, and I have this gut feeling. I need to see it, to smell it.’
There’s a long silence and when she does speak, she sounds as though she might be wavering. ‘I haven’t seen the Moodys in years. And anyway, they probably won’t be there, they’re in London or abroad most of the time. It was only ever a summer holiday home.’
‘There must be some local person who looks after the place.’
She sighs. ‘Well, there’s Mrs Burrows. Unless she’s retired. Someone in the village will know; everyone knows everyone’s business down there.’
‘Good,’ I say. ‘Can you be ready to leave by seven?’
‘Grace.’ Her voice is taut with suppressed frustration. ‘I can’t come with you, not at a moment’s notice.’
‘You owe me.’
‘For what?’ She sounds incredulous, and I admit, I am pushing it.
‘For not telling me you knew Nick.’
‘Oh for Christ’s sake … All right. Fine.’
‘I’ll come and pick you up. I’m sorry, I’d offer to have Kai here with Lottie, but I know you don’t want to see Tim and Cora.’
‘Kai isn’t a problem. My neighbour will have him.’
‘Thanks. You never know, the trip might be good for you too.’
She laughs drily. ‘If you dare say the word closure, I’m not coming.’