France
19th August
Adele
Adele watches as the dust churns up around the villa, settling onto everything it touches. It is a shame, really, she thinks, the place is so beautiful. She thinks of the wife’s fancy dresses, the glistening blue of the swimming pool. A place of luxury, ripped apart in the search for the child.
It is only her fourth month in the Rouen police force, the process is new to her. Her superior told her she could stay, help with the search that will continue this evening. They are pleased with her for spotting the lack of suitcase, for her sharpness, her speed. The English police are excited, they think this will be what they need.
Despite the lingering heat of the day, she feels a shiver go through her at the thought of the wife, finding out what her husband has done. Adele doesn’t have a partner, non, and this case hasn’t made her any more inclined to find one, much to the chagrin of her parents back in Paris.
Around her, the machine digs up more and more earth, the green, flowered gardens surrounding the villa transforming into mounds of sandy dirt. Pink roses fall to the floor, beheaded by the excavations. Further down the hill, more police are searching manually; the surrounding houses are all holiday lets but their bins have been emptied, the nooks and crannies of the hill have been splayed open in case they are hiding the baby. The sun is beginning to set now, they will not be able to dig for much longer.
Part of her wants them to find her, part of her does not.
‘Il y a aucun espoir pour le bébé,’ her superior had said to her gently, this morning, ‘there is no hope for the baby.’
Above them, the huge rock towers, blocking out what is left of the dwindling sunlight. It gives away nothing, and still the search for Eve Grant carries on.