Local Gone Missing(35)

Caro nodded and led the Diamonds back toward the house.

In the twenty minutes Elise had been there, Ebbing had turned out in force to witness the latest show at the Old Vicarage. Rumors were swirling and darkening.

“It’s an insurance job,” someone behind her said. “Just the kind of thing his sort would pull.”

“The daughter’s missing,” another voice stated. “Maybe she was in there, burned alive.”

A woman beside Elise started crying.

“This is outsiders,” someone growled. “The police should be looking at those foreigners at the building site. The papers are always talking about violent criminals coming here on the run from their own countries. Who knows who we’re harboring . . . ?”

Two police vehicles pulled up and officers started getting out and pulling on high-vis jackets.

“I’m going home,” Elise said. “I can’t be here and just watch.”

Ronnie stayed, her eyes shining in the lights.



* * *



—

Elise came downstairs in the morning to find Ronnie with her nose pressed against the window, trying to see in.

“Have you been there all night?” Elise said as she unlocked the door.

“Don’t be daft. The Diamond girl has turned up. I’ve heard she was bunked up in one of the static caravans—bit embarrassing for her dad. He’s been campaigning to get the site cleared. It spoils the view from his back bedrooms.”

“Come in, come in,” Elise said. “Tell me what you’ve heard and who from.”

“Just that. And I heard it from the window cleaner just now. He heard it from someone in the launderette.”

“So it’s thirdhand hearsay.”

“Top information, if you don’t mind. You could always ring your sergeant and confirm it.”

Elise should have told her to get lost but Ronnie’s excitement was infectious. And Elise hadn’t had anything to get excited about for too long.

Caro picked up and hissed: “Bit busy at the moment. Can it wait?”

“Quick one. Did you find Celeste Diamond?”

“Yes, she walked back in about six a.m. Wouldn’t say where she’d been.”

“Right. I’ve heard she was up at the workers’ village.”

“Really? Well, have you heard we’ve arrested Ade Harman?”

“No! What for?”

“Hold on. . . .”

Caro put her hand over the phone and Elise could hear a muffled exchange before she came back at full volume.

“For supplying ecstasy at the festival. He woke up over the weekend and I went to talk to him first thing this morning. He was in pieces about how ill Tracy had been. I sat holding his hand while he cried and he just came out with it. He confessed to giving her the drugs.”

“Wow! Where did he get them? Who else was involved?”

“We don’t know yet. He won’t say. You should have seen his dad’s face when he walked in with the coffees.”

“I bet. Poor old Dave Harman—it was his son, not outsiders, who brought drugs to Ebbing.”

“Got to get on. Wish me luck.”

Ronnie was leaning so far forward in her chair, she was practically falling on her face.

“Go on, then! Don’t make me suffer!”

“You were right. Top information, Ronnie, but there’s more.”





Twenty-six


MONDAY, AUGUST 26, 2019





Dee


Mum!” Cal shouts. “Where’s my sandwiches? Mikey’s mum is waiting to take us to camp.”

I’ve got the knife in my hand. I’ve buttered the bread. But I can’t think what goes on it next. I’m trying, trying hard, to keep it together, getting Cal’s packed lunch ready for summer camp, making him laugh with a silly joke I’d heard. But I can hear how false I sound.

“Come on, Mum,” Cal says, patting me on the back and hopping up and down on the spot. “Hey, how did you hurt your face?”

I put my hand to the tender spot under my cheek. The bruise is coming out and my finger catches on the small scab at the center and I don’t want to think about what happened. Can’t think about it. “It’s nothing. I’m fine.” And I stroke my boy’s head.

I stuff some ham from the back of the fridge in the bread—it’s the last slice and I shred it so it goes further and get the cling film out.

“Here, here you are,” I say, and pull him into me so tightly, he struggles out of my arms. “Sorry, Liz,” I shout through. “All over the place today. Thanks so much for having him last night—hope he was good?”

“He’s always good,” Liz shouts back. “I’d have done his lunch but he didn’t want peanut butter. Anyway, he can come for a sleepover anytime.”

“See you at teatime, Cal.”

In all that time, Liam has sat at the table, staring into space. On his own planet.

“Have you been smoking?” I say as I pass and catch a whiff of smoke in his hair.

“No. I was up at the Old Vicarage, wasn’t I? The fire . . .”

“Oh, yes.”

He’s moody about me making him sleep in the spare room.