Lying Beside You (Cyrus Haven #3)(12)

‘I didn’t have time to let the parents know,’ says Melody. ‘They’re coming as soon as they can.’

A little girl, aged about two, carries a book to Lenny, wanting her to read a story. Melody suggests ‘Victoria’ draw a picture instead. Lenny is happy to be distracted. She leads Victoria to the reading chair where she puts on her best storybook voice. Soon all four children are sitting on the rug in front of her.

In the kitchen, a child-sized table is covered with the remnants of lunch – sausages, mashed potato and peas, sauce-smeared and half-eaten. Plastic cups of water. Slices of apple. Melody begins clearing plates, incapable of sitting still because her mind is moving so quickly.

‘I’m sorry about your father,’ I say, helping her. ‘Was he difficult to care for?’

‘Sometimes. When he couldn’t find a memory, or he forgot how to do a simple task, he became frustrated.’

‘How did the accident happen?’

‘A stolen car ran a red light. Mum died instantly. Dad had to be cut from the wreckage.’

‘Where were you?’

‘I was at university in Leeds. Maya was living at home and did most of the heavy lifting looking after Dad.’

‘Was he ever abusive?’

‘Maya knew how to handle him.’

She hasn’t answered the question. ‘Would she ever hit him?’

‘No. Never. She loved him.’

Suddenly, she understands why I’m asking and immediately begins to backtrack.

‘Before the accident, he was such a lovely, gentle man. A big softie. Later, he could try the patience of a saint, but we both learned how to stay out of his way.’

‘When did you last talk to Maya?’

She tears a sheet of paper towel from a roll and blows her nose. ‘Last night. She was going out.’

‘Where?’

‘On a date. She met some guy on a dating app. They were texting for a while, then talking on the phone. Finally, they arranged to meet.’

‘Did she often use dating apps?’

‘That’s romance in the digital age,’ she says. ‘I’m glad I’m not single.’

‘Where was she meeting him?’

‘At a pub.’

‘Would she have invited him home?’

‘No. She knew what Dad might do. In his mind, we were both still sixteen. He used to joke about getting a shotgun to ward off any boys, but a part of him was serious. He was old-fashioned about sex and marriage. When we were growing up, he wouldn’t let us go to parties or stay out late. We had to sneak out – Maya more than me. I was the good twin. She was the wild one.’

‘Wild in what way?’

‘She loved raves and music festivals and all the stuff that went with them.’

‘Drugs?’

‘Nothing hardcore, but that was years ago.’

‘Are there any former boyfriends we should worry about?’

‘No. Not really. Dean thinks Maya is a flirt, but I think she’s friendly.’

‘Dean?’

‘My husband.’

‘Where is he?’

‘On his way home. He’s been working in Leeds.’

Melody sits on one of the tiny chairs, her knees almost reaching her chin. ‘There was one guy – he lives locally. Maya used to babysit him. A few months ago, she saw him in the garden. He was watching her getting undressed.’

Lenny has been listening from the doorway. ‘Did she report it to the police?’

‘Yes, but I don’t think anything came of it.’

‘What was his name?’

‘Paulie Brennan.’

Lenny’s eyes flare with recognition. ‘Marlene Brennan’s grandson.’

‘You know him?’ I ask.

‘I know the family.’

The doorbell chimes. A parent has come to collect her child. Melody prepares to put on a brave face. She pauses at the kitchen door and asks, ‘Where is my sister?’

She is hoping for comforting words; some reassurance that Maya is alive and well, but I don’t believe in offering false hope. Equally, sometimes, silence says the wrong thing.

‘We won’t stop looking,’ says Lenny. ‘I can promise you that.’

A cold wind whips at my overcoat, pressing it against my knees. Lenny plunges her hands into the pockets of her Barbour jacket and walks with her head down, lips tight, deep in thought. She has pale, fine features and bottle-black hair cut short enough to brush against her shoulders.

‘Did Maya run, or was she taken?’

‘I think she was taken.’

Lenny doesn’t ask for an explanation. I think she suspected as much, which was why she called me into the case.

‘Somebody forced their way inside the house,’ I say. ‘When the door swung open, the latch hit the inner wall, causing a slight depression in the painted plaster behind the coats.’

‘That could have happened at any time.’

‘Yes, but the shoes were misaligned, which indicates it was recent. Rohan Kirk was probably asleep when he heard something downstairs and came to investigate. The intruder didn’t expect anyone else to be in the house. He picked up the first thing that came to hand – a tool from the fireplace.’