Lying Beside You (Cyrus Haven #3)(16)

‘So why the cake?’ he asks.

‘It’s my anniversary. I’ve been here a year.’

‘That’s gone quickly.’

I start to speak. Stop. Start again. ‘I wanted to thank you for letting me stay, you know, and teaching me to drive, and other stuff.’

‘You’re welcome.’

How does he do that – accept a compliment so easily? I get embarrassed when people compliment me.

‘What happened today with Elias – is he being released?’

‘Day leave and then overnights.’

‘Will he come here?’

‘Yes.’

‘Will he live here?’

‘Most likely.’

I want more, but there’s no point in pressing Cyrus. He says that secrets are important, and everybody is allowed to have them. That’s why he doesn’t ask me about my sessions with Veejay. He’s chosen to be my friend, not my therapist. I wish he was something more, but I know that can’t happen. Cyrus has made it very clear that he doesn’t feel that way about me and it’s not because I’m ugly or have cigarette burns on my back, or that I’m too broken. He thinks I’m too young, but the age difference isn’t that big and it’s not as though he has another girlfriend – not since Sacha Hopewell went back to London to look after her parents. I quite liked Sacha because she didn’t treat me like a child.

‘Did something else happen today?’ I ask.

‘A man was murdered. His daughter is missing.’

My stomach clenches. ‘Is she in danger?’

‘I don’t know.’

Cyrus doesn’t like talking about his police work because he’s worried it will give me nightmares or trigger bad memories. I have enough of those already.

I suddenly remember my cake and rip open the oven door.

‘Bugger!’

‘Did you burn it?’

‘It sagged in the middle.’

‘That’s perfect,’ says Cyrus. ‘We get more icing.’





10


Cyrus


The TV lights have bleached Gary Hoyle’s face whiter than a wedding cake. He’s wearing his dress uniform for the cameras – a pressed white shirt, black tie and polished epaulettes. His hat is resting on the podium.

Reporters have gathered in the conference room at Radford Road police station, a stark windowless space with plastic chairs arranged in rows. Media conferences used to be much bigger affairs, but nowadays the newspapers and wire services pool their resources and share stringers to save money, which means only the front seats are taken.

I recognise some of the faces. Latisha Davies of the Daily Telegraph. Bryan Madden of the Nottingham Post. Richard Holiday from Associated Newspapers. Holiday is a foot-in-the-door specialist, who covered the murders of my family. He was a young reporter back then, who famously spent days perched in the branches of a tree, until he snapped the first photographs of the boy who survived – images of me kicking a football in my grandparents’ garden.

Hoyle reads from a prepared statement.

‘We have grave fears for the safety of a young Nottingham woman, Maya Kirk, who has been missing for more than twenty-four hours.’

A photograph appears on the screen behind him. It shows Maya laughing at the camera, with her head thrown back and her hair looking wind-blown. She looks like a woman in a shampoo commercial, or advertising toothpaste.

‘Miss Kirk was living with her father, Rohan Kirk, aged sixty-seven, who was found beaten to death in the sitting room of a house in Hyson Green, early yesterday morning.’

Another image fills the screen. Rohan Kirk looks self-conscious, as though aware that he’s being photographed and unsure of whether to smile or to look serious and is caught in between.

‘We know that Maya Kirk went out on a date on Sunday evening, but we haven’t identified the man she was meeting. Using mobile phone triangulation, we have traced Maya’s approximate movements. She met her date at a pub near the river, the Canalhouse, at seven-thirty and later visited two more bars in the Lace Market. CCTV footage shows the couple crossing St Peter’s Square shortly before ten o’clock.’

The grainy colour images were taken by a street camera. The male figure has his arm around Maya’s waist, making them appear quite cosy, but neither face is visible.

‘We are urging this man to come forward so we can discount him from our investigation,’ says Hoyle. ‘We know that Maya returned to her home shortly after ten-thirty and her phone ceased transmitting fifty-eight minutes later.’

Lenny has slipped quietly into the room and stands beside me, leaning her back against the wall. It’s strange not seeing her on stage running the show. Hoyle has invited questions. Hands shoot upwards.

‘What makes you think she was abducted?’ shouts Latisha Davies, without waiting to be called.

‘Maya hasn’t answered her phone or contacted her family since Sunday evening,’ says Hoyle. ‘She also hasn’t accessed her bank accounts or kept her work appointments.’

‘Could she have killed her father?’ asks Holiday.

‘That’s not our belief.’

Another hand is raised. ‘What’s taking you so long to identify this guy in the footage?’