Nine Elms (Kate Marshall #1)(22)

“Malcolm! You should have warned them. Look at him, poor lad,” Sheila said, seeing Tristan, who was now a little pale. Thick blood-filled tubes emerged from under the blanket and into the machine, where a cannula turned, pumping it around and back into her veins.

“Hello, I’m Sheila,” she said. Kate and Tristan went over to her, and they all shook hands.

“Isn’t he handsome!” said Sheila, keeping hold of Tristan’s hand. “Is he your son?”

“No, he’s my research assistant at the university.”

“That must be an interesting job. Have you got a girlfriend?”

“Yes, it is, and no, I haven’t,” said Tristan, averting his eyes from the blood.

“A boyfriend? One of my nurses, Kevin, is gay. He’s just come back from a Disney cruise.”

“No. I’m single,” said Tristan. Sheila finally let go of his hand and indicated they should sit on the sofa. Kate got the impression that Sheila didn’t get many visitors, as she talked constantly until Malcolm came back with a tray of tea things. She explained that she was on the waiting list for a new kidney. “I’m lucky that our local authority brings this machine in three times a week.”

Kate looked around the room and saw the mantelpiece above the fireplace was the only part of the room that hadn’t been rearranged. There were five photos of Caitlyn, including one of her as a wide-eyed baby looking up from a blue blanket in a crib. In another, a much younger version of Malcolm and Sheila were on a beach, kneeling next to Caitlyn, who was five or six. It looked to be a gloriously sunny day, and they all held ice creams and were smiling at the camera. There was another, which must have been taken at a professional studio a few years later. It was a close-up of the three of them sitting in a row against a blue-and-white dappled background, and they were all staring wistfully into the middle distance. There were two others of Caitlyn as a young teenager, one with a beaming smile standing next to a tall sunflower, and then another where she held a tabby cat. The school photo that had been used in the newspaper wasn’t there. The way the row of photos abruptly finished was chilling. Caitlyn never got to grow up and have a wedding photo or a picture with her firstborn baby.



A while later they were settled with their second cups of tea, and Sheila was still chatting away about the three nurses who frequently came to visit. Malcolm was perched on a dining chair, which he’d brought in and placed next to her. He finally put up a hand.

“Darling, they’ve come a long way. We’ve got to talk to them about Caitlyn,” he said gently.

Sheila stopped abruptly, and her face crumpled, and she began to cry. “Yes. Yes, I know . . . ,” she said. He found her a tissue, and she blotted her eyes and blew her nose.

“I know this is going to be hard,” said Kate. “Can I ask some questions?”

They both nodded. Kate took out a notebook and flicked through the pages.

“You said in your email that Caitlyn went missing on the ninth of September, 1990? What day was that?”

“It was a Sunday,” said Sheila. “She went out with her friend—this was back when we lived in Altrincham, near Manchester. They were just going to go and have lunch and see a film at the cinema. I remember what she was wearing the morning she left. Her blue dress with the white flowers on the hem, which matched her blue leather sandals and handbag. She always looked beautiful. She always knew how to dress.”

“The friend she met. Is it the friend who emigrated to Australia?”

“No, this was another school friend, her best friend, Wendy Sampson,” said Malcolm. “Wendy told the police that they went to an Italian café, where they had lunch on the Sunday, and then they went and saw Back to the Future III at the cinema. They left the cinema just after three p.m., and they parted ways at the end of the high street. It was a bright, sunny day, and Caitlyn always walked home from town if it was nice. It was just a twenty-minute walk . . .”

“She never arrived home,” finished Sheila. “One woman remembers seeing her at the newsagent’s, which was midway between town and our house in Altrincham. She said Caitlyn popped in and bought a tube of polo mints.”

“Can you remember her name?”

“No.”

“How soon was this after she’d left Wendy in town?” asked Kate.

“Half an hour or so; the woman didn’t know the exact time,” said Malcolm.

“It was as if Caitlyn vanished, without a trace. I didn’t want to move, even ten years after she went missing. I thought she might come back and knock on the door. I couldn’t bear the thought of us not being there if she did,” said Sheila. They were silent for a moment, and there was just the beep and hum of the dialysis machine.

“Do you have Wendy’s details? Phone number or address?” asked Kate.

“She died two years ago of breast cancer. She did marry. Her husband invited us to the funeral,” said Sheila.

“I can look up his address,” said Malcolm.

“What did Caitlyn like to do outside school?” asked Kate.

“She went to the youth club, which was just around the corner from our house, on Tuesday and Thursday evenings,” said Malcolm. “And she had a part-time job at a video shop on Monday evenings and all day on a Saturday. The video shop was called Hollywood Nights, and the youth club was called Carter’s. I never knew the official name, but the caretaker was a miserable old git called Mr. Carter, and the nickname stuck.”