The Child (Kate Waters #2)(87)

“They were in a bundle of photos that Mr. Soames gave me,” Kate replied crisply.

Well, it was almost true, and Soames would be in too much trouble to protest.

“Right,” Simon said. “Kate and the lawyer to the police station, Terry. And keep me updated.”

? ? ?

Kate excused herself to get ready. She had something to do before she left. She went off in search of her favorite photographer.

Mick was alone in the monkeys’ room, a windowless space left over by the architects between the newsroom and the fire escape, where the photographers hid from the picture editor. He was playing Candy Crush on his phone and Barbara Walker’s photo was on the table in front of him.

“Are you winning, Mick?” she said.

He paused the game and looked up. “’Course I am.

“Boss thinks I’m doing general views for the property section. Knocked off a couple of high-rises and a bridge and now I can do as I please for the rest of the day without him on my back. Fancy some lunch? There’s a new place just opened up the road.”

“Would love to, but I’m a bit busy with this story,” she said. “Sorry it was a waste of your time last night, Mick. You were a lifesaver.”

“No problem, Kate. I was only down the road, really. Did you get to the disco? What time did you get home?”

“About one in the morning in the end. The party went on late and then there were developments.”

Mick nodded and picked up his phone. She could see he was itching to resume the game.

“Poor you. But worth it, hey?” he said.

“Have you finished copying that photo? I’ll take it back to Barbara if you’re done.”

Mick put down the phone and slid the black-and-white model shot of Barbara into a plastic sleeve.

“What about those Polaroids you mentioned last night? Can I have a look?” he said.

“Sure,” she said, fishing them out of her bag. “And can you do a quick copy of them? I’ve only got half an hour before I’ve got to leave for an interview with the police.”

Mick raised an eyebrow. “Finally caught up with you, then? Well, let’s have a look.”

She handed him the pack of photos and he shuffled through them quickly.

“God. Grim. Bloody hell, there’s Barbara,” he said, and Kate felt a rush of relief. She hadn’t imagined the resemblance.

“Look,” Mick said, pulling one of the studio shots out. “You can see it, plain as day. I’ll copy them all now.”

“Thanks. And Mick . . .”

He grinned, knowing what she’d say next.

“No chatter, okay?” she said. “The police don’t know about the photos yet. I’m taking them with me today.”

Mick winked at her. “They’ll piss their pants when they see these.”

Kate tried to grin back. They might. Or she could be in deep trouble for holding on to them—never mind how she’d got them in the first place.

“I’ll be back in a minute to fetch them,” she said.

“You looked bloody brilliant last night,” Mick suddenly added.

“Sod off,” she said and left the room.





SEVENTY-ONE


    Kate


SUNDAY, APRIL 29, 2012

They’d been ushered through to an interview room when she and the newspaper’s lawyer arrived, and she sat drumming her fingers on the table in front of her. The lawyer cleared her throat and she stopped. “Sorry, nerves,” she said.

Andy Sinclair smiled his apology for keeping them waiting as he entered.

“Thanks for coming, Kate,” he said. “It’s important we get your statement. Have you brought the tape?”

They sat and listened to Emma’s misery in silence.

“Have you spoken to Emma yet?” she asked as he bagged the tape up and labeled it.

“No. We’re talking to a psychologist about the best approach. And listening to this in full, I am sure we don’t want to rush into something and have it blow up in our faces. She needs careful handling.

“Now then . . .” He got down to business.

Kate took a breath and related her conversations with Emma on the Boys’ Brigade wall and in the car for Sinclair’s tape.

It was a strange feeling, being on the other side of an interview, and she interrupted Sinclair a couple of times to rephrase questions for him.

“Thanks, Kate. Think I’ve got this,” he said and grinned. Still friends, then, she thought.

He asked why she’d been at the reunion in the first place. “You’re not from round there, are you?”

“No, I was working; trying to find people who lived in the area and might have known something about how Alice ended up in Howard Street. About who might have taken her.”

“Right. So you dug out your eighties disguise and headed in there?” he said. “Very resourceful.”

“I thought you might be there, too,” she said.

“Spangles aren’t really my thing . . .” he said. And they both laughed, breaking the tension in the room.

“Now then, moving on . . .” he said. “What else do you know about the Massingham household at 63 Howard Street?”

Oh dear, can of worms’ time, Kate told herself. Keep to the simple stuff.