The Child (Kate Waters #2)(95)

“Okay,” he said, grumpily.

? ? ?

Joe was waiting at her desk. He’d watched the show through the glass and was desperate to be in on it. “What did Angela say? What did Terry say?” he asked.

“Angela’s been told Emma’s DNA matches the baby.”

“No! What about Angela’s DNA? Have they got it wrong in the lab?”

“Must have. Poor Angela is in pieces. They’re rerunning the tests and Andy Sinclair is going to call her back when they’ve got the result.”

“So it isn’t Alice?” Joe said. “What a story.”

“And you thought it was going to be boring when I gave you that first packet of cuttings,” Kate said.

“Well . . .”

“It’s never boring,” she said.

“Is that golden rule number two?” he asked and grinned.

“Write it down. I’m ringing Emma, now,” Kate said.

The mobile number went straight to voicemail and she left a message, urging Emma to call back.

There was nothing to do but wait, but Kate couldn’t sit still.

“I’m going round to Emma’s house,” she announced to Terry. Joe picked up his notebook and followed her out of the newsroom.

? ? ?

They knocked over and over again, peering in through the windows at the front and side, but there was no sign of life. Kate stood indecisively at the gate.

“She’s not here,” Joe said.

“Yep, worked that one out, Joe,” she snapped.

“What shall we do now?” he asked. Like a lamb to the slaughter.

“How the hell should I know?” she barked at him. “Stop whining, for God’s sake.”

He’d looked away, pretending not to care. Like Jake had done that morning as he left for the airport. She’d let him kiss her good-bye and then said: “I expect we’ll hear from you when you need money.”

Steve had nudged her hard to shut her up. “Keep in touch, Jakey,” he’d said, but their son was already walking through the door.

“Why on earth did you say that?” Steve had said.

“You baby him,” she’d said. “He needs a dose of the real world, not to be humored.”

Kate had texted Jake from the car: Come home safe. Love you, Jake, mx. But he hadn’t replied.

“Hello there!” a voice hailed her from down the street and an officious-looking woman hurried up to them.

“Are you looking for the Simmondses?” she said.

“Er, yes, I was hoping to catch Emma in,” Kate said.

“She was on the tube this morning with my husband. He told me when he rang to say he’d got to work. I’m Lynda, Emma’s friend, by the way.”

“Oh, pleased to meet you,” Kate said, registering that some wives required their husbands to clock in and out. “Did she say where she was going?”

“No, Derek said she was very distracted, hardly said a word. Mind you, the Metropolitan Line is extremely crowded that time of the morning. It’s a funny time to travel if you don’t have to.”

Kate pulled an understanding face.

“Perhaps she is having one of her Bad Days,” Lynda added disloyally. “She can be quite odd sometimes.”

“Right,” Kate said and, thanking her for her time, pulled Joe towards the car.

? ? ?

Where’s Emma going?” Joe said as he did up his seat belt. “Just asking, not whining,” he added.

“Sorry, Joe. Having a bad day myself. No idea.”

She drove back towards the office in west London and let Joe talk about his ambitions and a reality TV show he’d watched the night before.

Where are you, Emma? she thought. She pulled over when her phone pinged. “Bet that’s her,” she told Joe.

When she looked, the text was from Jake. “Shit,” she said. The last thing she needed was more grief from her son.

Love you, too, Mum. Sorry to be such a crap son, x, Jake had texted.

She felt like bursting into tears but forwarded it to Steve instead. He texted back immediately: x.

Joe sat patiently until she’d finished. “I’ve been thinking. What about Emma’s mum?” Joe said. “Why don’t we go and see her? We haven’t talked to her, have we? She might know where Emma is.”

“Good call, Joe,” she said. “Find me an address.”





SEVENTY-SEVEN


    Kate


TUESDAY, MAY 1, 2012

The traffic was horrendous, but they finally pulled up outside the converted house where Jude lived.

Kate tried Emma’s number once more as she locked the car, but there was still no answer.

“Come on,” she said.

She and Joe were buzzed straight in when they pressed the bell—no questions asked—and they trooped up the stairs.

An elderly woman in clothes that were slightly too young for her was standing at her open door.

“Oh! Who are you?” she said. “I thought you might be my daughter.”

“Ah, sorry, no, Mrs. Massingham,” Kate said.

“It’s Ms. Massingham, actually.”

“Right, well, I’m Kate Waters. I’m a reporter for the Daily Post. I’ve been talking to your daughter, Emma, over the weekend about the Alice Irving case and I need to find her again.”