The Silent Ones: An absolutely gripping psychological thriller(37)
There’s a hand towel draped there too, and when I lift it, I see a make-up compact underneath. Not one specifically designed for children, but a proper adult set with a Perspex lid that shows off the collection of dark, sultry eye colours, mascara and eyeliner.
It’s odd. I wouldn’t buy her anything this adult, and I know for a fact Tom wouldn’t either, even if she begged him.
I shake myself. Time is of the essence, and although I have some questions that need answering, it’s not going to happen now. I have to find that phone and get back to the police station.
I rifle through her chest of drawers and the one in her bedside table. I drop down and peer under her bed, sweep my arm across the carpet there, but there’s nothing apart from the missing side plate I was hunting for yesterday, complete with toast crumbs and smeared jam.
I hoist myself up and take a couple of strides across the room, flinging open the wardrobe doors. I slide my hand along the shelf, which is packed with all manner of rubbish, but I can’t feel anything like a phone. I spot a pile of hardback annuals by the side of her bed and carry them over to the floor in front of the wardrobe.
When I stand on them, I can see everything that’s on the shelf. I pull it all out, letting the whole lot fall to the floor.
Soft toys, board games, a blanket, screwed-up T-shirts I haven’t seen in ages – and there behind it all, a small, old-fashioned silver Nokia phone.
Twenty-Four
The village
A quarter of a mile away from the Fletcher house, Dana found herself with time to kill before she needed to get back to interview the girls again.
She’d driven back to the village to feed her unimpressed cat, Heston, who was particularly keen on regular mealtimes, always appearing from nowhere a minute before the next one was due.
But when she opened the fridge to feed herself, she found it bare save for a tub of spreadable butter and a solitary egg. She vaguely remembered planning on picking up a few items from the supermarket, but that was as far as she’d got.
She decided to take a walk out to the row of shops at the end of the road and get a sandwich from the small general store as the bakery closed at four.
As she turned the corner, the pretty cornflower-blue canopy of Hetty’s Café caught her eye and a sudden craving for one of their speciality salmon and cream cheese bagels set her stomach rumbling.
She ordered her sandwich and a latte, and when her coffee was ready, she took it over to a small table tucked away in the corner and sat down, easing her feet out of the new flat pumps she’d bought last week. She hadn’t broken them in properly and they’d skinned both her heels.
She felt tired, but it was a good tired. She’d missed the adrenalin of a case that swallowed up the hours in a working day in a flash. She’d missed the total absorption in her work, the feeling of driving as hard as she could towards the truth.
Yet her blossoming relationship with Lizzie was a welcome new addition to her life and so she was mindful of not screwing it up like she’d done with Orla. She had to at least try and strive for that mythical work–life balance thing that filled half of the women’s magazines she read.
Still, she’d invited Lizzie round for a takeaway and a movie later, so that was a good start to her plan. And Lizzie had insisted on cooking rather than ordering food in, which Dana had appreciated. They were taking things very slowly, which suited Dana. Although she’d missed having someone special around, she’d also found herself wary of complicated relationships.
She and Lizzie hadn’t sat down and robotically dissected their approach on the matter, but they had agreed there was no rush, and were enjoying just getting to know each other, with the odd show of affection, before moving on to the next stage.
While she waited for her order to arrive, she reluctantly took out her phone.
It was essential she keep tabs on the mood of online posts. While Neary and his team did the same thing in an effort to contain local uproar, Dana knew that the girls’ families would be affected by what was being said online. This sense of unease and possibly fear and shame could be subconsciously passed on to the girls in the interactions their parents had with them.
Online abuse could be devastating to both the victims and the accused families.
Dana looked up at the sound of a tinkling bell and watched as a middle-aged woman with cropped blonde hair and dark roots entered the café.
There was something about the way she didn’t gravitate towards the counter to be served like the other customers that was unnerving. Instead, she looked around, spotted Dana and walked purposefully towards her table, only stopping when she was standing directly in front of her.
‘Can I help you?’ Dana said in a pleasant voice that belied the creeping sense of dread in her lower abdomen.
She didn’t need to be told that the woman standing before her was going through a rough time. She looked dishevelled, with her smudged mascara and creased black trousers, but the Hobbs jacket and the black leather Radley handbag showed that this was someone who usually prided herself on looking smart.
‘I’m Helen Bootle,’ she said simply, and Dana saw the effort it took for her not to give in to the sea of emotion roiling just under the surface. ‘I’m Bessie Wilford’s daughter.’
Dana stood up immediately, her chair scraping on the floor in her haste.