I Am Watching You(19)

Which is why she took the pills, Henry is thinking. Jesus.

Barbara’s arms are now around Jenny.

‘Right. So this is a pickle, sweetheart,’ she says. ‘But we are all of us struggling to handle it. You’re not to blame yourself. What you need to do now is to talk this through with Sarah properly. Explain that you don’t blame her.’

‘We don’t. Not really. We’re just . . .’

‘Upset. As are we all. I’ll speak to Sarah’s mum and see when you can visit her. Iron this all out. Now then. Dry those tears and get your new coat. People will be arriving soon. I’m going to help you sort this out, I promise. You’ll work this through with Sarah. OK? It’s going to be all right. We just need to be strong now, tonight, for Anna. Yes?’

Henry is looking at his wife and wondering how she ever learned this trick. Always knowing what to say with the girls.

Girls? He winces at the plural.

‘This is for Anna, remember. To keep our chins up for when Anna comes home. Yes?’ Barbara is wiping Jenny’s face with a tissue as the doorbell goes.

Henry shuffles through in his socks to find the vicar in a waxed jacket and wellingtons.

‘I won’t come in. Mud.’ He is smiling. ‘Nice idea to set up some seating, Henry. I just wanted to show you the little reading I’ve planned. Nothing too churchy, as we agreed. Just something uplifting and positive. And then I thought that perhaps you would like to say a few words, Barbara? You know, to thank everyone for their support and to ask the local press to keep up the appeal for witnesses. That any little thing may help.’

Barbara smiles, and Henry watches Jenny disappear upstairs to fetch her new coat before suddenly calling to them from the landing window.

‘Look. Look out of the window, guys. You have to see this . . . Come up here.’

The vicar, stirred by her sudden excitement, removes his wellies after all and follows Henry and Barbara up the stairs, where there is a clear view of the narrow lane to the farmhouse. In the fading light, it is mesmerising.

A thin line of all manner of lights weaving their way along the track: lanterns and candles and torches too, all glowing a trail in the shadows.

Henry surprises himself. His lip is trembling.

He watches the lights flickering and pictures Anna running ahead of him, pink gingham school dress beneath her coat, a posy in her hand.

Cathy, the family liaison officer, will be here soon. And he realises that it has all gone on long enough.

He is going to have to talk to the police.

He is going to have to tell everyone the truth.





CHAPTER 12


THE PRIVATE INVESTIGATOR

Matthew is making little pyramids from sugar sachets as DS Melanie Sanders enters the coffee shop, checking her watch. He has never been able not to fidget. It drives Sal mad. Right now he has challenged himself to have three pyramids standing at any one time. As soon as one collapses, he must make a new one before he tries to repair the old one. The table has a bit of a wobble on, adding to the uncertainty, and he is enjoying himself so much that he feels a ridiculous, childish pang of disappointment as he realises he has to stop.

‘Sorry to trouble you at the weekend, Mel.’ He stands and kisses her on the cheek, trying not to watch as the pyramids collapse with the movement of the table.

‘It’s OK. I’m working, actually.’ She is staring at the sugar sachets.

‘Force suddenly flush on the overtime budget?’ Matthew gathers up his debris and places the sachets back in the stainless-steel stand at the centre of the shiny wipe-down surface.

‘No. We have DI Halfwit down from London on the case you’re so mysteriously interested in. I’m babysitting.’ She raises her arm for the waitress and glances behind the counter before ordering a cappuccino.

‘So you’ve warmed to him, then.’

Melanie pulls a face and pokes out her tongue.

Matthew can feel his smile. It is so good to see Mel. She was one of the few coppers at training college who refused to drink instant coffee, too. Produced a little cafetière on the first day. They both got teased mercilessly. When they worked together, she had an app on her phone to identify the nearest cafés with proper espresso machines. Their perfect breakfast was chip butties and good Italian coffee.

Matthew stares at her and realises how much he misses it. Not just working with Mel. Working on the force. The sense of team, of collaboration. This.

‘OK, Matt. So are you going to tell me now what’s really going on, ’cos I haven’t got much time.’ She is widening her eyes now. ‘The DI is down to speak to the Ballards again. Fresh stuff from the TV appeal, I’m assuming. They’re not telling me much yet, of course, but I’m taking the family liaison officer out there straight after this. What’s going on? I really need to know why you’re interested, Matt.’

Matthew glances around the coffee shop and then produces from his pocket an evidence bag containing a postcard and envelope.

Melanie turns it over to read the message and frowns before glancing back at him for an explanation.

‘It was sent to Ella Longfield – the witness on the train. The flower shop woman. She called me in. There were two previous very similar cards that she threw away, unfortunately. Random postmarks. Liskeard. Somewhere in Dorset. And London.’

‘And she didn’t think to come to us?’