I Am Watching You(9)
Privately, Henry is not entirely disapproving. Better for people to be focusing on Sarah. . .
Downstairs, Barbara loads the last of the dishes into the dishwasher as he explains the new turn of events.
‘Oh right. I see . . .’
‘So – what do you think? Are you OK with this? With a houseful, I mean. I realise Jenny should have discussed this with us first but I didn’t like to criticise. Not today.’
Barbara wipes her hands on her apron and undoes the bow at the back.
‘I’m not sure it’s a good idea, Henry. That’s my gut instinct. I mean, I know how close they all are – were.’ She draws herself up, sucking in a breath.
Henry waits and they let the moment hang between them. No one knows what tense to use.
‘But everyone’s been so on edge lately.’ She is lifting the apron loop over her head. ‘Jenny included. I’m not sure it will be helpful. Not for Jenny. I don’t want anything kicking off. Not tonight.’
‘It seems to be what Jenny wants.’ Henry is still staring at his wife.
‘I’m not sure she knows what she wants, any more than we do.’ She sighs. ‘Oh, stuff it. Say yes.’ Barbara suddenly throws the apron onto the kitchen work surface. ‘It’s going to be horrible, whoever is in the house.’
Their conversation is interrupted by a thud upstairs. Jenny’s footsteps stamping around her bedroom above the kitchen – all the time shouting into her mobile. Most of it incoherent until they hear, ‘God, no. Please . . . no.’
Then a terrible noise of crashing and glass smashing as objects are apparently hurled around the room.
CHAPTER 6
THE WITNESS
‘You need to take this straight to the police.’
‘That’s out of the question.’
‘I’m sorry?’
I’m thrown.
I take the latest postcard back, all the while examining Matthew Hill very closely. I had not expected this reaction. I have wrapped this new card in a plastic wallet taken from Luke’s school folder. One of those very slippery plastic wallets with holes pre-punched. Dangerous things. I slipped on one left on the floor once and bashed my shoulder really badly.
The latest message arrived like the others, in a plain dark envelope with a printed address label. But this one is even odder and just a little more threatening. Black background again, with the lettering stuck on. KARMA. YOU WILL PAY. To start with I thought it very strange – the link with Buddhism or yoga or whatever. Weren’t they about gentleness and kindness and forgiveness? But then I looked it up online and read about karma being interpreted by some people as a kind of natural justice or comeuppance – bad consequence for bad action – and I started to go a bit cold . . .
I have to make this stop.
‘I thought you investigated this kind of thing? That’s what private investigators do?’ I regret the mild sarcasm but I am tense, still staring Matthew Hill right in the eyes, just a little disorientated, too. His advert made it sound straightforward. Exeter-based PI. Ex-police. Neat. Simple. I had imagined I would say what I wanted. And he would do it. That this is how he earns his living. Like someone coming into my shop. Birthday bouquet, please. Certainly.
‘Look. I’ve been following the coverage. This is new evidence. The girl’s still missing, and when there is a live inquiry I have this rule that I don’t—’
‘Trust me, Mr Hill, this is not evidence.’
‘And you know this because . . . ?’
I pause for a moment, not at all sure how much I should share.
‘Look. I know who this is from. It’s from the girl’s mother, Barbara Ballard. She’s very upset with me. No. That’s an understatement. She is beyond upset, and who can blame her. I certainly don’t. I brought this entirely on myself. When the first postcard arrived I admit I considered telling the police. For a moment it really shook me, frightened me. We had quite a lot of hassle after my name was leaked and I thought it was more of the same. But I realise now what this is really about. There have been three, and so I just need you to gently warn her off, please. To stop this. Otherwise my husband will find out and then he will insist we go to the police, which I don’t want for her. She’s got enough to deal with.’
‘Well, I’m afraid I’m with your husband on this. You could well be wrong.’
‘Look – she comes to my shop. Twice so far. Just watches me through the window. She doesn’t know that I know. Obviously . . .’
‘Right. So when did this start?’ His expression has changed.
‘We’re talking in confidence? Yes?’
‘Of course.’
‘Good – because I am not reporting this, either. It really is my own fault. And I don’t just mean about the train. I went down there, you see. To Cornwall, last summer. To see the mother. My husband warned me not to and it turns out he was right. It was completely stupid of me. I see that now. Just one in a long line of mistakes I’ve made over this whole terrible business. The worst, as you will be well aware, was not phoning . . . not warning that poor family in the first place.’
‘You didn’t hurt the girl, Mrs Longfield. Weren’t there a couple of guys in the picture. Key suspects. Just out of Exeter?’
‘Yes. But that makes me feel worse rather than better, Mr Hill.’