The Half Sister(93)

‘Have you got a minute?’ asks Matt.

‘Yeah, sure, fire away.’

‘No, I mean, can you come down here? To my office.’

Kate pulls herself up, immediately on the defence. ‘Why?’ she asks.

‘It’s about Jess’s story,’ says Matt. ‘There’s somebody here I think you need to talk to. I’ll explain when you get here.’

‘Okay, I’m on my way,’ she says, grabbing her handbag and heading for the door.

In the two minutes it takes for her to walk to Matt’s offices, she runs through who it might be. She groans at the thought of it being a ne’er-do-well, who fancies having a go at passing themselves off as Jess’s mum. They’d probably spent half the morning concocting an elaborate backstory in the hope that it would make them sound plausible. But Matt had seen enough fame-hungry story chasers to know one when he saw one. She can’t imagine he’d drag her down here for that.

She sees him, with his back to her in the lobby, talking to a man and a woman. She stops dead in her tracks for a moment as she quickly deduces that they look like police officers. The man, slightly smaller than Matt, and dressed in navy chinos and a white shirt, looks up, prompting her to carry on walking. She’s just a few feet away when his female companion sees her, and looks her up and down.

‘Er, Kate, this is Detective Sergeant Connolly,’ says Matt awkwardly. Kate leans across to shake the woman’s hand.

‘Detective Constable Stephens,’ says the man, extending his.

‘Pleased to meet you,’ she says, shaking it.

Her mouth has instantaneously dried up, her lips sticking to her gums. She throws Matt a cautious look, silently asking what they’re doing here and what it’s got to do with Jess. DS Connolly is the one to answer.

‘We read the piece by Jessica Linley in today’s Echo,’ she says.

Kate nods, not trusting herself to speak.

‘It’s a very moving story.’

‘Mmm,’ manages Kate.

‘I told them that Jess, Jessica, works here, but isn’t in today,’ offers Matt.

Kate’s eyes widen as she tries to read whether he’s telling the truth or not. It’s impossible to tell.

‘Mr Walker tells us you have a personal connection to Miss Linley,’ DS Connolly goes on.

‘Er, possibly,’ says Kate. ‘It’s a little contentious.’

As soon as she says it, she wants to claw it back in. You should never use the word ‘contentious’ when talking to the police – it opens up a whole host of questions.

DS Connolly raises her eyebrows in interest, as if proving the point. ‘Really?’ she asks. ‘In what way?’

Kate looks helplessly from one detective to another. ‘Can I just ask what this is about?’

‘We’re investigating cold cases,’ pipes up DC Stephens. ‘And this article has piqued our interest. We just wondered if we could ask you a couple of questions.’

Kate nods. ‘What’s the case?’ she asks, her voice wavering.

Stephens looks to his superior for permission to tell her. She gives a little nod.

‘We’re trying to trace a baby found abandoned in Harrogate in 1996,’ he says. ‘And Miss Linley says she was born there, around that time, to unknown parents. Is that true?’ asks DC Stephens.

‘It’s her truth,’ says Kate, as a heat creeps slowly up from her toes, burning her skin from the inside out as it travels.

‘What do you mean by that?’ steps in DS Connolly.

‘I mean, it’s what she believes to be true,’ says Kate. ‘It may not prove to be the case, but it’s what she believes, at this moment in time, given the information available to her.’

She wonders if she’s talking too much. Saying too many words when a few would be enough.

‘Are you familiar with the town at all?’

Kate nods, as pinpricks of sweat spring to every pore. ‘I spent my early childhood there,’ she says, trying to ignore the split-second glance between the two detectives.

‘Can I ask what time period that was?’ asks Stephens.

Kate looks up at the treble-height ceiling and the marble-wrapped pillars that hold it up. ‘Erm, I was born there in 1984 and left to come to London in 1996.’

‘So around the same time that Ms Linley was born?’ Stephens asks rhetorically. ‘Did you move down with your family?’

Kate’s fast losing the ability to talk, her throat feeling as if it’s closing in on itself.

‘Mmm.’

‘And your family are?’

‘Erm, there’s me, my sister, my mother and my late father.’

‘Can I just take down their names?’ asks Stephens, reaching into his back trouser pocket and pulling out a notebook.

She glances at Matt, whose unchanged features send a surge of calmness through her addled brain.

‘My sister is Lauren Carter, my mother is Rose, and my late father was Harry.’

‘And your parents’ surname?’ asks Stephens, with pen poised.

‘Do you mind if we sit down?’ asks Kate, feeling herself swaying.

‘She’s pregnant,’ says Matt, taking hold of her elbow and guiding her over to the modern leather couches that look far too small for the vast space. Kate watches as he goes to fetch her a glass of water, willing him to hurry up.