S is for Stranger (6 page)

‘Do you get something in return for a referral, is that why you’re so keen?’ Even as I said it, I regretted my words. ‘Sorry, I don’t trust therapists, they don’t listen.’

‘Look at it as a way of finding Amy. We can’t rule anything out.’

She patted my arm awkwardly; it was quickly becoming a familiar gesture. ‘We’ve alerted all forces and border controls.’ I could sense she was struggling, again, with the intimacy of the moment. ‘We’ll find her. It’s just up to you to help us as much as you can.’ I nodded and she added, ‘And Paul, of course.’ She opened the door. ‘Is there someone you
can call? Someone to come and be with you? Other than Fiona.’

I shook my head. ‘No one.’

She cocked her head to one side. ‘Anyone, Sophie. You just shouldn’t be by yourself right now.’ She glanced at her notebook. ‘What about Faye?’

‘No,’ I said quickly, ‘she’s too old and frail, I don’t want to worry her.’

‘But if she understands you as well as you say she does, this is probably a good time to contact her. You really need someone.’

I shook my head again, adamant. ‘No, I don’t want to worry her even further.’

‘Even further?’

‘She’s always worrying about me.’ I waved my hand through the air, brushing off the unease I felt in the pit of my stomach. ‘I’ve learnt that it’s easier to talk as Sophie the successful lawyer and mother to a beautiful girl, and not as,’ I paused, furrowed my brow, ‘not as the other side of me.’

DI Ward gave a small shrug. ‘Anyone else?’

‘I guess there’s Oliver.’ I fumbled in my bag for a tissue but the detective beat me to it and took one out of her own pocket. She appeared to have a never-ending supply.

‘It’s clean.’

I smiled gratefully and took it.

‘Who’s Oliver?’

‘Oliver Dyers. He’s a guy, a friend. We were reacquainted recently. I knew him at university. He looked me up a month ago. I guess I needed someone, I didn’t want to be alone any more.’ I blushed. ‘Though, nothing’s happened, so it’s not like that.’

The detective nodded. I could see her mind ticking over. ‘He just reappears out of the blue?’

‘He wouldn’t take Amy,’ I said firmly. ‘He barely sees his own daughter, Annabel. His ex-wife makes it difficult. He knows how hard it is to live without a child.’

‘Why’s he back then?’

‘Because he says he thinks about me all the time.’

She nodded, stayed quiet for a moment before she said, ‘I’ll want to talk to him too.’

CHAPTER 6

A handful of forensics officers had been and gone. Fiona, the Family Liaison Officer, bustled in with two steaming mugs of tea.

‘Here you go, Sophie,’ the FLO said, handing me a mug. ‘Could be just what you need.’

I pulled a face but thanked her. She handed the other to Oliver who had made his way over to the house immediately after hearing the news.

‘Do you need anything else? I’ll be back in the morning, if you’re OK?’ The woman, a petite mousey-haired woman with speckles of grey, stood in the doorway to the living room and waited for my instructions.

‘No, you’ve been great, Fiona. Thank you.’ I smiled appreciatively. At times, in the last few hours, I had wanted to tell everyone to get out of my house and for everything to return to normal. But I knew that normal wasn’t an option any more, besides which, Fiona was only doing her job.

‘Right you are,’ the small woman said, shrugging on a biker jacket. ‘I’ll be back tomorrow morning then. If not before.’ She smiled at us both. ‘You know, if there have been any developments. Don’t forget you’ve got my mobile number if you need me.’

I nodded. ‘Doing anything nice tonight?’ I wasn’t sure why I tried to make small talk.

If she was surprised by my attempt at friendliness, she didn’t show it. ‘I’ve just got to make dinner, wash Damien’s football clothes. That kind of thing.’ She grinned, forgetting herself. ‘A mother’s work is …’ She stopped, flushing beetroot. ‘Oh, sorry. I didn’t think.’

I waved it off. ‘It doesn’t matter.’

She looked at me, unsure of what to say.

‘Really, Fiona,’ I said, ‘it doesn’t matter. You can’t stop living your life because mine has been turned upside down.’

Fiona patted the doorjamb. ‘Sorry,’ she muttered again. ‘See you tomorrow.’

The door slammed and the house was plunged into a thick silence. Oliver remained perched on the edge of the armchair and waited for me to talk.

‘I’m sorry I called,’ I stated flatly. ‘I know this is all a bit out of the blue.’

‘My god, Sophie. Don’t ever apologise. I’m glad you called. You shouldn’t be alone right now.’ He gazed on me softly. ‘Really.’

I sat on the sofa staring vacantly ahead. Fiona’s cup of tea was quickly going cold.

‘Why do we British think tea will solve everything?’

‘Fiona was just trying to make you feel better. Anyway, it might warm you up.’ He looked at me concerned. ‘You haven’t stopped shaking. I’ve put the heating on and you should eat something soon too.’

I mimicked the situation, ‘Officer, my daughter’s gone missing. Oh dear. Would you like a cup of tea?’ A small giggle escaped my lips and no sooner had it made its way into the world, another one followed, until I was laughing hysterically. Only, when I held my hand up to my face, I realised I wasn’t laughing any more, I was crying.

I wanted to tell Oliver to stop fussing, that he wasn’t my mother. But, on the other hand, I wanted him to take
me in his arms and tell me what to do. Because it felt as if my own mind had shut down, I had forgotten how to do the most mundane tasks. Forgotten, or perhaps, couldn’t be bothered. I mean, what was the point in eating, drinking, sleeping when your child was missing? Amy gave me a reason to get up every morning; she made me want to be a better person. Now, she was gone.

‘Do you want to lie down for a bit? Get your energy back?’ He got up; put a hand on my shoulder. ‘You look exhausted.’

‘My daughter is missing. Why would I want a lie down?’ I asked dully.

‘Because you’ve been through a lot today.’

‘I wouldn’t be able to sleep.’ I leant back into the cushions. ‘Oli, where do you think she might be?’

‘I’m not sure, Soph. But we’ll find her.’ Oliver dragged his hand through his hair. ‘I just don’t understand why Paul would lie.’

‘You and me both.’

‘Can you think of any reason? Anything?’ He looked as desperate for answers as I was.

I put my hands over my face. ‘I don’t know,’ I said, tears pricking the back of my eyes. ‘Paul doesn’t want me to get custody but would he go this far? I mean it’s one thing to get at me but another to use our daughter, surely?’ I sniffed. ‘He started telling the detectives about the drinking, which is ridiculous because it’s under control now.’ I looked up. ‘It is.’ I gave a firm nod. ‘Also, he told them that I’m not fit to be a mother. When he said that, Oli, honest to god, I was this close to …’ I trailed off. Oliver sat down on the sofa, putting his arm around me. ‘If he can make out I’m incapable of looking after Amy then he wins. Only, he can’t go on lying forever?’ Panic clamoured in my throat: was he planning to run away with our little girl? ‘Can he?’

‘But,’ Oliver started tentatively, ‘this is ridiculous. It’s not human.’ He tightened his hold on me. ‘What kind of parent would put their own child at risk?’

‘I don’t know, I don’t know, I don’t know.’ My throat was tight and dry. ‘I don’t know what he’s capable of any more.’

‘From what you’ve told me, Paul certainly sounds like he’d do anything to ensure he has sole custody of Amy,’ Oliver agreed, ‘but he loves her, doesn’t he?’

‘I can’t imagine he would do anything to her because, as much as he hates me, he does love Amy. I know he would die if anything happened to her.’

‘Has anything else happened?’

I told him about the woman outside the burger place, the same woman I thought I had seen talking to Amy.

‘Who is she? A stalker?’

I shook my head. ‘I don’t recognise her, but her voice was so familiar. Made me think of Bethany right away.’ I looked at him. ‘The detective wants me to have therapy sessions, try and jog my memory as to why I know her. I told her about Bethany and the night she was murdered.’ I shrugged. ‘Not sure what she was thinking. Their records state Bethany committed suicide. Which is a lie.’

He studied my face. Oli had never believed me. He had agreed with the Priory doctors; I was suffering from post-traumatic stress.

‘I might go and take a shower,’ I said quietly.

‘Good idea.’ He smiled brightly, almost too brightly. ‘It’ll make you feel better.’

I walked slowly up the stairs and, not able to make it as far as my bedroom, I sat down on the middle stair, with a thud. I heard Oliver pad along the hall and watched him lift an envelope off the mat.

‘Sophie?’ he hollered and bounded up the stairs. ‘Sorry, I didn’t mean to shout. I thought you were in your room. You’ve got a letter here. Strange there’s no stamp.’ He touched the top of my head tenderly. ‘I’ll be downstairs, OK? I’m going to make you something to eat.’

‘There’s nothing in the fridge.’

‘There will be.’ He smiled and caressed my cheek between his forefinger and thumb. ‘I’ll go out and get something. See you in a bit.’

‘Thank you.’ I grabbed his hand as he turned. ‘And Oli?’

‘Yeah?’ He looked back.

‘Thank you.’ I leant my forehead against his hand. ‘I just want to start looking for her, you know? But I don’t know where to start.’

‘What did the detective say about searching?’

‘She said to stay at home. There was no point in looking unless we had some idea where she could be. Also, just in case she turns up or calls the landline, I should be here.’

‘You’ve tried her friends?’

‘Paul rang around.’ I sighed heavily. ‘She’s never had many friends. Sometimes I wonder if her not having many friends is down to the divorce, down to me and Paul.’

‘No,’ he said simply. ‘You are a good mother and I know that you will not only have Amy back very soon but that the court will see that she really is best off living with you.’ He withdrew his hand and smoothed the top of my hair. ‘Just be strong. For Amy.’

He bounded down the stairs, grabbed his coat off the banister and smiled at me. ‘See you in a bit.’ He opened the door. ‘Have that shower.’

The door shut and for the first time that day I was truly alone. I couldn’t remember the last time the house had felt so empty. Strange, when I thought about it, because I lived
by myself – surely, I should be used to the silence? But it was different now. The silence was filled with uncertainty, palpable fear and worry: was Amy OK? Had she come to any harm? Would I see her again?

I flipped the package over. The writing looked familiar and yet I couldn’t place it. It had been hand delivered. Sliding my forefinger along the flap, I tore the end open. Inside I found what appeared to be two photos. I tipped the envelope upside down and the contents fell on the stair in front of me. Bile rose in my throat and I shoved my fist in my mouth, stifling a scream. I could feel the familiar ringing in my ears and my vision started to blur over. My breathing grew shallower and I thought I might faint, I couldn’t think straight.

I picked up the photos one by one; I couldn’t bear to look at them. Ripping the first photo in half, I stumbled down the stairs to the kitchen. Grabbing a lighter from the odds and ends drawer, I burnt the photo over the kitchen sink, my hands shaking. Bethany’s face smouldered, her face reduced to ashes. I couldn’t watch any longer; it wouldn’t burn fast enough. I set fire to the second photo, watching the glossy paper curl up and shrink, when I suddenly realised I needed to keep it, keep the evidence. I blew hard on the smouldering paper and held the small remnants of the photo. My vision had started to return, the ringing in my ears subsided, and I looked in dismay at what I had done. I needed people to believe me and, yet, I was powerless in the clutches of a panic attack.

Turning on the tap I washed away any remnants of ash.

A cold sweat moved over my body, my legs buckling beneath me. I had no idea who it was from but I knew now that this wasn’t a hoax. This was revenge: my past had finally caught up with me and was threatening to drag me backwards to a very dark place.

I took out my mobile and punched in the detective’s number – off the back of her card – and she picked up on the first ring. ‘It’s me.’ I told her about the photographs.

I could literally feel her perk up at the end of the phone. ‘OK, great. Don’t touch them any further. I need to get forensics onto them.’

I was trembling, unable to hold the phone steady. ‘I’ve burnt them.’

‘What?’ DI Ward spoke sternly, disbelief flooding the line. ‘Why would you do that, Sophie? I’m trying to help you here.’

‘I was scared, I just wanted to be rid of them.’ My voice cracked. ‘I’ve got a piece of one though, and the envelope.’

She didn’t say anything but after a pause exhaled loudly. ‘Can you put it in a bag for me? Don’t touch it.’ She paused. ‘What do you think about the therapist I told you about? Have you thought about it?’

‘Yes, I’ve thought about it and I just think it would be a waste of precious time.’

She let out a long breath. I could sense her support for me had dramatically waned.

‘I’m sorry about the photos.’ A sob rose up and I cried openly now. ‘But I need you believe me that it’s something to do with the night Bethany was murdered.’

‘Really?’ She wasn’t convinced. ‘Actually, I think you’re wasting my time. You burn the photos and you tell me you don’t want to see a therapist who might be able to help you. You’re not giving me much.’

‘I’m telling you everything I can.’

She hesitated. ‘Your friend, if you even knew her, committed suicide. I have it on record.’

‘But you said, something didn’t look right about it. I don’t know what it is you can see that doesn’t look right but I can assure you it’s not right.’

‘Then why not see the therapist?’

‘Because therapists don’t believe me.’

Her silence spoke volumes.

‘The only therapist I’ve agreed to see since all those years ago when Bethany died is my AA counsellor, to help me get my child back. I don’t need anyone prying into my past.’