He follows her to the lift, thinking also of Amelie and hoping that Amanda may help source a good counsellor. He wonders how anyone would even approach this – with a child so young.
‘You all right, Matt? You look distracted.’ Mel’s turned her head.
‘I’m fine. Sorry, mind in overdrive. One thing. Did you ever wonder why the Hartleys were right up front for the ceremony?’
Mel frowns. ‘No. Just assumed they got lucky. Why? Is something worrying you? Something relevant?’
‘No. I just wondered if it was better or worse for them. To have seen it all so clearly.’
Mel considers this. ‘Better to be nearer, I’d say. Given the crush you described. At least they got to Gemma pretty quickly.’
‘Yes. That’s what I think.’ Matthew pauses. He’ll tell Amanda this if she gets in touch about the counselling. That she shouldn’t feel bad about the favour. Might ease his guilt over asking so much of her after the shooting.
‘Come on, then. Let’s do this.’ He takes in a breath and next they’re moving swiftly through the CID offices to the small suite of interview rooms where Ed Hartley’s waiting for them.
Mel leaves Matthew momentarily, he assumes to explain to her team why she’s leading on the chat with Ed Hartley and taking him through too. He waits outside the door of the office but can’t quite make out what’s being said – though he imagines the eye-rolling. It’s not a formal interview but most inspectors would still bump this to a sergeant. Though Mel’s never been one for protocol.
Next they’re sweeping into the small, square room to find Gemma’s father drinking coffee at the central table. He stands.
‘I’ve been waiting ages.’
‘Sorry. We were at the university. We got held up.’
‘Do I need my solicitor?’
‘Why would you need a solicitor, Mr Hartley? This is just a chat.’
‘Right. That’s what Matthew said. Just an informal chat.’ He sits down as they take up their own seats opposite. ‘So you won’t be recording this or anything?’
‘This is just a chat, like I said. You’ve agreed to meet me. You’re not under arrest. So why don’t you tell me about your first marriage. And why you’re worried that your first wife might in some way be involved in Gemma’s shooting?’
‘I didn’t say that. I just said that it was a coincidence that I met Laura, my first wife, in a cathedral. So that was sort of preying on my mind and I felt I should have told you. So have you checked things out? Is Laura OK? Is she with her parents or is she at the clinic?’
Matthew bites into his lip, wondering how Mel will play this.
‘Your first wife is missing from the clinic, Mr Hartley.’ Mel pauses as Ed Hartley’s face pales. ‘The clinic’s under investigation for breaches of standards and security. Cost-cutting cock-ups according to the local media. Upshot is right now we have absolutely no idea where she is. Which is why I think you’d better tell me absolutely everything, don’t you? About her condition. How you parted. When you last heard from her. And whether she has any reason whatsoever to wish you or your daughter harm.’
CHAPTER 18
THE FATHER – BEFORE
It came right out of the blue. Laura’s illness. Like a trip on the pavement, your face suddenly smashed on to concrete.
And for Ed, it was the speed of the unravelling that shocked him most.
He and Laura had been married just six months. They’d recently moved to Canada where her parents lived and her father had given him a job, handling the marketing for his building company. It was going well. No, better than well; they were truly happy.
Thursday night – a month into his new job – they went to bed around eleven as usual. Friday morning, he got up early for a pee and suddenly it was as if someone flipped a switch on his life.
That trip on the pavement . . .
By the time he padded back to the doorway of their bedroom, Laura was bolt upright in bed – first just staring at him, her eyes wild, and then screaming in apparent terror.
He felt a spike of adrenaline. The rush of his own mirrored fear. An intruder? He spun his head this way and that, trying to work out where? Who? What the hell he was dealing with. He grabbed a candlestick from the top of a bookcase in the hallway and swung his head and his weapon. Left. Right. Left. Right.
But there was nothing. No shadow. No sound of footsteps. Nothing.
He checked the hall and the second bedroom. Again – nothing. By the time he was back in the doorway of their room, Laura had stopped screaming but was still staring directly at him, eyes bulging with alarm. It was as if she was looking at him but also through him, without proper recognition. His next thought was a night terror. He’d read about that. Maybe she was actually still asleep and wasn’t seeing him at all. There was a feature in one of the Sundays once; it said that sometimes sleepwalkers moved around with their eyes wide open.