The PC is looking worried now. ‘So this is definitely being bumped? I’ll still need to do a report.’
‘Of course. I’ll get DI Sanders to liaise with you. I can’t say too much at the moment. A lot’s confidential.’
The PC makes a note in his pocket book, still looking curious. Wary.
‘Thank you, Mrs Lewis. And the letter. Did anyone open it?’ Matthew’s desperate to see it but is reluctant to push too hard; he doesn’t want to clash with the PC in front of the head.
‘No. We called the police straight away. Tried to keep things low key for Amelie.’
‘Good. Thank you.’
‘Should the school be worried, Mr Hill? We need to be fully in the picture if there’s a threat. If this could happen again?’
Matthew feels his heart sink. This is the last thing he wanted for Amelie. And Sally too.
‘I’ll ask DI Sanders to speak to you as soon as possible, Mrs Lewis.’
‘Right. Good. And what about Amelie in the meantime? I understand she’s been having counselling. She’s been much more her usual self in nursery these past couple of days but I’m concerned this will set her back.’
Matthew notices the police constable raising his eyebrows, clearly wondering what is really going on here.
‘Yes. This is the last thing we all needed. May I see the letter, please?’
The PC puts his hand in his pocket, fishes out an evidence bag and puts it on the head teacher’s desk. Inside the sealed bag, ready for forensics, is a white envelope.
‘I’ll need to log this myself,’ the PC says, as if reading Matthew’s mind.
‘Sure.’
Matthew uses his phone to take a photograph of the evidence bag to show Mel while it’s being processed. It’s handwritten. Neat, sloping writing with quite a distinctive ‘M’– shouldn’t be difficult to get it checked against Laura’s.
‘As soon as my wife arrives, we’ll take Amelie home and be in touch once I speak to DI Sanders again.’ Matthew pulls back. He doesn’t add what he’s really thinking. That he’s not even sure if it’s safe to take his daughter and wife home.
He’s thinking of the dolls. So where does this fit in?
Matthew’s mind is spinning. Maybe his family should go away somewhere? Take a break while he and Mel try to figure out what on earth is really going on here. He looks away towards the door, spooling through the options. Mel’s mum is a close neighbour so that’s no good. Maybe an Airbnb. Tell Amelie it’s a little holiday? He badly needs to bounce this past Mel; see what she thinks.
Also Sally. He checks his watch again, bracing himself for her arrival. He prays she’s driving safely. She’s going to be horrified. Frightened. And quite possibly angry with him too for dragging them into this. He remembers how upset she was when he left them in town that very first day. There’s a gunman in the cathedral.
Sally’s face in the summer house when he arrived – the bomb squad checking the doll in the kitchen . . .
‘Do you want tea while you wait?’ Mrs Lewis says at last.
‘No. But thank you.’
‘That would be very nice,’ the PC contradicts. ‘If it’s not too much trouble.’
Mrs Lewis picks up her phone while Matthew and the PC both stare at the evidence bag on the desk, Matthew wishing he could just grab it and rip open the letter.
Desperate to know what it says.
CHAPTER 47
THE FATHER – BEFORE
There were several things about Laura that both puzzled and delighted Ed in the early days of their relationship. Long, long before he had any idea that their story was to end so badly.
They moved in together within just a couple of months. A few friends raised their eyebrows, but Ed had no doubts at all. They were almost ridiculously happy, they were spending nearly all their time together, so why not live together? It was an hour commute to the school in Wells where she taught music but Laura loved driving; she was only working three days per week and insisted she didn’t mind. She played classical favourites at full volume and told him that she liked the space; the time to herself.
Sometimes he worried that she had made too many compromises, agreeing to be the one to move for starters, but it was all very spontaneous. And also a question of practicality. Laura had a tiny studio flat with very limited cooking facilities on the outskirts of Wells. The first couple of weekends he went to stay with her, but mostly they ate out because her oven and hotplate was broken and the landlord was ignoring all her pleas to fix it. They each confided that they actually loved both to shop and to cook, so Laura offered to visit him instead. She fell instantly in love with his much larger kitchen . . . and more significantly his range cooker. So very quickly they switched to spending nearly all their early weekends at Ed’s flat. Then, while pouring wine as she ladled stock into a risotto one night, he just blurted it out. Why don’t you just stay? Move in, I mean. Forget the rows with your stupid landlord. She just smiled. I thought you’d never ask.