‘Lily Blake. Fifteen years younger. Missing,’ she says. ‘I’ve put the call out.’
‘Pregnant?’
‘Yes.’ Mel pauses, staring right into Matthew’s eyes. ‘Six or seven months according to the neighbour. She’s not been seen for a while. I’ve sent Dave round to the parents. They live nearby.’
Outside later, as he waits for the full update from Melanie, Matthew stands across the street, taking in the red-brick suburban semi with its hydrangea and cluster of rose bushes. There’s a hanging basket – well kept. Watered regularly. He’s trying to imagine it. What exactly went on inside here today? Mel is still liaising with the uniformed officers who arrived on the scene first. House-to-house inquiries have started and neighbours say the couple had been volatile in recent months. Loud arguments. But no one heard a gunshot. The cleaner found him. She’s still in shock, having cups of tea in a neighbour’s house, giving her preliminary statement.
Social media means news travels fast these days and Matthew’s not surprised to see a car pull up behind the cordon with the logo of a local news group. He’s never understood why the media do that. Label themselves. Wouldn’t they want to be discreet? It occurs to him that maybe they use different cars for different jobs. Maybe this is from the advertising department? Who knows?
Whatever the case, he’s remembering the car-park drama with Alex and suspects a local TV crew will be along very soon too. It’s going to be a nightmare once journalists realise the victim’s from the university. Today of all days.
Matthew feels his phone vibrate in his pocket and takes it out to see another text from Amanda. Can you tell me anything yet? What about the graduation?
Damn.
Sorry. Not yet. He presses send; he’ll ask Mel to call the chancellor. They’ll probably need to make a joint statement but it will depend if the wife’s found quickly; whether she can immediately be ruled in or out as a suspect. In effect, whether they need to put out an appeal to find her.
Matthew’s thinking again of that nursery inside the house. He remembers so well Sally’s clucking and fussing and worrying in the final days of her pregnancy. She wouldn’t put the mobile up above the cot; was worried it would be bad luck. Tempting fate. He presses the speed dial and puts the phone to his ear.
‘Is everything OK?’ Sally sounds alarmed but it’s so good to hear her voice.
‘Yeah. I’m safe. But things have changed. You mustn’t share this yet, honey, but there’s been another shooting. Someone from the university.’
‘Oh no. Are you wearing your jacket? Your bulletproof jacket?’
‘Yes, I am.’ This is a lie and he feels a pang of guilt. It’s in his rucksack in the boot. He finds it uncomfortable and had no idea today would take this turn. ‘I’m at the scene. I’m safe but it will probably be on the news soon. But listen; they’re bound to up security even more now. At the hospital, the cathedral. I’m wondering if we should rethink security for you at the cottage. Just as a precaution.’ He tries to keep his voice steady but his heart rate is increasing, thinking of Amelie on that changing mat a few years back. Of the doll delivered to their house. The woman – Laura probably – at the school. Of the horrible way his family has been sucked into this.
‘But we were so careful. The hire car. Surely no one knows where we are.’
Matthew pauses. Sally’s right. They were incredibly careful and it should be fine.
Should be.
‘My gut says it’s fine but have a think and let me know how you feel about it. I’ll talk to Mel after we’ve processed the scene. It’s a bit hectic right now. I’ll have to go. How’s our princess?’
‘I’ll send you a picture. You promise you’ll be careful? And keep that jacket on.’
‘I promise. Love you.’
He hangs up and is about to put the phone back in his pocket when a ping signals a text. He opens it. A picture of Amelie, beaming on the beach – the bright red bucket in one hand, the yellow spade in the other.
From Sally: Be careful! We love you. x
He’ll book the security. Sod it. He’ll just book the bloody security and tell Sally that Mel insisted. Sorry, love. Procedure.
Matthew clenches the phone in his hand to feel the connection, all the while watching Mel on the drive of the house, talking to two of the uniformed officers. A huddle of neighbours just beyond the cordon is being approached by a reporter from the media car. Here we go, Matthew thinks – his brain sucked back from Cornwall. From the beach. From Amelie and Sally. He scans the scene, still gripping the phone as he looks up and down the road, checking for CCTV cameras, trying to process the surprising turn in this case before he gets a chance to properly talk to Mel. See what she thinks. So have they got it all wrong? Is this not about Alex or Laura?