“I take it you’ve tried calling her?” Priya asks.
“Several times,” I say, before helping her up.
I find my mobile and try Anna again, but it goes straight to voicemail just like it did before. Either she has switched off her phone, or someone else has.
“There’s something I need to tell you,” Priya says, and I try not to react even though it feels like a small bomb just went off inside my head. “One of the uniformed officers recognized the unidentified girl in the picture we found at your house. Swears he knew her when they were both kids. Says she was called Catherine Kelly. Does that name mean anything to you?”
It doesn’t, but then I’ve never been great with names.
“No.”
“We know that she is married now, and we think she lives in London, but we still don’t have a current address. When she lived here, it was with her parents at a property within Blackdown Woods. It used to be a gamekeeper’s lodge a hundred years ago, but from what I understand it’s derelict these days. Her parents died, and it has been empty since.”
“Maybe it’s worth checking out?” I say.
“I think so too, but like you said, this is my investigation now. If we go, I think we should go together.”
I decide it might be nice not to have to do this alone.
“Yes, boss,” I reply, and she smiles.
We make our way downstairs in silence, as though both regathering our thoughts.
We’re almost at the bottom step when I hear something.
There is a second door in the kitchen, which leads to a little lean-to built on the side of the house. Anna’s mother used it as a garage in the past—when she was still driving—but it’s more of a storage space now, I guess. Somewhere to keep all her home-grown organic vegetables. I can hear someone creeping around in there, and I know Priya hears them too.
I indicate for her to get behind me, and tiptoe to the door. I fling it open and find the light, then see a pair of startled eyes staring back at me. A large fox takes one more bite from what looks like a bag of carrots, then flees through a small hole in the wall.
Priya laughs and so do I—we need to do something to ease the tension.
“What’s this?” she asks.
I smile at the old white van that Anna’s mum used to drive when she still had the cleaning business. She only retired a couple of years ago—took some persuading—but I doubt the van would even start now. There are bumblebees painted all over the side, along with a logo: Busy Bees Professional Cleaning Services.
“My mother-in-law used to clean for half the village,” I say.
“I would never have guessed,” Priya replies, staring at all the boxes and mess as we step back inside the house.
“She’s not been well,” I explain, meaning the dementia.
“I did notice the cancer drugs in the kitchen. They were the same ones my mother had to take, not that they helped.” She reads my expression without me having to say anything. “I’m so sorry, I presumed you knew.”
I didn’t.
“We should get going,” Priya says, and I know she’s right.
We head out toward the car, and the empty street is in complete darkness. I wonder whether Anna knows about her mum, and then I worry again about where they both might be now. My mind wanders back to the cameraman and his criminal record. I have Richard’s number in my phone; having thoroughly checked him out there isn’t much I don’t know about him. He’s married to another BBC News anchor, and they have a couple of kids, but that doesn’t mean anything. On the off chance that he and Anna are still together, or that he might know where she is, I call him.
I hear his phone ringing.
But not just on the other end of the line, it’s right next to me, as though he is here in Anna’s mother’s garden.
It’s too dark to see anything, so I hang up and fumble to find the flashlight function on my mobile again. When I turn it on, I see that Priya is holding a phone that does not belong to her.
Her
Thursday 01:10
I am certain that the scream did not belong to a woman or a child; it was Richard.
There is a voice screaming inside my head too. It’s my own, and it’s telling me to get the hell out of this house. My fingers hover over the handle of the front door, but I can’t just leave. What if he’s hurt? What if I can help? Jack was right—I do always run away from my problems. Perhaps it’s time to stop. I tell myself that this isn’t a horror movie, and turn back toward the staircase.