She looked through her pink notes and found the first wife’s name. Lila Nightingale. Nice and unusual. You don’t want to be looking for a Linda Smith. And found the birth of Charlie’s daughter, Sofia. She was now living in an institution about forty minutes north of Ebbing, according to the electoral register, but Elise couldn’t just ring her up. Charlie had mentioned brain damage and Pauline had said there was no point trying to talk to her.
I’ll have to speak to the mother.
There were three possible addresses linked to the name. Elise rang each one, her amateur-detective script rehearsed in her head.
“Hello. I am sorry to bother you but I am trying to contact people who might know Charles Williams, who used to live in Addison Gardens in Kensington.”
The first two were sorry but they’d never heard of him. The third, at an address in Surrey, went quiet on her when Elise said Charlie’s name.
“Ms. Nightingale? I think you may have been married to Mr. Williams in the nineteen eighties?”
“Who is this?”
“My name’s Ronnie Durrant,” Elise said, pinching her leg to punish the lie. “I’m a friend of Charlie’s second wife.”
“Well, if she wants to give him back, she’s barking up the wrong tree.”
“No, no. I’m ringing because we’re worried about him.”
“I stopped caring about Charles a very long time ago. Sorry.”
And the phone went dead.
Elise sat for a moment. “Well, that’s that,” she said out loud, but she knew she couldn’t leave it. She’d asked the first questions now. She needed to know the answers. It was like a deep itch. But she hesitated. She knew going to knock on Lila Nightingale’s door was taking the next step down a tricky road. The truth was that she shouldn’t be doing any of this—it was none of Elise’s business.
Oh, I’m just prodding about for a neighbor, she told herself. Just having a look, if anyone asks.
* * *
—
Ronnie didn’t know whether to be pleased or offended when Elise told her she’d used her name. She plumped for pleased in the end and fetched her car keys.
“So I’ll be DI King,” she said as she started the Mini. “You’d better brief me on where we are on the case.”
I’m unleashing a monster. Elise groaned silently.
Forty-five minutes later, they pulled up outside the house. It was crammed into a terraced street with a bay window, a glossy racing green front door, and an enormous ginger cat stretched out on the sill to capture every ray of sun.
Lila Nightingale took her time to answer. Elise could see her approaching in the dimpled glass of the door, a small, dark figure shimmering toward her. When Lila opened the door, she was immaculately made-up—her face was painted a uniform creamy pink and her eyeliner looked as though it’d been applied with a laser. Elise found herself wondering if it was in someone else’s honor or if she painted on her younger face every morning.
Charlie obviously likes a trophy wife on his arm, Elise thought. She touched her naked face defensively and felt the treacherous stab of a whisker on her jawline.
If the beauty queen on the threshold noticed her lack of grooming, she didn’t show any sign.
“Yes?” she said.
“Er, hello. I called you earlier,” Elise started. “About Charlie.”
“And I told you he was none of my business. Why have you come?”
“The thing is, he’s gone missing.”
Charlie’s first wife sighed, turned, and led the way through the house to a postage-stamp-sized garden. The giant cat followed and lay in front of them, licking its bottom as they all pretended not to notice.
“So when did he disappear?” Lila plunged straight in. “What do you think has happened to him?”
“Well, he was last seen on Friday night at a pop festival in Ebbing.”
“Seriously? At his age?”
She hadn’t offered tea and Elise suspected the visit was going to be short and sweet.
“As I said on the phone, we’re worried. He seemed distressed on Friday night and we wondered if he had mentioned any problems to you or your daughter.”
Lila smiled grimly. “I’d be the last person he’d confide in. We divorced a very long time ago and communicate only when we have to discuss our daughter. She’s cared for in a residential home—I don’t know if you knew. The last contact Charlie and I had was a few weeks ago. The home had contacted me about an outstanding bill and I’d forwarded it to Charlie—he handles all that—and I didn’t hear back from him. But he’s sorted it out—I checked.”