“No, he was at a dinner in town—the police were already at the house when he got back,” Lila said. “The thing is that Charles had been meeting her behind my back. He’d wormed his way back into her life and given her a key and the code to the front door. She’d never have been there if he hadn’t. And we still don’t know why she was, that night—Birdie doesn’t remember anything about it and the boyfriend is dead.”
Lila looked as though she was lost in thought but she got up abruptly and started stacking the tea things. “Look, this is all so long ago,” she said. “It does no good to dig things up. I have to focus on the here and now. And Birdie is doing very well at Wadham Manor. It is a wonderful place. Charles found it. It’s the one thing he did right—and he pays for it. I would never have been able to afford it.”
There was a beat.
“Oh, God,” she wailed, “what is going to happen to our girl if he doesn’t come back?”
* * *
—
Ronnie had fallen silent as the horror story they had just heard sucked the oxygen out of the car.
“Oh, my God, how could anyone put a plastic bag over a young girl’s head and destroy her life?” she said. “I can’t imagine anyone being that evil.”
“You’d be surprised,” Elise said. Actually, it would blow your mind if you knew what people are capable of. The cruelty. The wickedness.
“You have to remember that monsters don’t look the part, Ronnie,” she said. “They’re not marked out in any way. If only . . . They live among us in plain sight. In their cardigans and sensible shoes. They have library cards, buy a poppy for Remembrance Day. They’re the man or woman next door who picks up a pint of milk for you, asks after your parents, or takes in parcels from deliverymen.” All the while planning their next act of depravity.
Ronnie’s eyes widened. “Oh, God . . .” she breathed, and Elise could see she was running through her neighbors, looking for signs.
“Quite. It means I can never stop looking for them,” Elise added.
Eighteen
SUNDAY, AUGUST 25, 2019
Elise
Elise used the map on her phone to direct Ronnie along tree-lined country roads until she spotted the sign for Wadham Manor.
“It looks like a stately home,” Ronnie said, squinting up at the fa?ade. “It must be costing Charlie a small fortune.”
The receptionist, a willowy blonde with a French manicure, was polite but unyielding. “The family has said that people need to make an appointment through them for a visit.”
“Of course, but her mother knows about it,” Elise said, her fingers itching to pull out her warrant card to end the discussion. “Perhaps you could call Lila?”
“If you would just like to take a seat.”
Five minutes later, they were buzzed through and standing at the cream front door of Birdie’s apartment.
“Hello,” she said when she opened the door. There was no mistaking her parentage. She had Lila’s glossy brown hair and her father’s generous mouth. “Mum has just rung to say you were here. And that Dad is missing. That’s terrible. I want to help but it’s difficult for me. I have problems remembering things. My memory, you see . . .”
“Please don’t worry—your mum has explained,” Elise said. “We’re very grateful for the chance to talk to you.”
They sat round the table and Elise told her about the last sighting of Charlie, watching as anxiety froze the woman’s face. She was older than Elise had expected—all that talk of “our girl” and baby names had made Elise stick on the eighteen-year-old girl in the photo. But Birdie must be almost forty now. Only a few years younger than her. As she talked, Elise wondered how long Birdie would remember that her father was missing. Would she have to be told again in an hour? And go through the initial distress all over again?
Birdie reached for her phone—“Maybe it’s a mistake. Maybe he’s gone away for a weekend and forgotten to tell anyone. I’ll try him. He always picks up when he sees it’s me”—and dialed. “Hi, Dad, where are you? Can you ring me—I’m really worried I haven’t heard from you.” She laid the handset in her lap. “He’ll call back,” she said. But the phone remained silent.
“Has your dad been in touch since Friday night?” Elise said.
Birdie brushed her other hand over the tabletop and picked up a folder. “Do you mind having a look. It’ll be more reliable.”