Another silence, this one so big you could fit a universe inside it.
‘No,’ he said firmly.
I sagged against the car seat. ‘Are you sure?’
‘Kathryn said he wasn’t.’
I sat up. ‘But there was never a DNA test or—’
‘Stop it,’ said Dad, suddenly angry with me. ‘Jack is Jeffrey’s boy and that’s the end of it.’
‘Dad,’ I said gently, tiptoeing into this conversation. ‘I think Jack had something to do with Elodie’s disappearance, and before you tell me I’m wrong, I just need to know something.’ He was quiet and I took his silence as encouragement to continue. ‘If Jack is your son but he did something to Elodie …’
‘I’d kill him,’ said Dad. ‘I’d kill him.’
I met Christopher at the little park-side café, which was open despite the freezing weather, serving hot drinks through a little hatch. Wrapped up in a thick overcoat, jeans and leather boots, he waited for me with two takeaway coffees. His dark hair shone like burnished bronze in the weak winter sun. As we walked down around the path lined with bare, frost-covered trees, Christopher looked at the photograph, the bank statements, listened to the discovery of Kathryn and Dad’s affair and my theory that Jack had killed his father.
‘Elodie told me Jeffrey tossed Jack around his bedroom the day he walked in on the two of them kissing, and I’m convinced that’s because he knew Jack could be our brother. If Jack is obsessed with her and has been for all these years, why wouldn’t he kill a man who mistreated him and stood between the two of them?’
‘Ada, the Jeffrey Westwood case was ruled a suicide.’
‘Yes, but Jack knew we were going away for the summer. He knew it would be weeks before Jeffrey was discovered. The night we left for Wisteria, my parents and Kathryn received emails from Jeffrey about being uncontactable due to work. After he was found dead, it was assumed those emails were in preparation for his suicide. But what if Jeffrey was already dead when those emails were sent? What if it was Jack who sent them to cover himself, and he typed the suicide note?’
Christopher shook his head. ‘But the coroner—’
‘They had to use the time stamp on the emails to determine when Jeffrey died because by the time we found him he was … sludge. No one saw Jeffrey the morning we left for the cottage. When we pulled up to the Westwoods’ house, Jack was already waiting outside. And let’s not forget Jack’s the kind of psycho who’s bedding girls that look like my sister and calling out Elodie’s name during sex.’
He pulled a face. ‘It’s grim. I’m not saying Jack’s … stable … but killing his father?’
‘Jeffrey may not have been Jack’s father. I think Jeffrey was going to stop Jack from seeing Elodie, and that was enough for Jack to take Jeffrey out of the picture.’
We were quiet again, taking it all in. ‘So you think he’s keeping Elodie at Wisteria Cottage?’
I nodded.
‘It’s going to take me a couple of days to get a search warrant.’
‘A couple of days?’ I echoed incredulously. ‘We need to go now. It’s just after one, if we headed down there, we’d arrive while it’s still light.’
‘Ada,’ he said kindly, ‘we need to do this through the official channels. If he does have your sister, we don’t want him to get off lightly.’
Panic prickled across my skin. ‘She’s at Wisteria, I know she is. I’m right about the money, aren’t I? David Taylor was paid ￡250 each time he followed Elodie and more when she was taken?’
Christopher didn’t say anything, but I could tell from his face I was right. ‘Say Jack does have Elodie, he still has a watertight alibi for the night she went missing – how do you explain that?’ he asked.
‘David took her to Wisteria.’
‘The car wasn’t found anywhere near Wisteria. There’s nothing connecting Elodie or David to that cottage.’
We walked along in silence. Even though there were holes in my line of thinking, I knew I was onto something. Coffees finished, we placed our cups in the bin.
‘We’re going to get her back,’ he said confidently. ‘We will.’ Then he grinned down at all the evidence I’d given him and shook his head before carefully placing it in his backpack. ‘You should’ve gone into the police force.’
Months ago, I’d have heard a comment like that and taken it as a dig at being a housewife, just like I did when you told me I should’ve gone into interior design. But, like you, Christopher has only ever had faith in me. More faith than I had in myself.