‘It is two. A man and a woman. I have met them before, actually. Very nice people. Despite you getting us all to work on Sunday, we do want to help you.’ He keeps his voice gentle. He sees no point in showing how impatient he is for all of this to be sorted out. ‘I hope that as soon as they arrive, we can all talk properly and get all of the details that we need? There is not much daylight left . . . if we need to send out the searchers.’
The woman bites on her bottom lip. ‘Would it be possible for us to talk to them separately? I mean . . . I don’t want to talk in the same room as him.’ She lowers her voice and gestures with a nod towards the locker room.
‘Madame, I asked you before. If you are scared of him. You said yes but then you don’t tell me anything more. How can I help you if you don’t tell me what is going on?’
A lonely tear rolls down her cheek. ‘I will explain everything, I promise. I’m sorry.’ The tears fall faster now, and she looks genuinely distressed, but he is no longer sure if she is genuine. There is too much stalling. Too much unsaid. He leans over the desk and hands her a tissue.
‘We called the hotels, madame. We wanted to try to find out who is missing.’
‘And?’
‘No luck so far.’ He gives her a terse smile. ‘You could help by just telling us where you were staying.’
‘I will. Soon. I just . . . I told you. I don’t want anything to be misunderstood.’ She pauses. Wipes her eyes angrily. ‘I just want this to be over, too, you know. If you had any idea what I’ve been through . . .’
Pigalle nods, gritting his teeth. He tries to remain sympathetic but he has had enough now.
Even the most patient men have limits.
Thirty-Nine
SATURDAY NIGHT
She didn’t want to argue, even though she was sure going outside was a mistake. She’d had a bad feeling since they arrived at the house. Something felt wrong about it. Why hadn’t Tristan checked upstairs? He’d said something about the stairs being unsafe, but for all Tristan knew, someone could be up there. Listening. Waiting. She absent-mindedly fiddled with her necklace again, tapped the pendant with her fingers. It made her think about Ginny’s necklace, and how she’d failed to notice it and yet Tristan had. It wasn’t like Ginny to wear fancy jewellery. And what was the point of wearing it on the hike and risking it getting broken? She ran her fingers over her own pendant and slipped it back inside her t-shirt.
Then she remembered.
A green stone, Tristan had said. Their grandmother had been a fan of emeralds. Their mother had kept all of the pieces in a carved walnut box that took pride of place on her dressing table.
The period after their deaths was still a blur for Cat. She hadn’t wanted their things. She hadn’t wanted their money. But it was the injustice of it all, the distribution of the inheritance being entrusted to Ginny, instead of it being shared equally from the start. Ginny had been instructed to give Cat a lump sum, but she’d kept the rest of the estate, include the chattels. All the contents of the house.
Including the jewellery.
She’d worn that necklace today to taunt Cat. She realised that now. But it had backfired because Cat hadn’t noticed her wearing it. Her earlier slip, and her nausea and dizzy spells, had distracted her. Ginny must’ve been furious. No wonder she was being so bitchy. She’d wanted Cat to notice and to pull her up on it, but Cat had been oblivious to that. Her bloody sister. She wished that Ginny were still alive so that she could kill her again.
There was a creak above her.
She looked up at the ceiling. At the gaps between the floorboards. It could just be the wind. Or the house settling. Or an animal. This seemed to be Tristan’s explanation for most things, but she hadn’t actually seen any animals yet.
She stood still, waiting for the ceiling to creak again. Tristan was still outside. He’d been a while now, and a shiver ran over her as she remembered her earlier silly thoughts about horror movies.
Not so silly now.
There was not supposed to be anyone upstairs. But if there was anyone up there, they weren’t moving anymore. Maybe they were waiting to hear what she would do. She picked up her mini-Maglite and walked carefully through the open doorway into the kitchen. She shone the torch up the stairs, then back down to the bottom stair, which was in a bad state of repair, as Tristan had said. She frowned. So maybe he was just being careful. On the plus side, if it was too dangerous to climb the stairs, then no one else would’ve done that either. Unless there was another way . . .