That had made her sit up and take notice alright. Nancy had thought, at the time, how eager the press had been to criticise Mrs Cotter right from the off.
Now nobody knows if Evie is even alive anymore.
Nancy takes a few more breaths in, the cold air sticking to her nostrils. She is painfully aware they are watching her. Waiting for her.
Of course, Nancy had sent a card at the time and followed it up with a couple of short letters to Toni Cotter, saying she was a good listener and if there was anything she could do and so on . . .
She’d heard nothing back, hadn’t really expected to.
DI Manvers waits until Nancy stands up straighter and gets her bearings again. ‘Sure you’re OK with doing this?’
She nods and he turns, walking towards the house. Nancy follows, strands of pure dread writhing in her stomach like a nest of vipers.
The door is the only one on the street that has been obviously repainted; cheap white gloss on top of the original pale blue PVC. The faint shadow of spray-painted words are still evident; daubed accusations that have not been thoroughly masked by the repaint.
DI Manvers raps on the door and they wait for what seems to Nancy like forever.
The sound of someone unlocking the door on the other side forces Nancy’s fingernails into the soft flesh of her palms. Her breathing grows even more erratic and her heartbeat thunders against her breastbone.
The door opens and, with the help of a stick, an old lady stands there. Nancy doesn’t recall her face but she thinks it may well be Evie’s grandma. If she remembers correctly, she had been there, a far sprightlier woman then, on the day of the stinging incident.
‘Oh!’ The lady’s hand flies to her throat when she takes in the uniformed officer and DI Manver’s ID. She staggers and leans awkwardly against the doorframe.
‘Come on, PC Holt,’ the DI hisses at the younger officer. ‘Quicker on your feet now.’
PC Holt coughs and steps quickly inside, allowing the old lady to lean heavily on her and move back a step.
Nancy remains standing outside the front door. DI Manvers is speaking to the elderly lady in low tones, but she cannot decipher anything that is being said because her head is full of white noise.
After a few moments, the group at the door begin to move inside the house. PC Holt helps the old lady through and DI Manvers silently beckons Nancy inside, closing the door quietly behind her.
The group shuffles into the sitting room, where the husk of another woman sits, slumped in the corner of the couch.
Her brown hair is shot through with grey and her lips and skin look parched, as if something has sucked the very lifeblood out of her. For a moment, Nancy doubts she has ever seen her before and then she sees a glimmer of who this person used to be when hope stirs in her face at the sight of DI Manvers.
The small room is gloomy, the blinds pulled low and curtains pulled to, shutting out as much natural light as possible without plunging the room into full darkness. Piles of neatly folded newspapers line the floor against two of the free walls and Nancy catches sight of Evie’s photograph and dramatic headlines on numerous editions.
DI Manvers introduces everyone.
‘I’m Anita,’ the old lady murmurs. ‘And you know my daughter, of course.’
‘We’re here because we think we have some news, Mrs Cotter,’ he says softly. ‘About Evie.’
‘Have you found her?’ the woman croaks, sitting up with difficulty. A luminous quality temporarily lights up the dullness of her eyes and she fixes them on Nancy. ‘Is Evie coming home?’
‘Do you know where she is?’ Anita asks. ‘Is Evie alive?’
‘I’m afraid, as yet, we can’t say if that’s the case.’ DI Manvers looks at his feet.
‘Then do you think Evie is . . .’
‘At this point, we don’t know.’
‘Then why are you here?’
‘We’re unable to verify the facts at the present time for reasons we’ll explain later,’ DI Manvers continues. ‘But it has been brought to our attention that there is a stroke victim, a female patient, in Queen’s Medical Centre—’
‘What’s that got to do with Evie?’ the younger woman cries out, jabbing a finger at him. ‘Just spit it out. Please.’
‘The person I am referring to has in her possession a photograph of Evie with a digital date stamp from after she went missing. In the picture, Evie looks a little older and her hair has been dyed brown,’ DI Manvers explains.
‘I – I don’t understand.’
‘Mrs Cotter, we think this woman could be the person who abducted your daughter three years ago.’
60
Present Day
The Nurse
A strangled gasp escapes from Toni Cotter’s mouth. Her hand claws at her throat as if something invisible is squeezing the very life out of her.
Nancy rushes over, sits next to her and gently pulls away her hand. Deep welts rise on Toni’s skin, like someone has scribbled all over it with a dark red crayon.
PC Holt stares.
‘Can you get Toni a glass of water?’ Nancy asks her and she scuttles, almost thankfully, out of the room.
Anita sits down heavily in a chair, staring at the floor.
‘Who is this person?’ Toni Cotter whispers. ‘Has she told you where Evie is?’
Nancy watches as DI Manvers takes a breath, steeling himself to explain the worst. That they know now who took Evie but the woman is as good as dead.
‘This woman is paralysed following a stroke,’ he says gently. ‘She can’t speak or move. She is currently on a respirator as she cannot breathe unassisted.’
Both Toni and her mother stare at him. Uncomprehending.
‘We don’t know if she’ll survive.’ He glances at Nancy.
‘But she has Evie’s picture; she must know where she is,’ Toni says, her voice raspy. ‘I want to see it, I want to see my daughter’s face.’
‘We have the photograph, Mrs Cotter,’ says DI Manvers. ‘We also have a photograph of the stroke patient in question. When you feel able, we’d like you to look at both pieces of evidence.’
‘I’m ready now.’ Toni Cotter sits up straighter, looks at Nancy and nods. ‘I’m ready right now.’
PC Holt appears with a glass of water.
‘We’re ready,’ Anita confirms quietly.
‘Let’s take it nice and slowly,’ DI Manvers says, glancing at both women in turn. ‘Please, drink your water, Mrs Cotter, we’re in no rush. I appreciate this is a very traumatic time for you both.’
‘I’ve lived in hell, 24/7, for the last three years,’ Toni says. ‘Believe me, I’m more than ready.’
Anita watches her daughter and then turns to DI Manvers. ‘We both are.’
‘Very well,’ he says, looking round the room. ‘Would it be possible to let a little more natural light in?’
Toni Cotter shrinks back into her seat, like she’s worried she might turn to dust when the curtains are opened.
‘It’s just that your initial reaction is quite important,’ he explains. ‘You need to be able to see the photographs as clearly as possible first time.’
‘She hasn’t been out for months, you see.’ With difficulty, Anita gets to her feet. ‘We have the curtains shut all the time because she’s paranoid someone will see her and it’ll all start again.’
‘Sorry, all what?’ Nancy asks.
‘The abuse screamed at her in the street, the broken windows, the filthy messages daubed on the door.’
Nancy glances across at Toni. She seems to have shrunk even smaller, disappearing bit by bit into the corner of the sofa.
‘Everybody blamed her, you see.’ Anita hobbles across the room on her stick. ‘Said she’d neglected Evie, hadn’t been there to pick her up. A drug addict, the newspapers said, when the most she’d ever taken was a couple of sedatives to try and cope.’
She stops and regards her daughter, her heavily lined face creasing further with concern. ‘My girl was already destroyed, but those bastards, the press, they all but finished the job.’
Anita tugs at the curtains and PC Holt helps her draw the blinds up halfway.