Steve had nudged her hard to shut her up. “Keep in touch, Jakey,” he’d said, but their son was already walking through the door.
“Why on earth did you say that?” Steve had said.
“You baby him,” she’d said. “He needs a dose of the real world, not to be humored.”
Kate had texted Jake from the car: Come home safe. Love you, Jake, mx. But he hadn’t replied.
“Hello there!” a voice hailed her from down the street and an officious-looking woman hurried up to them.
“Are you looking for the Simmondses?” she said.
“Er, yes, I was hoping to catch Emma in,” Kate said.
“She was on the tube this morning with my husband. He told me when he rang to say he’d got to work. I’m Lynda, Emma’s friend, by the way.”
“Oh, pleased to meet you,” Kate said, registering that some wives required their husbands to clock in and out. “Did she say where she was going?”
“No, Derek said she was very distracted, hardly said a word. Mind you, the Metropolitan Line is extremely crowded that time of the morning. It’s a funny time to travel if you don’t have to.”
Kate pulled an understanding face.
“Perhaps she is having one of her Bad Days,” Lynda added disloyally. “She can be quite odd sometimes.”
“Right,” Kate said and, thanking her for her time, pulled Joe towards the car.
? ? ?
Where’s Emma going?” Joe said as he did up his seat belt. “Just asking, not whining,” he added.
“Sorry, Joe. Having a bad day myself. No idea.”
She drove back towards the office in west London and let Joe talk about his ambitions and a reality TV show he’d watched the night before.
Where are you, Emma? she thought. She pulled over when her phone pinged. “Bet that’s her,” she told Joe.
When she looked, the text was from Jake. “Shit,” she said. The last thing she needed was more grief from her son.
Love you, too, Mum. Sorry to be such a crap son, x, Jake had texted.
She felt like bursting into tears but forwarded it to Steve instead. He texted back immediately: x.
Joe sat patiently until she’d finished. “I’ve been thinking. What about Emma’s mum?” Joe said. “Why don’t we go and see her? We haven’t talked to her, have we? She might know where Emma is.”
“Good call, Joe,” she said. “Find me an address.”
SEVENTY-SEVEN
Kate
TUESDAY, MAY 1, 2012
The traffic was horrendous, but they finally pulled up outside the converted house where Jude lived.
Kate tried Emma’s number once more as she locked the car, but there was still no answer.
“Come on,” she said.
She and Joe were buzzed straight in when they pressed the bell—no questions asked—and they trooped up the stairs.
An elderly woman in clothes that were slightly too young for her was standing at her open door.
“Oh! Who are you?” she said. “I thought you might be my daughter.”
“Ah, sorry, no, Mrs. Massingham,” Kate said.
“It’s Ms. Massingham, actually.”
“Right, well, I’m Kate Waters. I’m a reporter for the Daily Post. I’ve been talking to your daughter, Emma, over the weekend about the Alice Irving case and I need to find her again.”
“Has Emma talked to you? Never a good idea to talk to a reporter. I used to be a lawyer and I always told my clients to avoid the press like the plague. No offense . . .”
Kate laughed unconvincingly. “Good advice in some cases, I imagine. But the stories I’ve been writing about Alice have uncovered some important facts.”
“Hmm,” Jude Massingham said. “But not the truth, I think. Slippery thing, the truth.”
“Er, yes. There have been some setbacks in the investigation—the police would be the first to admit that.”
“Would they? That was never my experience,” Jude said with a tight smile.
“Look, something has emerged this morning that I want to tell Emma, but she’s not picking up her phone,” Kate said, trying to move the conversation onto firmer ground.
“I have no idea where she is,” Jude said. “I’m not her keeper. What has emerged?”
“Can we come in, Ms. Massingham?” Kate said. “It’s a bit public here. Don’t want your neighbors overhearing things.”
“Oh, all right,” Jude said. “Mind the step.”
They sat in a tight group in and on the two armchairs. No drinks were offered.
“Right,” Jude said. “What has happened?”
“I don’t know if Emma has told you, but the police have done some new DNA tests.”
“No, we’re not really talking at the moment,” Jude muttered.
“Well, the tests show there is a match between Emma and the baby on the building site.”
“No,” Jude blurted and held her head in her hands. “It can’t be. How could she have had a baby without me knowing?”
“She hid it from you, Ms. Massingham. And from your boyfriend, Will Burnside.”
“What has she told you about him?” Jude said quietly, the tension in the room thickening.
“Exactly what she told you.”
“I didn’t believe her. I said terrible things to her. Said she was ill and jealous,” Jude said, almost to herself.
“But she was telling the truth, Ms. Massingham. Did you really not suspect anything?”
The older woman shook her head. “No, of course not. Do you think I would have turned a blind eye to something like that? You don’t know what it was like. I loved Will. Adored him. And it is hard to imagine that the man you love could do something so despicable. Could you believe that of someone you love, Miss Waters?”
Kate instantly pictured Steve confessing and shook her head.
“You see how difficult it would have been. It still is. I need some time to think about this. And to talk to Emma.” She seemed to be talking to herself.
Kate leaned forwards to ask another question, but Jude suddenly exclaimed: “I knew it couldn’t have been the Irving baby.”
“How did you know?”
Jude looked flustered. “Well, that baby disappeared ten years before they say the body was buried. The whole police investigation has been cack-handed if you ask me.”
“But the match with Angela Irving,” Joe said. “What about that?”
“Lab cock-up,” Jude said. “I used to hear about it happening from colleagues with criminal practices when I was working. Test tubes in wrong racks, contamination from other samples, that sort of thing. There’s always room for human error.”
“But there are lots of checks and balances to the process,” he said. “I’ve been reading up on it. It’s really interesting, actually—”
“I’d like to tell Emma,” Kate said, cutting him off. “I’m a bit worried I can’t get hold of her. Her friend Lynda said she was on the tube into town this morning.”
“Was she? How odd. She never comes into town if she can help it. Too many people,” Jude said and fell silent.
“I suppose we could ring her husband,” she offered. “He’ll be at work. I’ve got a number for him. Emma wrote it in my address book in case of emergencies.”
She dialed slowly, punching the numbers deliberately, and waited. “Paul, it’s Jude. I’m trying to get hold of Emma. Do you know what she’s doing today? Right. Well, she’s not. She was seen on the tube this morning. Right. Well, if she calls you, will you tell her to give me a ring? Yes, and you. Bye.
“He thought she was working at home this morning. Sounded a bit rattled when I said about the tube. She’s not in great form at the moment. As you probably know,” Jude said, her tone accusatory. Her voice shaky.
When Kate and Joe got outside, Kate’s phone rang.
“It’s Andy Sinclair, Kate,” he said. “I’m trying to reach Emma Simmonds. She seems to have disappeared. You don’t know where she is, do you?”
SEVENTY-EIGHT
Jude
TUESDAY, MAY 1, 2012
When the phone rang late that night, Jude snatched it up. “Emma?” she said.
“Jude, it’s Harry,” the voice said. “Sorry to disturb you, but I’m worried about Emma.”
“We’re all worried about her,” Jude said. “I’ve had the press here, asking for her, too.”
Jude felt shaky and she sat down too quickly on her chair, jarring her elbow and dropping the phone.