After your disappearance, we were assigned a family liaison officer who introduced us to a counsellor – Harriett. I’m not sure if I like her yet – she has good taste though; her dress was forest green and I recognised it instantly: Karen Millen. It’s the kind of shop you’d walk into, take one look at the price tag and walk right out again.
It was Harriett’s idea to write to you. It’s possible you’ll never see these letters since I have no idea where to post them. A squalid house like the one the lurcher was found in? A shallow grave in the woods? A river? You could be anywhere. With anyone. Doing anything or having anything done to you.
I don’t know what’s worse: knowing or not knowing.
Maybe I’ll never find out.
Chapter Fifteen
7 Days Missing
Adaline Archer
I was called in for questioning again today. You’ve been gone seven days and the police have no idea where you are. No clue. They keep hauling your family and friends into the station and giving us watery cups of coffee or milky tea and asking us the same questions over and over. So I waited in that dingy little room with beige walls and a tiled nylon carpet floor, at a square table that was bolted down.
Detective Inspector Ritter returned with a lukewarm glass of tap water in one of those ugly plastic cups. I don’t like him. He wears cheap suits and a smug smile and, much to your distaste, I’m sure, he calls the woman on reception ‘love’. He doesn’t like me either. I knew the second he laid eyes on me outside your house. He thinks I’m just a vapid housewife. Is that what you think of me too, sis?
‘So, what can I do for you, Detective?’ I asked as he took his seat opposite.
He frowned. He didn’t like that I was the one asking questions, so he countered mine with one of his own. ‘Sorry to drag you in here again. Hope we didn’t disrupt your day too much. You’re not missing a yoga class or something?’
There it was, the little dig, the housewife box he’d put me into. I didn’t respond. I kept my expression neutral. Unlike you, I’m good at keeping my emotions under lock and key. You feel everything so deeply, Elodie. Even as a little girl. Do you remember when you were seven, or eight perhaps, and Nibbles, our hamster, died? You cried for days and wore only black for two weeks. You insisted Dad made her a little wooden coffin because you couldn’t bear the thought of beloved Nibbles being dumped unceremoniously in a hole. Even as you got older, you loved as deeply as you grieved. I realised this when I met Noah for the first time. Ethan and I visited you in London, and the four of us had dinner in a little French restaurant. It was December, there were Christmas lights outside and a bitter breeze. You and Noah couldn’t stop touching each other, and when he spoke, you watched his mouth move with a look of pure adoration. You feel things deeper than anyone else I know. And so, if you feel love with a more intense bite, the same must go for fear.
I wonder if you are gripped by terror now, wherever you are.
Anyway, DI Ritter looked uncomfortable when I didn’t rush to fill the quiet. I stared at him, embracing the awkward silence. ‘So …’ He cleared his throat. ‘I just wanted to go over a couple of things with you, Mrs Archer.’
Archer.
I’ve been married four years and Archer still doesn’t sit right. You asked me once, a few weeks before the wedding, if I was going to take Ethan’s name and when I said yes, I could tell from your face you thought I was a traitor to womankind.
‘The night of …’ he checked his notes. ‘Saturday 2nd August when your sister was accosted by a man outside of your house, you said you didn’t get a good look at her assailant. Have you recalled any more details since we last spoke?’
‘Like I said, I didn’t get a good look at him before Jack punched him in the face. Perhaps you should have a word with him?’
Ritter did not appreciate me telling him how to do his job. ‘Yes, Mr Westwood’s been very helpful but, back to you, you’re sure you haven’t remembered anything else?’
I shook my head. ‘I told you, close-cut dark hair, glasses.’
He nodded solemnly. ‘Very well.’ He shuffled the papers in front of him and peered at his notes again. ‘And can you just tell me again where you were on August 16th – the night Elodie disappeared?’
They really don’t have a clue. They’re examining the entire family, as though we all had something to do with it – like this was Murder on the Orient Express. I had to read that for GCSE. It was a struggle; I was always more likely to have a bottle of tequila in my hand than a novel, but you found it in my room and devoured it. Mum and Dad were proud. Not to be outdone, I forced myself to finish it too.
‘As I said before, I was out to dinner with Ethan, my cousin, Ruby, and her husband, Tom. The bill is included in the binder I gave you.’
His lips twitched. ‘Ah, yes, your binder.’
We’ve all handled your disappearance differently. Mum is in denial. Dad speaks even less than usual, and I’ve seen a couple of empty bottles of whisky in the recycling. And so I began organising; I compiled a list of all your friends along with any contact information I could find, I wrote down everything you told us after the attack that Saturday and a few ideas of people you’d contact if you were in trouble, and put it all in a binder. The sad truth is, it made me realise how little I know about your life, your friends. When I took it to the station, Ritter took it and seemed mildly amused.
‘Is that everything?’ I asked.
‘Actually, it isn’t. We have another inspector joining the case; he wanted to meet you and get caught up.’
Then the door opened, and you won’t believe who stepped in – Christopher Jones. I haven’t seen him in years. You remember him, don’t you? My first boyfriend. We took you to a theme park – it was his idea to bring you along – and you made us go on that huge rollercoaster. I can see you now, your head thrown back as we plummeted down, your hands up in the air while mine gripped the bar until they ached. I hate rides; being out of control doesn’t appeal to me, but you, you love them. You’d keep riding until you were sick.
‘Miss Fray,’ said Christopher formally.
I glanced at Ritter, then back to Christopher, thinking he couldn’t possibly have forgotten me. I’ve never forgotten him. Forgotten I used to go to his parents’ house when his mum was working late, and we’d get halfway naked, kissing until we were both raw and exhausted.
Ritter cleared his throat. ‘It’s Mrs Archer.’
‘Oh,’ said Christopher, glancing down at the ring on my left hand. Did I see disappointment? ‘Of course. Apologies. Nice to meet you.’
He held out his hand; I took it. His grip was firm and assured, just as I remembered. ‘Actually, we—’
‘I’m Inspector Jones,’ he said, glancing quickly at Ritter and giving my hand a little squeeze, urging me to play along.
‘Jones,’ I said, coolly. ‘Nice to meet you.’