Quinn collects the empty cups and we’re getting up to go when I catch sight of the desk sergeant gesturing to us from the doorway. It must be something important to get him off his ample behind. And then I see: he has a young woman with him. Mid height, long auburn hair. She has a raffia bag over one shoulder and that’s when I realize I’ve seen her before – at the school. Right now, half the men in the place are staring at her. I sense Quinn straighten his shoulders, but it’s not him she’s come to see. Or so it seems. She scans the room anxiously then alights on Gislingham and comes quickly towards him. I see Gislingham slide Quinn a glance, and I have to admit, the look on Quinn’s face is priceless. DC two, DS nil.
‘DC Gislingham,’ she says, slightly breathless. ‘I’m so glad I caught you. I asked for your colleague – the woman – I forgot her name – ’
‘DC Everett – ’
‘ – only they said she wasn’t here so I thought I should talk to you instead.’
Gislingham turns to me. ‘This is Daisy’s teacher, boss. Miss Madigan.’ He introduces Quinn too, but I can see she’s too distracted to register who either of us are. Which Quinn clearly finds peculiarly devastating.
‘It’s the fairy story,’ she says, turning to Gislingham again. ‘Daisy’s fairy story. I was packing up the flat and found it behind the desk. It must have slipped down there when I was marking them. I’m so sorry – it’s all my fault.’
Gislingham smiles. ‘No worries, Miss Madigan. Thanks for bringing it in.’
‘No,’ she says, ‘you don’t understand. That’s why I’m so worried. At least now I look at it again.’ She stops, then puts a hand to her forehead. ‘I’m not expressing this very well, am I? What I meant to say is that reading the story now, all these weeks later, after what – ’ She takes a deep breath. ‘I think there’s something in it that I missed at the time. Something awful.’
She turns to the bag and pulls out the sheet of paper. When she passes it to Gislingham I can see her hands are trembling. He reads it, serious now, then hands it to me. The woman’s cheeks have gone red and she’s biting her lip.
‘I’m so sorry,’ she says softly, her eyes filling with tears. ‘I will never forgive myself if something’s happened and I could have prevented it. What she says about the monster – how could I not have seen – ’
Her voice falters and Gislingham moves a step closer. ‘You couldn’t have known. Not just from this. No one could. But you did the right thing, bringing it in.’ He takes her gently by the elbow. ‘Come on, let’s get you a nice cup of tea.’
As they walk away towards the counter I hand the story to Quinn. He scans it and looks up at me.
I know exactly what he’s thinking.
The Sad Princess
By Daisy Mason, age 8
Once upon a time there was a little girl who lived in a hut. It was horribelhorrible. She did not know why she had to live there. It made her sad. She wanted to isscape escape but a wicked witch wood would not let her. The wicked witch had a monster that looked like a pig. The little girl wanted to run away and she tried to be brave but every time she tried the monster came into her room and held her down. It really hurt. Then the little girl found out she was reely really a princess in dizgise disguise. But she could only go and live in the castle like a real princess if someone killed the wicked witch and the monster. Then a prince came in a red charrit chariot and she thoght thought he would take her away. But he diddent didn’t. He was mean. The little girl cried a lot. She was never going to be a princess. She did not live happily ever after.
The end
*
Back in my office I open the window as wide as it will go and have a fag, standing there. The venetian blinds are thick with dust. I’ve always hated those bloody things. I wonder for a moment about calling Alex, but I don’t know what I would say. Silence has become an easy lie. For both of us. There’s a father and son waiting at the crossing. It looks like they’re on their way to Christchurch Meadow – the boy is carrying a bag of sliced bread to feed the ducks. They may even see swans, if they’re lucky. I think about Jake, who loved swans too, allowing myself a thin ration of memory from the tiny hoard my heart marks safe. I think about Daisy, and the father who turned into a monster. And I think about Leo. The lonely boy. The ghost in his own life. Missing in subtraction. Because where, in everything I’ve heard today, was Leo?
*
Half an hour later, Quinn swings by.
‘Everett just called. Apparently Sharon claims she was confused. She took two sleeping pills and was completely disorientated. And she does look pretty spaced out in that video. I thought she was pissed, first time I saw it. She got pretty arsey when Everett pushed her, but she eventually agreed to us speaking to her doctor to confirm she has a prescription. She also insists she called out to Leo before she went down the stairs but got no answer, and when she saw the back door was open she thought he’d already got out. It was the neighbour who realized Leo was still up in his room and went in to get him. Jesus, if he hadn’t been there, we’d have two dead kids on our hands, not one.’
‘I know.’
‘So do we believe her?’
I turn to the window and close it, then back to face him. ‘Do you think she could have set the fire herself?’
His eyes widen. ‘Seriously?’
‘Think about it. The one person who benefits from that fire is her. She’s already given us some pretty nasty evidence against Barry and anything in the house that might have incriminated her has now gone up in smoke. Literally. And that includes the car, which as far as I can work out, never usually got put in the garage. Which means that without a confession or some evidence on the body – ’
‘If we ever find it.’
‘ – we’re going to find it bloody hard to convict her.’
‘Assuming she did it.’
‘Assuming, of course, that she did it. But if she was capable of killing Daisy, perhaps she’s capable of leaving Leo in a burning house. Think about it – she could walk away from this whole mess scot-free, and start a new life somewhere else. With only the insurance money for company.’
Quinn whistles. ‘Jesus.’
There’s a knock at the door. One of the PCs who’s been putting in all hours on the search. She looks exhausted.
‘Yes?’
‘The guys on duty at the house asked me to collect this for you on my way in, sir. It’s the Masons’ post. Most of it is bills and crap, but there’s one you need to see. And before you ask, it wasn’t me that opened it – the flap must have come unstuck in the post. When I picked it up, the contents fell out and I saw what it was.’
The padded envelope is about six inches square. Addressed to Sharon and postmarked Carshalton. On the back, the sender’s address is given as the Havenview Care Home. And inside, a DVD. As soon as I look at it, I know why the PC brought it in.
I look up at her. ‘Good work – sorry, I don’t know your name.’
‘Somer, sir. Erica Somer.’
‘Good work, Somer.’
I stand up and stretch my aching back. ‘I’m going to go home for a couple of hours. Give me a call if Jamie’s parents get in touch.’
‘That’s the other thing,’ says Somer. ‘The desk sergeant asked me to tell you. It’s Mrs Northam.’
I sit back down, heavily. ‘At last. OK, show her up.’
Somer looks embarrassed. ‘Actually, she wants you to go there. To her house. Sorry. If it had been me I’d have told her – ’
I wave a hand. ‘Don’t worry,’ I say wearily. ‘It’s not that far out of my way.’
*
1 May 2016, 2.39 p.m.
79 days before the disappearance
5 Barge Close