‘Can you stop the media writing lies about me?’ he asked. ‘In particular, Amanda Bowe?’
‘Lies, yes.’ Angelina nodded. ‘But she’s careful. What she’s writing is highly suggestive but not libellous – yet. I presume the bra found in your bedroom belongs to your niece?’
‘Her mother identified it, so yes, it does. Our house is like a second home to Constance but I’ve no idea how or why her bra was there.’
‘So, in effect, Amanda Bowe hasn’t written anything that’s untrue.’
‘No. It’s what she’s implying—’
‘Freedom of the press has to be protected.’ Angelina briskly interrupted him. ‘She’s pushing the boundaries but not breaking the laws of libel, or naming you as a suspect. Tell me about your niece and everything that’s happened to you since she disappeared.’
She interrupted him occasionally as he did so, asking him to elaborate or clarify information. A family photograph sat on her desk: two teenage boys sandwiched between a handsome, dark-haired man and her, their mother, all staring at the camera with confident, white smiles.
‘The liaison officer is right,’ she said when Karl finished speaking. ‘You need to keep out of the media’s way. I’ll check everything that’s being written about you for libel but you can’t prevent them gathering outside your house. If they enter your premises, that’s a trespassing matter and I can seek an immediate injunction against the perpetrator.’
On entering Cherrywood Terrace, he could see that the media presence had increased since the previous day. Reporters parted to allow him to drive his car into the driveway. He ignored their questions about the search and turned his face away from the cameras as they vied with each other to catch the elusive shot, to record the unthinking quote. Amanda Bowe was not among them. His antennae would have picked her out from a multitude.
He closed the front door and rang Nicole. An automated voice informed him that her number was inaccessible and continued to do so until she finally returned his calls. Her voice broke on his name, then steadied.
‘Why did you tell Matthew to lie to the police?’ she asked.
‘What do you mean?’ He frowned, unable to understand a question that sounded more like an accusation. ‘I never—’
‘You did!’ He heard her swallow before she continued. ‘You found him searching for Constance in the attic and told him he’d be in serious trouble if he told anyone she was staying with us until the row with her parents blew over.’
‘That’s ridiculous, Nicole.’ He tried to remember the conversation he had had with his nephew. It seemed such a long time ago. ‘Matthew was confused, afraid of the police. I meant to tell you but with all that was going on…’ His voice trailed away.
‘But you didn’t.’
‘Nicole, you know that Constance never came near our house that night.’
‘How do I know that?’ She spoke slowly, a pause between each word, and in those pauses he could hear the heartbeat of his marriage slowing down. ‘I was on night duty.’
‘Are you saying you don’t believe me?’
‘Her bra was in our bed. What does that signify?’
‘It signifies nothing because I don’t know how it got there.’
‘So you keep saying.’
‘It’s the truth.’ How to convince her when the truth was too tangled up in grief and dread to be recognised.
‘I’m bringing the children back to Glenmoore tomorrow.’ Nicole was anxious to finish the call. ‘I’m staying with them in Olga’s house. That journalist tried to question Matthew in the stables. Caroline ran her off but others will come. Don’t argue with me about my decision, Karl. You can’t expose Sasha to the publicity that’s surrounding you.’
‘Don’t do that, please,’ he begged. ‘Come home and talk this through with me. I swear to you, if Constance came to our house I knew nothing about it. Are you going to accept my word or the word of a confused and frightened boy?’
‘I have to go, Karl. I’ll ring you again when I’m not so upset.’ She was gone before he could respond.
He opened the medicine cabinet where Dominick’s sleeping tablets sat, untouched. The relief they would bring. Oblivion. The memory of the last time he had sought such oblivion was sharp and dangerous, but could be forgotten easily if he gave way to temptation. He slammed the door closed and crossed the landing to Sasha’s room. Exhaustion swept over him as he collapsed on her bed. He closed his eyes and blocked out the images of Dora the Explorer, Boots and Pablo travelling to distant lands across the wallpaper.
‘All I need is a brainwave,’ he’d said to Nicole last month when he finished wallpapering Sasha’s room. ‘If I could create another Dora, think what we could make on the merchandising.’
Nicole had laughed and said, ‘Relax while you can. Next year she’ll want My Little Pony or the Sylvanians.’
‘One obsession at a time is all I can handle.’ He had wiped his brow in mock exhaustion and followed her downstairs to the kitchen where lasagne bubbled in the oven and the table was set for three.
He tensed when he heard the doorbell. Edging to the window, he saw a squad car outside. Once again, Sergeant Moran was accompanied by Garda Finnegan. Her usual brusque manner as she entered his house was modified and her request that Karl should consider helping them with their enquiries sounded almost pleasant. He could refuse if he wished, she added. But it could help clear the air if he would accompany them to the police station.
‘I’ve no problem accompanying you,’ he said. ‘But, first, I have to contact my solicitor.’
‘By all means do so,’ she replied.
He retreated to the kitchen and rang Angelina’s number. The receptionist’s chirpy voice dropped when she heard who was calling. ‘I’m afraid Ms Ward is not available right now,’ she said.
‘Tell her to ring me as soon as she’s free.’
‘She’s busy for the afternoon—’
‘I’m not interested in her work diary. Tell her I’m heading to Glenmoore Garda Station and she needs to meet me there.’
The media swarmed forward when he left the house. Boredom and brief adrenalin-fuelled periods of activity; he was familiar with their choreography. Amanda Bowe was still not among them. Was she skulking outside Grass Haven or driving fast back to the centre of activity? She cloyed his skin, like a cobweb he was unable to shake free.
She was waiting with her photographer outside the police station when he arrived.