‘And what’s her name?’
She thought for a second. ‘Kate.’
‘Kate Emery.’
‘Yes, Kate Emery.’
‘Do you have the same last name, Chloe?’
‘Yes.’
‘Is that the same name as your father?’
‘Yes.’
‘But your parents are divorced.’
‘Yes.’ Her answers were getting softer. I felt I was wandering onto dangerous ground without knowing why.
‘You were away for the weekend, is that right?’
Another nod.
‘Where were you?’
‘With my dad.’
‘Were the two of you alone?’
‘No.’
I waited but she didn’t say anything else. ‘Who else was there, Chloe?’
‘My stepmother.’ There was a pause and I was about to ask another question when she added, ‘And Nathan. And N— his brother.’
‘Who’s Nathan?’
‘My stepbrother.’
‘And his brother,’ I said. ‘What’s his name?’
She stared at the corner of the room, pressing her lips together. No answer. It wasn’t a question that was designed to trip her up – quite the opposite. These were the easy, factual questions, the ones that gave people confidence, that settled them into an interview. But I was hitting a wall I hadn’t even known I’d find.
‘Do you have any other brothers and sisters?’
‘No.’
‘So you live with your mum. Does anyone else live in the house?’
‘No.’
‘Can you tell me when you left home for your weekend with your dad?’
‘Wednesday. In the afternoon.’
‘Did you see your mother before you left?’
A nod. ‘She was at home.’
‘Did she say anything unusual? Anything that concerned you?’
Another helpless shake of the girl’s head. ‘I don’t remember anything.’
‘Did she seem worried or preoccupied?’
‘N-no.’ She wasn’t sure, though.
‘What did she say, Chloe?’
‘She was talking about work. She was busy with work and she – she wanted me to go. She was afraid I’d be late. She had lots of work to do, she said.’
‘What work does she do?’
‘She has her own business.’
‘Do you know what kind of business?’
‘It’s something to do with babies.’ Chloe shrugged helplessly. ‘She doesn’t really talk to me about it. She doesn’t think I’ll understand. She’s probably right.’
‘What time did you come back, Chloe?’
‘I got off the train at three twenty-one.’ It was an oddly precise answer, as if she’d made a special note of it.
‘Were you expecting anyone to meet you off the train?’
‘No. You see, no one knew I was coming back.’
‘Oh?’
‘I left my dad’s house early.’
‘When were you supposed to come back?’
‘On Tuesday.’ She gave a little gasp of a laugh. ‘I thought Mum would be surprised.’
Surprised. Not missing.
‘Was your mum planning to be away while you were away, Chloe, do you know?’
‘No. She wouldn’t have left Misty.’
‘Misty?’
‘The cat.’ Chloe looked stricken. ‘I don’t know where she is.’
‘Downstairs.’ The FLO gave her a smile. ‘She’s down in the kitchen. I saw her when I went down to get you your cuppa, love.’
Chloe glanced down at the full mug on the floor beside her. It had a thick film on top of it. ‘I didn’t drink it.’
‘That’s all right. We can get you another,’ the FLO said.
The girl looked nauseated. ‘No. No, thank you.’
‘So no one was expecting you to come home,’ I said, dragging the interview back on track. ‘Was there some reason you left early?’
She was bright red, instantly, and she locked her eyes on the floor in front of her. Her lips were pressed together, as if she didn’t want to run the risk of letting as much as a word out. One for the dad to answer, I decided.
‘OK. We’re nearly done. You got a lift from the station, is that right?’
‘Mr Norris saw me. He drove me back here.’
‘Did he come into the house with you?’
A big, definite headshake. ‘I was on my own.’
I looked up from my notes. ‘But he rang 999.’
‘I forgot my bag. I left it in his car. I’m always doing that kind of thing. I should have remembered because I had tried to put it in the boot and he shouted at me – well, he didn’t shout but he told me not to open the boot.
It was in the back seat – my bag, I mean. And I forgot.’ She shivered. ‘I just wanted to go home.’
‘So you went inside on your own. Did you notice anything strange?’ Like the dried blood on most of the surfaces …
‘Not at first. I mean, I did, but I didn’t know what it was. I don’t really know what happened. I don’t understand why Misty was shut in and the house was all dirty and Mum wasn’t there.’ Her voice was shaking. ‘I don’t understand anything except that I came home and it was all wrong. It was all wrong and bad, and I don’t know anything except that I want it all to be right again.’ She jumped up, suddenly agitated, and the FLO rushed past me to guide her back to her chair.
‘It’s all right, lovey. You sit down.’
‘We’ll come back and talk to you tomorrow,’ I said. ‘Try to get some rest, Chloe.’
‘I don’t want to rest. I want to go home. I need to go home. I need some stuff from home, and I need to go there, right now.’
‘That won’t be possible, not at the moment,’ I said. ‘But we can get things for you if you give us a list.’
She was shaking her head, tears starting into her eyes. ‘I know where it is. I need to get it. I need it.’
‘What is it?’
Chloe caught her lower lip between her teeth, stopping herself from answering. She shut her eyes for a long moment, then relaxed. ‘Nothing. It’s nothing.’
I exchanged a look with Georgia, who gave a tiny shrug.
‘I can’t help if I don’t know what I’m looking for. What does it look like?’
‘My medication. And …’
‘And?’ I prompted.
‘An envelope. With my name on it.’ She had gone back to looking out at the garden. The agitation had disappeared. She seemed detached.
Withdrawn.
I’d lost her.
‘If I see it, I’ll make sure you get it,’ I tried, and got no response at all. With a nod to the FLO I left her alone.
‘That didn’t go very well,’ Georgia observed, having shut the door behind us.
I whipped around. ‘What makes you say that?’
‘Well, she’s upset.’
‘That’s normal when someone you love is missing.’
‘And she didn’t tell us much.’
‘I thought she told us a lot. Much more than she knew.’
‘Like what?’
‘Think about it,’ I said, and started down the stairs wondering if it was promotion that made people unpleasant, and if I’d be as nasty as Derwent by the time I was a detective inspector myself.
Assuming I made it that far.
4
The hall was empty when I came downstairs. I followed the sound of voices to the kitchen at the back of the house. It was narrower than the one on the other side of the road, and full of people. Eleanor Norris was standing by the sink twisting a tea towel in her hands. A teenage girl sat at the table leaning against a man with short dark hair and a golden tan, who was deep in conversation with a second, white-haired man. A third man sat on a chair he’d pushed away from the table, balancing on the two back legs. He glanced up as we came in.