‘Not yet. She wasn’t wearing make-up when she left the house?’ the detective checked.
‘No, none at all. I’d have commented on it. She had just started experimenting with make-up but I wasn’t a big fan of it; although, to be honest, I might have let her wear it as I’d have thought she was simply dressing up for a girls’ night in with her pal. Chloe sometimes stays with us, and the two of them have started messing about with each other’s hair and stuff.’
‘So, Mrs Oak, at what time did your husband leave the house?’
Ah, now we were getting to the real reason for the grilling. I certainly didn’t blame the police for this. I laid my hands flat on the pale grey Formica table.
‘Umm, he left at about 9 p.m. I’m not certain of the time, but it was straight after the football match on the television ended. He came home at one-ish. I was sleeping and barely registered his arrival.’
‘So it could have been later than that?’
‘Well, maybe, but he’s not much of a night owl, so I very much doubt it. And he doesn’t like to be late because he knows I’ll worry.’
‘But you weren’t worrying on this occasion?’
‘No,’ I admitted, reluctantly. My fingers started to drum.
‘Why was that?’
‘Don’t know. I was knackered. Fell asleep. It wasn’t a big deal. It wasn’t an unusual night. I didn’t know my daughter was being attacked.’ My voice started to break. No more drumming; I clenched my fists, trying to fight the tears. ‘If I’d realised what was going to happen, I’d never have let Beth out of the house, much less worry about what my husband was up to!’
‘And what was he up to, Mrs Oak?’
‘Oh, for goodness’ sake, you know what he was doing. He’s just given you a statement telling you. He was smoking dope with a friend. He doesn’t do it often, and I don’t really approve, but, well, it’s not the end of the world.’
There, Beth, I’d said it. Your dad sometimes smoked a spliff. After all the anti-drugs talks we gave you. But we all have secrets, don’t we?
‘Why did you lie to us? You knew you were giving him a false alibi.’
‘It… it wasn’t that simple. My worry for Beth blotted out every other thought. When Jacob said he was with me all night I barely took it in. I didn’t actually agree or disagree; I did nothing. It was only much later I thought of it.’
‘Mrs Oak, are you certain that your husband was where he said he was? The initial 999 call shows a lack of commitment and urgency.’
‘What?’ Where had that change of tack come from?
‘When Mr Oak spoke to the emergency services, he said: “I want to report a missing person”. It’s interesting that he didn’t use Beth’s name; it shows he’s distancing himself. Here’s the transcript of the call.’
I looked at the printout, confused. ‘I don’t need to read it, I was there.’
The officer leaned forward and tapped the page. ‘See the use of “appears” there?’
My eyes flashed over Jacob’s words: My daughter appears to be missing.
‘That’s interesting too. It isn’t definitive and lacks conviction. There’s no urgency. No use of “Send help!” In fact, all the way through, he barely uses Beth’s name. It’s depersonalising and distancing.’
‘Depersonalising? Sorry, what exactly are you trying to say?’
‘Here, he was asked: “Why do you think she was abducted?” Your husband replies: “I have no idea. When we woke up this morning everything was normal, then my wife realised. I… we looked everywhere”. See, “I have no idea” addresses the motivational aspect of why someone took her, rather than saying why he believes that she was taken. Also notice this change of pronouns: “I… we looked everywhere” – wording such as this is frequently associated with deception.’
‘Are you insane?’ It seemed the only explanation.
The officer ignored me and read out another bit of the transcript. The bit where Jacob laughed.
‘Look, he always laughs when he’s worried or nervous.’
‘It’s inappropriate behaviour.’
‘Inappropriate, yes. An indicator of him hurting his daughter? No.’ It was unbelievable; I had to say it.
‘Has he ever hit Beth in the past?’
‘No!’ The urge to stand up and walk out grew stronger. But it would probably convince the police that we were both guilty of hiding something. I forced my voice down from a shout. ‘Jacob is one of the most sensitive, gentle men in the world. He would never, ever raise his hand to anyone, much less his daughter.’
The officer leaned back in his chair. ‘All right, Mrs Oak. We’re going to leave things there for now. Thank you for your time.’
The sudden suspension of hostilities left me confused but relieved. Okay, families were always the first under the microscope when something happened, but in our case, we genuinely were as innocent as we seemed.
Your dad came out at the same time as me, looking pale and shaken. Part of me wanted to slap him. Most of me wanted a hug.
‘I’m sorry, I’m an idiot,’ he muttered, kissing me. ‘Come on, let’s get out of here.’
Hand in hand we hurried to the car, only letting go to get inside. Before he turned the key in the ignition he looked at me, grabbing my hand again.
‘Forgive me?’
I hesitated. Depersonalised. Distancing. Lying.
The police’s crazy suspicions could not be allowed to drive a wedge between us.
‘It was a bloody stupid thing to do, but of course I forgive you. Come on, let’s get back to Beth.’
During the whole drive to Leeds I thought once again about who could have hurt you, Beth. If the police were concentrating on us, the real attacker could get away.
The real attacker, who we almost certainly knew well. A stranger always attracted notice, so someone would have come forward by now if they had spotted an unknown person in the area on the day of your attack. Besides, the marsh was so isolated, the lanes to it so small, that it was unlikely anyone without local knowledge would go there.
The problem was that every time I considered a villager as a possible suspect, a childhood memory flooded back. I’d gone to the village primary school, then on to the secondary school in Wapentake with everyone around my age; their parents knew my parents and our kids were all friends. Generations of bonding. One of my earliest memories was of Jill Young, her expression inscrutable even in an act of kindness, giving me a lollipop for being brave after falling over and skinning my knee right outside her shop. It had dried my tears faster than Mum’s magic rub. People like that would never hurt me or mine; they were virtually family.
Then Aleksy Jachowski popped into my head again. He and his family were newcomers, didn’t have the links the rest of us had. But they had settled in well, apart from some muttering about ‘Polish vermin’ among a certain section of villagers. He and his little sister seemed to get on with the other kids their age in the village.
Perhaps it was one of the occasional birders who came to see migrant waders on the mudflats. Remembering the stranger who had been looking at me made me shudder. Maybe it had been him or someone like him. Watching you from afar with huge binoculars, stalking you.