‘It was this coat, Mrs Oak.’ Her long nose crinkled in sympathy that didn’t quite reach her eyes.
I whirled on the detective. ‘She saw me drive away. She must have realised I’d seen the coat and dumped it before you got to her. Don’t look at me like I’m mad! I’m telling you the truth!’
A firm grip on my elbow pulled me away, and after a few paces Ellen Devonport glared at me and spoke. ‘If you don’t let us do our job, you’re going to get yourself into a lot of trouble. You’re upset. You’re seeing things you want to see.’
‘It’s not my imagination.’ But the force behind my words was burning away like mist in sunshine. Perhaps I was imagining things…
As I was led back to my car and ordered away, I glanced over at Alison to apologise. She bit her lip. But not fast enough to hide the small smile of relief that had been there a second earlier.
Back at home, I was still furious. I paced up and down, Wiggins following me at first, then lying down with his head between his paws, big brown eyes so sad.
The house felt claustrophobic. Tendrils of sorrow escaped from under your closed bedroom door, trickling down the stairs, then curling around my ankles, ready to trip me up. I couldn’t breathe.
Throwing open the front door, I called Wiggins to heel and strode towards my usual haunt, the marsh. I slowed as I approached the old council houses, spotting Glenn talking to little Roza Jachowski. Why wasn’t she at school? Then I realised, of course, that it was half-term. Already I was losing touch with such things. The world carried on as normal, but I was separated from it by my own bubble of horror.
Glenn must have been talking to Roza to try to get information on Aleksy for me, just as we’d discussed on the marsh yesterday. Damn, I was supposed to have tracked down Davy for another chat, but had been sidetracked by the intervention staged by my parents, then my revelation about Alison. I didn’t want to stalk past Glenn, especially not in the state I was in. It might distract him. Instead, I hid behind Bob Thornby’s overgrown hedge.
I peered through the foliage, praying no one would spot me – particularly not Phyllis Blakecroft, because she would give me a lecture on the disgraceful state of the hedge and how Bob should trim it. I wasn’t in the mood to face that.
Roza was a pretty little thing of seven, with olive skin and dark brown hair, who spent most of her time upside down against the front wall of her semi-detached home doing handstands, or practising dance moves on her own. I’d always thought she must prefer her own company, but for the first time it suddenly hit me that there might be something more sinister going on. Perhaps the poor girl was finding it hard to make friends because of village bigotry.
She looked happy talking to Glenn, though.
Watching them together, I could see how great he was with kids. Just like his ex, Marcie, had said. He had an easy charm around them that he kept more hidden when with people his own age. Glenn didn’t let many people in, except me.
As they spoke, Roza showed him something on her phone. He put his arm around her to have a closer look. Mrs Jachowski opened the door and called to her daughter. Glenn looked up and beckoned her over, showing her his phone. She shook her head, bemused, while Roza chatted away again, all smiles that gave her the cutest dimple on one side. She pointed at her phone, and Glenn nodded. Mrs Jachowski made a dismissive gesture with her hands, laughing and shaking her head as she went back into the house and shut the door.
Tears stood on my eyes, threatening to spill once more. It was such a huge shame that Glenn couldn’t have children.
He took Roza’s phone, tapping on its screen and his own a few times. After a minute he showed her both, and she nodded vigorously and took hers back. What on earth were they doing?
They chatted on for a little longer, and I was half-amazed that her parents hadn’t come back out again. Then I realised Glenn and Roza were being watched from the window, a shadow behind the net curtain giving the game away. Glenn clearly realised, too, because as he walked away, he turned and waved cheerily towards the house.
He strode briskly, gazing down at his phone as he approached me, beaming. Excitement positively thrummed from him.
‘Glenn,’ I hissed, pulling my sleeve over my hand to dab my face dry. ‘Glenn!’
He looked up. His expression was ugly with anger, little eyes cold and glaring. I flinched. Next second the look had disappeared, replaced with his boyish smile.
‘Christ, you made me jump!’ he laughed. Then he clocked my expression. ‘What? Is something wrong?’
‘No, no, it’s nothing. I’ll tell you about it later.’ I couldn’t face talking about the morning’s events at that moment. Glenn didn’t look convinced.
‘Okay… if you’re sure. Well, I’ve got some news that might make you smile.’
I doubted that, Beth. But I forced one anyway. ‘Great. Tell all.’
‘I was just chatting to Roza – don’t know if you saw me. She told me something very interesting. I was telling her about my daughter, and asking her advice on some books I might buy for her. I thought it might get her to open up a bit. And it worked! She was soon boasting to me about how Aleksy always reads her a bedtime story now – you remember?’
The reference to his fabricated daughter made me cringe. I should pull him up on it, but curiosity got the better of me. I nodded, wondering where this tale was leading.
‘He’s had to read her stories ever since she started blackmailing him!’ Glenn said with a triumphant flourish.
‘Blackmail?’
‘Yep! She overheard him talking to a friend about going to a secret party. Once she heard the bit about how their parents could never know or they’d string him up, Roza starting demanding bedtime stories in exchange for her silence.’
‘Right…’ I still wasn’t sure where this was going.
‘So I asked her if she knew where it had taken place. Melanie, it was somewhere on the marsh. On the night Beth was attacked.’
‘The old lookout tower,’ I breathed.
But a party was a noisy affair. The tower might possibly be far enough away from everyone for the noise not to travel, but it was a risk in this flat country. Sound tended to travel far, especially if blown along on the wind. Unless…
‘It was a silent rave!’ I grabbed Glenn’s arm in excitement.
‘What the bloody hell is a “silent rave”?’
‘I’ve never been to one but I’ve heard of them. Instead of the music blaring out, everyone is given headphones. They get the same experience as at a normal rave, but it means venues don’t get complaints about noise. They’ve been around for years; they’re really popular. Some even have different channels, so you can choose the music you listen to – a load of people all dancing to different songs. Beth and me once watched a feature on them on The One Show on the BBC.’