‘He’s not going anywhere,’ she says, flicking her eyes across at the car. It’s less an instruction than a statement of fact. Nathan hasn’t moved for the whole of the twenty minutes it took to drive over, and there’s no sign he’s about to now.
‘I won’t be long,’ she says, moving away, not looking back to check but certain the PC will remain outside the car.
Fifty yards up the road, she comes to the address she’d been given. She’d known in advance that it wouldn’t be a big house, but seeing the tiny bungalow very nearly breaks her heart. As does the sight of Mark Brooks appearing at the door. He couldn’t have known she was coming, so he must have been standing by the window staring out into the street. He looks like he hasn’t slept since the last time they met.
‘Is he with you?’ he shouts. ‘Is that bastard here?’
She holds up a hand to slow him, all the time aware of that blasted camera lens in the distance.
‘Let’s go inside,’ she says, firmly. ‘We need to talk.’
The house is even smaller than it had looked from the outside, with a narrow hallway leading down to a small conservatory that the builder’s son might have constructed himself. Everything about the place screams ageing parents: the faded pictures on the wall; the ornaments carefully arranged on a table; the umbrella stand; the pale brown wallpaper. The exception is the small pile of shoes in the corner, one of which has escaped to the middle of the floor. It’s bright pink with Velcro fastenings, and it reminds her in an instant of Tate’s shoe alongside the squashed toy tractor. It also reminds her why she’s here.
‘Did you know?’ asks Mark, standing far too close. His face is flushed and his hands are balled into fists, but there’s control there, too, his voice lowered to a whisper. ‘Because he knew. That’s how he was able to make that promise. That’s how I was able to believe him. That’s why he wanted the cuffs. It’s why he let me…’ He runs his fingers across the back of his other hand where a large bruise has formed on his knuckles.
‘Who told you?’ she asks, knowing he might have seen it on the television, with speculation bound to be growing, but also sensing she’s been betrayed.
‘What does it matter?’
‘I just wondered,’ she says, carefully. ‘Because I’d wanted to tell you myself, face-to-face, so we could talk through the possibilities.’
‘What possibilities?’
‘We are working on a number of theories,’ Katie says, maintaining her calm this time as she gestures towards a small book-lined room to their left. ‘I also understand your doubts about Nathan, but if you’d seen how this development has affected him you’d know—’
‘Guilt,’ snaps Mark, rubbing his hand again. ‘That’s all it is. Guilt at the secret he kept. You’re just blind to it.’
‘Not blind at all,’ she says, holding his stare, before moving into the small room and hoping he’ll follow. When he has, and she’s convinced him to take a seat on a neat, blanket-covered chair in the corner, she perches herself on the edge of the desk upon which sits a computer that ought to be in a museum.
‘I need to know about the doll,’ she says, at the same time scanning the spines on the bookcase for the name J.M. Priest. She’s not surprised to find she is not there.
‘What about it?’ asks Mark. His feet are jumping around, mirroring the movement of his hands.
‘Why did you come and get it?’
‘Because…’ He lifts a hand to his hair. It’s thinning on top and in need of a wash. All of him is: she can smell that from where she’s sitting. Not that she’s any better. ‘Because my daughter Ellie insisted. She got incredibly upset.’ He looks down, pulling at that hair. ‘Of course she did. She’s only four but she’s not stupid. She knows what happened.’
Katie’s attention is drawn again to something she’d heard when she first stepped into the house, something she’d not quite believed. Now there can be no doubt. It’s the sound of a child laughing.
‘Is that her I can hear?’ asks Katie.
‘Yeah,’ says Mark. ‘It must be the shock, but they’re both like that. They have seemed okay ever since I returned the doll, or since I stopped at a shop and bought Ellie one that didn’t…’ He holds his hand up in front of his face, as if considering the doll’s decapitation. ‘I suppose I could have stitched it back on, but I could never do that sort of thing, that was always…’ He looks to his left, and following his gaze Katie spots a series of small photo frames on a shelf in the corner filled with pictures of the family. They’re far smaller and cleaner than the ones she’d seen at Nathan’s home, but even with the curtains pulled and the light low Katie can make out all the fingerprints on the glass.
‘So he’s been in my house again,’ says Mark. ‘Is that what that doll proves?’
‘Yes,’ says Katie, not yet ready to share what else it proves. ‘Does your daughter believe it’s the same one?’
‘I think so. It wasn’t that old anyway. And to be honest, it wasn’t that precious to her before, which is why she’d left it behind when I brought the two of them here.’
‘Can I speak to Ellie?’
‘Why?’
‘It might be important.’
‘You’re not going to upset her, are you? I mean, it might be shock but I prefer to hear them laughing.’
It doesn’t matter, because a young girl has appeared at the entrance to the study clutching a floppy doll to her chest, the head still intact. Behind her is a man who must be in his seventies looking as worn down as the son he resembles so closely.
‘Everything okay?’ says the older Mr Brooks, with an expression that makes it clear nothing will ever be okay again. ‘I’m sorry about…’ He nods towards the girl in front of him. ‘I tried to stop her, but you know what she’s like.’
‘You can leave her with us, Dad,’ says Mark, opening his arms for the young girl to run into.
‘Hello,’ says Katie, matching the smile now spread across the girl’s face. ‘Are you Ellie?’
The girl nods, a blonde ponytail bouncing at the back of her neck.
‘And what is your doll called?’
The girl looks down, twisting her head as if confused by the question. ‘I don’t…’
‘That’s okay. It’s obvious she’s very important to you, though.’
Again the girl nods, this time even more enthusiastically.
‘Can you tell me why?’ It seems a strange thing to ask a child, to wonder why they might like one toy more than another, but Katie’s fear is starting to grow.
‘It’s a secret,’ she says, looking down at her feet.
‘I love secrets,’ says Katie, trying to avoid Mark’s glare over his daughter’s shoulder. ‘I also love sharing them with people I trust.’
The young girl looks back at her dad, asking the question without saying a word. He nods, to let her know that Katie can indeed be trusted, even though his eyes are saying something very different.
‘Will it still happen, though?’ asks Ellie, squeezing the doll. ‘I mean, do you promise?’
Katie sees Mark’s mouth open, sees his desperation to find out where this is heading, to make that promise. But Katie knows how this works, knows the grudge that even a young child can carry for years if a promise so important is not kept, so she cuts him off. Ellie runs out of the room and is back with them minutes later. In one hand is the doll, in the other something so small she’s managed to hide it.
‘You are special,’ she says, looking at Katie with the sort of absolute trust and admiration that only a child could offer so quickly. ‘You are the one that will make it happen.’ And then, with an even broader smile, Ellie opens her hand.