‘Well… I, uh, she never actually complained directly about any dreams that I recall… but she did at times seem a bit detached, pre-occupied.’
Elena could hear the flicking of some papers in the background; she wasn’t sure whether the hesitation was Tinsley showing due caution or just that his attention was only half with her. ‘I mean, did she seem troubled… would you say that she might have been suffering from depression?’
‘Depression? A bit of an extreme term for a nine-year old.’ Lightly humouring tone, almost condescending. ‘But she was, shall we say, sometimes distant, lost in her own world. I often had to repeat questions. Though I must say I put this largely down to her getting to grips with the language and also getting used to her new environment.’
‘Right.’ She sensed she’d gone as far as she could about Lorena, but from Nadine’s earlier paperwork she’d noted Tinsley’s age: 53. ‘And the other adopted girl, Mikaya — were you her GP as well?’
‘Yes, I was. But I thought-’
‘And was there any history of depression or upsets there?’ Elena barrelled in quickly with the question, hoping to catch Tinsley off guard. But Tinsley merely continued with his started objection.
‘…I thought you were only concerned with Lorena — so I don’t really see what that has to do with anything.’ Defensively questioning.
‘Yes, I know. But we’re trying to isolate if this is just a problem with Lorena. Because if there’s been a similar problem with another child of mental detachment and depression — it could be that unconsciously the Ryalls are somehow alienating these children from abroad, not fully embracing and accepting them as family.’ Elena listened to the shallow fall of Tinsley’s breath at the other end, wondering if he’d fall for it. She felt as if she were treading on egg-shells; it was the only plausible story she could think of to get what she wanted. ‘As I say, I don’t think this is something the Ryalls would knowingly have done. It’s just that children can often be very sensitive — particularly displaced children like this.’
‘Look, there was something — but it was absolutely nothing to do with the Ryalls, more to do with a boyfriend.’ A brisk, blustery tone, as if Tinsley thought Elena might have heard something and he wanted to ensure she didn’t fill in the gaps the wrong way. ‘What I can vouch for is that Mr and Mrs Ryall supported Mikaya wholeheartedly and unequivocally throughout the whole matter. Beyond that, I think you should speak to the Ryalls directly, or the Social Services.’
‘Yes, yes, certainly. I understand.’ My, my, she had touched a nerve.
Elena dialled Nadine Moore’s number straightaway. She was out, so Elena left her number for a call back. She tapped her fingers impatiently for a second by the phone, then went downstairs to pour a fresh coffee. The first few sips and the aroma made her feel a bit more alert; she hadn’t slept well the night before after seeing Lorena pass by.
No call back had come by mid-morning with more news from Megan, so after half an hour of thinking through tactics, she’d decided to start on trying to help Lorena. Not sure how far she’d get, and feeling a bit like a frantic juggler given her own dilemma — self-examining for a moment if it was just because of the lull, killing time so as not to dwell on her own uncertainty. No, she’d have made time regardless. She couldn’t have lived with herself knowing she’d simply deserted Lorena at the first obstacle; she had to at least give it one last try.
Gordon was out for a few hours seeing some local clients, so at least the pressure was gone of him lurking around. Megan and Terry’s bill was already up to?830,?300 beyond what she could manage from her own account. She’d made an excuse to Gordon about problems with her car: new disk brakes needed, according to the garage. But what about the next?300, and the one after that; she’d either have to become inventive, or bare all to Gordon. She shook her head: such a momentous secret kept for so long, how could their relationship survive it?
Two hours later she was sat at the back of Chelborne Sands in Nadine Moore’s car, the two of them like drug dealers or lovers on a clandestine meet. More secrets.
‘It’s all there. Everything regarding Mikaya Ryall.’ Nadine passed the file across. ‘I can only let you read the file, not take it anywhere or copy it. Make notes if you like — but if anyone asks you where you got the information, it wasn’t me. Right?’
‘Yes… of course.’ Elena was only half listening as she rifled hungrily through the file. Nadine had protested strongly about digging out and sharing the file, and Elena had to push hard:
Elena’s eyes scanned frantically, leap-frogging for relevant paragraphs. After a moment’s strained silence as she read, she slowly looked up, staring blankly ahead. The beach was deep, and winter winds had blown the sand in banks and ridged eddies. On the stronger wind flurries buffeting the car from the open bay, loose sand was lifted and strewn across the windscreen.
Nadine put on her wipers to clear it as Elena exhaled slowly; a note of winding down, finality:
She felt suddenly burning with conviction, and angry with herself that but for a chance sighting of Lorena, she might have left her, forgotten, at Ryall’s mercy.
She thanked Nadine and headed off with the intention of going straight back home, her fury making her drive faster than normal — but as she was passing Mrs Wickens’ store, she decided on impulse to stop. If anyone could fill in the gaps, Mrs Wickens could.
Mrs Wickens nodded sagely. Yes, of course she remembered the whole affair. No, the boyfriend was never named. A few boys were suggested that young Mikaya was known to be friendly with — but she swore it wasn’t them. ‘She says first of all she couldn’t say who it was — then she says she just couldn’t remember. Rarl mystery.’
‘What does she look like?’ Elena asked on an afterthought, about to turn and head off.
‘Beautiful girl, stunning. One of the most beautiful oriental girls I’ve ever seen.’
Cameron Ryall got the first call from Dr Tinsley late that afternoon. The following two calls notifying him that Mrs Waldren had been asking questions around town came the next day, the last prompting, ‘You know, the aid worker who lives with her husband up above the chine,’ as if for a moment he might not be able to place her.
He’d thought of little else over the weeks spanning the two interviews with Lorena, and now it was all possibly springing back again. Just when over this past week, after the tape and the intervention of Edelston, he’d started finally to relax, thinking it was all over.
His first thought was to contact Edelston to warn her off, but then Waldren was a free agent, out of their control. And Waldren’s aid agency would likely take no notice.
He seethed and simmered for hours pondering what to do — his attention to the pressing business matters of the day was sparse and often drifted — before finally deciding that he just didn’t know enough about Waldren to be able to plan the best way to stop her. In the same way that she was digging about his background, he needed to dig about hers.
He contacted a Chelmsford based private investigator he knew from his old Barrister days, Des Kershaw, who he’d used just a few years ago to dig into the private life of a plant manager he suspected of embezzlement. Kershaw was tenacious and thorough: he wouldn’t rest until he’d stripped bare every facet of Elena Waldren’s background.
The first couple of days, Kershaw uncovered nothing ground-breaking, mostly filling in the shades of the last twelve years of her married life with Gordon Waldren, her work with the aid agency and their two adopted children, Christos and Katine.
One thing at least he had in common with the Waldrens, thought Ryall: adopted children. Kershaw’s call had disturbed him halfway through an inspection in their micro-chip section, and he was still slightly breathless from
