my drift.’
Phil frowned. ‘You mean, what? She’s a prostitute?’
Farrell shrugged. ‘Part-time, like I said. Used to go off with blokes, not come back for days. Mother says she’s changed, havin’ a kid an’ that, but… dunno. Leopards an’ spots, you know.’
‘So what you’re saying is,’ said Phil, ‘she’s not a priority.’
Another shrug. ‘You know what it’s like. When they don’t want to be found they don’t want to be found. They’ll come home when they want to.’ He sat back once more, replacing his hands behind his head. ‘When the bloke’s money runs out.’
Phil was more than a little annoyed at his colleague’s attitude but he had to admit he did know what that was like. He’d been on enough cases that didn’t come to a conclusion but just petered out, faded away. But that still didn’t excuse his attitude.
‘And you don’t think there’s any connection between Adele Harrison going missing and the body we found this morning by the Hythe?’
Farrell sat forward again. ‘It’s not her, is it?’
‘We think it might be Julie Miller, the girl who disappeared last week.’
Farrell sat back again, satisfied. ‘There you go, then. Different case entirely.’
‘You don’t think there’s a connection? Two young women disappear within days of each other?’
‘What, that posh bird that’s all over the news and my case? Doubt it.’
Phil sighed. ‘Her mother’s downstairs. Go and see her.’ Farrell looked to Phil as if he was about to say something but changed his mind. Instead he said, ‘You’ve just had a kid, haven’t you?’
Phil nodded. ‘Daughter.’
Farrell nodded as if that explained everything. ‘Right.’ He unclasped his hands from behind his head. ‘All right, then. I’ll go down and see her. Tell her again her part-time prossie daughter’s off with some bloke an’ that she’ll come home when he gets bored of her.’ He looked at Phil, saw the look he was giving. ‘In the nicest possible terms, of course.’
‘Thank you.’
‘Welcome.’ Farrell didn’t move. ‘Then maybe she’ll go home, give us all a bit of peace.’
Phil walked away from him, glad Farrell wasn’t on his team.
And peace was the last thing he wished on him.
Phil tried to use the time spent walking down the corridor productively. He called Nick Lines to see if there was any news from the autopsy. Nothing new as yet, was the reply. Adrian would present the full findings in the morning. No DNA results yet, so no positive match could be made. But he was fairly sure it was Julie Miller. Unless there was another missing girl he didn’t know about. Phil said nothing and rang off. Thinking.
His mobile went before he could put it in his pocket.
‘Boss? Mickey.’
Phil could tell by the tone of his DS’s voice that it was important. ‘What you got?’
‘Sighting of a van.’ There was the sound of scrabbling on the line. Mickey getting his notepad ready. ‘Early this morning. Black, small. Not a Transit, he said, something with back doors. Came down to the quay at about five this morning. ’
‘Who told you this?’
‘Guy in the food van. Gets down there early.’
Excitement rose within Phil’s chest. ‘Number plate?’
‘Nah, sorry. He didn’t see. Didn’t think it would be important. Says he only remembered when he saw us all down there.’
‘What made him remember?’
‘The speed it was doing. Came off the quay like Jensen Button, he said.’
‘Driver’s description?’
‘Two of them, he thinks. That’s all he can remember. Came out, turned left. Sped off.’
‘Thanks, Mickey. The first solid lead. We’ve got something to go on.’
He broke the connection, after telling Mickey there wasn’t much more he could do for the day but to start looking into it first thing in the morning.
Thought of Marina. Of Josephina. Felt something tugging at him from deep inside.
He wanted to go home.
But there was business to attend to first.
24
Marina signed, sat down in the armchair, took a sip from the Californian Shiraz at her side, sighed, closed her eyes.
Josephina had gone down peacefully. Her regular feed, already snuggled up in her Babygro, eyes fluttering as she drank. Now she was asleep in her cot at the side of their bed, lying on her back, her eyes closed, her face peaceful, fingers curled in like tiny woodlice.
Marina had set up the baby intercom, crept downstairs, sank into an armchair with a book and a large glass of wine. Tried to tune everything out, relax while Midlake played on low volume in the background, singing about heading home.
Home.
The new house she had bought with Phil. It was part of a new waterfront development in the west side of Wivenhoe, not far from where she used to live. Wivenhoe was an old fishing village full of old, character-filled houses, independent shops, good pubs and interesting people. The university where Marina had worked was just down the road and consequently the town had a distinctly liberal, corduroy feel to the place. It was comfortable, homely, vaguely bohemian and a little self-consciously arty. Martina used to feel very at home there.
But not any more.
The new house was at the opposite side to the cottage she used to live in. Designed to fit in and complement the ambience of the old waterfront, the development consisted of tall, red-brick houses in a small development with an aged, nautical feel, arranged round a lock gate that flowed out to the River Colne. It was a compromise. Phil, she knew, might not have felt comfortable in such an old house, but there was no way Marina could stay where she had been living.
Her first instinct had been to move as far away as possible, not be anywhere that would remind her of what had happened in her old house; the nightmares were getting less frequent, but were still bad enough. Phil, knowing her state of mind and understanding entirely, had left the decision up to her and they had looked at property all over Colchester. But when it came to it, she couldn’t move. It was like something was still holding her there, drawing her back. So she’d relented. And they’d bought the new house.
And now she wasn’t so sure.
Another mouthful of wine. She looked round. The room, like the rest of the house, wasn’t fully hers yet, or Phil’s. They had put out what they needed – furniture, TV, hi-fi – but the bookshelves were still empty, the walls still bare and there were boxes everywhere. It wasn’t a home. Not yet. But hopefully it would be.
Hopefully.
She checked her watch, wondered what time Phil would be back. She had eaten and was planning on an early night since she knew she’d be up with Josephina at some point. She might not get to see him. She didn’t know if that was a good or bad thing.
Phil was her soulmate. She knew that. When she and him met, she had never felt a connection like it. They understood each other perfectly, seeing the damage and sense of loss in each of them reflected in the other, knowing that apart they would be incomplete individuals but together they would make a complete whole.
His childhood spent in brutal institutions and uncaring foster homes mirrored hers spent with a violent, abusive father, an emotionally absent mother and brothers she never wanted to see again. Phil’s adoptive parents had saved him. Marina’s mind had saved her. University, leading to a job as a practising psychologist, meant she never
