Shrugging on his navy towelling dressing gown, tying the cord in a neat bow at his waist, he went downstairs and made himself a coffee, strong, with a splash of milk and one level teaspoon of sugar, just how he liked it.
As he wandered from the kitchen into the hallway, sipping his coffee, the shoe rack caught his eye, specifically the buttercup yellow of Carolynn’s running shoes, stowed on the bottom shelf. His gaze rose to the key hook above the hall table. Her door key was on its hook, but her car key was missing. Why would she take one and not the other, particularly when she knew how important it was that she get inside the house quickly? Waiting on the doorstep to be let in risked attracting unwanted attention. What the hell is she playing at? With the furore surrounding this second kid’s murder, he’d told her not to leave the house at all. His blood pressure hiked at the thought of her stupidity. A solitary early morning run was just about forgivable – much as he hated her obsessive running, he knew how much she relied on exercise to calm her – but a trip to the supermarket, the only other place she ever went, was madness. Rubbing shoulders with nosy locals who would be reading the front page of their Saturday papers straight off the shelves and standing around gossiping, only one subject on their lips.
Draining his coffee, he placed the cup in the sink and headed upstairs, taking the steps two at a time. He’d throw on some clothes and drive into East Wittering, find Carolynn and get her to come straight home, stay inside, stay hidden. As he crossed the landing, grit ground into his bare soles. Carolynn hoovered the upstairs carpets daily. Cleanliness was important to him, to both of them, and cleaning gave her a focus, structure to her days. Crouching, he ran his hand across the carpet and his palm returned coated in dust. Looking up, he saw that the loft-hatch was closed, but his gaze snagged on a dusty cobweb hanging from one corner, twinkling in the sunlight.
In the loft, Roger scanned the sunlit boxes. All closed and taped shut as he’d left them when he’d stowed them here nine months ago. Apart from one, a small, rectangular box, and he knew what was inside it. Nothing obviously moved or disturbed, but a trail of shoe prints led across the dusty floor. For a moment, he could see nothing but lumpy unformed shapes in the recesses at the edge of the loft where the light from the single velux didn’t stretch. As his vision adjusted, he realized that the tent, a sleeping bag and one of the suitcases was missing from the pile by the brick chimney breast. His jaw twisted and his cheeks burned red. She wouldn’t have just upped and left him, surely, knowing how much he’d done for her, what he’d sacrificed?
As he descended the loft ladder, stewing with impotent fury, the doorbell rang. He’d almost forgotten what it sounded like, it was used so infrequently. So Carolynn had returned, changed her mind, realized her error. Not before time. Taking a deep breath to cool his anger, he jogged down the carpeted stairs on silent feet.
38
The dirt drive that led down the side of the house to the garage was empty, but a black VW Golf was visible through the open garage doors. The house itself looked neglected, typical low-end seaside rental, white pebbledash peeling in places and mottled green with lichen in others. The front garden was ‘low-maintenance seaside’, bare of planting, just a protective evergreen laurel hedge lapping over the rotting fence. Curtains were drawn across the upstairs windows, but a dim light shone from behind one. All the other rooms upstairs and down were in darkness.
‘Looks like they’re in,’ Marilyn said, indicating the car and the light.
Jessie crouched at the end of the drive. ‘They have two cars though, or at least two cars have been using this drive because there are two different tyre tracks.’ She pointed. ‘These are from the Golf and these from a smaller car.’
Marilyn clapped a hand on her shoulder. ‘We’ll make a copper of you yet, Detective Flynn.’
Straightening, Jessie rolled her eyes. ‘You didn’t buy me a big enough pancake for that. Carolynn likes to run, early. She might have driven somewhere to run.’
‘Run,’ Marilyn muttered. ‘You said it. Did you notice what she drove when she came to your sessions?’
‘No. Usually, I had appointments before and after so I collected her from the clinic’s waiting room. The one day we left at the same time, a man in a black Golf was waiting for her.’
‘That black Golf.’
She shrugged. ‘I’m not a detective, Detective, so I didn’t memorize the registration plate.’
They skirted along the narrow garden to the front door. Standing to one side of the doorstep so that his face wouldn’t be framed in the magnifying spyhole, guiding her to do the same, Marilyn jammed his finger on the doorbell.
‘That’s sneaky,’ Jessie murmured with a smile.
Marilyn didn’t smile back. Badly concealed tension radiated from him like heat. ‘With all these windows overlooking the road, they may have already seen us, but if they haven’t, I’d prefer that they don’t get to decide they’d like to continue hiding from me.’
Marilyn’s ring elicited no visible signs of life. The same dim light continued to shine from behind one of the upstairs curtains, no new lights were switched on, they saw no movement from inside, heard no footsteps. He raised his finger to the doorbell again, but Jessie caught his arm.
‘They would have heard it. If they’re going to come, they’ll come. Ringing it again is too demanding, it says officialdom.’
With a nod, he slid both his hands into his pockets. His sole
