‘Please, call me Sam. I have the same goal as you - to find Immy, the sooner the better. Isn’t that the important thing at the end of the day?’
‘Of course it is,’ Stuart said, shooting me a dark look. ‘From that I take it there’s no news.’
‘I’m afraid we haven’t located Imogen - sorry, Immy - yet. But we’re doing everything we can to find her. I spoke to the duty manager before I left the nick, and he’s briefed me on the search so far. Patrols continued to look for her overnight, and the search teams are due to resume their search of the river and local area shortly. We’ve circulated Immy’s details on morning intel sheets across Kent and to neighbouring forces. The media appeal has received plenty of coverage locally. It’s even made a couple of the tabloids. It’s fair to say the whole of Kent is looking for Immy.’ She paused, looking from me to Stuart and back again. ‘Someone knows what happened. And the sooner we find them, the sooner we’ll find your daughter.’
Chapter Eight
Nate clumped down the stairs and into the kitchen. His eyes widened when he saw Sam Bennett sitting at the island, sipping from a mug of tea.
‘Who’s that lady?’
I gave him a bright smile. ‘This is Sam. She’s a police officer helping us find Immy.’
He nodded and climbed onto his favourite stool. I poured Shreddies into a bowl and took a carton of milk from the fridge, glad to have something to do with my hands. Sam had spent the last half an hour going through the events of the previous afternoon, making lots of notes and asking even more questions. It was unnerving, that penetrating gaze of hers. She was like a lab technician, staring down a microscope at a particularly poor example of motherhood. Was it unusual for Immy to be out of your sight for so long? Can you explain how the gate to the river came to be unlocked? Did you not think it strange when she didn’t appear for pudding? But I answered her barrage of questions as best I could, because she was there to help. So I told myself, anyway. Even though I had a niggling suspicion her actual role was to feed information back to her colleagues at the police station.
Nate was still in his pyjamas, and after he finished his cereal and orange juice, I shepherded him upstairs to get dressed.
‘Cleo thinks he should go to school,’ Stuart told Sam.
‘I think she’s right. It’s important to maintain the status quo in situations like this.’
‘I’ll agree to disagree,’ Stuart said, pushing his mug away and standing. ‘And as it looks as though I’ve lost the argument, I’d better make sure he cleans his teeth properly.’
I slid the box of Shreddies back in the cupboard and stacked Nate’s bowl and glass in the dishwasher.
‘Where does Nate go to school?’ Sam asked.
‘Junior King’s,’ I said. It was an expensive private school in Sturry, a five-minute drive away. ‘He loves it there.’
‘Does Immy go there, too?’
I liked the way she used the present tense. It gave me hope. I nodded. ‘Three mornings a week. Stuart has been a stay-at-home dad since she was a baby. He still does some freelance ecology work, but I’m the main breadwinner.’
‘Where do you work?’
‘FoodWrapped. The organic meal kit company.’
‘I know it,’ she said. ‘My brother and sister-in-law have been having boxes for years. What do you do at FoodWrapped?’
‘Actually, I run the company with my business partner, Bill Harrison.’
‘The friend who was at yesterday’s barbecue?’
I nodded. ‘We’ve known Bill and Melanie since we were at university together. Bill and I started the business the year we graduated.’
Her eyes widened. ‘Wow, I’m impressed.’
‘Thanks. We don’t have the reach of the big boys, but our retention levels are among the best in the industry.’
‘My sister-in-law’s always on at me to sign up, but I’m on my own since my son went to uni and I work such long hours it doesn’t seem worth it.’
‘We do boxes for singletons, and they’re the perfect solution for busy people who don’t want to compromise on quality.’ I cleared my throat. ‘Sorry, too salesy. Force of habit.’
Sam laughed, and her cerulean eyes crinkled, and I found myself thawing towards her.
‘You’re doing very well for yourselves,’ she said, looking around.
‘We do all right,’ I said with a modest smile.
In fact, we did more than all right. Sixteen years on, our little start-up company had an annual turnover of £1.8 million. FoodWrapped had paid for Stour House and Bill and Melanie’s converted barn, my Porsche Taycan and Stuart’s Audi E-ton, holidays to the Greek Islands, Tuscany and the Dordogne, the statement marble worktops and limed oak cabinets of our Smallbone kitchen.
Sam drained her mug and set it on the island. ‘Did you go part time after Nate was born?’
I shook my head. ‘There was no way I could have left Bill to run the business on his own. It’s a two-man job. We had a nanny for a couple of years, and when she left, we took on an au pair for a while. But when Immy came along, Stuart said he would hand his notice in and be a full-time dad. We muddle along but it seems to work most of the time.’
‘I’ll need the names of your nanny and au pair.’
I froze. ‘You don’t think either of them could have anything to do with Immy’s disappearance?’
‘No, but I like to tick all the boxes.’ She grimaced. ‘I have a bit of a reputation down at the nick for being tenacious.’
‘Nothing wrong with that. You’re looking for my daughter. I’d rather tenacious than flaky any day of the week.’
Signs of the continuing police search for Immy were apparent as I drove the five minutes to Nate’s school. In the car park of the George and Dragon a PCSO was
