The police press officer stepped forwards. ‘DI Jones will now take questions.’
‘Do you think Immy fell in the river or is there a possibility someone took her?’ asked a male reporter, shooting me an apologetic look. He was holding his iPhone in his outstretched arm to record the DI’s answer.
‘We’re following various lines of inquiry, one of which is that Immy somehow found her way from the garden to the River Stour,’ DI Jones said. Stuart squeezed my hand again, and I knew he was thinking the same as me - the police clearly weren’t about to reveal the fact that the gate to the river had been unlocked. ‘But we’re keeping an open mind and exploring every avenue,’ the detective continued. ‘Yes?’ he said, pointing to a woman in a plum-coloured shift dress.
‘Pamela George from ITV Meridian,’ the woman said with a professional smile. ‘Are you saying you think someone abducted her?’
‘I’m saying we’re following various lines of inquiry with our priority being to find Immy safe and well so we can reunite her with her family as soon as possible. One more question.’
A man I hadn’t noticed before raised a hand from the back of the press pack. He had a hooded face and the gravelly voice of a committed smoker. ‘She’s been missing for almost forty-eight hours. Is it reasonable to assume she’s already dead?’
I closed my eyes and sensed Stuart stiffen beside me. Once again there was a frenzy of clicking as the photographers sought to capture the perfect shot of a grieving couple.
DI Jones’ voice trembled with suppressed anger as he said, ‘It is not reasonable to assume that, no. We have every hope that Immy is alive and well and we’re using all the resources at our disposal to find her.’ He looked pointedly at the press officer, who clapped her hands in a businesslike fashion, thanked the reporters for coming and began ushering them out of the conference room. The man with a hooded face paused at the door and looked back at us. His eyes were narrowed and his head was tilted to one side, as if he was sizing us up.
I wasn’t naïve. It wasn’t unheard of for parents to hold an emotional press conference only for the police to discover they’d been behind their own child’s disappearance all along. Take the Shannon Matthews case. After the nine-year-old schoolgirl was reported missing from her West Yorkshire home in 2008, the police launched a huge operation to find her. Officers discovered Shannon safe and well almost a month later. Her own mother and the uncle of her mother’s boyfriend had kidnapped her so they could claim the reward money for her safe return. The story gripped the nation for weeks.
As I watched the reporter eyeballing us, I knew he was wondering the same thing. Were those crocodile tears we’d shed? Was the grief all an act? Were we, Immy’s parents, behind her disappearance?
Chapter Fifteen
CORFU
FOUR YEARS EARLIER
We’d barely pulled up outside the villa when Melanie appeared, her arms outstretched. ‘We’re so happy you’re here. How was the flight? No delays? You’ve timed it perfectly. We were about to have a drink.’ She hugged each of us, then held out a hand to Niamh. ‘And you must be Niamh. Welcome, Niamh, to our little slice of paradise.’
‘Thank you,’ Niamh said, gaping at the sprawling stone villa. She smiled at Stuart. ‘You’re right, it’s beautiful.’
We followed Melanie inside. Bill, who was slicing limes in the kitchen, bounded up, gave Stuart a man-hug, high-fived Nate and kissed me on both cheeks. Judging by the fumes on his breath, the G&Ts he was mixing weren’t his first drink of the day.
‘Bill, this is Niamh, our new au pair,’ I said, noticing Niamh standing awkwardly in the doorway.
Bill summoned her towards him with a wave of his hand. ‘Come on, don’t be shy,’ he boomed. ‘Stu, Cleo and Nate are like family to us, and if you’re going to be part of their family, you’ll be part of ours, too.’
Niamh sidled over and he took her hand and raised it to his lips. ‘Welcome to the clan, you Celtic beauty,’ he said. Her cheeks flared red.
‘For God’s sake, Bill. Leave the poor girl alone,’ Melanie scolded, batting him away. She gave Niamh an apologetic smile. ‘Don’t mind my husband. He’s an acquired taste,’ she added, rolling her eyes at him. Bill smirked. ‘But he’s harmless enough.’ She swept through the kitchen. ‘Cleo and Stuart, I’ve put you in the guest suite. I hope that’s OK? Nate, you’ve got the dreamy little bedroom overlooking the pool. And Niamh, you’re in the bedroom next door to Nate’s. I hope that’s all right?’
‘Sounds perfect,’ I said, accepting the glass Bill offered me and taking a swig. It tasted divine. As the alcohol slid down my throat, I began to relax. It had been a manic year. I deserved a holiday.
‘Niamh, it’s best if you unpack Nate’s things so you know where everything is,’ I said.
‘Of course, Mrs Cooper,’ she said, bobbing her head. She held out a hand to Nate. ‘Want to come and help?’
‘Can I have a swim?’ Nate asked.
‘Of course you can, darling,’ I said, taking another
