‘It was no one I knew.’
Chapter Twenty-Six
WEDNESDAY 16 JUNE
I woke the next morning feeling, if not optimistic, slightly less despairing than I had the day before. If my gut instinct was right and Niamh had taken Immy, it meant she hadn’t fallen in the river and drowned or been snatched by a paedophile. If Niamh had taken Immy it meant she was out there somewhere, very much alive, because Niamh loved children and she wouldn’t have harmed her only daughter.
My feelings about Niamh were harder to unpick. She’d once been part of our family. I’d trusted her to look after Nate. It was impossible to picture her in that rancid squat, sleeping with strangers for her next fix, and a week ago I’d have felt nothing but compassion. Plus a sliver of guilt that her descent into self-destruction was somehow my fault.
But by taking Immy, Niamh had committed the ultimate betrayal. I hated and pitied her in equal measure.
Once the police tracked her down - and I had every confidence they would, eventually - Immy would come home and our lives could return to normal. It was just a matter of time.
My upbeat mood lasted until I dropped Nate off at school and his class teacher, Miss Henderson, scurried over and asked if she could have a word.
‘Right now?’ I asked.
‘Yes, please,’ she said, beckoning me to follow her through the main entrance and along the corridor to Nate’s classroom. She pulled out one of the tiny chairs and said, ‘Please, take a seat,’ before sitting at her desk.
She clasped her hands together and stared at a point on the wall somewhere above my right shoulder.
‘I take it there’s no news about Immy?’
I shook my head. ‘But I’m guessing you didn’t summon me here to ask me that.’
‘I’m afraid I need to speak to you about a rather delicate matter. We’ve had a complaint from a parent about Nate. It appears he’s been using very inappropriate language in school.’
‘Nate?’ I said.
‘It surprised me,’ Miss Henderson admitted. ‘But when I questioned Nate, he readily admitted it.’
‘What’s he supposed to have said?’
Miss Henderson flushed pink. ‘He told one of his classmates that his mum was a c-word.’
My eyes widened. ‘Nate said the actual c-word?’
‘No, he said “c-word”,’ she said, sketching speech marks in the air. ‘But the inference was obvious.’
‘Oh,’ I said, leaning back with relief. ‘He doesn’t know the actual c-word. He means cow. He told Fergus Barton his mum was a cow.’
‘He told you?’
I crossed my arms. ‘He did.’
‘The boy in question was very upset. Nate needs to understand that his behaviour was unacceptable.’
‘Did Nate also mention Fergus told him Immy was probably dead?’
I could tell by the way Miss Henderson’s eyes flickered towards the door that he hadn’t.
‘Didn’t think so. If that’s it, I have more important things to deal with than a playground spat, like trying to find my missing daughter. So, if you don’t mind, I’ll be off.’ I pushed the tiny chair back and marched out of the room, leaving Miss Henderson gaping like a coy carp in my wake.
My phone rang as I strode out of the school, still seething from the exchange. It was Stuart.
‘DI Jones is here, with Sam Bennett,’ he said.
My stomach lurched. ‘Has something happened?’
‘They won’t tell me anything until you get here.’
‘I’ll be home in five,’ I said, and started running towards the car. Four minutes later I was pulling up outside the house. I let myself in and banged my keys on the console table.
‘We’re in here,’ Stuart called from the front room.
I burst in and DI Jones heaved himself to his feet. ‘Mrs Cooper,’ he said, nodding in my direction.
‘What’s happened?’ I asked, looking at Sam for clues, but she was giving nothing away.
‘Officers were called to a potential break-in at a warehouse last night,’ the DI said. ‘A neighbour was walking his dog shortly before ten and saw a suspicious vehicle parked outside.’
‘And this is relevant how?’ I asked.
‘The warehouse has been empty for some months, which is why our dog walker deemed the vehicle suspicious.’
‘I still don’t know what this has to do with Immy.’
DI Jones pulled a notebook from the inside pocket of his jacket and flicked through it. ‘It’s on a small industrial estate just up the road from Littlebourne Church. I believe you may know it?’
‘That’s where your old warehouse is, isn’t it?’ Stuart said, frowning.
‘Yes, but it’s been empty for almost two years.’
‘But it’s owned by FoodWrapped?’ Sam said.
‘It’s on the market. Has been since we moved operations to Hersden.’
The DI scribbled something in his notebook. ‘A patrol attended the location and found that someone had jemmied open the fire door, although the vehicle had long gone.’
‘I’m the keyholder. Why wasn’t I told?’ I asked.
‘I’m telling you now,’ DI Jones said. ‘The officers carried out a quick search of the warehouse and couldn’t find any evidence that anything had been stolen.’
‘That’s because there’s nothing there to nick.’
‘But they did find items of clothing, some personal possessions and a sleeping bag.’
I took a deep breath, trying to hide my impatience. ‘A rough sleeper has been bedding down in our old warehouse. So what? I don’t see why it’s relevant to Immy’s disappearance.’
‘That’s exactly what I thought when I got a call from the duty inspector at one o’clock this morning,’ DI Jones said. ‘Especially when trespass isn’t even a criminal offence. And then he told me what his officers found among the personal possessions, and it became very relevant indeed.’
‘What did they find?’ Stuart asked.
‘This.’ DI Jones pulled a plastic evidence bag from his briefcase and handed it to Stuart, who gasped, ‘It’s Niamh!’
‘Let me see.’ I snatched the bag from him, the plastic slippery between my fingers. Inside was a dog-eared photo of Niamh pushing Nate on a swing at the play area near our old house in Bridge.
‘We’ve circulated her photograph on local intel briefings as being someone of interest to the investigation. Luckily one
