‘I took it,’ I said. ‘It was such a lovely photo Niamh asked me to send it to her, but I didn’t know she’d printed it out and kept it. She was very fond of Nate.’
‘You think she’s the rough sleeper?’ Stuart asked.
DI Jones rested his elbows on his knees. ‘So it would seem. And before you ask, we had the search dogs up there first thing. They drew a blank. There is nothing to suggest Immy has spent any time in the warehouse.’
Stuart’s shoulders slumped, and I handed the evidence bag back to DI Jones.
‘I take it Niamh would have known about the warehouse?’ Sam asked.
‘She’d been a handful of times when we were still operating out of there. She wouldn’t have known it was empty,’ I said.
‘But it would have been easy to find out.’ DI Jones reached in his pocket for his phone and held his thumb over the home button. ‘I did a quick search of commercial property sites in the Canterbury area earlier and found it listed for sale with vacant possession on at least three.’
‘Do you think she holed up there before she snatched Immy on Sunday?’ I asked.
‘Cleo!’ Stuart exploded.
‘Of course she took Immy,’ I hissed. ‘First she tells Tracey she has unfinished business to see to, and then she camps out at my old warehouse less than ten minutes from our house. You’re deluded if you think she didn’t.’
The DI held up a hand. ‘Mr Cooper’s right. Just because we believe she may have been staying in the area doesn’t mean she’s guilty of anything. Until we have evidence to the contrary, we’ll keep an open mind.’
I jumped to my feet and began pacing the room. ‘So where is she now?’
‘One theory is that she went off in the car our dog walker saw last night. Unfortunately, he couldn’t be certain of the colour or make, only that it was tall, like a four-wheel drive or an SUV.’
‘Are you staking the place out in case she comes back?’
‘A stakeout’s an overstatement, but I’ve tasked a couple of PCSOs to lie low there until their shift finishes.’
I stopped and raked my hands through my hair. ‘What use is that?’
DI Jones dropped the photo of Niamh and Nate in his briefcase and snapped it shut, making it clear the conversation was over. ‘I’m afraid we don’t have the resources to keep officers there around the clock, Mrs Cooper. It’s the best we can do.’
Chapter Twenty-Seven
The two officers had barely closed the front door behind them before Stuart picked up his phone and car keys and announced he was going out.
I looked up. ‘Where?’
‘I don’t know. Just out.’ He sighed. ‘I need some space.’
‘Suit yourself. I’ll stay here in case the police ring with news of our daughter, shall I?’ I was spoiling for a fight, but Stuart wasn’t playing ball. Instead, he stomped down the hallway and slammed the front door behind him so fiercely the entire house quivered.
I gazed out of the kitchen window into the garden, wondering if he was driving straight round to Melanie’s converted barn on the outskirts of Wingham. Why hadn’t I confronted him about his affair? Was I too frightened to hear the truth? Or was it because, compared to losing Immy, it was of no consequence?
I splashed water on my face, dried it with a square of kitchen towel and did what I always did when I needed to centre myself - opened my MacBook and dived into my work emails. To my surprise, over a dozen sat unanswered in the main FoodWrapped inbox. I checked the time. It was a quarter past ten. Normally Sheila, the height of efficiency, would have dealt with them by now. I called Bill.
‘Is everything OK?’ I asked.
‘Yes, why shouldn’t it be?’ Bill said.
‘Sheila’s behind with the emails.’
‘I thought you were taking some compassionate leave?’ He sounded more annoyed than concerned.
‘Yeah, well, you know me. I can’t just switch off.’
‘She rang in sick this morning. Some stomach bug her mother’s given her, apparently.’
‘I’ll come in,’ I said.
‘No, there’s no need. I’m on top of everything.’
‘But -’
‘No, Cleo,’ he said. ‘You need to be at home. Listen, I’ve got to go, there’s another call waiting. I’ll speak to you later, OK?’
I scrolled half-heartedly through the emails, only stopping when I found one from our accountant with the heading, ‘Annual accounts’. I scanned the contents.
Hi Cleo and Bill,
I have uploaded copies of FoodWrapped’s accounts/returns into IRIS OpenSpace for you to e-approve when convenient, following which I’ll submit to HMRC. All looks in order, but if you have any queries, give me a shout.
Best,
Peter
IRIS OpenSpace was the software our accountant used to share documents with clients. I logged on, typed in my username and password, and opened the annual accounts. They were as I remembered, and I was about to hit approve, when I saw the inflated cost of sales in the profit-and-loss statement. Something about the £18,000 we’d paid to Blackberry Organics jarred, although I couldn’t have said why. I opened a new tab, googling ‘Blackberry Organics Kent’, keen to see why Bill thought we were better off with them and not RP Produce, the family-run company that had been supplying our produce for years.
The one and only hit was the company’s website, so I clicked on that and waited for the page to load. After an age, a dark blue webpage appeared with a message in the centre that was short and to the point: This site is currently under construction. Please come back soon.
It was frustrating, but fair enough. Our own website was constantly being reviewed and updated. In fact, we’d held a major relaunch the previous autumn ahead of our winter marketing push. I shook my head, wondering if Immy going missing had made me paranoid, and went back into IRIS OpenSpace, clicking on the approve button before I changed my mind.
I
