‘OK,’ I said, holding out my hand for him to shake. ‘It’s a deal.’
Niamh gave birth to Immy in the maternity unit at Kent and Canterbury Hospital two days after her due date. A month later she left us to start work as an au pair for a family in Rochester, a job she’d applied for because it would fit around a part-time degree in nursing.
As we waved her goodbye, I congratulated myself on a job well done. We were now a perfect family of four. Symmetrical, whole. Complete.
Until the day Immy disappeared off the face of the earth. That’s when I realised I had built my flawless life on foundations of sand.
Chapter Thirty-Five
THURSDAY 17 JUNE
DI Jones looked as knackered as I felt. Dark circles ringed his eyes and his skin had a grey pallor that hinted at long hours spent under artificial lights at the police station, solving crimes, bringing criminals to justice, and reuniting lost children with their families.
‘Have you found Immy?’ I demanded.
‘I’m afraid not, Mrs Cooper,’ he said, stifling a yawn. ‘But there’s been a… development. Shall we sit down?’
Stuart and I followed him into the front room in silence. He sank into the armchair with a grateful grunt.
‘I tasked both late turn and night duty to carry out passing checks on the old FoodWrapped warehouse last night, hoping we could locate your former au pair and Immy’s biological mother, Niamh O’Sullivan.’
Something about the formal way he spoke made the hairs on the back of my neck stand to attention and I glanced at Stuart, looking for reassurance. But his eyes were fixed on the detective’s face. I clasped my hands together and breathed deeply.
‘At twenty past one this morning, a patrol swung by the warehouse. It was the same two officers who attended the previous night and found Niamh’s belongings. Good lads, very thorough, and while some might have carried out a cursory check, they parked up and had a good look around.’
‘Did they find Niamh?’ Stuart asked.
DI Jones nodded grimly. ‘I’m afraid they did. Around the back of the warehouse.’ He paused. ‘There’s no easy way to say this. I’m sorry to tell you she was dead.’
The ground seemed to pitch beneath my feet, and I clutched the arm of the sofa to steady myself. ‘Dead?’
‘Dead,’ he confirmed.
Beside me, Stuart shuddered.
‘But how?’ I asked.
DI Jones steepled his fingers and closed his eyes, as if he was reaching a decision. They snapped open again. ‘She was found hidden in the undergrowth with a ligature around her neck,’ he said. ‘She’d been strangled.’
‘Jesus Christ,’ Stuart groaned.
‘Forensic teams have been on site since just after two o’clock. We’ve already identified the murder weapon. It was a length of raffia string.’
I was still reeling with the news that Niamh was dead and it took a moment for his words to sink in. Niamh had been strangled with a piece of raffia. We used raffia, imported direct from Madagascar, to tie our meal kit boxes. It was perfect for the job because it was rustic, pliable and naturally strong and fitted with our organic, sustainable ethos.
I flushed under the heat of the detective’s gaze. A quick check of the FoodWrapped website would show him we used it. Better if he heard it from me.
‘We use raffia at work,’ I said. ‘To tie the meal kits.’
He raised an eyebrow. ‘Do you indeed?’ He glanced up at the ceiling, then looked back at me. ‘You knew Niamh had been sleeping rough in the warehouse, and you suspected her of snatching your daughter. You have access to raffia. I need to ask if you know anything about Niamh O’Sullivan’s death?’
I felt Stuart’s gaze on me, as piercing as a laser. ‘You need to tell him,’ he said.
DI Jones watched me like a hawk, his head tilted to one side. The air in the room felt heavy, oppressive, and I tugged at the neck of my top.
‘Cleo!’ Stuart cried. ‘Just tell him!’
I swallowed. ‘I went to the warehouse last night.’
DI Jones reached into his jacket pocket for his notebook and a pen. He licked his thumb and flicked through the pages. ‘What time?’
‘About half nine.’
‘What was the purpose of your visit?’
‘I wanted to find Niamh, to see if she knew where Immy was.’
‘And was she there?’
‘The back door was open, and I went in through that,’ I hedged. Then something occurred to me. ‘Your forensic people will find traces of my blood on the door.’ I held out the palm of my hand, showing where the splinter had cut into my skin. ‘I found Niamh’s stuff in the staff room, all packed up as if she was about to leave. I was going to go, too, because she obviously wasn’t there, but then I heard a car drive up.’
DI Jones leaned forwards. ‘Did you see the make? Model?’
I couldn’t tell him it was Bill’s Range Rover, not until I had a chance to talk to Bill myself and find out what the fuck was going on. I stole a glance at Stuart, who was still staring at the detective with a look of incomprehension on his face.
‘No,’ I said. ‘It was pitch black, and it didn’t have any lights on. The driver got out and Niamh appeared from nowhere. They had some kind of argument and the driver got back in the car and drove off. I couldn’t hear what they were saying.’ That was true, at least. ‘Niamh came into the warehouse through the back door and saw me. I asked her if she’d taken Immy, and she claimed she didn’t even know she was missing. She was lying, she must have been. The whole bloody county knows Immy’s missing.’ A hard lump formed in my throat.
‘What happened then?’
‘I came home and told Stuart. End of story.’
The detective looked to Stuart for confirmation and he nodded. ‘She was home just after ten o’clock. We spent
