‘Put it like this: the DI’s now treating it as a possible abduction.’
‘Which means she might still be alive.’
‘She might,’ Sam said. ‘But the last thing I want is to give you false hope.’
‘I know, I know,’ I said impatiently. ‘What happens next?’ My mind was whirling. ‘Niamh was only about five foot five. It must have been her, after all. But where would she have kept Immy? Have you tried the squat again?’
‘Slow down, Cleo. Niamh’s phone was recovered along with her body this morning, and our tech guys have already started work on tracking her movements over the last week. She was in Littlebourne - at the old warehouse, presumably - all day on Sunday.’
‘She could have left her phone behind when she snatched Immy,’ I said, clutching at straws.
‘She could, but I don’t think it’s likely, do you? And she had no means of transport. We can’t completely rule her out, but the DI is pretty convinced we’re looking for someone else.’
‘But who?’
‘That, to use a cliché, is the million-dollar question.’
‘Surely someone must have seen her being carried up Moat Lane?’ I said. ‘The whole county knows she’s missing.’
‘You’d think,’ Sam agreed. ‘But to date, no one has come forward. DI Jones is keen to send out an updated appeal asking if anyone saw her in the lane, but obviously we wanted to let you and Stuart know first. Is he with you?’
‘No, he’s over at our friend Melanie’s. I suppose you heard about her husband Bill?’
‘Bill Harrison, Immy’s godfather? What about him?’
‘He died in a car crash in Preston this morning. He drove into a tree. Your accident investigation people are up there now.’
‘Nice of them to let us know.’ She paused, then said, ‘How tall was Bill?’
‘Six foot two. Why?’ And then I realised. She was trying to establish if Immy had been riding on his shoulders. But she couldn’t have been, because Bill had been in the garden with us the entire afternoon. ‘Bill didn’t take her,’ I said.
‘I’m sure you’re right, but I had to ask. I need to go. You’ll update Stuart on the investigation?’
‘I’ll ring him now.’ I was about to end the call when she spoke again.
‘Cleo? If you think of anyone, anyone, who might have taken Immy, you’ll phone me immediately, yes?’
‘Of course,’ I said. ‘And thank you.’
‘For what?’
I gazed up at the ceiling. ‘For giving me hope.’
Chapter Forty-Two
Stuart’s reaction took me by surprise. He swore several times, then said, his voice catching, ‘My poor, beautiful baby.’
‘Aren’t you glad there’s a chance she’s still alive?’
‘At what cost? Who knows what she’s going through?’
‘You’re saying you’d rather she’d drowned?’
‘Of course not. I wish she was still safe at home with us.’
‘There is no us, not any more,’ I reminded him.
‘Christ, you know how to put the boot in.’
‘I’m not getting into a fight with you now. I’ll speak to you later.’
After I ended the call, I paced the kitchen, running through a never-ending stream of faces, from the postman to the school caretaker, trying to think of anyone who’d ever shown an unhealthy interest in Immy. And they had to be shorter than five foot six, which ruled out most men. Drawing a blank, I switched tack. Perhaps they hadn’t wanted Immy. Perhaps they’d wanted to hurt us. Stuart was the easy-going, agreeable type of person who offended no one. I was self-aware enough to know that I occasionally rubbed people - especially women - up the wrong way.
I’d fallen out with the neighbours on both sides at our old house after I’d had a large studio office built at the bottom of the garden without telling them first. But that wasn’t enough to warrant kidnapping Immy. I hadn’t yet fallen out with any of our new neighbours, so that ruled them out. My mind drifted to work. Women made up the bulk of our small workforce and I’d sacked a few of them in my time for various failings and misdemeanours, from bad timekeeping and poor performance to petty theft. But what boss hadn’t? And there had been no one recently.
Sheila seemed disproportionately upset with me when I told her about Bill, but she was shooting the messenger. She’d idolised him from the moment she’d started working for FoodWrapped and was clearly devastated by his death. I cringed when I remembered how curt I’d been. I needed to apologise.
I called the office, surprised when our warehouse manager, Roger Banks, answered.
‘Roger, it’s Cleo. Where’s Sheila?’
‘She had to go. Some family emergency. I didn’t want to bother you, so I told her to divert the phones to my mobile. Hope that’s all right?’
‘Of course, thank you.’
‘Only she seemed all of a dither.’
‘How d’you mean?’
‘A bit manic, like.’
‘Upset?’
There was a pause. ‘More antsy than upset.’
‘Did she say what had happened? Has her mother had another fall?’
‘Sorry, I didn’t ask.’
‘No problem. I’ll try her mobile. Thanks Roger.’
Sheila’s phone went straight to voicemail, and I left a brief message asking her to call while trying to ignore the sense of foreboding that had settled in my chest like heartburn.
Bill had a manic look in his eyes before he jumped into his car and drove straight at a leylandii tree. Sheila already had an elderly mother to contend with, and I’d dropped the bombshell that Bill was dead. What if it was enough to push her over the edge? I hadn’t been able to stop Bill from killing himself. I couldn’t live with myself if I let Sheila follow suit.
I flipped open my laptop and scrolled through the files on the shared drive until I found our staff contact details and Sheila’s address. Roseacre, School Path, Littlebourne. I’d never been to her house before, so I googled the postcode. School Path was a footpath that led from the main A257 to Bekesbourne Lane to the south of the village. I clicked on the satellite view. Around a dozen properties, each sitting towards the back of large rectangular plots of land, were dotted along the
