‘I take it there’s no news?’
I shook my head. Melanie sat beside me, put her arm around my shoulder and gave me an awkward squeeze.
‘I’m so sorry,’ she said.
‘I know,’ I said, slipping out of her embrace.
She glanced back at the house. ‘Stuart’s in bits.’
‘We’re all in bits, Melanie.’
‘If only Bill had agreed to play croquet with them when Immy asked him.’
‘I didn’t know she had,’ I said. No wonder he was so distraught.
‘You know how much Immy loves her Uncle Bill.’ There was a trace of bitterness in her voice.
‘But he was too busy enjoying my champagne,’ I said, raising an eyebrow.
‘That’s about the measure of it,’ Melanie said. ‘You know Bill. I’ll put Nate to bed, shall I? Is there anything else I can do?’
With Immy missing, work should have been the last thing on my mind, but it was hard to break the habit of a lifetime. ‘I won’t make the meeting with the accountant in the morning. Not unless they find Immy soon. Can you make sure Bill’s there in good time? Sheila has all the papers.’
‘Of course. I’ll drive him there myself if I have to.’
‘Thank you. Tell Nate I’ll be up in a little while to say goodnight.’
‘I will.’
‘And then you should head home, get some rest. We’ll text you the minute they find her.’
She nodded and set off for the house. After a couple of steps, she stopped and turned around. ‘How do you stay so positive?’
I stared at the darkening sky, swallowed the hard mass at the back of my throat and gave her a small smile. ‘Because the alternative is too awful to contemplate.’
Just after nine o’clock the woman sergeant appeared, and I jumped to my feet.
‘Has something happened?’
‘I’m afraid there’s no concrete news at present,’ she said. ‘But I wanted to update you and your husband on a few things. Perhaps we could go inside?’
I nodded and followed her into the house. Stuart was sitting in darkness in the living room. I flicked on a couple of side lamps and motioned her to take a seat.
She cleared her throat. ‘The search teams are about to suspend their search of the river because of the failing light. But they’ll be back at dawn tomorrow. Meanwhile, our patrols will carry on looking for Immy through the night, and we’ll follow up any leads we get following the release of the appeal.’
‘It’s gone out?’
She nodded. ‘It’s already been shared hundreds of times from our Facebook page, and local media are running it as their top story. I expect the nationals will pick it up tomorrow if Immy’s not found overnight.’
I reached for my phone, pulled up Kent Online and stared at Immy’s picture under the headline, Police search for missing three-year-old.
‘What does it say?’ Stuart demanded.
‘“Police say they are growing increasingly concerned for the welfare of a three-year-old girl who has been reported missing from her home in Fordwich,”’ I read. ‘“Imogen Cooper was last seen at her home in the King Street area of the town at 4.45pm today, Sunday 13 June. She was wearing a yellow T-shirt with a daisy on the front, denim shorts and brown leather sandals. She has long dark red hair and green eyes.”’ I suddenly found it hard to speak and gave the phone to the sergeant.
‘It ends with a quote from our inspector urging anyone who has seen Immy or knows where she is to contact us,’ she said.
‘And have they?’ I asked.
‘We’ve had some calls but no confirmed sightings as yet.’ She handed the phone back to me. ‘One other thing. We’ve arranged for a family liaison officer to come over tomorrow.’
The news roused Stuart from his torpor. ‘But you only use them when someone’s died, don’t you?’
‘Usually, but we thought you might need extra support. She’ll be able to keep you up to date with the search for Immy. Any questions?’
We both shook our heads.
‘In that case, I’d better head back to the nick. I need to brief the sergeant on nights.’ She held out a hand, and I shook it half-heartedly. Stuart didn’t even raise his head as she left the room.
‘Is there anything else we can do?’ I asked, as I followed her along the hallway to the front door.
‘Try to get some rest.’ She touched my arm. ‘It could be a long few days.’
I nodded, said goodbye, and she was halfway to her patrol car when her radio crackled into life. Her head bent as she spoke, and I strained to catch her words.
‘Where? I see. And you’re sure it’s hers? Yes, understood. I’ll ask the Coopers to confirm. OK, be with you shortly.’
I clutched the door frame, rooted to the spot. ‘What is it? What have they found?’
‘A sandal they believe may be Immy’s.’
‘In the river?’
Her eyes met mine, and she gave a small nod. ‘They need you to identify it.’
‘Show me.’
The garden was in darkness, the only light coming from half a dozen torch beams as police officers collected kit and stood in huddles. Spying the search team sergeant on the far side of the garden, we hurried over. I couldn’t drag my gaze away from the plastic evidence bag in his hands.
I sensed rather than saw Stuart by my side.
‘One of my officers located a sandal in the river around fifty metres downstream from the house,’ the sergeant said. ‘Please could you confirm if it’s Immy’s?’
He shone his torch on the plastic bag, illuminating the single sandal inside. The leather was darker than I remembered, and for a split second I felt a surge of hope, but then I realised the leather was darker because it was wet, and it was wet because police had pulled it from the river. The river I’d insisted we live next to. It was my fault, all of it.
‘Mrs Cooper?’ the officer asked. ‘It’s a Clarks sandal, size seven. Rubber sole and three Velcro straps.’
‘Cleo?’ Stuart said. ‘Is it hers?’
I didn’t need to take a second look. We’d only
