‘We don’t have children. His dad’s dead and his mother lives in a care home, she has dementia. He has a brother who lives in New Zealand but they’ve sort of lost contact, Cal wouldn’t go there.’

  ‘All the same, we may need to contact him to see if your husband’s been in touch recently. Perhaps you could let us have his details?’

  Amy sniffed and nodded.

  Layla scribbled hurriedly as Amy spoke, then sat back to look at the anxious lady before her. ‘It’s possible your husband will turn up very soon. In most cases like this the missing person has just gone off somewhere for a while – maybe a case of things getting on top of him or problems at work which he hasn’t shared with you.’

  ‘But Callum wouldn’t, he’d not want to worry me like this. Are you not going to do anything?’

  ‘That’s not what I’m saying. Have you brought a photograph of Callum?’

  Amy reached into her bag and pulled one out. ‘This was taken last summer, it’s the most recent I have.’ After staring at the image for a few seconds she handed it to Layla. ‘What will happen now?’

  ‘We’ll circulate this photo and check with the local hospitals. If you give me your husband’s telephone number we’ll try to track his location from his phone or get a list of any calls he’s made recently from his service provider.’

  ‘I’ve been ringing him all night – it must be switched off.’ A tear slipped down Amy’s cheek. ‘Do you think something’s happened to him?’

  ‘It’s too early to be speculating. Most missing persons come home within a day or two. The best thing you can do is go home and wait. If Callum does turn up, please ring us immediately, and also if you think of anything else which might help us locate him. I’ll put these details into the computer and we’ll start searching for him. I know it’s hard but please try not to worry.’

  Amy allowed the young detective to see her to the door. As soon as Layla left her, she pulled out her phone and found her sister’s number.

  ‘Beth? I’m just leaving the police station and heading home.’

  ‘What did they say?’

  ‘You’d better come round. We’ll talk then but give me half an hour to get home.’ Amy was trembling from her ordeal. She needed to see her sister in the flesh rather than speak to a disembodied voice on the phone.

  ‘Put the kettle on. I’ll be there.’

  FIVE

  WEDNESDAY 7TH DECEMBER

  ‘It was hellish,’ Amy moaned as she opened the door to her sister, ‘and this is only the beginning!’ Beth Moorhouse lived on the other side of New Middridge from the Coopers’, a ten-minute drive, and true to her word Beth arrived on her sister’s doorstep within half an hour of receiving her call, shivering in the cold wind, her husband’s ancient little van not having the luxury of a working heating system. Stepping inside, she opened her arms and hugged a jittery Amy whose skin was grey and eyes sunken and red. They made their way to the kitchen where Beth wasted no time in asking for details while Amy put the kettle on.

  ‘Tell me exactly what happened.’

  Amy took a deep breath. ‘I saw a detective constable who wrote down Callum’s details and asked how long he’d been missing. She didn’t seem to think it unusual and suggested that Cal might have left of his own accord. There were the expected questions, you know – if we’d argued at all lately. I suppose they have to ask, but why are they always so suspicious? I took a photograph as you suggested. The detective said missing persons usually turn up within a few days, yet they would start looking for him.’

  ‘Yeah, but how thoroughly do they look? I mean, will they get search parties out to physically search for him?’

  ‘They’ll put Callum’s details into their computer and check local hospitals. I can’t see them having the resources to send officers out searching; they’ll probably think it’s too soon. Maybe they’ll rethink their actions if they don’t find him within a couple of days. Oh, Beth, I hope it won’t drag on. I just want them to find him – for all of this to be over.’

  ‘On the telly, the police always quiz the family and friends when someone’s missing and if they suspect foul play.’

  ‘I don’t think they automatically suspect foul play, do they? The detective asked me to try to think of anywhere he might go. I said I’d rung you and some of his mates last night when he didn’t come home.’ Amy had been absently making tea as she spoke and now handed a mug to her sister, and they moved into the lounge. ‘I feel bloody awful, which isn’t surprising as I didn’t sleep a wink last night.’ She flopped onto the sofa and Beth sat beside her.

  ‘It’s not going to be easy, but we’re in this together, and you’re one of the strongest people I know.’

  This last remark wasn’t the comfort Beth intended it to be and it angered Amy. Why the hell do I always have to be the strong one, the sensible one? Why can’t someone else sort out the family problems? Instead of snapping at her sister, Amy sighed and said, ‘I don’t feel particularly strong. I only hope they find him quickly. I can’t bear for this to be a long, drawn-out thing.’

  ‘I’m sure they’ll find him soon and then life can return to normal.’

  ‘Whatever normal is.’ For a moment, Amy wanted to blurt out that she was dying – to tell her sister and accept comfort, but she couldn’t – the timing was all wrong. Beth was right, Amy had to be the strong one.

  ‘Do you want to come back to mine? Maybe you’ll feel better with some company?’

  ‘No, the police might visit. I wouldn’t want to miss them.’

  ‘Didn’t you give them your mobile number?’

  ‘Yeah, but I think I should stay here. Maybe I’ll do something to take my mind off things, perhaps clean out the kitchen cupboards.’ Amy chewed on a fingernail, frowning.

  ‘You’d be better off resting – you look bloody awful. Take a couple of paracetamols, they should help.’

  ‘Oh, Beth, I can’t rest. All sorts of horrible scenarios are buzzing through my brain. I can’t imagine what will happen, it’s like living in a nightmare.’

  Beth moved closer to her sister and put a comforting arm around her. ‘I know, and I’m so sorry. But try not to worry. We’ve been through some tough times together and always coped, we’ll see this one through, too.’

  Alone again, Amy mooched into the kitchen, restless. The view from the window was depressing; dirty packed-down snow, icicles hanging from the guttering and a freezing draught blowing under the ill-fitting kitchen door. Turning up the thermostat – to hell with the expense – Amy returned to the lounge and her place on the sofa, tucking her feet beneath her. With closed eyes, Amy’s thoughts drifted back to her childhood – and Beth.

  Beth knew how to wind up their father, even at six years old. His anger didn’t deter her – she goaded him even more and took the beatings with her chin held high, or ran away, staying hidden in the garden until his wrath abated, sometimes hours later. Amy would sneak out with food or a blanket if it was cold, hoping not to be seen by their parents, and tell Beth when it was safe to return to the house, often only when their father was out. At almost two years older than her sister, Amy felt guilt at not protecting her, yet their father scared her. Their mother was no help either; perhaps she was even more afraid of him than her daughters were. Amy witnessed several beatings which her mother took like a cowed dog – it was impossible to help or stop her father when he was in one of his moods. To her shame, Amy would rather keep out of his way and be the good girl, even though it meant many hours alone in her room. If only she were brave enough to stand up to him, to protect Beth – but even then, Amy knew herself to be a coward.

  SIX

  WEDNESDAY 7TH DECEMBER

  Amy was brought back to the present when the doorbell rang. Damn it, she thought. She’d forgotten the Macmillan nurse was calling. Jumping up from the sofa and steadying herself, she went to open the door.

  ‘Hi, Amy, I’m Fran Jenkinson. We spoke on the phone?’ The woman was short and plump with straight grey hair cut into a bob with a full fringe. Her smile was warm and genuine and Amy instantly liked this motherly woman.

  ‘Yes, I remember. Please come in.’ Fran followed Amy into the lounge. ‘Would you like coffee?’ she asked.

  ‘That would be wonderful, but can I use your loo first? I’m onto my sixth cup today,’ she said with a grin. Amy pointed her toward the downstairs toilet and went to make the drinks. Carrying the mugs into the lounge, Fran was back and sitting waiting, so Amy handed her the drink and sat opposite the nurse. Taking a sip from her mug – the hot liquid soothed some of the restlessness in her mind and body.

  Fran got down to business. ‘Now, I believe you saw Mr Matthews last Thursday which means you’ll have had time to reflect on your diagnosis?’ Thursday seemed a lifetime ago. If only she knew. When Amy didn’t answer, Fran continued. ‘I’m hoping we can get to know each other, Amy. My role is to support you through this difficult time, answer any questions, and help with any practical things you may need. If you want a family member or a friend to be at our meetings, it’s fine by me – whatever makes you comfortable. How have you been since Thursday – it must have been quite a shock?’

  Amy wanted to run upstairs and crawl under the duvet but decided that she must be strong and that she did need to talk to someone. Fran was eager to help but deserved to be put in the picture. ‘Yes, the diagnosis was a shock, but since then my husband’s gone missing. I’ve been to the police this morning and they’re looking for him.’

  ‘Oh, you poor thing, how awful for you!’ Fran put her mug on the coffee table and shuffled her ample rear to the edge of the seat. ‘How long’s he been missing?’

  ‘He didn’t come home last night, which isn’t like him. The police say it’s early days yet and he may turn up, but I don’t know what to think.’

  ‘I’m not surprised – what a horrible position to find yourself in, especially when you’re unwell. Look, if you don’t feel like talking now, I can always come back another day.’

  ‘No, please stay. I have some questions to ask and thinking about the tumour will take my mind off other things.’ This thing was growing in her body and Amy needed to know what to expect, to get the measure of what she was up against. ‘I want to know what’s going to happen.’

  ‘Okay, I’ll try to explain. I’ve seen your notes and understand some of the symptoms you’re experiencing already – nausea and vomiting, fatigue, drowsiness and even seizures – is that right?’

  ‘Yeah, all that and more. The symptoms started so suddenly; is that usual?’

  ‘Tumours grow at different rates and sadly yours seems particularly aggressive. It could be that you didn’t notice some of the symptoms in the early days, the headaches and fatigue we often put down to being a bit under the weather.’

  ‘Huh! I thought I was a bit depressed and kept taking paracetamol.’ A tear escaped and ran down Amy’s cheek. Fran pulled a wad of tissues from her bag and waved them in front of her face, like a magician presenting her with paper flowers.

  ‘Unfortunately, the symptoms won’t improve, but we can offer medication to control them, even the seizures. The medication will be monitored and the dosage altered as necessary, and I’ll be available to listen to any concerns you have and try to help. The fatigue will probably affect you more as time moves on, and rest is important. You may experience sleep problems and possibly memory problems, but being aware of these possibilities will help you cope, and never be afraid to ask for help. It’s why we’re here.’ Fran smiled and Amy relaxed slightly. ‘Do you have anyone who can be with you during this time – I don’t just mean the illness – anyone you can talk to and confide in about your husband?’

  ‘Yes, my sister, Beth. She lives in New Middridge and we’re quite close. She was here earlier today.’

  ‘Good. Sometimes life seems to kick us in the teeth at the worst possible times but don’t be afraid to ask for help. I can signpost the relevant organisations for counselling, financial help, or almost anything. You only have to ask.’

  ‘You sound like my fairy godmother!’ Amy surprised herself by smiling.

  ‘Do they make fairies in my size?’ Fran bobbed her head from side to side and laughed.

  An hour and two cups of coffee later, the nurse left, giving Amy two telephone numbers to contact her – anytime – she stressed. Propping them up on the mantelpiece, Amy sighed. She should eat something, but could only manage another coffee.

  SEVEN

  THURSDAY 8TH DECEMBER

  Samantha’s face told Jenny all she needed to know on her arrival at the station on Thursday morning. Blowing her hands to warm them through and regain some feeling, she asked, ‘How did the trial go?’

  ‘Dismissed. The girlfriend withdrew her complaint – said she’d been confused at the time and wasn’t sure he was even in the house when the accident happened.’ Sam made air quotation marks with her forefingers. ‘Damn it! Why do they do it – let these men walk all over them – the number of times we see it happen, it’s so frustrating.’

  ‘Not to mention the cost to the taxpayer and all those wasted hours. Let’s hope he doesn’t take it out on her now he’s back home.’ The conversation was interrupted by Sam’s phone. Answering it, the DI picked up a pen and scribbled something on her notepad. ‘On my way.’ She ended the call and turned to Jenny. ‘A body’s been found in a ditch on the south side of town. Grab your coat!’

  For once Samantha chose to take a pool car. Generally preferring to drive her little Mini, the current weather conditions called for something larger with four-wheel drive, so she booked out a Toyota RAV4 and climbed into the driver’s seat. Jenny took the passenger seat and began fiddling with the knobs on the dashboard. ‘I hope the heater works. It’s bloody freezing today.’

  ‘We’re off into the sticks so don’t get too cosy.’ Sam pulled away and headed south out of New Middridge. The main roads had been gritted overnight but once away from the built-up area, snow was packed down on the roads making driving hazardous. Sam adjusted her speed accordingly. Hurrying wouldn’t help their victim – it was far too late for that.

  In any other circumstance the vista before them would have been admired. After days of steadily falling snow, the trees were heavy and branches bowed down to form an arch over the road on which they travelled. It was fresh and white, like a passage to Santa’s grotto.

  The scene of the accident was clear to spot as the detectives approached. Three vehicles were already in situ, having driven through a large gap in the hedge and parked in a field at a reasonable distance from where the body had been discovered. About sixty yards away, Sam could see a tent being erected as cover for the CSIs to work beneath. Snow wasn’t falling but could begin again anytime and until they knew what they were dealing with it was imperative to preserve the scene.

  As the women approached the fluttering tape, Samantha recognised PC Mark Davies who stood with a clipboard taking names of all those on site.

  ‘Morning, Mark. Were you first on the scene?’

  ‘Yes, ma’am. The lady who found the body lives just over the road from where you parked your car. Harriet Smith, she’s called – gave me a verbal statement and now she’s back at the house with PC Walker. She has a couple of bairns but fortunately they didn’t see anything.’

  Sam ducked under the tape which Mark held up for her. ‘Good work, Mark. Not the best of days to be hanging around in a frozen field.’ The constable smiled solemnly and as they headed towards the ditch, made a note of their names on his log.

  Samantha squatted beside the shallow ditch and nodded at Rick, the pathologist, who was beside the body, carefully scraping snow off his clothing. ‘Anything useful yet?’

  ‘This bloody weather doesn’t help. It could have been a car accident, although he has a nasty gash on the side of his head – maybe from striking a rock as he fell – we’re searching the immediate area, looking for possibilities. Time of death’s screwed as well. The freezing temperature will make accuracy difficult; I’ll have to check the last few night’s temperatures and do the calculations.’

  ‘So, he could have been here a couple of nights?’

  ‘Possible, no more I shouldn’t think.’

  ‘Any ID?’

  ‘When I’ve cleared the snow and photographed the body, I’ll have a look.’

  Samantha and Jenny walked the area, already becoming a quagmire with the trampling of heavy boots. ‘Should we go talk to the woman who found him?’ Jenny asked.

  ‘And hope she’s got the kettle on?’ Sam turned and headed back to the car.

  Harriet Smith opened the door as the detectives were stamping their feet on the mat in the porch. ‘Oh, don’t bother about that, it’s a slate floor and I’ve got two children and a dog – there’s nothing to spoil here. As they followed her into the kitchen where PC Rachel Walker was entertaining a boy and a girl, Harriet offered them tea which they gratefully accepted. While the PC was successfully making the children chuckle, their mother was still ashen. They took their drinks through to the lounge away from little ears while the children happily remained with Rachel.

  Sam thanked the woman for her hospitality and apologised for interrupting her day. ‘It’s a very isolated spot, Mrs Smith. Who lives in the other two properties?’

  ‘They’re both second homes, so no one at the moment. The Carter family who own the nearest house may come for Christmas, they live in London and visit as often as they can manage. The other cottage is owned by a single man who lets it for holidays and only comes himself a couple of times a year. I have emergency numbers for them both if you’d like?’

  ‘Yes, that would be great, thank you.’

  Harriet left the lounge and returned a few minutes later with the numbers which she passed to Jenny. Samantha asked her to go over the events of the morning again and Harriet began to do so, until tears filled her eyes and she faltered.

 

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