My pulse is racing so fast I’m scared I may have a heart attack. Come on, Jill, you can do this. I reach forward and unzip the canvas door. The plastic teeth of the zip are in surprisingly good condition, and the flap opens easily. I hold onto the wooden mooring post and step onto the lip of the boat, hoping to goodness I don’t lose my balance and end up in the water.
‘Hello!’ I call out as I step into the boiling hot interior. The air in here smells stale, of old fish and rotting wood. The blood pumps through my veins and my ears feel as though they need to pop. ‘Beatrice, darling, are you in here? It’s Granny!’
‘Jill!’
I turn at the sound of my name being called, and I’m confused to see a woman coming down the riverbank towards me. She’s dressed in denim shorts, a black T-shirt, baseball cap and dark glasses. Could this be the abductor? Should I step back onto the path? Or continue on down to the cabin to search for my granddaughter?
‘Jill, it’s me.’ The woman removes her sunglasses and I see that it’s my daughter-in-law!
‘Claire! I didn’t recognise you in that hat and glasses. What are you doing here?’
‘What? I should ask you the same question. Why are you here? Who’s boat is this? Is it yours?’ Claire jabs her sunglasses at me. ‘Is Beatrice here? What have you done with her Jill?’
I step off the boat for a minute, back onto the pathway. ‘What? I haven’t done anything with her!’
‘Right. So why did I just hear you calling out her name?’ Claire folds her arms over her chest for a second before pushing past me and pulling back the flap of the cockpit. ‘Is she down there? You better not have harmed a hair on her head!’ My daughter-in-law’s face is white with fury, her hands shaking. I can’t believe she thinks I might have had anything to do with my granddaughter’s abduction.
‘Claire, hold on a minute, let me explain.’
‘Explain?’ she spits. ‘There’s nothing that can explain this.’ She turns away and stoops to open the inner door that leads down below deck.
‘Claire!’ I follow her on board. ‘Just listen to me!’
She’s panting and trembling. ‘Beatrice!’ she cries, pulling at the door handle which is miraculously unlocked. ‘Bea, it’s Mummy, I’m coming!’ Claire doesn’t wait for my explanation, but rushes down the few stairs into a dank-smelling, dark galley area with a fake-wood table and grey velour banquette seats. There are two old sandwich packets on the table and a couple of small empty plastic water bottles lying on their side.
‘Don’t touch anything!’ I cry.
‘What do you mean?’ she asks, continuing on through the kitchenette to what appear to be the sleeping quarters. ‘Beatrice! Bea, it’s Mum. It’s me!’
‘No, I mean you really can’t.’ I follow her. ‘Don’t you watch crime dramas? You’ll contaminate the scene. If Beatrice is in there, or was in there at some time, it needs to stay exactly how it is, so the police will have a better chance of finding who took her.’ I grab her arm. ‘Claire! Stop, and listen to me.’ My daughter-in-law’s arrival has kick-started something in me. Instead of the nervous wreck I was a few minutes ago, I’m suddenly determined to be the one who’s sensible and does the right thing for a change. Instead of being scatty and messing things up.
Claire shrugs me off and goes into first one cabin and then the other, finally wrenching opening the bathroom door, using her mobile phone torch to see in the gloom. ‘She’s not here! Tell me where she is, Jill! Why isn’t she here?’ Her hands press on her stomach and she stares at me with desperation in her eyes. ‘Are there any cupboards or other places she could be hidden?’
‘I don’t know, like I’m trying to tell you, I’ve never been here before. Look!’ I thrust my phone into her hands and she looks down at the captioned photo of the boat. Maybe now she’ll listen to me. ‘That message is the reason I’m here. I was having a chat with Laurel when someone sent me this. That’s the only reason I’m here, Claire. I know as much as you do about this boat.’
‘So why did they send you this message if she’s not even here?’ Claire glances wildly around and I retrieve my phone from her. ‘Who sent it? It says, “a friend”. What friend?’
‘I don’t know. I don’t recognise the number.’ A thought strikes me. ‘How did you know I was here?’
‘What? Oh. I saw you come out of the café and I followed you.’
‘Why would you follow me?’
Claire sidles past me back into the galley shining her phone light around the dingy room. ‘Because you looked like you were going somewhere in a hurry, and I wondered—’ She breaks off. ‘What’s that?’ She points to something on the floor tucked under the banquette, her torch beam highlighting it. ‘Looks like a scrap of material.’ She stoops down and reaches out.
‘Don’t touch it,’ I advise.
Thankfully, she listens this time and withdraws her hand. I stare at the item in question and my fingers fly to my mouth as I realise that I recognise the gauzy blue material.
‘Laurel’s scarf,’ I murmur.
‘What did you say?’ Claire snaps her head around to look at me.
‘That’s Laurel’s scarf. She said she misplaced it. Asked me if I’d seen it.’
‘Shit. Do you think…’
But I don’t hear what Claire is saying as my gaze has travelled to the area beneath the table, where I spy something that makes my blood freeze in my veins. This time I use my own phone torch to highlight the area. There, on the floor, sitting in a puddle of light, are a pair of glittery red sandals. The same red sandals that Beatrice was wearing on the evening she disappeared.
Thirty-Eight
CLAIRE
I follow Jill’s eyeline to see just what it is that has caused her mouth to fall open. As I take in the familiar sight of my daughter’s favourite red sandals, a dark chill snakes its way down my spine. ‘Are those…?’
Jill turns to look at me. ‘Bea’s sandals,’ she whispers.
The sound of an engine thrums outside. Water slaps against the side of the boat. Is my mother-in-law to be trusted? The anonymous text she received corroborates her story, but, then again, couldn’t that have been contrived to throw me off the scent? I honestly don’t know what to think any more.
I’m aching to snatch up Bea’s glittery sandals and cradle them in my arms, but I know I must leave them exactly where they are. Like Jill said, the police won’t want us to touch anything. ‘She was here.’ I exhale. ‘Beatrice was here, on this horrible boat.’
‘It looks that way,’ Jill replies. The two of us are still rooted to the spot. ‘And if that’s Laurel’s scarf, then…’
We turn to stare at one another, conclusions forming.
‘The sandwich packets!’ Jill cries.
‘What are you talking about?’
‘There are a couple of empty sandwich packets on the table.’ She shines her phone over the water bottles and the empty cartons. ‘What were the fillings in the sandwiches?’
We shift around to get a better view. I read one of them. ‘Plain cheese on white bread – sounds like something Bea would pick.’
‘The other one’s egg mayo on wholemeal – Laurel’s favourite.’ Jill shakes her head.
Laurel’s scarf and Beatrice’s sandals… the empty sandwich cartons… there’s only one conclusion to be drawn from that.
‘We need to find Laurel.’ I turn to leave, ducking my head to make my way up the stairs and onto the deck. I’m desperate to be off this boat, to breathe in fresh air, rather than the stagnant stench of the cabin.
‘No,’ Jill cries. ‘You can’t tip off Laurel. If she knows we’re on to her, she might do something stupid. She could hide Beatrice or try to flee.’
I push my way out of the cockpit, through the canvas door and back onto the footpath once more, squinting into the brightness, gulping down the warm but fresh air. Jill follows close behind.
‘Did you hear what I said?’ Jill’s face is screwed up against the sun’s evening rays.
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‘Yes, don’t worry.’ My mind is whirring. In among the panic and shock, I can’t believe that Jill is being the sensible one right now. The one with the clear head. ‘Do you think Bea’s been here this whole time, in that horrible dark boat? I can’t bear to think of my daughter shut up down there.’
Jill pulls at the skin on her neck. ‘I don’t know.’
‘So where is she now?’ Something else suddenly occurs to me. ‘I still don’t understand that text.’
‘What do you mean?’ Jill’s face is ashen. She puts a hand on one of the wooden posts to steady herself. She’s in shock with everything that’s happening. We both are.
‘I mean, who sent it? Who tipped you off, and why?’
Jill swallows. ‘I don’t know. Maybe Laurel’s been working with someone else. Philip maybe?’
‘Show me the text again.’
Jill swipes her screen and holds it out for me to see:
Want to know where Beatrice has been? Come right now. On the river, opposite the rowing club. Take the Wick Ferry. Don’t tell ANYONE. Make sure you come alone. From a friend.
I think for a second, trying to make sense of it. ‘So the texter wanted you to come here alone. Did they know her sandals would be here? And Laurel’s scarf, or were they left there by mistake?’
‘And the sandwich wrappers,’ Jill adds, rubbing her forehead. ‘We have to call the police. Perhaps they’ll be able to make sense of it.’
‘Someone was definitely trying to help us by sending you the text, right?’
‘Not necessarily.’ Jill shakes her head and swipes at her phone. She shows me the screen. ‘This was sent to me by the same person.’
I read the text:
How could you lose your own granddaughter?
‘That’s horrible!’
Jill nods as the phone begins to shake in her trembling hands. ‘I told the police about the first text, but they said these types of messages are par for the course. Apparently, there are a lot of nasty people out there. The fact they’ve sent me this new, specific message must mean that they really are something to do with Bea’s disappearance.’
I nod in agreement. ‘I wonder who owns the boat. Maybe that will shed some light.’ I let my shoulders relax for a second and rub my collarbone, trying not to get my hopes up. Could this be the breakthrough we’ve been waiting for? I also have the unwelcome thought that this could simply be the abductor playing sick games, trying to mislead us.
Jill makes a call to the police and, from then on, everything seems to move at lightning speed, as though we’re in a movie on fast forward. DI Khatri and DS Garrett are first on the scene. They take a brief look inside the boat before taking Jill’s phone, saying that they’ll need it to try to trace the origin of the text. They interview us here, going over everything from the moment Jill met Laurel at the coffee shop earlier. We also tell them that the empty sandwich cartons once contained both Bea and Laurel’s favourite sandwiches.
Finally, they let us take a breather and the two of us walk back towards the bridge and sit on the grassy riverbank a short distance away from the boat. Meanwhile, the officers set up a cordon blocking off the area around the boat. Apparently CSI are on their way to do a thorough search, while other officers try to locate the boat’s owner.
Jill clears her throat. ‘We should let Oliver know what’s happening.’
The mention of my husband’s name makes my stomach drop. I don’t want to admit to her that Ollie and I are barely speaking at the moment. That I can’t even think about him right now because if I do I’ll either cry or scream. I’m also nervous to find out if he’s been drinking again.
‘Do you want to call him?’
Jill nods and reaches into her bag for her phone, but comes up empty-handed. ‘The police took my mobile, remember?’
I call his number and hand my phone to my mother-in-law. She looks surprised, but takes it from me.
‘I’ll tell him to come here, shall I?’ She interprets my silence as a yes and puts my phone to her ear. After a moment’s pause, she starts talking. He’s obviously not picking up because she leaves a message. ‘Oliver, it’s Mum. Claire and I think we’ve found who took Bea. You need to come here as soon as you get this message. We’re at the river on the Wick side almost opposite the rowing club. You can’t miss us. The police are here. Okay, Ollie, hopefully see you soon.’
She ends the call and passes back my phone, giving me an appraising look which I ignore. ‘What’s going on with you two?’
‘Our daughter’s missing,’ I reply bluntly.
‘You know what I mean. Why aren’t you together, supporting one another? It’s not like you, or him, to be so… separate.’
‘You’ll have to ask Oliver about that.’ I get to my feet. ‘Will you excuse me; I’m just going to stretch my legs. I need to get away, from here’ – I gesture to the boat and the increasing number of officers – ‘for a few moments.’
Jill doesn’t reply and I don’t look at her face for a reaction. Instead, I head up the bank, away from the river. After a couple of minutes, I find myself in the tiny village of Wick with its pretty cottages and well-tended gardens. There’s no pavement, so I hug the verge and try to avoid eye contact with the families and couples out for an early evening stroll. I shouldn’t have walked this way. It’s too unsettling to be surrounded by such happy normality. After fifteen minutes, I give up and turn around.
When I return to the river, Jill is standing on the footpath talking to DI Khatri. Jill catches my eye. ‘Oh, here she is. Claire, the inspector says we can go home, but to stay close to a phone in case they need to talk to us.’
‘Okay.’ I turn to DI Khatri. ‘Are you going to speak to Laurel?’
‘We’re bringing her into the station. I’m on my way over there now. In light of what we’ve found in the boat pertaining to Laurel Palmer, we’ll also bring your neighbour Philip Aintree in for questioning and will get CSI to do a proper sweep of his house. In the meantime, you head home and have a rest. You both look done in.’
I feel reassured by what she’s telling me, but I won’t be able to rest until I’m holding my little girl in my arms again. ‘Please find her,’ I beg.
‘We’ll do everything we can,’ Khatri replies kindly but non-committally.
‘Surely this is a breakthrough,’ Jill adds. ‘Finding Beatrice’s shoes here, and Laurel’s scarf?’
‘It’s progress.’ Khatri looks over to her right. ‘If you’ll excuse me, looks like CSI has arrived. DS Hobart or I will call you if there’s any news.’ That’s basically us dismissed. Khatri walks towards the approaching officers, but I don’t pay too much attention because behind them, I spot Oliver jogging along the path, his face flushed, brow creased. He nods to the DI but heads straight for me and Jill. He looks sober, but I’ll find out soon enough.
‘I got your message,’ he pants, stopping in front of us. ‘Came straight away. What’s happened? Did they find Bea? Is she here? She okay?’
I’m so relieved that Oliver isn’t slurring his words, that his breath doesn’t reek of alcohol. ‘They haven’t found her yet.’
His face falls. ‘But they know who did it?’
We move up onto the grass again, out of the way of the police activity. Jill and I spend the next few minutes filling in Oliver on what’s happened. We have to go over it several times, but I understand that. I’d be the same; wanting every tiny detail.
‘I can’t believe it’s Laurel,’ he keeps repeating over and over. ‘I thought I knew her. I was married to her for over five years, for goodness’ sake. How can she have done this? It can’t be her, surely.’
‘I might have to go home,’ Jill says, sitting down heavily on the grass. ‘I don’t feel too good.’
‘Oh, Mum, I’m not surprised.’ Oliver crouches down next to her.
‘I don’t think I’ll be able to walk all the way home. I’m a bit dizzy.’
Remembering the can of Tango I bought earlier, I reach into
my bag and pull it out. ‘Your blood sugar’s probably low and you might be a bit dehydrated. Sip this.’
‘You’re an angel.’ Jill takes the can from me with trembling hands. I’ve never seen her look so frail. Over the top of her head, Ollie gives me a grateful smile. I’m not quite ready to smile back at him, but I manage a small nod. ‘That’s better,’ Jill says, holding out the can. ‘Does anyone else want some?’
Oliver and I both decline.
‘Do you think you’re up to walking a short way, Mum? I’m parked in the village so it’s only a minute’s walk.’
‘Oh, that’s music to my ears. Yes, let’s go. Drop me home, will you, darling?’
‘Of course.’ Oliver helps her to her feet.
We give a short wave to Khatri and Garrett before heading through the trees to Oliver’s Passat. I’m already dreading the moment we drop Jill off at her house and I’m left alone in the car with my husband. How can I be civil to the man who’s supposed to be my partner in life, my best friend, the one I love, yet who abandoned me when I needed him the most? Who also abandoned the search for his seven-year-old daughter? The short answer is: I can’t.
Thirty-Nine
CLAIRE
After driving his mother home, Oliver takes me to the Bridge Street car park to pick up my Toyota. The journey there is all kinds of uncomfortable. Dusk is falling, which only adds to the dark, sullen atmosphere. Oliver says he’ll meet me back at home, but I’m finding it hard to believe he’ll be there when I get back; he’s lied so many times this week. However, when I finally turn into our road, the first thing I see is Oliver’s car parked in the drive. I’m dreading going into the house. I don’t have the energy for an argument. Maybe I should check into a hotel for the night, avoid the confrontation.
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