Losing You

by Nicci French

  ‘Did you even hear what I said?’

  ‘Keys,’ I said.

  ‘Our daughter’s missing, they’re treating me like a criminal and you’re going on about Jackson’s Game Boy?’

  ‘This way, Ms Landry,’ said Beck.

  ‘Just coming,’ I said. ‘Go ahead and I’ll be with you in a minute.’ She sighed and went into the small waiting room. I glimpsed two chairs, and a low table with a large box of tissues on it. Probably a lot of weeping went on in this station. ‘Give me your keys,’ I said, holding out my hand to Rory. ‘You’re parked outside, right?’

  ‘I’ll get it later.’

  ‘But –’

  ‘I’ll fucking get it later,’ he shouted, his face crimson with rage.

  He dropped his jacket on the floor and shuffled through into the toilets. I picked it up, pulled out the key, and walked out of the station. It was heaving with activity, radios crackling, phones ringing, and nobody noticed me go. If I was going to have to wait, I could at least fulfil my promise to Jackson.

  I’d spotted Rory’s car when we arrived, parked a few yards down the road, one wheel on the kerb. I unlocked the driver’s door and peered into the familiar messy interior: crisps packets, tapes with broken cases, sweet wrappers, torn road maps, an apple core, orange peel, an empty mug on its side with coffee stains round the rim, old newspapers, a plastic bag containing, when I looked inside, a pair of mucky trainers. No Game Boy. I felt under the seats.

  ‘Ms Landry.’

  Beck had followed me out of the station. I ignored her, wriggled out of the car and unlocked the boot. There was the usual stuff – a spare tyre, a single wellington boot, a coil of rope, a couple of spanners, a hessian sack. And a flash of colour in the corner. I reached over to investigate it. For a moment I thought I would be sick. I was feverish, icy, clammy. I bent double, seeing the ground loom queasily towards me. Then the world righted itself and I was standing upright again, beside Rory’s car, holding Charlie’s scarf.

  It was pale blue, pink and silver, with tiny sequins sewn into it. We had seen it together when we were on holiday in Italy, eighteen months ago. She’d fallen in love with it and I had bought it for her secretly, and given it to her months later, for Christmas. She wore it all the time, round her neck, tying back her hair, wrapped round her head. She’d been wearing it when she walked out of the door last night, smiling back at me over her shoulder. The last time I had seen her. Now it was here, in the boot of Rory’s car.

  I plucked up the hessian sack and there, underneath it, was her leather shoulder-bag. I lifted it up with trembling fingers.

  ‘Ms Landry,’ said Beck, crossly, ‘can you come with me, please? DI Hammill is asking for you and he’s –’

  I wheeled round, holding the scarf and bag, and started to run. I think I may have been shouting something, but I don’t know. I saw startled faces, mouths open, as I sped up the steps, into the station, past the reception desk. I hurtled up the corridor and threw open the door of the small interview room. Rory was sitting on one side of the desk, DI Hammill on the other. As if in slow motion, I saw the cup of coffee jump out of Rory’s hand and slop in wide splashes round his chair. I saw his startled face and its expression changing as I brandished the scarf. I saw him half rise, and his mouth was open to say something but I took two strides across the space that separated us and, raising my fists, banged him violently back into his seat, the bag bumping against his chest. Then I leaned towards him and shouted so loudly that it hurt my throat: ‘Where is she?’

  I felt myself being restrained and pulled back as if I were taking part in a pub brawl. I tried to wrestle free but the grip on me was too strong. I was held tight, then forced down on to a chair. I was breathing heavily. Everything around me was like a red fog. I couldn’t identify people, or make out what was being said. Gradually I heard someone speaking my name and I thought of Charlie and made myself calm down. ‘I’m fine,’ I said. ‘You can let me go.’

  ‘What’s the meaning of this?’

  It was DI Hammill, astonished and angry.

  ‘That,’ I said, pointing at the scarf and bag on the desk. ‘I went to get my son’s Game Boy from the car. That was in the boot. Charlie’s scarf and her bag. She had them with her when she went to the sleepover yesterday. It’s Rory.’

  Hammill and Beck both looked at him. His skin had turned beyond white to an awful blue, like that of a corpse.

  ‘Mr Oates,’ said Hammill, in a quiet voice, ‘do this scarf and this bag belong to your daughter?’

  Rory dabbed at his lips with his tongue. ‘I’m sorry, Nina,’ he said.

  ‘You bastard,’ I said.

  He looked back at DI Hammill.

  ‘Yes,’ he said. ‘They’re Charlie’s.’

  ‘Did you get them from her today?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘Where is she?’

  ‘I’m sorry,’ he said. ‘I’m so sorry. I don’t know.’ He put his face on the desk and started to weep, a snotty wet howling in the silence of the room.

  I felt a pain growing inside my chest and spreading through my body. If there had been a heavy object within reach, I would have grabbed it and smashed it into Rory’s sobbing face. Into the face of the man I had once loved, the man I had married.

  ‘Mr Oates,’ said Hammill, ‘I want to give you another chance. I’m not sure that you recognize the seriousness of the situation.’

  ‘I do,’ he said miserably, raising his face from the desk. ‘Oh, God, I do.’

  ‘I don’t mean for your daughter,’ said Hammill. ‘That goes without saying. I mean for you. Before we get on to other matters, do you admit to seeing your daughter today?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘Has she been in your car?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘What the –’ I began, but Hammill quickly shut me up.

  ‘Stay out of this, Ms Landry,’ he said. ‘Try to restrain yourself.’ He picked up a chair and moved it closer to the desk behind which Rory was sitting. ‘Time is precious, Mr Oates. Do you have any idea where your daughter might be now?’

  ‘No.’

  ‘Where did you see her? And when?’

  Rory gave me another glance. I could feel that my face was like a mask.

  ‘Nina is taking our children on holiday,’ he said. ‘I was in the area this morning. I drove over because I wanted to see them for a moment and say goodbye.’

  ‘You mean,’ I said, in a quiet, almost strangled voice, ‘that when we talked on the phone this morning, you were on the island.’

  Rory continued as if I hadn’t spoken. ‘When I drove into the town I met Charlie. She was doing her paper round. She sat in the car and we talked for a couple of minutes. She’d been on a sleepover and she left some things with me to save her the trouble of carrying them. In fact, it didn’t look safe to me, carrying her own shoulder-bag as well as the bag of newspapers. And she looked a bit rough, not her usual self.

  I was going to drop them at the house later.’

  ‘What time was this?’ asked DI Hammill.

  ‘I’m not sure. About quarter to ten, something like that.

  It wasn’t for long,’ he added.

  ‘And where? Exactly.’

  ‘On Lost Road. It must have been fairly near the beginning of her paper round. Her bag was still quite full.’

  ‘What was her mood?’

  ‘She was surprised to see me, but we had a fairly normal conversation. She mentioned the holiday.’

  ‘What did she say?’

  Rory paused. ‘She said she was looking forward to it.’

  ‘Did she say anything else?’ asked Hammill. ‘Did she mention plans for the day?’

  ‘No. She said she had to get on with her paper round.’

  ‘Mr Oates,’ said Hammill, a hard edge to his voice now, ‘Why on earth didn’t you tell us this before?’

  I saw Rory’s jawline flex. His face had a sullen, expressionless quality that I remembered from the worst of the d
ays before he left.

  ‘It didn’t seem relevant,’ he said. ‘I didn’t have any new information to give. I met Charlie before she disappeared, obviously. And people saw her after that.’

  ‘Are you insane?’ I said, aghast. ‘This is our daughter you’re talking about. Are you out of your fucking head? Are you drunk? Is that it?’

  Rory glanced at me and turned back to Hammill, as if in exasperation. ‘No,’ he said evenly. ‘I’m not drunk.’

  I looked at Hammill. ‘You don’t believe this rubbish, do you?’

  Hammill frowned. His entire face furrowed. ‘Mr Oates, I’m inclined to agree with your ex-wife. I cannot understand why you didn’t tell us you had met your daughter.’

  ‘It didn’t make any difference,’ Rory said, almost in a mumble.

  ‘It did make a difference, though,’ said Beck. ‘One witness told us that she saw Charlie talking to a man while she was doing her paper round. We’ve been searching for this man. It now seems that he was you.’

  ‘You need to explain yourself,’ said Hammill.

  Rory crossed his arms hard over his chest, as if he were shutting the rest of the world out. ‘I’m not sure if this is the time or the place, but Nina has probably said things about me to you. She’s certainly said them to me over the phone today. She’s clearly suspected me of having something to do with Charlotte running off. That’s the opinion she has of me.’

  ‘So?’ asked Hammill, bluntly.

  ‘I’ve had some difficulties recently,’ said Rory. ‘Business difficulties mainly. And my ex-wife has used these problems as a weapon to separate me from my children.’

  ‘Rory,’ I said, ‘I can’t believe that we’re having this discussion while Charlie’s somewhere out there, maybe dead, maybe alive. Yes, you’re right, you’ve had terrible problems. You had some sort of breakdown, you have a serious drink problem and you behaved in a way with the children that made me think you weren’t safe to be with them. Can we discuss this at a later date?’

  ‘I was trying to explain why I hadn’t told you or the police about meeting Charlie.’ He looked pleadingly at Hammill. ‘Nina’s been threatening me with some sort of restraining order. It would stop me seeing Charlie and Jackson. When I came to see them this morning, I was breaking our agreement. I couldn’t stop myself. I had to see my children before they went away. I wouldn’t see them at Christmas. But I was worried that if Nina found out about it, she would start proceedings against me. I’m sorry, I panicked.’

  ‘This is all rubbish,’ I said. ‘Haven’t you got it into your completely self-centred thick skull that something terrible has happened to Charlie? Do you expect us to believe that, with what’s going on, you were still thinking about a dispute over visiting arrangements?’

  ‘I’m sorry,’ he said. ‘I didn’t think it would do any harm.’

  I felt darkness descending round me. ‘Harm?’ I said. ‘Maybe we’ll never know about that.’

  ‘Stop all this,’ said Hammill. ‘We are where we are. We have to deal with it.’

  ‘You mean you’re satisfied with this cock-and-bull story?’ I said furiously.

  ‘And you’re not?’ said Hammill.

  I leaned forward in my chair and put my face into my hands. Suddenly I felt so miserable that I didn’t want to speak. I didn’t even want to think. When I finally spoke, I felt as if I was trying to walk while dragging a heavy weight. ‘I don’t know,’ I said. ‘Rory didn’t say anything until I found Charlie’s stuff in his car. If I hadn’t found it, he still wouldn’t have admitted meeting her. Why should we suddenly believe him now?’

  ‘What are you suggesting?’ shouted Rory, violently, rising out of his chair. ‘What are you fucking suggesting, Nina? You think I’m a murderer? A pervert? You think that?’

  ‘I’m saying that –’ But I stopped and pressed my fingers against my temple. ‘Hang on a minute,’ I said. ‘There’s something wrong about this.’

  ‘Nina, Ms Landry –’

  ‘No, listen. This is important.’ I pointed a finger at Rory. ‘You talked to me at half past ten. I remember Karen telling Eamonn that was the time just before you rang.’

  ‘What’s your point?’ asked DI Hammill.

  ‘You’re telling us you saw her at about a quarter to ten and then at half past ten you rang asking if you could see her.’

  ‘Mr Oates?’ said Hammill. His face was stern, grim.

  ‘I was upset,’ Rory mumbled. ‘Everything felt wrong. She didn’t really seem to care that I’d driven all that way to see her. She was just excited about going on holiday with Nina and this new boyfriend. It made me upset. I wanted to see her for more than a few snatched minutes sitting in my car. I wanted to see her properly, and Jackson, like a family.’

  ‘What were you doing between approximately ten and half past?’ asked Beck. I’d almost forgotten she was in the room with us.

  ‘I had some beer in the car,’ said Rory. ‘I drove to the causeway and I was going to go home but then I stopped at the lay-by and walked along the marshes and had a bit of a drink. I was thinking. What? Don’t look at me like that. It’s true. I know what it sounds like, but it’s true.’

  ‘Where’s Charlie? Where is she?’

  ‘I love her,’ he shouted. ‘She’s my daughter, for fuck’s sake.’

  ‘Stop this, both of you,’ said Hammill. ‘This is a mess. It’s my fault for having you in the room together.’

  ‘What are you talking about?’ My voice cracked. ‘If I hadn’t found Charlie’s things in Rory’s car, you’d be wasting your time with him lying to you. If he’s not going to admit the truth, you’ve got to get a move on.’

  ‘No,’ said Hammill. ‘Wait. There’s a lot we need to get straight. I’m not clear about the involvement of you and that young man, the boyfriend, in the finding of the body. And it seems to me that there is a good deal that needs to be established about the involvement of you and your ex-husband. I agree that we need a full account of his movements this morning. But I also need to know more about the dispute over the children between you and Mr Oates.’

  ‘No,’ I said. ‘That’s a diversion. I’ve told you all you need to know about that. Of course you need to know Rory’s full story. And you need to find out if she was pregnant.’ I saw the spasm of shock on Rory’s face. ‘And who by. It’s urgent. You don’t need to speak to me. You need to get on with the search. Everything I know I’ve told you. Everything. I’ve hidden nothing. Just find Charlie. It’s urgent. Please.’

  ‘Excuse me, Ms Landry,’ said Hammill, ‘but for now I’d like you to leave me to decide what’s urgent. At the moment the danger is to be distracted by a single clue, which may be irrelevant or misleading. What’s important is to get the whole picture clear. So, what I propose to do is to take a full and detailed statement from Mr Oates here.’ He looked at Rory sharply. ‘And I mean complete. I can tell you that there is a possibility of charges being brought against you. This means we will now be interviewing you under caution. It means we have grounds for believing that an offence has been committed. Therefore I have to give you certain warnings. That the interview will be tape-recorded, that you are not under arrest, that you are free to leave the interview at any time and that you may seek legal advice at any time. Do you understand?’

  ‘Yes,’ said Rory.

  ‘Do you wish legal representation?’

  There was a pause. Was it possible that Rory was going to hold up the proceedings while a solicitor was rustled up from somewhere? I could see that he was considering it.

  ‘No,’ he said finally. ‘I just want to help.’

  He turned to me. ‘I want you to wait outside. We’ll take your statement as soon as we have finished with Mr Oates.’

  ‘I’ve been giving statements all day. I’ve told you, there’s nothing left to say.’

  ‘However, I believe that there’s a great deal more we need to know from you,’ he said. ‘Please. The quicker you co-operate, the more effective we can be.
’

  He nodded at Beck who escorted me out and along the corridor into the office, where a WPC was talking on the phone. Beck asked me if she could get me tea or coffee. I said no automatically, then changed my mind. I needed something to put into my body, like a car taking on fuel. I tried to think which was more powerful, more like a drug.

  ‘Coffee, please.’

  It was from a percolator in the corner of the office, so it came instantly. I added milk from the little plastic tub, then tore open two packets of sugar and emptied them into the cup. Beck said she would join me again in a minute, then left. I saw that a young uniformed constable was standing outside the room, presumably to keep an eye on me.

  I gulped the coffee, which seared my mouth. I was grateful for the jolt that the pain gave me. It helped to clear my mind.

  I had to think of what I could do, all the while holding in my mind the knowledge that what I did might be useless, a frenzy of activity in the wrong place. I wasn’t sure what to make of Rory, whether he was criminally stupid or guilty of something monstrous. But now he was with the police and there was nothing more I could do, I had to assume it wasn’t Rory and consider other possibilities.

  I thought about the dead girl, pictured her silent face and sightless, open eyes. I remembered how Beck had whispered something into Hammill’s ear as she came from the boat where the dead girl lay. Brampton Ford. What was it? A name? A place? I saw that a stub of a pencil lay on the floor in the corner. I picked it up and pulled a tissue out of the box. In large, clumsy letters, trying not to shred the tissue, I made a list:

  Dead girl. Who?

  Brampton Ford?

  Knew Charlie? If so, how?

  Pregnant? Who?

  Rosie and Graham (by pub on Sheldrake Road)

  I stared at the words, making up my mind, steadying myself, then pushed the tissue into my pocket. I swilled back the last of the coffee, stood up and crossed to the window. I tried to pull it open, but it was locked. I thought of the young constable standing outside the room, and of Beck returning any minute. I pulled open the door.

  ‘Can I help you?’

  ‘Where are the toilets?’