Chapter Twenty-Three

  Jennifer made it back to the house just in time for the news. Nick had provided police with a short video clip of Abigail and Olivia playing in a field of sunflowers. It was the same image that had been displayed on the first day of briefing. It would soon be Abigail’s signature, aired worldwide for all to see. An entrepreneur mother and police officer father, the case was certainly worthy of media attention. Jennifer hoped that the video would help draw focus away from the poisonous trolls hounding Joanna and back to Abigail. She wondered, not for the first time, how people could be so venomous.

  The family sat in silence as the video aired on Sky News, scattering the images to the far corners of the world like freshly potted billiard balls. The only sound was the girl’s laughter, as she danced between the long stalks, touching the petals in amazement. Seconds later, the presenter moved on to the story of a disgraced politician, and the family stared motionless, not taking in a word.

  Their grief filled the room, their combined energies reaching breaking point. Joanna shot up to her room without a word. Nick trudged back outside, and Fiona planted Olivia in front of the smaller television in the kitchen while she mopped the floors. Jennifer set up her laptop on the kitchen table, to catch up on some police enquiries. Minutes later, a plate of shortbread was pushed in front of her. ‘You’re as bad as my sister,’ Jennifer said, biting into the buttery pastry. ‘She’s a feeder too.’

  Fiona smiled, joining her as she laid two huge mugs of tea on the table. She had unremarkable features, the sort of person who could blend in with a crowd. She padded around in thick woollen socks rolled over her jeans when indoors, pausing only to dip her toes into her wellington boots when she had to venture outside. From her blunt bobbed hairstyle to her make-up-free face, everything about Fiona was practical, functional, homely. Which, given Joanna’s erratic behaviour, was just what the Duncan family needed right now.

  Jennifer pushed down the lid of her laptop as Fiona pulled up a chair. There were times when you knew when to talk, when to ask questions, and when to thrash things out. This was not one of these times. This was a time to listen.

  Fiona wrapped her fingers around her mug, probably more for comfort than for warmth. ‘It was me,’ she said absentmindedly.

  Jennifer opened her mouth to speak, but Fiona’s wistful expression told her she was thinking of happier times, rather than making an admission of guilt. Jennifer had begun to roll around thoughts of suspects in her head, and it left a bitter taste to imagine that one of the people who professed to love Abigail the most could be responsible for hurting her.

  Fiona tapped the cup with her neatly cut nails. They made a clinking sound as she spoke, and her head leaned to one side as she stared into the distance.

  ‘I recorded them with the sunflowers,’ she said, smiling at the memory. ‘We were driving past when we noticed the field. There was me and Joanna, and Abigail and Olivia. Everyone was fed up because the house was damp and miserable. Nick was working one of his long shifts and the girls were bored. I packed a picnic basket and took Joanna and the kids out for a few hours. It was really warm, for the time of year. The kids were chatting in the back about ponies, and that was when I saw the field. We pulled up alongside and shot some footage of the children dancing with the sunflowers.’ Fiona gave a short laugh. ‘I was waiting for some shotgun-toting farmer to tell us off but he never came. The girls were mesmerised by the bright colours, and they looked so beautiful with the sun reflecting off their hair. Afterwards we had our picnic on the riverside. It was perfect.’ A sob caught in her throat and she swallowed it down. ‘Now it’s all gone.’

  She looked at Jennifer for reassurance but it was not hers to give. ‘We’re doing our very best. Something is bound to come up soon.’

  ‘That’s what scares me. I’ve only known the family six months, but I’ve really come to care for them. I don’t want something awful to be unearthed by the police. I want Abigail to come home of her own accord. But every hour that passes makes the chances of her coming home unharmed more and more remote.’

  Jennifer slowly nodded, her eyes downcast. She wanted nothing more than to tell Fiona that Abigail was alive, but she knew that any second now the phone could ring with devastating news. It was easier to change the subject than it was to make promises.

  ‘Radcliffe . . . Have you seen him about today? I need to have a word.’

  ‘He’s been here every day, as part of the search party.’ Fiona sniffed, taking her cup to the sink and throwing away the remainder of her tea. ‘I’ll tell him to hang around when he comes tomorrow, although he’s already spoken to police as far as I know.’

  Jennifer thought she saw a shadow cross Fiona’s face at the mention of his name, but it was fleeting, and she wondered if she had imagined it.

  ‘Why did Joanna and Nick buy this place? I’ve seen their townhouse. We’re still collecting mail from there. Why would they move from luxury into this?’

  ‘Joanna got it into her head that she wanted a project. She had planned to renovate the house and turn the land into a petting zoo for inner-city children. She had it all set up, and was working with a charity to make it happen.’

  ‘That’s some undertaking. And now?’

  ‘Whatever was driving her just upped and left. I’ve no other way of describing it. I just hope she finds her inspiration again . . .’

  ‘Otherwise?’ Jennifer said, gently coaxing for more.

  ‘Otherwise I’m out of a job. I was taken on as a live-in housekeeper while Joanna got on with things. If they end up selling . . . that’s the end of my job.’

  ‘I’m sure it won’t come to that,’ Jennifer said. But the truth was, she wasn’t sure of anything. Joanna, Nick, they were embroiled in something beyond her understanding. And it was up to her to find out what. She held her breath as the ringtone of her phone played out. It was Ethan. Without a word, she took herself away from Fiona’s questioning eyes and jogged down the path to her car. Heavy rain had been forecast, and the sky had changed dramatically in the last couple of hours, with storm clouds rolling in from the east. The first droplets of rain splashed against her jacket, and she swiftly slid inside the driver’s seat of the old Ford Focus, in case her phone call took her back to the station.

  ‘Hello,’ Jennifer said, slightly breathless. ‘I take it you’ve got an update?’ It wasn’t usually how she greeted her DI, but something told her the small talk could wait.

  ‘Yes, I do. The divers have discovered a body. It’s not been identified yet, but a journalist turned up just as they were removing it, so I need you to inform the family before they hear it elsewhere.’

  Jennifer’s heart plummeted. ‘Are there any indications . . . is it?’

  ‘We just don’t know. We believe it to be female with blonde hair, but she’s been snagged by some debris and the body is pretty bloated. That’s all I know for now.’

  ‘Mmm,’ Jennifer said, her face creased in a frown. ‘I’ll tell them that a body’s been found and we’ll update them as further information comes in.’

  She didn’t notice the rain pelting on her face as she returned to the house with the news. Shoulders heavy, she tried to take what she could from the update. She had to accept the truth. The communications with Olivia, the body in the water . . . it had to be Abigail. But if it was, at least they were bringing the little girl home. She pushed the heavy front door open. It was time to tell the family.

  Chapter Twenty-Four

  Two Days Gone

  Joanna fastened the flower-shaped buttons on the front of the pretty summer print dress. It had been a steal at seventy-nine pounds, and she had bought it from an online shop which specialised in 1940s clothing.

  She checked her appearance in the mirror before sliding the iPad from underneath a magazine in her bottom dresser drawer. Her Twitter feed was alight with notifications, and almost none of them good. The red circle flashed to show that there were 142 tags for her username, and her heart sank as she scanned the poisonous messages, many of them orchestrated by the user @Truth00Seeker. His image displayed a hooded faceless man, and his profile listed him as someone searching for answers. It didn’t list his location. But there was something about his tweets that made Joanna believe this was personal. The fact he had tagged her into the posts suggested he wanted them to be seen. Was he goading her into a response? Hundreds more tags were attached to #FindAbigail, and she gasped to see that the hashtag had gone viral. It was ironic. She had tried for months to get her online business viral on Twitter, and it took something like this to come up in an instant. She raced through the messages, resisting the temptation to reply. Police would be monitoring the account, although she could not see anything of value in the hate-fuelled bile.

  She turned off the app, switching to her emails. Joanna pored over the messages of sympathy and hate, wishing her email address was not broadcast so publicly on her parenting site. It had only been a few days, but her website was losing revenue as advertisers cancelled their contracts, and her online supporters were dropping off as the trolls attacked them without mercy. She searched for the email she was looking for, her eyes growing wide as it pinged up on her screen. It was from Marcella Kelly, clairvoyant psychic – a woman known for her contact with the dead. Famed for a string of books and her travelling performances, Marcella could be just what she needed. She greedily scanned the message. Marcella would be happy to attend at a moment’s notice, just name the time and she would be there. No fee involved. Joanna snorted. No fee indeed. Psychics were lining up to come to her home since Joanna leaked the paranormal activity to the press. No doubt Marcella would already be penning the title of her next book. Joanna typed up a quick response, telling Marcella things were up in the air but tonight should be fine, pending developments. She pressed the send button without hesitation. Her nail polish cracked as she bit into her thumbnail, trying to work out the best social media strategy for what was ahead. Somewhere deep inside, she knew her actions were wrong. A memory played, as if hidden behind a thin fog, cast away by a sudden breeze. Half a pound of tuppenny rice, half a pound of treacle. Joanna stared entranced as she absentmindedly hummed the tune. Wrapping her fingers around the steel handle of her Jack-in-the-box, her heart gave a flutter. She knew what was coming but was excited just the same. Tomorrow was her birthday. She was a big girl now. Soon she would have ten candles on her cake . . . her hands dropped from the Jack-in-the-box and it fell on the floor.

  Joanna snapped back to the present as a commotion erupted downstairs. Had they found Abigail? No, she thought sadly. That wasn’t very likely to happen. She swallowed hard, returning her attention to the computer. If they wanted her, they’d call her. Everything was just fine and dandy, she thought, typing pleasant responses to the hateful online campaign.

  ‘Joanna.’ Jennifer knocked gently on the door. ‘Can I come in?’

  She huffed with impatience. She had yet to update her blog.

  ‘Very well,’ she said, sliding the iPad under her pillow. ‘Come in.’

  The detective’s face told her that there had been a significant development. And it was not good news. ‘Can you come downstairs and join the rest of us?’

  ‘Can’t you tell me now?’ Joanna said, unsure if her legs would support her. A war was waging in her head and she fought to remain in control.

  Jennifer shook her head grimly. ‘It’s best if you come downstairs.’

  ‘Very well.’ She interlocked her fingers and stretched them out before her. ‘I’ll be with you in a second.’

  The detective nodded, her inquisitive eyes sweeping the room. As if Joanna couldn’t see the suspicion they held. Her bed, the wardrobe, the open en suite door. She caught Joanna’s gaze, and had the decency to look embarrassed before she retreated through the door.

  Joanna sat at her vanity table and undid the clasps of her hair. She fingered her long blonde locks, allowed them to slide through her fingers. Her hair was soft and untangled, her pride and joy. Her fingers found the nape of her neck, and she began to comb. She touched a tender spot of skin, before winding her index finger around a bunch of hairs. On she wound, until the tip of her index finger turned blue. Gritting her teeth, she pulled sharply until a handful of hair broke free from her scalp. Muffling a yelp, she savoured the sweet sting of release. It took only two calming breaths before she could face herself in the mirror again. Smiling, she picked up the old-fashioned paddle brush and worked it through her hair with long sweeping strokes. A quick squirt of hair spray, an application of lipstick, and she was ready. She smiled for the mirror, running her tongue over her teeth as she leaned into reflection. Tick tock, let the cogs turn, wind me up and off I go. The words rebounded in her head like a mantra. It would be all right. Keep winding until you could not stop. Everything would be all right.

  But each step down the stairs felt like crossing a chasm, her legs taking her somewhere she did not want to go. But they carried on, bringing her closer to what she already knew. Abigail was dead. And it was all her fault.

  Chapter Twenty-Five

  The clock in the kitchen seemed to pause between each tick as Joanna’s leather shoes tapped on the stairs. Tick . . . tick . . . tick . . . It felt as if the house was slowing down, allowing them time to digest what lay ahead. Jennifer stared at the white linen tablecloth. She had gradually adjusted to the heavy oppressive cloud, but she felt like an outsider as she ushered extended family and friends to wait in the living room. They had regarded her with some suspicion, as if she was responsible for the pain she was about to inflict. Good news would have been shouted from the rooftops, but bad news was spoken in quiet tones, away from prying eyes. They must have known that, but it didn’t stop them searching her face for clues. Avoiding eye contact, Jennifer kept her expression neutral.

  Around the table were Fiona, Nick, his colleague Karen Corbett, and the young man Jennifer had seen on her first day to the farm. Brother and sister, both had come up squeaky clean during police background checks. It was hardly surprising, given that Karen was a trainee investigator from Lexton CID. Her tresses were a couple of shades darker than her brother’s tousled auburn hair, but they both shared the same striking green eyes. She was barely out of her probation, and working under Nick in CID. Nick’s voice softened when he spoke to her, as if it were a relief instead of a strain. Jennifer would rather have spoken only to Nick and Joanna, but Nick had asked for Fiona, Matt and Karen to be there too.

  Joanna appeared sombre as she joined them at the table. The fragrance of her floral perfume overtook the sweet smell of damp timbers burning in the Aga, and the only sound was the crackle of the range and the wind whistling through the cracks in the back door.

  Jennifer stared, seeing rigidity behind Joanna’s expression – her eyes glazed, as if she was somewhere else.

  Joanna wrapped her fingers around the solid oak chair before robotically sitting down. Every movement came under Jennifer’s scrutiny, and cracks were starting to show in her veneer. Nick coughed to clear his throat, and Jennifer could feel his eyes boring through her skull as he awaited the news.

  ‘We’ve had a significant update,’ Jennifer said, seeing no point in delaying the news. ‘As you know, the divers have been searching a stretch of the river.’

  A whimper came from her left and Fiona clasped a hand over her mouth to contain it. Nick bowed his head, and Jennifer watched as Karen wound her hand around his back, rubbing in circular soothing strokes. They seemed oblivious to Joanna, whose eyes were on Jennifer, waiting for her to continue.

  Jennifer took a deep breath, the words distasteful as they rolled onto her tongue. ‘They’ve found a body.’

  She quickly followed up the words with reassurance, trying to offer them the little hope she could. ‘There’s been no identification yet, so it may not be Abigail. But you’ve asked to be updated every step of the way.’

  ‘Right,’ Joanna said, clasping her hands together. ‘Well, in that case we wait to find out more.’

  ‘Of course. There was also a journalist in the area of the search. We didn’t want you hearing it from anywhere else.’

  Joanna’s face lit up at the mention of journalists. Jennifer bit her lip, holding back the scolding on her tongue. This was about Abigail, not Joanna, or some poxy publicity.

  Jennifer took a deep breath. ‘Obviously we recommend you don’t speak to journalists just yet. We’re just starting to claw back public support, and you don’t want to do anything to jeopardise your relationship in the community long-term.’

  Nick spoke a flat drawl, as if someone had just stamped on the last spark of hope. ‘So what you’re saying is that you think the body is Abigail.’

  Jennifer reddened, realising that her comment about settling into the community long-term didn’t offer much hope.

  ‘I’m sorry if it came out like that. I . . .’ Jennifer sighed, considering her words carefully. ‘I meant that, whatever happens, even if Abigail is returned to the family safely, people will remember what was said in the press. I know as much as you do right now. I’m just advising caution as far as the press is concerned.’

  But Jennifer’s thoughts were racing ahead. If the body in the river was Abigail, Jennifer could be pulled away from the family very soon. How were they going to pick up the pieces after this? If the police didn’t catch the person responsible, Olivia could be in real danger. It was possible she had witnessed the whole lot, and her attacker could be in the home, just waiting for the opportunity to silence her. She needed to speak to Olivia, to see if she could glean any further clues.