Chapter Twenty-Seven

  ‘I can’t believe this,’ Nick said, the veins throbbing in his neck like blue cables about to snap any minute. ‘You should be out looking for Abigail, not questioning me. Don’t you realise? I’d never hurt my daughter, never!’

  ‘We’re not saying you have. You’re a sergeant, you know we’re only doing our jobs.’

  The police officer across the small square table was a stranger to Nick, but he looked not long off retirement. Greying hair, eyes pouched from lack of sleep, DC Kelly had the look of a man who had spent too long in the job. Nick vaguely recognised the female sergeant. Her name was Baxter or something. Her long brown hair was scraped back into a bun, making her face appear pale and pinched. Nick decided that anyone with that many frown lines was not to be trusted, and he regarded her with casual unease. They had met him at the morgue and offered to take him further afield to prevent any professional embarrassment. But Nick, protesting his innocence, had not wanted to be far from his family in case of further developments. Lack of sleep combined with stress over the discovery of a body had made him bad tempered and snappy, and he barely recognised the man he had become. He rubbed his chest as it tightened, feeling as if he was being squeezed in a vice-like grip.

  ‘Are you all right?’ DS Baxter asked, tilting her head in concern.

  A glut of gas rose in Nick’s stomach and his cheeks puffed as he belched into his clenched fist. The chest pain eased. Indigestion. That’s all it was. Brought on by stress and eating snatches of food at odd hours of the day and night.

  ‘Excuse me,’ Nick muttered, gathering his composure. ‘Can we just get on with this? Just do what you’ve got to do.’

  The windowless interview room was small and poky, smelling of recycled air. Haven CID churned out suspects as if they were on conveyor belts: drug dealers, domestic abusers and small-time shoplifters. Officers queued to use one of the four interview rooms which were more like broom cupboards. Unlike the modernised police station in Lexton, where Nick worked. He wished he was back there, overseeing criminal investigations instead of being the suspect in the case of his missing daughter. They could dress it up all they wanted, a person of interest was one step away from being arrested if the right evidence came to light.

  DS Baxter’s voice cut into his thoughts, her voice soft and coaxing. ‘I understand this is an upsetting time, but we’d like to get some ambiguities cleared up. Can you tell me, what were you doing on the day of . . .’

  ‘I was in the cow barn, clearing it out,’ Nick said, pre-empting her question. What other day could they be talking about, if not the day of Abigail’s disappearance?

  A faint smile touched DS Baxter’s lips, but her eyes remained cold. ‘I take it by the tone of your voice this isn’t something you particularly enjoy?’

  Nick sighed. ‘Renovating a shitty cow barn isn’t on my list of fun things to do, no.’

  ‘So whose idea was it to buy the property?’

  ‘What are you trying to imply?’ Nick said stiffly. ‘I was unhappy about renovations, so I abducted my own child?’

  ‘I’m not implying anything,’ DS Baxter said. ‘I simply asked you a question.’

  ‘It was my wife’s idea. One of her many projects.’

  Nick folded his arms, which suggested that this was all he was going to say on the subject. He glanced over at DC Kelly. Pen poised over his notebook, he was giving nothing away. But Nick’s emotions had taken control. Exhausted and stressed, he lacked the capacity to keep them in check, and each one emerged on his face, giving his audience a full viewing. He shifted in the hard plastic chair, knowing they would take full advantage.

  DS Baxter crossed her legs and clasped her hands on the table. ‘Where were the children on the morning of Abigail’s disappearance?’

  ‘You know where they were,’ Nick said. ‘We’ve already answered these questions a hundred times over.’

  ‘I know,’ DS Baxter replied, with a slow sympathetic nod. It took Nick by surprise, and he wondered if she had children of her own. ‘Please. Humour me.’

  ‘They were meant to be in the house. I’d told Joanna not to let them out because the ground was all churned up from the tractor.’

  ‘Did you see them outside?’

  Nick dropped his eyes to the desk, the memories exposed too painful to share. ‘No. The last time I saw them was at breakfast. Look, I don’t see the point behind this interview if you’re going to go over old –’

  DS Baxter interrupted with a quick rebuke. ‘Why is Olivia frightened of you, Nick?’

  Nick’s head snapped up. ‘Frightened? Who said she was . . .? Ah. Jennifer Knight. She’s behind this, isn’t she?’

  DS Baxter locked her gaze on Nick in an intense stare. ‘You know as well as I do that she has an obligation of duty to report her findings.’

  Nick opened his mouth to speak but DS Baxter continued. He had seen officers like this before. Her sympathetic mumblings had been a ploy, and when he wouldn’t give her what she wanted, she would rebuke with a vicious attack. He folded his arms, wondering if he should request a solicitor after all.

  DC Kelly joined in on the questioning, and Nick had two pairs of stony eyes upon him instead of one. He felt the weight of their stares, and swallowed back the lump in his throat.

  ‘I don’t think you’re in any position to disapprove,’ DC Kelly said. ‘Olivia is so traumatised that she’s refused to speak. You’ve blocked our offers of a visit by a child psychiatrist, and she was overheard whispering to you that she wouldn’t tell. Would you like to enlighten us as to what this secret is?’

  Nick laughed incredulously. The hollow, bitter sound seemed to rebound off the four walls. His resolve to stay strong was crumbling. He wished the ground would swallow him up and take him somewhere dark, away from the pain, the bitterness and the accusations.

  ‘This is outrageous. Kids say stupid things all the time, it doesn’t have any bearing on Abigail.’

  ‘I’m not so sure. When DC Knight questioned you on it, you became very defensive.’

  DS Baxter joined in, ‘And when she was alone with Olivia, the girl became so frightened of you discovering her talking to the officer that she hid in the wardrobe. Does this seem like normal behaviour to you?’

  Nick inhaled a slow soothing breath. He knew how the police worked, and he shouldn’t allow them to get the better of him. He closed his eyes as a wave of tiredness overcame him, and allowed the tension to leave his shoulders.

  ‘You know if I was at all worried by your questioning, I’d call a solicitor right now.’ Nick opened his eyes, and returned the officer’s gaze. ‘But I’m not. Because as far as Abigail is concerned, I’ve done nothing wrong. So you can say what you like.’

  DS Baxter jumped in with a response. ‘I’m not saying you planned on harming Abigail. I just think something happened to her, and you were there at the time. It’s a farmyard, full of machinery and old buildings. An inquisitive child playing hide and seek, anything could have happened. Perhaps you knew it would be too much for your wife to bear. So you decided to cover it up, in the hope of sparing her the pain. But Olivia found you, and you warned her not to tell a soul.’

  ‘Bollocks. Utter bollocks,’ Nick said, the words ending in a yawn. It wasn’t that he didn’t care. He hadn’t slept in days and his body was shutting down. The officer’s voice seemed to be coming from far away, and he rubbed his eyes with the heels of his palms to focus. DS Baxter was still speaking, back to her ‘good cop’ routine. Nick was able to see right through her, and her method of interview did not impress him at all.

  ‘If something happened, then we can help. Just tell us where she is. She deserves that much.’

  Nick licked the dryness from his lips. His throat still felt scratchy from shouting over the last couple of days, and the dry stale air in the poky interview room didn’t help much.

  ‘You think she’s dead, don’t you? It’s why the search teams don’t call her name any more. Because the dead don’t answer back.’

  DS Baxter had the gall to look affronted. ‘I’m merely pointing out . . .’

  ‘You’re talking utter shite. How dare you tell me what my daughter deserves? I live for my kids, I’d give up my life for them,’ Nick said.

  DS Baxter leaned forward as she fired off the last few barrels of accusation. ‘Nick Duncan, did you kill your daughter Abigail?’

  ‘No.’

  ‘Do you know where she is?’

  ‘No.’

  ‘Have you hidden her, dead or alive?’

  ‘No.’

  ‘Do you know who has?’

  ‘No. Now I’m done answering your questions. If you want to question me any further, I want to exercise my right to a solicitor,’ Nick said.

  ‘What happened to “I’ve done nothing wrong”?’

  ‘It got bored and left the interview.’

  Nick was thinking of Abigail, of all the time wasted in this interview when he should have been looking for her – that’s if her waterlogged body wasn’t lying in the morgue. He shook off the thought. He couldn’t afford to fall apart right now.

  ‘You’re hiding something,’ DC Kelly said, having found his voice for the second time.

  ‘It’s nothing to do with Abigail,’ Nick snapped. ‘Now, I’m done here. I’ve answered your questions, and you can take your Family Liaison Officer out of my home.’

  ‘Which will result in you getting updates only when necessary. Is that what you want?’

  ‘Fine. In that case she can stay. But . . .’

  ‘But what?’ DS Baxter replied. ‘She can stay, but she can’t do her job? It’s all or nothing here. There are to be no repurcussions for DC Knight. We want to find Abigail as much as you do, and if it means asking some unpleasant questions then so be it. I want you to think of Abigail. What she’s doing right now. Is there anything you can tell us that will bring us to her?’

  Nick took a deep breath, his eyes swimming with tears as he pictured his daughter’s face.

  ‘I’m so tired. I thought I could do this, but I can’t.’ He shook his head, wiping away his tears with his fingers. ‘I was at the farm that day but . . .’

  A knock on the door interrupted their conversation and DS Baxter rose from her chair.

  ‘This better be good,’ she mumbled tersely under her breath as she left the room.

  DC Kelly announced her temporary departure, leaving the tapes running to negate any accusations later.

  * * *

  ‘Please, carry on,’ DC Kelly advised.

  But Nick was too caught up in what was happening the other side of the door. ‘There’s been a development, hasn’t there?’ He swallowed back the bitter taste rising in his throat as panic rose in every cell. ‘Oh God, they’ve confirmed it, haven’t they? They’ve found Abigail.’

  Chapter Twenty-Eight

  DS Baxter’s face was set in a mask of composure as she took her seat. ‘They’ve identified the body taken from the river. It’s not Abigail.’

  Nick blurted out his relief in a string of nonsensical word, tears running unbidden down his face. ‘Oh God, Abi . . . Abi, my little girl . . .’ Shoulders shaking, he crossed his arms over the desk and wept into them like a baby. The room was silent, apart from the squeak of the tape machine as the tape cogs turned ominously, picking up every sniffle, every tear of despair.

  As much as DS Baxter tried to bring Nick back to the line of questioning, the moment had been lost, and Nick was only interested in the recent developments.

  ‘If it’s not my Abi, then who is it?’ he asked, accepting the offer of a tissue from DC Kelly.

  DS Baxter spoke in clipped tones. ‘A young homeless girl who disappeared in Lexton. It’s believed she may have jumped off the bridge and been carried downstream.’

  ‘What age was she?’

  ‘Nineteen.’ DS Baxter pre-empted Nick’s next question. ‘She was a heavy drug user, very waif-like.’

  Nick frowned. ‘Abigail was just a child. How could they have thought it was her?’

  ‘We never said it was. You asked to be kept abreast of every development,’ DS Baxter said, in a pitiless voice. It was plainly obvious she thought he was responsible, and being on the wrong side of a police interview was opening Nick’s eyes in more ways than one. He turned his focus to DC Kelly, deciding to ignore Baxter from now on. ‘Well, at least for some family the nightmare is over. But what about us? What next?’

  DC Kelly cleared his throat. ‘We keep looking. Nick, hundreds of officers have been drafted into this. Your colleagues have come home from their leave to get involved in the search. Officers are working on enquiries around the clock, many of them over their rest days. We won’t let go until we find your daughter. That, I can promise you.’

  Nick nodded, blowing his nose one last time before shoving the tissue into his back pocket. ‘Does this mean we’re finished?’

  DC Kelly began to nod, but was swiftly interrupted by DS Baxter.

  ‘Just one more thing.’ She glanced over their notes. ‘Before we were interrupted, you said you were tired, “you thought you could do this but you couldn’t”. What were you going to say?’

  Nick shrugged. ‘That I blame myself. I should have been watching her. I’m meant to be there to protect my children, and I let them both down.’

  ‘And Olivia? Why is she scared of you?’

  ‘She’s not. She’s just traumatised by the loss of her sister. Talk to her if you want. It’s my wife who refused help for her, not me.’

  ‘And Joanna? How does her reaction strike you?’

  ‘I’m a copper, not a psychiatrist. It’s unprofessional of you ask me to assess her reaction to all of this.’ Nick stood, and leaned his hands on the back of his chair. ‘Now, seeing as I’m not under arrest, I’m going home to be with my family.’

  The news of the identity of the body had been met by a wave of relief when Jennifer passed it on to the family. For her, it brought mixed reactions. She had felt all along that Abigail was in soil, not water. Logic told her that if this was the case, she was most likely dead. Yet something held her back. A small wisp tugged at her senses, something she could not share for fear of giving them false hope. Dare she believe that Abigail was alive?

  Jennifer’s phone beeped with a text informing her that Nick was returning home. She downed the cup of tea that Fiona had made her and finished her ham sandwich. Like her, Fiona was staying on late to help the family. She had given up telling her that she took coffee with two sugars rather than tea with none. It was hardly surprising that Fiona was distracted, and the drink washed down well with the slabs of homemade soda bread that she presented fresh from the oven. They had all found different ways of coping with Abigail’s disappearance: baking and making hundreds of cups of tea seemed to be Fiona’s. Jennifer would watch her staring vacantly out the window, only to jump when the oven timer emitted a shrill ring. Jennifer wondered why the woman had never had children herself, as she was so good at looking after everybody else’s.

  Jennifer brought her mug to the sink and followed Fiona’s line of sight to the fields in the distance, now bathed in darkness.

  ‘Do you see your family at all?’ Jennifer said.

  Fiona smiled. ‘Not as often as I’d like. My mother’s in Canada and my father passed away last year.’

  ‘I’m sorry to hear that,’ Jennifer said, observing Fiona for a flicker of regret, or a change in expression. Full background checks had been made on all persons of significance, and Fiona’s words rang true. The scrunch of car tyres on gravel snapped Fiona out of her daydream, and she busied herself setting the table she had cleared minutes before. Her role seemed like an endless round of tea- and sandwich-making. If she was unhappy about it, she never gave any indication.

  Nick pushed open the kitchen door, beckoning to Jennifer from the hall. His hair jutted up at the sides, dishevelled and unkempt, and he seemed oblivious to the state he was in. Lack of sleep had brought him to his knees, and Jennifer wondered how long he could keep going. She followed him into the living room, which held the sweet smell of damp logs that hissed in the recently lit open fire. She had been informed about how the interview had progressed, but remained on her guard in case he wanted to admonish her for her distrust.

  Nick ran his fingers through his hair, his face looking haggard in the glow of the flickering embers. ‘I don’t want any bad feelings between us. I’ve never been a FLO, but I know how hard it must be, coming into all of this and having to take on everyone’s frustrations.’

  Jennifer nodded, relief sweeping through her. The last thing she wanted was another confrontation. ‘Thanks. I’d be lying if I said it hadn’t concerned me. But I’m here as an investigator, not to make tea. I have to follow up every concern, no matter how small.’

  ‘I know,’ Nick said. ‘I’ve not given up hope, though. She might still be out there, alive.’

  Jennifer nodded. ‘That’s why it’s important you pull together as a family. You know, underneath all that bravado, Joanna’s suffering too.’

  Nick’s lips thinned at the mention of his wife, and Jennifer sensed he was swallowing back his words. He would not trust Jennifer now, not even with the slightest throwaway comment.

  ‘You look terrible. Why don’t you try to get some sleep? I’ll let you know if there’s any development this end.’

  A bitter laugh escaped Nick’s lips. ‘If only I could. I’m an insomniac. Sleep doesn’t come easy, and lately . . . it doesn’t come at all.’

  Jennifer chewed the lipstick from her bottom lip, wishing there was something she could say to make things better. ‘Why don’t you get some food down you? Fiona’s prepared supper. I think she enjoys fussing over everyone.’

  Nick reached for the door knob. ‘I could do with a coffee . . . will you be joining me?’

  ‘I’ve just eaten, thanks, and I’ve got some phone calls to catch up on.’