Forget Me Not. Claire Allan

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СКАЧАТЬ phone on her. They’re going to access her phone records, see if it throws anything up.’ He looked up again. ‘Are you two sure she didn’t give you any details that might catch him?’

      I shook my head. I wished I did know more. I wished I could point the police directly at him. I wished I could go and take him on myself. Ask him if it was him. Show him exactly what I thought of him.

      ‘So they definitely think he did it, then?’ Julie asked. ‘That’s who they want?’

      ‘Who else could it be?’ Ronan asked. ‘You know Clare … knew Clare. She didn’t have any enemies.’

      Julie shrugged. ‘Could it have been random?’

      He shook his head. ‘I don’t know. Maybe. But with the missing phone … something’s not right. They need to find this guy and quick. God knows if I find him first, the police won’t get a look-in.’

      Ronan looked exhausted, as if he wouldn’t have the physical strength to take anyone on. I wondered if he’d had any sleep at all.

      ‘How are you holding up?’ I asked.

      He gave a short, cold laugh. ‘I don’t know what side’s up. I feel so helpless. I can’t make it better. I’m trying to be here for my parents as much as possible, but you know, Jenny needs me home with the kids, as well. It’s hard to get the balance right.’

      ‘I’m sure Jenny understands,’ Julie said. ‘Your parents need you.’

      ‘My kids need me, too,’ he said, pulling a face as if he were mimicking the words of his wife. ‘I know they do, you know. But I’m only one person and I can’t split myself in two.’

      ‘You have to be careful you don’t burn out,’ I told him.

      ‘That’s what Patricia says. The family liaison officer. You’ll meet her soon, no doubt. She was just calling at the station and then she said she’d be over. She says I’ve to keep myself strong and well.’

      Julie nodded. ‘She’s right.’

      ‘And the media camped at your door? I assume she’ll deal with them?’ I asked.

      ‘We’re planning what to do, if we need to do a TV appeal, that kind of thing. It’s all so strange. As if it’s happening to someone else but at the same time, I know it’s happening to us. I just wish I knew why.’

      ‘The police asked me about James,’ Julie said. ‘You don’t think it could be him, do you?’

      It had been four years since Clare’s marriage had officially ended, following two years of repeated attempts to patch things up and try again. It was James who’d made the final call to walk away once and for all.

      I shook my head. ‘I don’t see it. He wanted out – she’d have given him her whole life and more. It was his choice to end things when push came to shove. They both worked through it and isn’t he with someone else now, anyway?’

      ‘Maybe he wasn’t happy about her seeing someone new,’ Julie offered. ‘He didn’t want her but he didn’t want anyone else to have her.’

      ‘I wouldn’t put it past him,’ Ronan said bitterly.

      But no, I knew in my heart it wasn’t James. He had no reason to hurt her. He was no saint, but he’d been a part of our gang of friends for ten years – surely we’d have known if he had the capability to snap like that? Grief was clearly making Ronan clutch at whatever straws he could see.

      ‘In so many of these things, it’s the husband or the partner or whatever. We’d be stupid to discount him,’ Ronan said while Julie nodded.

      ‘Well, I’m sure the police’ll speak to him, but I think it’s more important to find whoever this mystery man was that she was seeing. Don’t you all think it odd not one of us had met him, or knew his name even? And where is he now? His girlfriend’s been murdered. If he has nothing to hide, why hasn’t he come forward?’

      Ronan shrugged. ‘I don’t know. I don’t understand any of it. Maybe he’s married and coming forward would risk his marriage.’

      ‘If he’s married, and is cheating, I’ve no sympathy for him,’ Julie sniffed. ‘I hope he gets hauled in front of the media. Scumbag.’

      A shiver ran through me. What would they think if they knew about Michael and me?

       Chapter Nine

       Elizabeth

      I lifted my keys and told Izzy I wouldn’t be long. She looked at me mournfully, wanting to go on an adventure with me. But this wasn’t much of an adventure. This was just something I felt I had to do.

      I’d been the last person to speak with Clare Taylor. If I could bring an ounce of comfort to her parents, it was only right that I did so.

      I hadn’t been able to speak to DI Bradley that morning. He was busy, which was hardly surprising. But I had been able to speak to a friendly-sounding woman called Patricia Hopkins, the family liaison officer, and she’d okayed it for me to call round to the Taylor household. She’d be there to meet me, she said. ‘I think it really could help them greatly to know their daughter wasn’t alone when she passed,’ she said, which is exactly what I’d hoped she’d say.

      Still, my heart was thumping when I arrived outside their house and saw the street lined with cars. There were huddles of photographers and reporters standing around, dressed in summer frocks and short-sleeved shirts. There was an air of informality to it that I didn’t care for. I saw some laugh as they talked to each other, slugging from bottles of cool water. I knew they were only doing their jobs but it felt ghoulish. They were waiting for a soundbite of misery. I’m sure they couldn’t have enjoyed it all that much, either. I’d seen reporters over the years breaking down under the pressure of covering some of those horrific atrocities.

      I nodded an acknowledgement in their direction, wondered if they’d come running to me for a statement. Then again, they didn’t know who I was. What I’d seen. How I’d held her hand. If only they knew, they’d be all over me. I kept my head down, hoped that the natural invisibility that seemed to come with being a woman of a certain age would stop me from beeping on their radar.

      They say you know you’re getting on in years when policemen and doctors start to look unconscionably young. The uniformed police officer at the door of the Taylors’ house looked as if he had yet to start shaving. He’d a nervous disposition about him, a natural air of suspicion in how he looked me up and down. It was laughable, really. It was hardly as if I posed any kind of threat to him.

      I introduced myself as Mrs O’Loughlin, asked to speak with Constable Hopkins, the FLO – as Patricia had directed.

      He nodded and opened the door, directing me through.

      ‘Patricia, Mrs O’Loughlin’s here,’ he called.

      I was surprised and a little reassured to hear his voice had broken.

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