The Girl Next Door. Phoebe Morgan

Чтение книги онлайн.

СКАЧАТЬ her breath ragged, snotty.

      ‘My team are working on that,’ the DCI said, ‘and we’ll be looking at the phone records too – finding out who Clare had been speaking to recently, eliminating people from our enquiries.’

      Both of them looked back down at the list.

      ‘And her necklace?’ Rachel had asked, touching a hand to her own throat, grasping at her neck as though she’d like to snap it in two. Ian reached up, clasped her hand in his and pulled it gently back towards the table.

      The police exchanged glances. ‘Necklace?’

      ‘For her sixteenth,’ Ian said. ‘We gave it to her as a birthday present. It was only two weeks ago, 14th of January. A gold one, a locket with her name on.’

      Madeline thought back to the sight of their daughter on the ground, her blonde hair shining in the light of the torch. Feeling for a pulse at Clare’s neck. There was no necklace.

      ‘Is there any chance your guys could have missed it?’ Ian said, looking between them, colour rising a little in his face.

      ‘No,’ Madeline said, ‘that’s extremely unlikely. Everything that was recovered from the scene is on this list.’

      ‘But we’ll double check,’ Rob added, just as Rachel began to sob again, the sound echoing around the kitchen.

      ‘She’s a good girl,’ her stepdad kept saying, over and over again as the police stood to leave, the breakfast things still piled up by the kitchen sink, a stack of Clare’s clothing freshly washed on one of the chairs. ‘She’s a good girl, our Clare.’

      ‘We’ll be in touch,’ Madeline had said, ‘as soon as we can be, Mr and Mrs Edwards. We’ll be back first thing tomorrow.’

      But she’d checked the list this morning, rang the pathologist to check there was nothing else with the body. No necklace. No phone.

      The two of them spend the morning searching the Edwards’ house from top to bottom. The parents don’t look any better than they did yesterday – there’s a bottle of wine by the front door, empty, and another half full on the windowsill. Someone’s already left a bunch of bedraggled-looking flowers on the lawn outside, red roses, no note.

      Rob and Madeline go upstairs, leaving Rachel and Ian sitting downstairs with Theresa, the family liaison officer who arrived just as they were leaving last night. She’s nice, is Theresa, Madeline likes her. Nice but new, good at making tea. Madeline has told her to let the police know how the Edwards are together, what they say in the privacy of their own home. Theresa looked at Madeline like she’d said something awful.

      ‘You don’t suspect them?’

      ‘Theresa,’ she’d said, ‘in a case like this, we can’t rule anyone out.’

      Ian Edwards has told them that both he and his wife were home that afternoon, that he’d left work early with the plan of taking Rachel out for dinner. Rachel had confirmed that she’d been back from her job at Saffron Walden Estate Agency by four, following a viewing of a house in Little Chesterford, eight miles west of Ashdon. The couple had met back at home.

      ‘The family who viewed the house weren’t interested,’ she’d said between sobs. ‘They didn’t stay long, you can check.’

      ‘We will,’ the DCI said, his voice deliberately neutral.

      Clare’s bedroom is tidy, everything in its place – pale pink duvet, wardrobe full of clothes. Madeline runs her hand through the hangers, her gloved fingers brushing over Clare’s dresses and cardis. Her eyes scan the bookshelves, the bedside table with its cluster of hair ties and roll-on deodorant. There’s a pile of jewellery, stud earrings and a silver charm bracelet, but no sign of the gold locket necklace. There’s a string of photos dangling from the mirror – black and white polaroids of two girls sticking their tongues out. One of them is Clare. Not recognising the other girl, Madeline gently tugs the strip of photos and holds it in her gloved hand. Two sets of bright eyes stare out at her.

      ‘She was just a child,’ Madeline says aloud. The DCI doesn’t reply.

      ‘No photos of her father,’ Madeline says, gesturing around the room. There are none downstairs either; Mark is absent from the house altogether. Instead, Ian’s face beams down at them, his arms around Rachel and Clare. The replacement.

      ‘Odd,’ Rob says, ‘to have none whatsoever.’

      There’s nothing in Clare’s bedroom to suggest anything untoward, but they photograph the entire room just in case, bundle her still-winking silver laptop into an evidence bag. Back downstairs, Theresa hands out fresh mugs of tea.

      Madeline shows the parents the photograph of Clare and the other girl.

      ‘Lauren,’ Rachel says immediately, ‘she’s Clare’s best friend.’

      Madeline nods. ‘Thank you – we’ll need to speak to her, to find out if she knew any more about Clare’s movements on the fourth. Can I take a last name, please?’

      ‘Oldbury, Lauren Oldbury,’ the mother says, her voice cracking a little. Her face is very pale, her lips look almost bloodless.

      ‘Mind if I keep this?’ Madeline asks, the photograph of the girls between her fingers. Both parents shake their heads mutely, their eyes fixed on the static face of their daughter.

      ‘Mr and Mrs Edwards,’ the DCI says, ‘I’m sorry to ask this, but we’re going to need you to formally identify Clare’s body.’ He glances at Madeline. ‘One of my officers will accompany you this afternoon.’

      Rachel lets out a little moan. Her hair is lank, hanging limply onto her collar; she’s wearing the same clothes she was in last night. Ian nods, sets his lips together in a hard, straight line. Ex-army; Lorna’s looking into the files. There is something about him that doesn’t fit with this house; he is the third wheel, the cuckoo in the nest, the second husband, no matter what story the photos try to tell. Madeline wonders how Clare felt about the marriage. Whether she had much of a choice.

      ‘Thank you,’ Ian says, and the DCI nods.

      ‘We’ll send a car.’

      Madeline clears her throat.

      ‘Mr and Mrs Edwards, as you know, we have reason to believe that your daughter’s death was suspicious, and in light of this I have to ask you: do you know anyone, local or otherwise, who might have reason to cause harm to her? Or failing that, to you?’

      Rachel’s face is anguished; tears begin to slip down her cheeks, sliding into the tracks that are already there, white against her day-old foundation. Madeline watches her. The mother without a child. Bereft.

      ‘No,’ she whispers, ‘there’s no one. She’s sixteen, she’s my baby, she’s never done anything wrong, never—’ She breaks off, and Ian puts an arm round her, the gesture protective. The police watch them both, noting the dynamic between them.

      ‘What about you, Mr Edwards?’ Madeline asks. ‘Is there anything that comes to mind? Anything about her actions in the last few days, any behaviour that was out of the ordinary?’

      The glance between СКАЧАТЬ