Gone Astray (20 page)

‘No thanks, if I have one I’ll want the whole packet,’ said Maggie. She never paid much attention to what the scales said because her height meant she could carry off being a
size 14 and she looked good for it. But she did have a sweet tooth that required restraint and swam regularly to stay in shape. ‘Is there anything else the DCI wants us to do?’

‘Yeah. Rosie didn’t use her current Outlook email address to send the message. She used an old AOL account instead, but didn’t log on to it from either her iPhone or her iPad.
He wants us to find out what other computers she has access to. They’ve checked the account itself and the email to Cassie is the only time she’s used it in about eighteen
months.’

‘Fine. Is that it?’

‘He just mentioned that Camelot, the lottery provider, has confirmed the Kinnocks were the sole jackpot winners for their draw, so the crayon writer has no legitimate claim to their
money.’

Maggie gathered up her phone and bag as she prepared to leave. ‘How was Lesley when you got back?’

‘It all kicked off while you were gone. I was getting something from my car when all of a sudden a bloody giant duvet nearly lands on me.’

‘An actual duvet?’ said Maggie, bemused.

‘Mack and Lesley were rowing upstairs. It sounded pretty nasty – I could hear them both shouting when I went outside. Then she starts chucking stuff out of their bedroom window.
First the duvet, then some pillows and clothes. I brought them all in and left them in the laundry room; they’ll probably need a wash now they’ve been on the ground outside.’

‘Any idea what triggered it?’

‘I heard her shout something about him only caring about money.’ Belmar shook his head in wonder. ‘Can you imagine what it must be like waking up one day and finding out
you’re worth fifteen million quid?’

‘I’m not sure I’d like to. I’d hate to have to give up my job for one thing. I think I’d get bored not working.’

Belmar scoffed. ‘What, you’d prefer to carry on doing long hours and drowning in paperwork when you could be lying on a sun-drenched beach all year round? Nah, not me, I’d love
my numbers to come up. I think most people would.’

‘Have you spoken to them since?’

‘They’ve shut themselves away upstairs. I did ask them again on the way back about talking to Victim Support but they’re not interested.’

‘We can’t force them to, but let’s keep suggesting it.’ She picked up her bag. ‘Right, I’ll go next door to see Sarah Stockton. If either surfaces, ask them
about any other computers Rosie has access to.’

‘Why are you going round? Just call Sarah. She gave us her number.’

‘No, I want to see Kathryn’s reaction when she finds out Umpire wants to speak to her himself.’

‘Why?’

‘I want to see if she’s rattled. She’s doing a good job of pretending she and Rosie are as close as sisters but there’s only so long a person can keep up a
lie.’

A woman calling herself the Stocktons’ housekeeper let Maggie in through the front gate. As she walked the length of the bricked driveway, cold air needled her skin and
the blue sky they’d basked beneath for almost a week was now blanketed by thick, grey cloud. The downturn suited her mood and she knew the rest of the investigative team working out of the
incident room in Mansell would share her frustration that Rosie still wasn’t found.

The housekeeper, who said over the intercom that her name was Janice Gifford, was waiting for Maggie at the front door. She might’ve looked the part in a single-breasted black coatdress
with white lapels and grey-streaked brown hair pulled back into a chignon but as a welcoming committee she fell short. Her round, plump face, marked by a smattering of fine lines, was set with
suspicion, and when Maggie fished her warrant card from her bag to prove she was who she said she was, Janice studied it through narrowed eyelids.

‘I’m here to see Mrs Stockton,’ said Maggie.

‘Is she expecting you?’

‘No, but she knows me. We met yesterday at the Kinnocks’ house.’

Janice’s face pinched with concern. ‘Such an awful business. You’d better come in.’

The contrast between the Stocktons’ entrance hall and the one at Angel’s Reach was startling. The floor was covered in small black and white diamond-shaped tiles, the effect of which
was dizzying, while the walls were starkly white and decorated only by large prints of abstract monochrome shapes. Unlike the Kinnocks’ staircase, which was flush against one wall, here it
rose imperiously from the middle of the room, and the steps, which looked like they were made from some kind of marble, had been left bare. Maggie suspected Janice’s uniform had been chosen
deliberately to blend in.

‘You must know Rosie pretty well,’ she ventured. ‘I understand she and Kathryn are very close.’

‘I wouldn’t know, I’m afraid,’ said Janice, clasping her hands in front of her.

‘Doesn’t she come round often to see Kathryn?’

‘I suppose.’

‘Have you been questioned by my colleagues yet?’

‘I spoke to an officer last night,’ said Janice. ‘I told him I didn’t see or hear anything.’

‘Are you certain? I know these gardens are big but some noise might carry.’

‘I was collecting some dry-cleaning for Mrs Stockton in the village and then did a bit of shopping. I must’ve been out for a couple of hours. I did explain this to the constable who
came round.’

Maggie detected a trace of annoyance in Janice’s reply.

‘I’m not here to double-check your statement,’ she placated her. ‘Have you seen much of Kathryn today?’

‘She’s been in her room most of the day. I haven’t really spoken to her about what’s happened.’

‘Not even to ask how she’s coping?’

‘Why would I do that?’

Her attitude was starting to grate on Maggie. She forced a smile.

‘I just thought you might have said something, what with it being her best friend who’s missing.’

‘That’s not how we do things in this household,’ said Janice, stony-faced. ‘Now, please let me escort you to the sitting room. You can wait there while I see if Mrs
Stockton is available to see you.’

Maggie let Janice lead her into an imposing room where the monochrome theme continued. Along one wall was a black leather corner sofa that could seat seven and next to it was a glass-topped,
metal-legged coffee table the size of a door upon which a pile of magazines was neatly stacked. The top one was a pristine copy of
The Economist.
Fixed to the wall above a white marble
mantelpiece was a flat-screen TV even bigger than the Kinnocks’ and several colourless prints of landscapes Maggie didn’t recognize were hung on the wall around it. The only splash of
colour was from a waist-high crimson glass vase in one corner. Was it Sarah’s choice of decor or her husband’s, thought Maggie? It certainly wouldn’t have been hers. There was
also the marked smell of air freshener in the room and Maggie spotted a plug-in device in a socket on the wall nearest the door.

‘Is Mr Stockton at home?’ she asked Janice, who told her to take a seat.

‘No, he’s in New York for work. He left on Monday morning and won’t be back until Friday night. I told the constable that as well.’

‘Right. Thank you.’

Janice nodded stiffly then left the room.

Sarah burst in two minutes later. She greeted Maggie like a long-lost friend.

‘Detective Neville, how lovely to see you again,’ she said, clasping Maggie’s right hand between both of hers. Her skin was dry and papery to the touch. ‘How can I be of
help? Is it Lesley, would she like me to pop round and stay with her for a bit?’

Sarah’s eyes were slightly unfocused and Maggie, who had yesterday spotted the signs that pointed to her drinking, thought she might be tanked up on something other than alcohol. She was
jiggling from foot to foot in a pair of scarlet mules that were too tight for her feet – her toes were blanched white from being squashed – and a sleeveless shift dress in the same
colour.

‘No, but I’ll tell her you offered. I’m here because DCI Umpire, the officer leading the search for Rosie, would like to interview Kathryn and he’s asked me to set up a
convenient time this evening to come round.’

The jiggling stopped abruptly.

‘Why does he want to question Kathryn?’

‘Some new information has come to light that she might be able to clarify for us. It’s important he speaks with her as soon as possible.’

The frown darkening Sarah’s face was replaced by a smile.

‘Oh, that’s fine. You let him know we can see him right away and I’ll have Janice call her down. I thought you were going to say she was in trouble again. I never know with
that girl.’

Maggie bit back a retort, knowing it was for Umpire to bring up Rosie’s accusation of bullying, not her. But she couldn’t let it go completely – she wasn’t happy Kathryn
might’ve deceived her during their chat yesterday.

‘Has she been in trouble with the police before?’

‘Heavens, no.’ Sarah giggled. ‘When I said trouble I meant the usual nonsense: unsuitable boys, staying out past her curfew, not doing her homework, answering me back. But I
can’t really talk, as I was exactly the same at her age. Let me get Janice to fetch her.’

Watching her skip out of the room, Maggie knew the bad behaviour Sarah had just reeled off was unexceptional and that of a typical teenager. Would her mum even know if Kathryn was bullying
others? Few kids would admit that kind of thing to their parents.

A few moments later Sarah returned.

‘She’ll be down shortly. Can I get you anything, Detective Neville?’

‘No, thank you. And call me Maggie,’ she said, wanting Sarah to think they were on the same side because they were on first-name terms. It might make it easier to deal with her in
the long run.

‘Did you see us on the news earlier, Maggie?’ Sarah chirruped. ‘I wasn’t sure whether we should say yes to appearing, but Kathryn’s so upset about Rosie being gone
that I thought it might help.’

‘Let’s hope so,’ Maggie replied noncommittally.

‘She’s worried you think badly of her because of the row they had. It was just a silly argument. They really are the best of friends.’

‘Do they argue a lot?’

‘Certainly not. Kathryn looks out for Rosie. That girl is such a tiny scrap of a thing, there’s hardly anything of her. She looks more like eleven than fifteen.’

Sarah spoke with such conviction that Maggie was convinced she was telling the truth. Or at least what she believed was the truth.

‘So I can call DCI Umpire to let him know he can come round now to interview Kathryn?’ she said.

‘Of course. We want to do anything we can to help. I can’t imagine how Lesley must be feeling,’ said Sarah. Her face twisted into a scowl. ‘If anyone hurt Kathryn,
I’d kill them . . . Oh, the look on your face! I’m joking, of course. I wouldn’t really kill someone. You know what I meant.’

Maggie wasn’t sure that she did.

Umpire took only ten minutes to arrive because he was already in Haxton when Maggie called him, overseeing a search of the river that wound around its perimeter. So far the
divers had nothing to report.

He insisted that Sarah stay with Kathryn while he spoke to her. Given how hyper she was, Maggie wasn’t sure Sarah fitted the bill of an appropriate adult and took Umpire to one side when
he arrived to explain why.

‘She might be under the influence of something, sir.’

‘But you don’t know that for sure?’ he whispered back.

He stood so close to her that Maggie could see a tiny pinprick in his right earlobe that suggested at some point it had been pierced. She edged backwards, unnerved by his proximity.

‘Well, no,’ she said.

‘Then it’s fine. It’s not her I’m interviewing.’

‘Are you sure? She tends to go on a bit as it is. If she’s lubricated, we’ll never shut her up.’

‘Good. If she prattles on for long enough, she might let something useful slip.’

Umpire didn’t waste time with preamble as the interview began.

‘We’ve uncovered an email Rosie sent to a friend on Sunday evening, two days before she went missing. In the email she claims a group of girls, of which apparently you’re one,
have been bullying her and she makes an allegation of assault. Not against you specifically, but someone who was with you that day.’

Kathryn’s eyes widened. ‘Which friend?’

‘She didn’t say.’

‘No, not who hit her. I meant who was the email sent to?’

‘Darling, I don’t think it matters who Rosie emailed, just that she did,’ said Sarah, showing a better grasp of the situation than Maggie presumed she would. Kathryn frowned at
her mum.

‘You don’t actually think I’ve been bullying her?’

‘Of course not, darling,’ said Sarah, reaching for her daughter’s hand and squeezing it.

‘I haven’t done anything to Rosie.’

Maggie eyed Kathryn suspiciously. Her outfit was virtually the same as yesterday’s – jodhpurs, another T-shirt but blue this time, the same silver Superga trainers – but her
demeanour was markedly dissimilar. Dry-eyed, sitting bolt upright, she didn’t appear rattled by the accusation she’d bullied Rosie, just annoyed.

‘She’s lying,’ said Kathryn, shrugging her slim shoulders to convey her apparent bewilderment. ‘It’s just not true. Are you sure the person who says they got the
email isn’t just making it up? Is it someone she used to know in Mansell?’ she asked astutely. ‘Because it won’t be anyone from around here.’ When neither Maggie nor
DCI Umpire answered her, Kathryn pulled a face. ‘They’re lying to stir up trouble. Rosie told me they’re jealous because she’s rich now and she won’t have anything to
do with them.’

‘Officers, I have also heard Rosie speak disparagingly of the girls she used to go to school with in Mansell,’ said Sarah. ‘They sound like a horrible bunch, always swearing
and smoking and bunking off school. They’d be far more likely to bully her than someone from round here.’

‘Rosie didn’t name the person who hit her,’ said Umpire, ‘but she said, and I quote, “They were all there waiting after my last lesson, even Kathryn. When I tried
to get away, I was smacked across the nose with a book.”’