‘Der,’ said Millie, indicating the middle sofa. Evi found the juice and ran the damp cloth over the seat. She could feel Tom’s eyes on her.
‘How are you feeling now, Tom?’ she asked. ‘Still tired?’
Tom shrugged. ‘Who’s that woman?’ he asked. ‘Is she a doctor, like you?’
Evi shook her head. ‘No, she’s a social worker. She’s here to find out what happened last night and make sure you and Joe and Millie are OK.’
‘Do I have to talk to her?’
Evi perched on the arm of the sofa. ‘Do you want to talk to her?’ she asked.
Tom thought for a moment, then shook his head.
‘Why not?’ asked Evi, noticing that Millie was watching the conversation, her gaze going from one speaker to the next as though she understood every word. Over at the window, Joe had gone quite still.
Tom shrugged again and dropped his eyes to the pile of firewood on the carpet.
Evi stared at him for several seconds, then made a decision. ‘Why have you never told me about the little girl, Tom?’ she asked. Tom’s eyes widened. ‘I know you showed me her photograph last night, but you didn’t tell me who she was.’ Out of the corner of her eye, Evi could see Joe at the window. He wasn’t peering through the gap in the curtains any more, he’d turned to look at them. ‘Is it because you think I wouldn’t believe you?’ she continued in a soft voice.
‘Would you?’ asked Tom.
‘I spend a lot of time talking to people,’ said Evi. ‘And I can usually tell when they’re lying. They give themselves away in all sorts of little ways. I’ve watched you closely when we’ve been talking, Tom, and I don’t think you’re a liar.’ She let herself smile, which really wasn’t difficult when you looked at Tom. ‘I think you’ve told me the odd little fib now and then, but most of the time you don’t lie.’ Tom was holding eye contact. ‘So if you tell me all about this little girl, and if you tell me the truth, I’ll know.’
Tom looked over at Joe, then down at Millie. Both stared back, as though waiting for him to begin. Then he started to talk.
‘She’s been watching us for a while now,’ he said. ‘Sometimes, it’s like she’s always there…’
58
‘WHAT’S AN EMERGENCY PROTECTION ORDER?’ ASKED Harry.
‘It’s a court order,’ replied Hannah Wilson. ‘It allows children to be taken into care for their own protection. They’re effective immediately.’
Harry sat back down, moving his chair closer to Alice. She was sitting quite still; he might almost have thought she wasn’t listening, had it not been for the trembling in her fingers.
‘Have you discussed this with Dr Oliver?’ asked Harry. ‘As the family psychiatrist I’d have thought she’d be the obvious person to consult.’
‘Dr Oliver can submit a report, of course,’ replied Wilson. ‘I’m sure the magistrate will take it into account.’
Harry was about to respond – quite what he would have said, he hadn’t quite decided – when they heard footsteps coming down the stairs. They could hear Rushton’s distinctive voice, then the front door opening and closing. The footsteps turned in the direction of the kitchen then stopped.
‘This is something the family need to know,’ they heard Rushton say, in a voice that was low but firm. Then he came into the room, knocking on the door politely as he opened it. He was followed by DI Neasden and a female constable. Neasden didn’t look happy.
‘Sorry to interrupt, Mrs Fletcher,’ said Rushton. ‘Need a word, if I may.’
Alice seemed to be bracing herself for another blow. ‘OK,’ she said. ‘Do you need to see me alone?’
Rushton looked quickly round the table, avoiding Neasden’s eyes. ‘Oh, I think we’re all friends together,’ he said. ‘’Ow do, Hannah. You on your way out?’
‘Have you found something?’ asked Harry.
‘I think so,’ replied Rushton. ‘What time’s your husband home, Mrs Fletcher?’
Alice seemed to have lost her ability to think quickly. She glanced at her watch, then at Harry. ‘He said he’d be a couple of hours,’ she said after a moment. She turned to the kitchen clock on the wall behind her. ‘A site inspection he couldn’t get out of. He should be back any time now.’
‘Good,’ said Rushton. ‘And you might want to get a locksmith up here. See if these locks can’t be changed.’
‘What is it?’ asked Alice.
Rushton pulled out the chair Evi had just vacated and sat down. Behind him, DI Neasden, his lips pressed tightly together, leaned back against the tall kitchen cupboard. The constable remained by the door, softly closing it behind her.
‘You remember we found some footprints in the garden last night,’ began Rushton. ‘Our forensics people took casts of them.’ He turned to the man behind him. ‘Have you got it, Jove?’ he asked.
DI Neasden had been carrying a thin, blue plastic wallet. With obvious reluctance, he pulled a stiff sheet of A4 white paper from it and handed it to his boss. Rushton turned it to face Alice and Harry. It was a photograph of a footprint in mud.
‘We know the prints must have been left in the garden late last night,’ said Rushton, ‘because of all the rain you had up here. If they’d been left earlier in the evening, they’d have been washed away. So we know at least one person apart from your children was out there round about the time the wall came down.’
Hannah leaned forward to study the print.
‘We took several casts of footprints last night,’ said Rushton, ‘and a whole load of photographs, but this one is the most clear.’ He turned to Harry. ‘You remember me mentioning that the constable who was first on the scene was a bright lad?’
Harry nodded.
‘Brighter than I thought, it turns out,’ continued Rushton, ‘because he spotted this print, knew the rain would compromise it and put an upturned bucket over it until the crime team could get here. They were able to take some very good photographs and make a good cast.’
‘They’ve made a cast of this?’ asked Alice. ‘What with – plaster?’
‘Dental stone, I believe,’ answered Rushton. ‘A very tough, durable sort of plaster.’ He pointed to the footprint. ‘This here’s probably a size seven, maybe an eight,’ he said. ‘Not the most helpful to have, frankly, because it could be a tall woman or a small-footed man. You’re a size four, I understand, Mrs F?’
Alice nodded. ‘And Gareth’s a-’
‘A ten, yes, we know. We took casts of his prints as well. Matched them to the boots he was wearing when he went outside. These prints are quite different. Much cruder tread on them. Can you see?’ Rushton ran his finger around the outline of the print.
Harry leaned forward to get a better look. Horizontal ridges ran across the print. From the shadows on the photograph they looked deep, the sort of ridges you might see on a boot made for walking through deep mud.
‘Looks like a bog-standard wellington to me,’ he said. In the instep arch between sole and heel, he could just about make out an incomplete shape, maybe two-thirds of a gently rounded triangle. ‘Is that a manufacturer’s logo?’ he asked.
‘Yes, indeed,’ said Rushton. ‘And although it’s difficult to see, I’m told the letters immediately below it say “Made in France”. Shouldn’t be too difficult to track down the make and manufacturer.’
‘But you knew about the prints in the garden last night,’ said Alice. ‘Why have they suddenly become so-’
‘Ah,’ interrupted Rushton. ‘But last night we didn’t know about the matching one upstairs.’
‘Boss, we really shouldn’t be…’ said DI Neasden.
Rushton held up a hand to silence him. ‘There are three young children in this house,’ he said. ‘They need to know this.’
‘Excuse me,’ said Alice in a low voice. ‘Matching one upstairs?’