The thought made her pause, worrying that she might make the stain worse. She was in her sister’s home, after all. It was only then that she began to wonder where the blood had come from.
Frances looked up. The dogs were out with Adrian and the children were at their granny’s. Reece was in the garage tinkering with the car, polishing up the chrome or something like that.
Puzzled, she stared at her own hands, turning over the palms to examine them. Had she scratched herself on a nail, cut herself on a knife? But there was no visible mark. No trace of an injury on her skin. So the blood wasn’t hers.
She crouched to look at the stain, as if it might tell her something. She felt like a forensic examiner who’d forgotten to bring her equipment today. If she looked closely enough, the blood might tell her whose it was. Was it even human, though? How could she possibly tell?
From that moment, she had a strong impression that whatever she did next might be very important for someone’s life.
Reece Bower pushed the curtain aside and gazed out of the window of his house at the empty road. He seemed to be watching for someone, but no one came. Frances Swann paced impatiently across the room. She was finding his reluctance infuriating.
‘We must do something, Reece,’ she said. ‘She’s been missing for hours now.’
He turned back towards her, but she couldn’t read his expression. It was as if he expected something else to happen, and she was disappointing him.
‘Yes, all right,’ he said in the end. ‘But Annette won’t thank us for it when she gets back. You know how she hates a fuss.’
‘I’m sure something’s happened to her,’ said Frances.
‘And I’m sure it hasn’t. Everything will be fine. You’ll see.’
‘Well, I hope you’re right. Are you going to phone, or shall I?’
Bower shook his head. ‘No, I’ll do it.’
‘You’d better tell them the truth,’ she said.
He paused with his hand on the phone.
‘What do you mean? What truth?’
‘You two had a fight, didn’t you?’
Bower withdrew his hand and held it up in a defensive gesture.
‘No,’ he said. ‘No, of course not. What on earth makes you think that, Frances?’
‘I saw the blood,’ she said. ‘Reece, there was blood on the floor.’
‘On what floor?’
‘In the kitchen.’
He smiled. To Frances, it looked like relief. ‘Annette cut herself chopping vegetables. That’s all it was, an accident. She must have missed cleaning a few spots up.’
She said nothing. She didn’t believe him, but wasn’t in a position to argue — not until they found out where Annette was, and what happened to her.
‘Is that all it was?’ said Bower. ‘Frances, really. I’m surprised at you.’
He took a pace towards her. Frances tensed, but stood her ground. ‘This is why we need the truth, Reece.’
‘Okay. It’s fine. We’ll do it. Though I trust you’re prepared for the consequences.’
Frances watched him dial and lift the phone to his ear.
‘Yes, I’m prepared,’ she said quietly. ‘I hope you are, Reece.’
Within a few hours, a search team had been through the house. It was normal procedure, Frances had been told. It was common in these cases for the missing person to be discovered close to home, often right inside their own house.
There had been a lot of questions for Reece to answer. A lot. There was an absolute bombardment from the detective in charge of the case. And Frances could see he was very unhappy about it. When had he last spoken to his wife? Had she said that she was going anywhere? Might she just have forgotten to tell him? What possessions did Annette have with her? A phone, a purse? How much money would she have on her? Cash? Credit cards? How was she dressed when she left the house? Had he checked the wardrobe to see if she’d taken any clothes with her, or personal items? Was there any reason she might have decided to leave? Had he noticed anything suspicious? Had he seen anyone hanging around the house?
Reece had become exasperated very quickly. He couldn’t take questioning like that. It wasn’t in his character. He was used to being in control and he became offended within minutes at the detective’s questions. Frances couldn’t see, but she could imagine them glaring at each other with a growing hostility. Reece wasn’t doing himself any favours. But she wasn’t sorry to see that.
And then came Frances’s turn to answer questions.
‘So Mrs Bower’s disappearance was reported by her husband,’ said the detective when he came to interview her.
‘Yes,’ she said. And then she added: ‘Eventually.’
He’d looked interested then.
‘Did you think he should have reported it earlier, Mrs Swann?’
‘I do,’ she admitted.
‘And you had a disagreement about it?’
She looked at the officer more closely. She hadn’t said that, but he’d read it in her manner. Frances realised that she had been underestimating him.
‘Detective...?’ she said. ‘I’m sorry, I didn’t take in your name. Everything has been so mad.’
‘Detective Inspector Hitchens,’ he said. ‘Paul Hitchens.’
She smiled at him. Somehow knowing his name made him more human.
‘Yes, we did disagree,’ she said. ‘I urged him to phone earlier, but he kept saying he was sure Annette would come home soon. And she didn’t, of course.’
‘We do ask people to be certain a person is missing for no good reason before they make a report,’ said DI Hitchens gently. ‘We can waste a lot of time otherwise, if someone is just late, because they’ve got stuck in traffic or their car has broken down. Sometimes they don’t have a phone, or the battery has run down, or it isn’t possible to get a signal. There are all kinds of innocent reasons.’
Frances shook her head. ‘It isn’t anything like that.’
‘Well, the other possibility is that Mrs Bower went away for a reason and is deliberately not making contact.’
Frances felt a flood of relief. He’d seen exactly what she was thinking without her having to say it. She would have felt guilty volunteering her suspicion. Disloyal. Of course, her true loyalty was to her sister, not to Reece. Yet she felt as though she was interfering in their relationship, coming between them in a way her sister would object to. She was afraid of what Annette would say about it when she came back. But that was if she came back.
‘It’s all right to tell me what you’re thinking,’ said Hitchens. ‘I assure you it won’t go any further, Mrs Swann.’
‘Very well.’ She took a deep breath. ‘Reece and Annette have been going through a difficult patch in their marriage. My sister confides in me, you see. She told me they’ve been having arguments recently.’
‘What about?’
Frances hesitated. It was getting personal now. ‘Oh, the usual things.’
‘I don’t really know what the usual things are,’ said Hitchens. ‘I’m not married.’
‘Well... I mean money, for a start. Annette likes to spend it. Reece is more cautious. He thinks she’s too extravagant.’
‘And that’s been causing arguments. Serious ones?’
‘Not violent, if that’s what you mean. Just an ongoing niggle and resentment.’
Hitchens didn’t look impressed. ‘Anything else?’
‘Well, a few years ago Reece had an affair. Annette was very upset about it, as you can imagine.’
‘That I can understand.’
‘It was with a colleague of his at work. Her name was Madeleine Betts.’
Hitchens consulted a notebook. ‘Mr Bower works at Chesterfield Royal Hospital, I believe.’