I start up, pushing the loft hatch open until it swings back and bangs against the floor. I can feel a cold draught of air, and bits of dust and grit fall on to my face. Once I get to the top step I haul myself up until I’m sitting on the edge. I don’t want to think about what I’m doing to my trousers. Somer hands up the torch and I turn it on and swing the beam round. Boxes, junk, old clutter; the same crap there was in the cellar. On the wall, the wiring for the old servants’ bells. I can just pick out the labels. Breakfast room. Parlour. Study. On the far side there’s a hole in the tiles the size of my fist.
I get slowly to my feet, stooped under the roof beams, and step carefully across the boards. Most aren’t nailed down and they sway a little under my weight. Suddenly, out of nowhere, something moves. A looming in the dark, wings, something leathery in my face –
They must have heard me cry out.
‘Are you OK, sir?’ calls Baxter.
My heart is still hammering. ‘Yes, it was just a bat. Startled me, that’s all.’
I take a deep breath and get my bearings. Work out where the mark on the ceiling must be. And yes, there is something there. Shapeless, hunched somehow. I call down for Nina to come up and I train the light on it. When she edges across to join me I hold the torch beam on it as she snaps on a pair of plastic gloves. And as she lifts the object carefully away we can see the dark, spreading and long-parched stain.
***
It takes a while to open it out. The plastic is so dry and petrified it cracks and won’t lie flat on the lab table. The lab intern makes a joke about it being like unwinding a Dead Sea scroll, then realizes that’s a bit crass in the circumstances and falls quiet. They work in silence then, until the whole thing is spread before them in the glare of the overhead lamp.
Nina Mukerjee picks up the phone and calls Challow.
‘So,’ he says a few minutes later as he slips on his lab coat and approaches the table. ‘Is it what we thought it was?’
Nina nods. ‘A car cover. Probably seventies and probably for that Cortina on the drive.’
They stand there, looking at it. No need for Luminol this time.
‘Jesus,’ says Nina under her breath. ‘He didn’t even bother to hose it down.’
***
The Botley Road, 7.00 p.m. The only sounds in Vine Lodge are from the kitchen. Muffled voices, the clunk of the fridge door opening and closing, laughter.
In the girl’s room there is silence. But it is not the silence of sleep.
Vicky is sitting up in bed, her arms clasped tight round her knees, rocking a little. Then there’s a noise on the landing and her head goes up. She slips quickly to the door and tries the handle. It gives to her touch and she stands there for a moment, breathing heavily, her fists clenched so tight that the knuckles show against the bluish skin.
***
Sent: Tues 09/05/2017, 19.35 Importance: High
From: AlanChallowCSI@ThamesValley.police.uk
To: DIAdamFawley@ThamesValley.police.uk
Subject: Urgent – Frampton Road
Just to say I think I may have found a way to test your theory about the journal. And the lab have run those other tests you asked for. One set of results didn’t ring true so they ran them again. But there was no mistake. The room at the rear on the top floor – there are traces of meconium on the floor. You don’t need me to tell you what that means.
***
‘What’s that smell?’
Gislingham turns to see his wife at the kitchen door. He’s at the stove, pinny on, tea towel over one shoulder, spatula in hand. And he’s bloody enjoying himself. On the other side of the table, Billy’s in his high chair, and clearly far more interested in what his dad is cooking than the bland mush in his plastic bowl.
‘Brunch,’ he says. ‘I’m not due in till later so I thought I’d make the most of it.’
Janet Gislingham comes over to the stove and stares into the pan. ‘Sausages?’
Gislingham grins. ‘A small token of appreciation from a grateful member of the general public. Who just happens to be a butcher.’
‘Careful – the powers that be might accuse you of taking bribes.’
Gislingham lifts his hands, mock-terrified, mock-Cockney. ‘It’s a fair cop, officer. You got me bang to rights.’
Janet raises an eyebrow. ‘Shouldn’t that be bangered to rights?’
Gislingham laughs out loud, then turns to the pan and cuts off a bit of sausage. ‘Here – try.’
Janet hesitates a moment, but they smell just too good. She pulls the piece of meat off the end of the knife.
‘Hey – that’s hot!’ she yelps, flapping her hand in front of her mouth.
‘Fab, aren’t they?’
She nods. ‘Where’d you get them?’
‘Cowley Road. Finest Old English.’
‘I can’t remember the last time I cooked sausages.’
Gislingham can’t remember the last time she cooked anything at all, but it doesn’t matter. She’s smiling.
‘You’ve got grease all down your chin.’ He reaches out and wipes it away with his finger, then drops the spatula into the pan and folds his wife into his arms. Billy starts gurgling and Gislingham gives his son a wink.
It’s going to be all right. Everything’s going to be all right.
***
In the canteen, Quinn is on day six of his own private nightmare. He’s giving off so much negative energy people are avoiding sitting with him, even though the place is always crowded at this time of day. He came in via Belford Street where Pippa said she was staying, but there was still no answer. He slams the phone down next to the plate of egg and bacon he’s barely touched. She’ll recognize his number now, so no surprises she’s not picking up – he needs to get someone else to try, and right now, there’s only one person he can ask.
He looks round the canteen. Where the fuck is Gislingham, anyway?
***
Just before 10.00, and Vicky and the manager of Vine Lodge are back in Interview One. Gow and I are watching them on the video feed. I took Wilcox to one side when they arrived and checked with him: she still hasn’t asked about the boy.
Gow glances across at the papers I have in my hand. ‘That was a shrewd call – asking Challow to run those tests on the journal.’
‘It was what you said about it not ringing true. It was just a hunch.’
‘That’s what makes you good at your job. Gives you a problem now, though, doesn’t it?’
I turn to him.
‘Because you’re going to have to disclose those tests to Harper’s defence.’
I pull a face. ‘I know. And we all know what they’ll do with them.’
There’s a knock at the door. Everett.
‘Are you ready, sir?’
***
When Gislingham finally gets into the office he goes to find Quinn.
‘Did we get those mobile records?’ he asks, perching on the edge of Quinn’s desk. Something Quinn usually hates. But when the cat’s in the doghouse, the mice take liberties.
Quinn shakes his head. ‘Magistrate said exactly what you said she would.’ He looks, if anything, even worse than he did the day before. ‘And now Fawley wants me to bring her in to charge her with giving a false statement. But the address she gave me – there’s no one there. And she’s not answering her phone.’
‘She probably recognizes your number – let me have a go.’
Gislingham punches the numbers into his mobile and waits.
‘Nothing doing,’ he says eventually. Even his indefatigable optimism is taking a bit of a hit. Or perhaps not. Because Quinn’s on the phone himself now, and he’s gesturing urgently at Gislingham.