Gone

69

Not long after dawn and the huge garden in Yatton Keynell was covered with frost. But inside the cottage it was warm – Nick had built a fire in the living-room grate and Janice sat near it, in a chair next to the window, the bleak winter sunlight throwing her into sharp silhouette. She didn’t move as her sister opened the front door at the appointed time and showed the guests through. No one pointed Janice out, but they all knew immediately who she was. It must have been something to do with the way she was sitting. They automatically came forward and introduced themselves to her, muttering things under their breath.

‘I’m so sorry to hear about your little girl.’

‘Thank you for calling. We really wanted to speak to someone else.’

‘The police have pulled our place apart. I can’t believe he’s been watching us.’

Janice nodded, shook their hands and tried to smile. But her heart was cold. The Blunts came first. Neil was tall and slim, with Cory’s Scottish colouring – sandy hair, eyelashes and brows. Simone had blonde hair, slightly olive skin, brown eyes. Janice studied them. Had some similarity in their appearances tipped something in Moon’s mind? Made him target them? Rose and Jonathan Bradley were even more worn down than they’d looked in the newspaper photos. Rose had fine-blonde hair, her skin so washed out and thin you could see the veins through it. She was wearing sensible stretch trousers, soft shoes, a pink floral sweater and a pink scarf tied at the neck. There was something pathetic about that scarf – about the attempt to keep up appearances. She and Jonathan shook Janice’s hand and slouched almost apologetically into their chairs, sitting a pace away and clutching the cups of tea Janice’s sister had poured from the pot standing next to the fire. Then Damien Graham came in and Janice knew for sure that the idea of physical similarities was nuts. He was tall and black with powerful thighs and shoulders, his hair cropped close to his skull. Nothing like Cory, nothing like Jonathan, nothing like Neil.

‘Alysha’s mum can’t make it.’ He was a little shy, out of place in this delicate country room. He settled on the last chair – a fragile, ornate winged affair that made him look even more powerful – and sat self-consciously plucking at the creases on his trousers. ‘Lorna.’ He crossed one leg over the other, making the little chair creak.

Janice stared at him dully, an enormous weariness coming over her. People talked about feeling empty, numb, at times like this. She wished she could feel either of those things. Either would be better than this hard, sharp ache under her ribs where her stomach used to be. ‘Look. I should introduce myself to you all properly. I’m Janice Costello. That’s my husband Cory over in the corner.’ She waited for everyone to turn and hold their hands up to him in greeting. ‘You won’t have heard our names because they kept it quiet when our little . . . little girl was taken.’

‘The papers said there’s been another,’ said Simone Blunt. ‘Everyone knows it’s happened. Just no one knows your name.’

‘They kept it quiet because they were protecting us.’

‘The cameras,’ Rose murmured. ‘Did he put cameras in your place?’

Janice nodded. She rested her hands on her lap and looked down at them, at the veins on the backs, showing through the skin. She couldn’t inject any expression or enthusiasm into her voice. Every word out of her mouth was an effort. Eventually she lifted her head again. ‘I know the police have spoken to you. I know they’ve gone through it over and over again and they can’t see what we’ve got in common. But I thought maybe if we got together we might work out why he’s chosen us. We might be able to guess who he’s going to do it to next. Because I think he will do it again. And the police do too. Even if they’re not saying it. And if we could figure out who’s next that might be a chance to catch him – to find out what he’s done to our . . .’ She took a breath, held it. Avoided Rose’s eyes, knowing what would be in there and that just glimpsing it would unhitch the spring coiled inside her. When her voice was under control again she released the breath. ‘But now I’ve met you all I’m starting to think I’m just an idiot. I sort of hoped that maybe we’d be really similar. I thought we’d look the same, maybe, like the same things, live in similar houses, have similar situations, but we don’t. I can just see from looking at us that we couldn’t be more different. I’m sorry.’ She was exhausted. So exhausted. ‘Really sorry.’

‘No.’ Neil Blunt sat forward, pushing his head out so she was forced to look at his face. ‘Don’t be sorry. You’ve got a feeling about it so hang on to that. Maybe you’re right. Maybe there really is something connecting us. Something not obvious.’

‘No. Look at us.’

‘There has to be something,’ he persisted. ‘Something. Maybe we remind him of someone. In his childhood.’

‘Our jobs?’ Simone said. ‘Something about our jobs.’ She turned to Jonathan. ‘I know what you do, Jonathan, it’s been in all the papers. But, Rose, what do you do?’

‘I’m a medical secretary. I work for a team of osteopaths in Frenchay.’ She waited for someone to comment. No one did. She gave a sad smile. ‘Not very interesting, I know.’

‘Damien?’

‘I work for BMW. Working my way up through sales. Always think sales is where it’s at. If you can do well in sales you can have the world in your hand. But you got to want the chase, got to love the kill—’ He broke off – everyone was staring at him silently. He sank back, his hands up. ‘Yeah, well,’ he muttered, ‘that’s me. Car sales. BMW. In Cribbs Causeway.’

‘You, Janice? What do you do for a living?’

‘Publishing. I used to be a copy-editor. Now I’m freelance. And Cory’s a—’

‘Consultant to a printing company.’ Cory didn’t look at anyone when he spoke. ‘I advise them in marketing strategy. Tell them how to greenwash their image.’

Simone cleared her throat. ‘Financial analyst. And Neil works for the Citizens’ Advice Bureau in Midsomer Norton. Specializes in custody cases during divorce. But that doesn’t ring any bells for any of you. Does it?’

‘No.’

‘Sorry. No.’

‘Maybe we’re looking at it all wrong.’

Everyone turned. Rose Bradley was hunched in her chair, slightly embarrassed, slightly stubborn. She’d pulled her cardigan high around her shoulders so it came halfway up the back of her head – like a scared lizard in oversized skin. Her pale eyes peered out uncertainly from under lowered eyebrows.

‘I beg your pardon?’ said Simone.

‘I said maybe we’re looking at it all wrong. Maybe we do know him after all.’

Everyone exchanged glances.

‘But we’ve just agreed we don’t,’ said Simone. ‘None of us has even heard of Ted Moon.’

‘What if it’s not him?’

‘What if who’s not him?’

‘The kidnapper. The person who’s doing all this. I mean, we’re sitting here assuming the police are right. That it’s Ted Moon. What if they’re wrong?’

‘But . . .’ said someone, then let the sentence die. Everyone in the room had stopped talking and moving. Their faces had gone slack. There was a long pause as this idea worked its way into their heads. One by one everyone turned away from Rose to Janice with expectant expressions. It was the exact way children would look at a teacher. Waiting for the person in control to come along and sort out the mess they’d got themselves into.