Hope to Die

* * *

‘Who are you and what the fuck are you doing?’

Malloy looks up and almost loses her balance. She’d been crouched down trying to look through the letterbox, an undignified posture at best, and even worse when you’re caught out doing it.

The woman looking down at her is thickset with dark hair in a spiky short cut, a pair of grubby jogging bottoms and a plastic basket of laundry under one arm. Malloy clears her throat. ‘Sorry, Miss –?’

The woman’s eyes narrow. ‘Ms Sullivan. Andrea Sullivan. Your turn.’

Malloy straightens up. Where the hell is Tomlinson when you need him?

She pulls out her warrant card. ‘PC Julie Malloy, Surrey Police. We’re trying to track down Camilla Rowan.’

The woman raises an eyebrow. ‘And? What’s that got to do with me?’

‘You signed her out this morning, so naturally –’

‘Naturally,’ she says, sarcastic. She leaves a pause. ‘Look, as far as I know she’s seeing her probation officer later this afternoon. What she does before that is none of my business. Or yours. Unless something’s come up –’

‘Not at all,’ says Malloy quickly. ‘Just a bureaucratic cock-up. Someone probably forgot to get the right forms done. You know what it’s like.’

She rolls her eyes and Sullivan seems to thaw a little. ‘I ought to, fifteen years on the job.’

Malloy slides a glance over Sullivan’s shoulder. Still no sign of bloody Tomlinson. How long does it take to check a bloody car park?

‘Do you know where Rowan was going when she left Heathside?’

Sullivan sighs. ‘Look, you’d better come in.’ She hitches the basket on to her hip and fiddles in her jogger pockets for her keys. She has three locks so it takes a while but eventually they’re inside.

She takes the washing through to the tiny kitchen, then comes back to the sitting room. She obviously hasn’t lived here long; there are still pictures wrapped in bubble plastic leaning against one wall and a stack of cardboard boxes labelled in big letters with red felt-pen, lounge, spare room, bedroom.

She doesn’t offer Malloy to sit down, so they stand awkwardly between the furniture, slightly encroaching on each other’s personal space.

Malloy gets out her notebook. A useful thing to occupy your hands, as she’s discovered in situations like this more than once.

‘So Ms Rowan didn’t say where she was going, when you were completing the release procedures?’

There’s a knock on the front door. Sullivan goes to open it and returns with Tomlinson behind her. He catches Malloy’s eye and gives a minute nod.

‘This is PC Tomlinson,’ says Malloy brightly. ‘He was just having a quick fag outside.’

Tomlinson looks momentarily startled but then smiles sheepishly. ‘Keep trying to give the bloody things up.’

Sullivan gives a quick dry laugh. ‘Yeah, you and me both, mate.’

‘Ms Sullivan tells me she has no idea where Camilla Rowan might be,’ continues Malloy.

‘I see,’ says Tomlinson. ‘Do you know how she was planning to get to her hostel from Heathside? Bus? Minicab?’

‘Like I said, no idea.’

‘You didn’t by any chance give her a lift? Given you came off shift at exactly the time she left?’

‘Not sure how hot your map-reading skills are, mate, but Dorking’s hardly on my way. And in any case, it’s strictly against the regs, even if I’d wanted to. Which I didn’t.’

‘Do you know if she has access to any sort of vehicle?’

Sullivan raises her eyebrows. ‘I doubt it, she barely had enough cash for a sodding Happy Meal.’ She looks from one to the other. ‘Is that it? Cos if there’s nothing else, I have things to do.’

‘Of course,’ says Malloy with a smile. ‘It’s obviously just an admin mix-up. We’re sorry to have troubled you.’

As soon as they’re outside Malloy turns quickly to Tomlinson and lowers her voice. ‘We need to run an urgent vehicle check.’

Tomlinson frowns. ‘On what? Her car’s still here.’

‘You didn’t see – when she got back to the flat she was carrying that basket of washing.’

‘So?’

‘So, I don’t think she brought it back home with her from work, do you? She wasn’t wearing a coat either and I never heard the main door open. I think she was upstairs – I think she brought that washing down to do it for someone else. Looked like old lady stuff to me, as well.’

Tomlinson grins. ‘Big knickers, eh? So you’re thinking a neighbour, maybe?’

Malloy nods. ‘More likely a relative. And Sullivan clearly hasn’t been living there long – maybe her mum was already in one of the other flats and she’s moved here to be closer to her?’

‘And in that case,’ says Tomlinson slowly, ‘it’s possible that dear old mum has a car too –’

‘Exactly,’ says Malloy. ‘Exactly.’

* * *

Just had two plods here asking questions. Surrey not TVP

Shit

What were they asking about?

You obvs

And?

Don’t think they caught on. Just a couple of uniforms

Think they checked my car but thats still there isnt it. Doubt they know about Mums

We’re way ahead of them, don’t worry

Just stay off the bloody motorways OK?

Yeah yeah

And text me when you get there

* * *

Adam Fawley

29 October

12.40

‘Noah knew about Rowan,’ says Gislingham, staring at the letter. ‘He knew what she did.’

I nod. ‘He knew.’

Quinn gives a low whistle. ‘Jesus, all those years she’s saying she never harmed the baby –’

‘She didn’t. That’s the point. Strictly speaking, it’s the truth. She didn’t kill him and she didn’t harm him. She just left him.’

‘Oh, come on,’ begins Gis. ‘A kid that was only a few hours old dumped in the middle of winter in a plastic bag?’

‘Don’t get me wrong – I’m not saying I agree, not for a minute. I’m just saying that’s how her mind works. How many times have we seen her do that – all those “lies” that turn out in the end to be quarter-truths? This is just another one: “I never harmed my child”.’

‘I’m not so sure about that.’

It’s Barnetson, looking up from the second letter.

‘Have a read of that.’