Nightmare

76

Hoyle walked over to the window that overlooked the terrace. He gestured at the door. ‘That’s unlocked?’

Mr Jackson nodded. He was in his early sixties with grey hair that was only a few years from being completely white. He had a stoop and he had to twist awkwardly to look Hoyle in the eye.

‘What’s going to happen?’ asked Mrs Jackson anxiously. She was sitting on a floral-print sofa, her hands in her lap.

‘Mr Jackson, could you sit down with your wife while I go outside? The fewer people that Sophie sees, the better.’

Mr Jackson nodded and went to sit next to his wife. She reached for his hand.

‘Do you know Sophie?’ Hoyle asked them.

They both nodded.

‘And her parents? Are they good people?’

Mr and Mrs Jackson looked at each other. ‘Six years, and I can count on the fingers of one hand the number of times I’ve seen her with her mother or father,’ said Mr Jackson. ‘It’s always an au pair she’s with, and they seem to change them every six months or so.’ He looked at his wife again and she nodded in agreement. ‘The thing is,’ he continued, ‘one doesn’t like to talk out of school but they didn’t seem to be the most attentive of parents.’

‘Okay,’ said Hoyle. ‘Now please just stay there while I go out and talk to her.’ He walked over to the glass door that led to the terrace. There was a small circular white-metal table and four chairs, and several pots of flowering shrubs. Around the edge was a waist-high wall which was topped by a metal railing.

Hoyle opened the door and stepped out onto the terracotta tiles. He could hear the buzz of traffic in the distance and down below the crackle of police radios.

Sophie was sitting on the wall of the balcony next door, her legs under the metal rail, her arms on top of it. She was wearing a white sweatshirt with a blue cotton skirt and silver trainers with blue stars on them. She didn’t look over at him even though he was sure she must have heard him open the door. She had porcelain-white skin and shoulder-length blonde hair that she’d tucked behind her ears, and she was bent over a Barbie doll.

Hoyle coughed but the girl didn’t react.

‘Hi, Sophie,’ he said.

The girl stiffened but didn’t say anything.

‘My name’s Robbie. Are you okay?’

‘Go away,’ she said, but she didn’t look at him.

Robbie stayed close to the door. He had a clear view to the River Thames and far off to his left was the London Eye. There was a gap of about six feet between his terrace and the one that Sophie was on. It would be easy enough to jump across but Nightingale had been right: she could easily fall before he reached her.

‘How old are you, Sophie?’

She didn’t answer.

‘I’ve got a daughter called Sarah,’ said Hoyle. ‘She’s eight.’

‘I’m nine,’ said Sophie, looking out over the river.

‘Yes, you look a bit older than Sarah,’ said Hoyle.