Cold Blood by Jane Heafield (great books to read txt) 📕

a gut feeling. And his gut told him this wasn’t about ease or practicality. He didn’t like the fact that the only windows giving a view of the green area were those in the two houses behind him and the pair across the way.

He’d already googled the nearest police station and tapped its phone number into his mobile. There it was, on the screen, and with his finger hovering over the call button, he started walking. If he saw anyone who wasn’t the large woman coming his way, he’d call the station, report his location, and keep the officer on the line until he got safely across the green.

Nobody appeared. While passing the playpark, he saw a metal post at its edge with another siren attached. The park’s apparatus was clean, in shape, but its emptiness made him think about his son. Joe and his friends often chatted online and visited each other’s houses to play Xbox games, and good old-fashioned days larking at places like this were minimal. It was a shame that technology had forced more kids indoors.

At Grodes Place he encountered another alleyway created by the high side-fences of two back gardens. He got partway down when a voice called out.

‘In here, quick.’

A gate in the high fence opened and the same large woman poked her head out. An arm waved frantically. She locked the gate behind him and scuttled into the house. He followed her into a kitchen, and only when the back door was shut did she seem to relax. Clearly, she didn’t want to be seen with a Loper. Or a police officer. Now he saw her name badge said Anika, Team Helper.

‘Upstairs.’ He followed her up, into a room with a large oak dining table loaded with boxes. They were also stacked beneath it and around the walls. At the window, she stared out. He watched, waiting, and she said, ‘It’s tough to see it every day. But this is my home. I can’t leave.’

He didn’t understand. ‘The green?’

Anika turned to him, puzzled. Now he saw she’d picked up a large, padded envelope at some point. ‘The playpark. It hurts to look out the window and see where Sally had her most fun. Where she had her worst experience. Where she might have died.’

Now it fell into place. Sally. The missing girl from ten years ago. Anika was her mother.

‘This was her bedroom. I use it for storage now, because it hurts too much to stand in here and look out at the park. Do you think I should have kept this place as a shrine? I know some grieving parents do that. I couldn’t. I needed to move on. That was the advice.’

Now he knew why she’d wanted to talk. She had heard a policeman was in the village, and she’d assumed he was here because…

‘I’m sorry. I’m not here about your missing daughter.’

‘Not here for Sally?’ The thought dismayed her. ‘But why not?’

‘I’m sorry, I’m here on separate business. I’m not part of Derbyshire Constabulary, and they’re the ones who would be investigating her case.’

‘Oh, they are. It’s still an open case. But unless they get new evidence, there’s not much they can do.’

Sounded about right. He looked past her, at the playpark beyond the window. He felt it wouldn’t help to continue this conversation, but he couldn’t fight his intrigue. ‘She was taken from the park?’

‘I know you police have theories it might have happened somewhere else, but I’m certain. I just know. So why are you in Lampton if not for Sally?’

‘I’m here to find four people. A film crew. They came here…’ He left it there, unwilling to state why the crew had come to Lampton.

‘Oh. I know who you mean. They were here on Sunday. They wanted to tell the story of my Sally. So are you connected to this after all?’

She seemed buoyed again, and he needed to shut it down. ‘No. Sorry. I need to find them about a separate matter. It’s not connected to your daughter’s disappearance, I’m afraid. I heard Chesterfield mentioned. You know why that might be?’

She gave a slow nod. ‘Chesterfield. That makes sense. The party. Sally was at a party in Chesterfield the night she disappeared. I think the film people might have mentioned going to Chesterfield.’

‘So they contacted you?’

‘They did. I got a phone call. It was on Saturday afternoon. But I couldn’t talk to them.’

‘Why?’

‘It wouldn’t do any good, would it? They were just telling the story. They weren’t investigating. They couldn’t help me, so I didn’t speak to them. I mean, I know the exposure might have helped. But… it was the correct thing to do not to talk to them.’

He didn’t understand. But whatever she meant, she didn’t sound that certain she’d made the right choice.

‘It’s old news now,’ she continued. ‘My Sally’s disappearance was a dark time for this village, and it brings back bad memories. And I wasn’t supposed to have something like this open old wounds. It’s not good remembering Sally in this way. I shouldn’t celebrate her birthday. I stopped honouring her death, you know. The anniversary of when she went missing. I wanted to plant small trees, one for each passing year. Ten years next March 6th, did you know? But it wasn’t the correct thing to do. Just like not keeping her bedroom as a dedication to her. A shrine. I should move on. Move on and wait to see if she comes back, I mean. And I have.’

It didn’t sound like she had. Something was off about her choice of words: the way she talked about things she should do or was not supposed to do. And a slip of the tongue she’d tried to slyly correct.

‘You grieve in the way you want to,’ Bennet said. ‘If you want to plant trees, or keep her bedroom the way she had it, you can. You are allowed to.’

That seemed to strike a nerve, but she said nothing. He knew she