His voice is deep, confident, public school vowels smoothing off all the rough edges.
‘No.’ That question again, twice in the last twenty minutes. ‘I’m a friend of hers.’
‘Have you seen her?’ His red-rimmed eyes narrow, as if he’s trying to work out if he recognises me. ‘Do you know where she is?’
‘I was kind of hoping she’d be here.’ I gesture at him. ‘You’re her . . . flatmate?’
‘Boyfriend.’
‘Right.’ My memory flashes on an image of the dark bruises on Kathryn’s arm. ‘I’m Ellen, by the way. You must be . . . ?’
‘Max,’ he says reluctantly.
‘Nice to meet you, Max.’ I hold out my hand to shake, but he doesn’t reciprocate. ‘I’m a friend of hers, I was wondering if you’d seen her since Tuesday afternoon? That was when I was with her.’
There’s a deep red blush rising up his throat.
‘I saw her last on Monday morning.’ He sniffs. ‘We didn’t exactly part on the best of terms.’
‘Has she been in touch at all since then?’
‘I’ve already told that cop all of this. Why should I tell it all again to some randomer who just turns up on my doorstep? Why do you want to get involved, anyway? I’ve never seen you before.’
I throw a look down towards the road, where a pair of horses and riders are clip-clopping past.
‘Can I come in for a minute, to talk? I can explain.’
He crosses his arms and leans against the doorframe, tattooed bicep bulging against his knuckles.
‘I don’t think so.’
He moves to close the door but I put a hand against it to stop it shutting all the way.
‘I want to help,’ I say quickly through the gap. ‘To find her. And I want to help the baby, too.’
He stares at me, keeping his expression neutral. ‘What baby?’
‘Mia.’
‘Don’t know what you’re talking about.’
But he says it too fast, his face betraying him, his blank expression slipping. Just for a second. A moment of surprise.
‘I think you do, Max,’ I say. ‘They were together on Tuesday. That’s what Detective Sergeant Holt was just talking to you about, wasn’t it?’
‘How’d you know his name?’ He frowns, his heavy forehead bunching. ‘That cop?’
‘I’ve talked to him too.’ I sense him withdrawing again, putting more pressure on the door. ‘Listen, I was at the pub just now, the Red Lion, and the landlord mentioned Kathryn’s sister? I wondered if you’d heard from her too, if you’d spoken to her recently?’
He freezes, the red rising further up his cheeks, his jaw clenching and unclenching. ‘What?’
‘Has DS Holt already spoken to her?’
‘No.’ His voice is low and flat with an undercurrent of barely-controlled rage. ‘I think you should go now.’
I take a business card from my purse and quickly write my mobile number on the back of it. I hand it to him and he studies it, front and back, as if he’s not quite sure whether to hurl it back at me.
‘If you give me your number too, Max, I can let you know if I hear—’
