‘Someone did quite a number on your house though, didn’t they? What do you think they were looking for?’
‘What do you mean?’
‘Clearly they were searching for something.’
‘They?’
He shrugged.
‘Whoever did this. You must have something they want.’
‘What are you talking about?’
‘Did they find it, I wonder?’
He’s testing me, I realise. Checking to see if I give the right answer, or try to fool him with the wrong one. If I tell the truth, I can’t trip myself up.
‘I have no idea, I don’t even know whatitis. All that I’ve found missing so far are some baby clothes.’ I want to sayin the nurserybut it sounds foolish, ridiculous, a word I haven’t said out loud for a long time. ‘They were in the little box room.’
He stares at me for a moment, his eyes narrowing. Weighing up my answer. Finally, his cheeks stretch beneath the black wool of the balaclava in what I assume is a grin.
‘This just keeps getting better,’ he says. ‘You don’t even know who the child is, do you?’
‘Child?’ I frown. ‘You mean Mia? How do you know about her?’
‘I know a lot, Ellen. About you. About her. All kinds of interesting details.’
I back away again, towards the window.
‘How . . . how do you know my name? How did you know where I live?’
‘I’m good at finding things out. It’s what I do.’
‘You’re the guy from the train,’ I say quietly. ‘The one who sat down at the table opposite me.’
The weirdo who took photographs, followed me off the platform.
‘I wanted to help her, to help Kathryn,’ he says tonelessly. ‘I want to help you, too.’
‘Help me with what?’
‘You handed the baby over to the police, did you?’
‘Of course.’
‘You trusted the police.’
‘Yes.’
He sighs and shakes his head. ‘Mistake.’
‘Why?’ I say. ‘What do you mean?’
‘They let him get away once already.’
‘They letwhoget away?’
‘The husband. Don’t you know? It’s always the husband.’
