“You mean Betty?” says Sam.
“Poor, lovely Betty,” Amy sighs. “Betty reminds me of my Grammy. Anyway, Betty had this ring, right? A ring that he stole? Guess what our boy Denver was wearing on his pinky finger. In the moonlight, it looked like it was glowing.”
Sam knows it’lltake the sketch artist a while to draw Denver’s face from Amy’s memory, and DC Chen said there was little hope of finding an online dating profile from years earlier, but he’d agreed to try. So, Sam spends the evening reading statements from Charlotte Mathers’ family, friends, teachers and those who came into and out of her home. She knows she should be finishing Denver’s book—there are only two chapters left—but she’s still only got limited concentration and she’s desperate to figure out who placed that tracker in Charlotte’s bag. Even though she trusts that Tina is focusing on the detail, she can’t resist thinking about Charlotte’s case instead of Denver’s book. She’s more convinced than ever that Charlotte’s killer and the author ofHow to Get Away with Murderare two separate men, and finding the child’s murderer has always been her priority.
Toni rests his head on her leg and occasionally licks her hand or the piece of paper in it. In the background, the TV is on mute, but it’s not anOnly Fools and Horsesrerun tonight. It’s Harry’s press conference, requesting Andrei Albescu to come forward as a person of interest in the Denver Brady case.
Sam works through the countless sheets of paper, separating those with alibis from those without. Plenty of people had accessto Charlotte’s school bag and could have placed a tracker in it, but only a handful of them have no alibi for the night Charlotte was murdered. Sam places Nigel Mathers, Jack Mathers, Mr. Patel and Jim the gardener, along with two teachers and five school friends, in the suspect pile to be reexamined. In the absence of physical evidence, they need to build a net of circumstances that point to one individual.
She picks up Nigel Mathers’ statement and reads again how he came home and followed his usual routine: treadmill, shower, glass of whiskey in his favorite chair as his dinner warmed in the oven. Then, he fell asleep.Something isn’t right, Sam thinks, and circles a few words in the statement to revisit later.
Next, she re-reads Jack Mathers’ statement. He left home around 6 p.m. for a retirement party, not long after Nigel had got back from work. He didn’t see Charlotte that evening and she didn’t call or text him.Odd, Sam thinks. Why didn’t she call her uncle when her father failed to show up? A little prickle runs down her neck and Toni licks her hand, sensing a change in her. She reads on. Jack left his retirement party to buy a vape refill, and his phone shows that he was there for the rest of the evening until he shared a taxi home—his return was captured on the doorbell camera. He comes in and heads straight to bed, having found nothing amiss. Something niggles, feels like it’s about to click into place, when suddenly Toni goes wild. The little dog leaps from the sofa with bone-breaking urgency. His fur sticks up and he barks with a rage that Sam hasn’t heard before.
A moment later, there’s a knock on Sam’s front door. Despite knowing she’s safe inside, her heart pounds as she moves into the hallway. It’s past 10 p.m.—late for any caller.
“Who is it?” she calls out, feeling silly at the tremor in her voice. Maybe she should have taken her police baton from her belt.
“It’s me,” says Adam Taylor.
Sam lets out a breath she didn’t know she was holding, andopens the door. Toni bounces over to their visitor, who reaches down and scratches behind his ears.
“Well, you’re a good guard dog,” Taylor says. “You heard me coming a mile off, didn’t you?”
“Is everything OK, Taylor? It’s pretty late. I—” Sam begins, but he cuts her off as he moves through the hallway and into her lounge as if he’s a frequent guest in her home.
“I need to talk to you,” he says, then adds, “ma’am.”
Sam doesn’t like his tone or the raised color in his cheeks. Clearly, this is serious. She follows him into her lounge and quickly picks up a cup, bowl and Crunchie wrapper, dumping them in the kitchen. She returns to the lounge, flicks on her jasmine-scented plug-in diffuser and sits down on the sofa. Taylor faces her, lowering himself into her mum’s old rocking chair, which squeaks at him.
“Is it about Charlotte?” Sam asks.
He shakes his head. “I’ve fucked up, Sam,” he whispers. It’s the second swear word Sam’s ever heard him say. He looks at the floor, wipes his face. “I’ve really fucked up.”
“You’re scaring me, Taylor,” she says, honestly. When he looks at her, she tries to smile reassuringly, but he just holds his head in his hands. She tries Dr. Thomson’s technique and sits patiently, waiting for him to speak. A moment later, he stands and steps into the middle of the room, leaving the chair rocking behind him like a scene from a horror movie.
“I…” he tries, pacing a little, his tall body filling her tiny lounge. He sits down next to her on the sofa. It’s a three-seater, but they’re both tall and their knees almost touch as they face each other. “It’s just that I really care about you, Sam. I mean, ma’am.Fuck.”
Sam feels her throat tighten and something else. A flutter in her chest that she hasn’t felt in a long time. Yes, she likes andhas even come to trust Adam Taylor in the weeks they’ve worked together, but—
“Remember when we went to Newcastle?” he asks. Sam frowns, taken aback. She nods. “You had that panic attack and…”
“And as I’ve said several times, I’m sorry, Taylor. That shouldn’t have happened.” Sam’s face burns and she fiddles with the tassel on the sofa cushion. “Like I told you before, I don’t drink, honestly. I’m on medication, so I can’t, and even before that I didn’t—”
“Can you try to remember anything else that happened that night?” he asks. She shakes her head. “Can you remember what happened when… when we got back here?” His eyes flick between her and the floor. Sam feels the air leave her lungs. Her mind is wild with possibilities. Had she tried to seduce him? Been sick on him?
“Really? Nothing?” he implores, turning to face her more fully.
She feels her cheeks burning up. His eyes are much too intense. She looks away and finds herself grasping the tassel on its own, which she’s unintentionally torn from the cushion.
He continues through the roar in her ears. “I’ve come to really respect you, Sam. I had no idea what you were wrestling with back then. I didn’t know about the—”
“PTSD?” she cuts in, not wanting to hear the letters from his mouth. “Lots of police officers have that. One in five, would you believe?” She tries her best to ignore the wobble in her chin. “For me, it doesn’t come from work-related trauma, but things that happen at work can trigger it. Like DS Lowry running his fingers up my skirt in a pub corridor and whispering in my ear that he knows I’m gagging for it. Like my own godfather convincing me we don’t have enough evidence against Lowry when it was just my word against his.He said, she said,so…” She lets her words die away. It’s the first time she’s spoken out loud of Harry’s betrayal. Even with Dr. Thomson, she’s maintained that Harry did the besthe could for her and always has done. But now? Considering Harry’s recent behavior, it’s time she faced up to the truth.
Sam feels a tear run down her cheek and lifts a hand to rub at it viciously. She hates crying. Taylor catches her hand and takes it in his, using his fingers to gently rub the tear away. His fingers linger on her cheek.
“Sam…” he starts.
“No, Taylor,” she says and he drops his hand, leaning back to give her a little space.
