Photos of the cortege leaving the house, of the mourners arriving, of the family departing the church. All of them inviting the same question. There was Eileen, being supported by her elder daughter, Carrie. And there were the twins, smart in their dark suits. But where was Ella? When he was alive, Alan Matthews had made great play of being a father of four, the fertile paterfamilias of a close-knit, disciplined and devout family, so where was his younger daughter? Why hadn’t she turned up at the funeral? And, more important, why had the family never mentioned her—during police interviews, during the funeral orations. Why had Ella been airbrushed out of the family?
As that thought landed, another punched through. The heart. All the other hearts had been delivered to places of work, but not Alan Matthews’s heart. That was delivered to the family home. Surely that had to be significant?
Helen’s phone started buzzing again. She was about to reject it—expecting it to be an irate Harwood—but she recognized the number and answered it instead.
“DI Grace.”
“Hi, boss, it’s me,” DC Sanderson replied. “I’m at the university’s admissions office and I think I may have something for you. I was going through the list of students who dropped out of their studies this year, looking particularly at female medical students. One name came up.”
“Ella Matthews?”
“Ella Matthews,” Sanderson confirmed, surprised by her boss’s prescience. “She was a good student for the first year, then went badly off the rails. Late work, turning up to classes drunk or stoned, aggressive behavior to other students. Her welfare officer suspected she may have resorted to prostitution because she had no money coming in from family. She was a mess. Six months ago she vanished.”
“Good work—stay on it. Find her friends, tutors, anybody who can give us more information on where she liked to go, where she felt safe, where she bought her drugs, anything. She’s our number one suspect—leave no stone unturned.”
Sanderson rang off. Helen knew she had no right to issue orders, but now that they were finally onto something, she was damned if she was going to let Harwood mess it up. This case still felt like hers and she wasn’t prepared to give it up yet. Bagging up the files, Helen hurried from the room.
Her time was limited, but she knew there was one person who could reveal the truth. And she was on her way to see her now.
104
It was past ten o’clock. They should both have left for work hours ago. But instead they lay there together, happy and warm in a postcoital glow, neither moving a muscle. After all the emotion and heartache of the past few hours, it felt so good just to be quiet and still.
After Steve had delivered his ultimatum, Charlie’s initial instinct had been to kick back at him. She hated being boxed into a corner, forced to choose between being a mother or a copper. But even as she accused him of moving the goalposts, of breaking his word, she knew that the fight was going out of her. If it really was down to a choice of the job or him, then Steve would win every time. Charlie loved being a policewoman—it was all she’d ever wanted to be and she had paid a heavy price for that ambition. But she couldn’t imagine life without Steve, and he was right. Therewasa hole in their life, the indelible shape of the baby Charlie had lost during her incarceration.
They had circled each other for hours, but eventually Charlie promised to leave her job. At that point Steve had cried. Charlie too. Before long they had ended up in bed, making love with a passion and urgency that surprised them both. They had eschewed contraception, a silent acknowledgment that things had changed and there was no way back.
It felt so nice, so decadent, to be lying here with him. She had turned her phone off and pushed away thoughts of Helen and the team, who were no doubt wondering where she was. She would call Helen later and explain.
If she felt a spasm of guilt at the thought—more than a spasm, actually—Charlie ignored it. She had made her decision.
105
Helen was sure Eileen Matthews would slam the door in her face, but for once luck was on her side. One of the twins answered the door and, on seeing Helen’s warrant card, let her straight in. As he ran upstairs to fetch his mother, Helen took a detailed look at the living room. Everything she saw confirmed her suspicions.
Eileen Matthews marched into the room. She clearly had a speech prepared, but Helen wasn’t in the mood to be lectured.
“Where’s Ella?” Helen barked, nodding at the framed photos on the living room walls.
“I’m sorry?” Eileen retorted.
“I see photos of you and Alan. Lots of photos of the twins. And Carrie—at her confirmation, her wedding, holding your first grandchild. But I don’t seeanyphotos of Ella. You and your husband were very big on family. So I’ll ask you again—where’s Ella?”
It was as if she had just punched Eileen in the face. She was temporarily robbed of speech, her breathing short and unsteady. For a moment, Helen thought she might faint, but then finally she replied:
“She’s dead.”
“When?” barked Helen, incredulous.
Another long pause. Then:
“She’s dead to us.”
Helen shook her head, suddenly furious with this foolish, bigoted woman.
“Why?”
“I don’t have to answer these quest—”
