69236538256563

RACHEL
Nicky opened the door. It was mid-morning, and DI Clemo was standing on the doorstep with Zhang.
‘Is there news?’ Nicky asked. It was all any of us ever seemed to say to each other. It was starting
to sound pathetic to me, as if we would be punished just a little bit more each time we asked it, as if
there were a vengeful God somewhere up there, counting each display of misplaced optimism.
There wasn’t any news. Clemo said that they were here to ‘have a chat’, though something in his
tone of voice suggested otherwise. It made me feel wary, but Nicky seemed oblivious to it.
‘I could have used a little bit of notice,’ she said, ‘to get properly prepared for you, but I’m
delighted you’ve made time to talk. We’re so very grateful. We’ve got so much to ask.’
She pulled some papers together, and tapped at her laptop, looking for a document.
‘Here it is,’ she said. ‘I’ve got a list here. It’s roughly broken into two categories: questions we
have about the investigation, and suggested actions to help in the search for Ben. Do you have a
preference for which we should start with? And how would you like your tea? Or would you prefer
coffee?’
I was watching Clemo and Zhang. He was waiting for Nicky to finish. Zhang looked at her
notebook, which she’d laid neatly on the table in front of her, then glanced sideways at Clemo.
Whatever they were here to say, he was going to be the one to say it, and I was becoming certain that
it wasn’t to discuss Nicky’s wish list.
‘Coffee, please,’ he said. Zhang wanted some too.
As Nicky filled a cafetière with boiling water and set it down in front of us, Clemo watched her in
a way that made frost settle on my skin.
‘From our point of view,’ she said, ‘this is so valuable. I’ve been doing some research, as you can
see –’ she smiled at them – ‘and everywhere it says that there’s a much higher chance of success in
finding the child if there’s a close relationship between law enforcement and the family. So – thank
you. So much. Help yourselves to milk and sugar.’ She set down a sugar bowl and a small china jug.
Steam rose from its contents. She’d warmed the milk.
DI Clemo opened his notebook and had a quick look inside it. He closed it again. Nicky finally
heard the silence.
‘I’m so sorry,’ she said. ‘I’m gabbling, aren’t I? Sorry.’ She pulled out a chair, sat down and looked
attentively at Clemo and Zhang.
Clemo cleared his throat before he spoke. ‘Do either of you know of a couple called Andrew and
Naomi Bowness?’
I shook my head. ‘No.’
‘Nicky?’ he asked my sister.
Her face had emptied of colour, instantly. It was extraordinary.
‘Oh God no,’ she said, and the tendons on her neck appeared stretched and odd as she looked first
at me and then back at Clemo, searching our faces for something. She stood up abruptly but didn’t
seem to know what to do then.
‘This will be easier if you can sit down and talk it through with us,’ said Clemo.
‘No,’ said Nicky. ‘Don’t do this.’ Her hands were clasped together, the edges of her fingers white
from the pressure of her grasp.
‘Please sit,’ Clemo insisted.
She didn’t sit; she crumpled back into her chair, as if he’d sunk his fist into her stomach.