Page 18 of The Tapes
How did she know? Why didn’t she simply tell me – or anyone? Why the tape?
‘Wasn’t it the week of the floods…?’ Nicola says – and she’s right. It’s one of the reasons Mum’s disappearance never quite got the attention some do. We’d had three months of rain across a weekend and the river had burst its banks. Hard for people to care about a single missing person when hundreds were being evacuated into hotels, unsure when or if they’d be able to return home. The police were never going to prioritise a missing middle-aged woman when they’d been roped into building emergency sandbag barriers on the riverbank.
‘There were no cash withdrawals,’ I reply. I’m back in that week now. I think of Mum’s disappearance and I think of rain. It’s impossible not to. The unrelenting wall of water. ‘The police did check in the end. They asked the taxi companies but there were no pickups in our area during that time. They said they looked at the CCTV from the shops at the end of the road but she didn’t go past. There was no sign of an attack, and we never got a ransom. After a week or so, we asked, “What now?” and they sort of shrugged. They told us it’s not illegal for an adult to disappear.’
I’m not sure I ever quite got over that. It’s perfectly legal for a person to walk away from their life and never look back. Given what Mum was like, me and Dad never pushed for more. What were we supposed to do? Stand outside the police station with a giant sign? Being a victim of the Earring Killer was never really a suggestion as she didn’t fit the bill.
We don’t get a chance to say any more, because Nicola’s mother is striding back from the toilets. She slots back between us and has a drink from her glass before clicking her fingers at the waiter. A moment later, and he’s returned with the bottle and a polite ‘madam’, as he pours for her.
She urges us to dig in, and then eats one of her own scallops. I do the same and, luckily, it tastes better than it looks.
‘How’s that husband of yours?’ Lucy asks, talking to her daughter.
‘Busy,’ Nicola replies.
Her mother points towards the wall near the toilets. ‘I saw his flyer on the board. You know my friend Annie says he’s a miracle worker.’
Nicola eats her final scallop and takes her time chewing. ‘He could just work at a gym,’ she says eventually.
‘Oh, don’t be so silly. I don’t know where this jealous streak of yours comes from.’
The daggers Nicola stares at her mother are impossible to miss as I chew another of the scallops. I’ve often thought Nicola’s jealousy of her husband was a little silly – but this is the first time I’ve heard anyone else saying as much. I don’t think it’s the personal training with which she has a problem, it’s that he visits people in their houses. Or, more specifically,womenin their houses. It feels like a non-issue, but Nicola did once tell me that Ethan was engaged to somebody before her. Even thoughthey’renow married, it doesn’t feel as if she’s ever got over that.
‘Who’s side are you on?’ Nicola replies, and there’s spite in her tone.
‘Sanity’s,’ her mother replies, deliberately stoking the fire, having already tried to wind me up.
Just as it feels as if Nicola might go off, my bag begins to buzz. I ignore the disdainful look from Nicola’s mother to grab my phone. Usually, I would ignore a call from an unknown number – but it could be the funeral director ahead of Friday, plus I could do with an out anyway.
‘Is that Eve Falconer?’ a voice asks after I say hello.
‘Yes…?’
‘This is Detective Sergeant Zoe Cox. Can I just check it was your daughter who reported finding a gun yesterday?’
There’s a chill and I stand, moving away from the table towards the window, keeping my back to Nicola and Lucy.
‘Is Faith OK?’ I ask, suddenly worried.
‘Yes. Sorry. I didn’t mean that. There’s no problem with your daughter. It’s about the gun itself.’
‘What about it?’
‘This is sort of complicated. We were hoping you might be able to come to the station…?’
‘What’s happened?’ I ask.
There’s a humming from the other end, a smidge of uncertainty. ‘We tested the gun for fingerprints,’ the officer says. ‘We got a match.’
She waits, taking a breath, but there’s something in her voice that I know means she can’t explain what she’s about to say.
‘The fingerprints belong to your mother.’
NINE
It’s been a while since I was in a police station. I’ve seen the TV shows, too, with grotty corridors and solid metal tables bolted to the ground. The two-way mirrors and the whole good cop, bad cop thing. I always assumed it was a bit of a cliché – and perhaps it is.
Sedingham isn’t big enough to have its own police station, so Nicola dropped me back at the office, then I had to drive half-an-hour to the next town along.
