‘Look. I understand this is a difficult time for you. Twenty years is going to bring out the crackpots and true-crime addicts. You know from previous experience it’s not unusual to get letters or ’ave things left on your step. Crank phone calls. I wouldn’t expect anything less with the recent exposure. I bet you’re plagued by journalists at the moment?’
I nod.
‘I wouldn’t put it past one of them to ’ave sent you the letter. Trying to drum up some new angle.’
‘But Marie is missing.’
That’s one irrefutable fact he can’t ignore.
‘But you found a notepad, in her house—’
‘Flat.’ Hasn’t he been listening?
‘Which implies she’s been offered the lead in a play? And this was written in her handwriting?’
‘Yes.’
‘And it’s not unusual for her to travel and not let you know when she’s going, or where.’
‘We’re not as close as we should be.’ Now I feel like I’m on trial – charged with being a terrible sister. ‘But I know something is wrong.’
‘I think Miss Sinclair has done the right thing, getting away. You should consider it too until the anniversary is over. No one will likely bother you then.’
‘Until the next one,’ I mutter.
‘There’s no evidence of anything untoward in Marie’s flat? The front door was secure. No signs of struggle? No signal there’s anything actually wrong. Other than your feeling?’
‘I saw him,’ I say quietly.
Nobody speaks.
‘I saw him,’ I say again, louder now. ‘It was the second time and both times he was in a black car.’
‘So you said earlier, Leah.’ He turns to Carly. ‘But you didn’t see him, you say, Carly?’
‘No,’ Carly says. ‘Sorry.’ I don’t know whether she is apologizing to him or to me. I had clutched Carly’s arm, pointing in horror the second I’d spotted him, but rain was running down the windscreen like soup, stretching the outside world. Everything distorted. By the time my trembling fingers had managed to jab the key into the ignition and swish on the windscreen wipers he had disappeared. Then we had nearly been crushed by that bus when I’d tried to find him.
‘I’ve read your notes about the last time he was released. What you claimed ’appened. What the medical professionals recommended for you.’
I close my eyes. I knew it would come to this. Then, they had believed me at first. They don’t believe me now. With my history, they won’t. It all feels so fruitless. My throat swells hot with frustration.
‘Look,’ George says firmly. I slip my hand into his. Grateful he, at least, is on my side. ‘Can you tell us where he’s living, put Leah’s mind at rest that he’s not in the area?’ His questions shatter the faith I had that at least my husband would believe me. I can tell by the way Carly has shifted nervously in her seat since we got here – avoiding eye contact – that I haven’t convinced her either.
‘I’m sorry, I can’t share that with you,’ we are told.
Carly has driven my car home, so she can pick hers up and collect Archie from nursery. George is taking me to work. I hadn’t wanted to go. The thought that he is out there – that he knows my address – makes my stomach spasm with nerves, but PC Godley’s voice echoes loudly in my mind: what the medical professionals recommended for you. I was nearly sectioned. If it wasn’t for George and Francesca fighting my corner, I probably would have been. It seemed awful enough at the time, but then I didn’t have as much to lose. I didn’t have Archie. If creating the illusion of a semblance of normality is what I need to do to keep my life together – my family together – then I will. But I did see him. I know I did.
Heart FM pelts out cheesy hits but I’m only half-listening until I hear a song so familiar my heart skips a beat.
‘5, 6, 7, 8,’ and it’s not just a reminder; it seems like a message from Marie. But what?
George pulls up outside my office and cuts the engine. The radio is off but the song carries on playing in my head.
‘I think it’s the right thing for you to be at work. To take your mind off everything.’
I don’t answer. In my mind I’m singing and dancing, one of the Sinclair Sisters when we were free. When we were happy.