whether she wants to go home or not. At first, she wanted to be at number 74 in case Mabel came back but now the idea of returning without her feels wrong. The flat is heaving with signs of her existence. How will they be able to look at the empty cot, the drawers of unworn clothes, the toys that might never be played with again? They are already at breaking point – it could shatter them into a million pieces. And the thought of the media camped outside in the street, their powerful zoom lenses trained on the windows, terrifies her. Press photographers would love to get a shot of Mabel’s distraught parents at the scene of the crime. And if Ruby does turn out to be guilty …
She remembers the promise she made to George in the small hours and, reaching for her mobile, sends a text to her sister.
Hi. We need a proper honest talk. Please can you come over?
The reaction is instant: Happy to talk but not at Mum’s.
That decides it then, thinks Amber, typing her response. Thanks. We are going back home tonight. Shall we meet there tomorrow morning?
Okay.
The sound of Sally’s insistent ringtone drifts into the room from the kitchen. Amber goes to the door and listens, trying to gauge the content of the conversation from her tone. ‘Yup,’ Sally says. ‘Thanks. I’ll let them know straight away.’
Amber’s heart rate rises. There is news. Going into the hallway, she calls up the stairs. ‘George! Come down!’ She rushes into the kitchen, where Sally is busy scribbling in her notebook. ‘What is it?’ she asks breathlessly.
George comes thundering down. ‘Have you found Mabel?’
‘Hold on.’ Sally lifts a restraining hand. ‘There’s been a development concerning Sonya Garrick.’
‘And?’ Amber holds hope in her breath.
‘As we thought, she’s in India, travelling on her own. One of our officers managed to speak to her at a hostel this morning.’
Amber feels her knees dissolving. She leans against the kitchen counter to support herself. ‘It was definitely her?’
‘Yes … I’m sorry. She left the country ten days before Mabel was taken and we’ve tracked her whereabouts during that time. Apparently she was very shocked and upset by the news about Mabel, and particularly that she’d been suspected. She, um, sends her sympathies.’
‘Right …’
‘She apologised for not telling anyone that she was leaving the UK or where she was going, but she said she couldn’t take it any more, needed to get away and be by herself for a while.’
‘Yeah … that doesn’t surprise me,’ admits Amber. Maybe that’s what she herself will have to do, she thinks, if Mabel is never found. She won’t be able to tolerate the likes of Polly and the other mums from the antenatal class circling like buzzards, feeding off the carrion of her grief. Or worse, suspecting that she killed Mabel in a fit of postnatal despair and persuaded her sister to help conceal the crime. All those friendships are over, just like everything else.
‘Well at least she’s been eliminated,’ says George. ‘Which puts Ruby and Lewis back in the frame.’
Sally frowns. ‘Don’t jump the gun. We still have several lines of enquiry to pursue. And now the boss definitely wants to do the reconstruction on Saturday.’
‘That’s good, but it’s three days away,’ he protests.
‘Don’t worry, there’s masses to do, we’re working non-stop.’ Her eyes flicker between them, then land firmly on Amber. ‘In the meantime, please go back over everything. If there’s any detail you can think of, any piece of information at all, however small, don’t be afraid to mention it. The media are digging for dirt on the two of you; there are all kinds of rumours flying around, so be on your guard.’ Her gaze burns into Amber. ‘It could get very rough. Take care of each other, eh?’
‘Of course.’ George squeezes Amber’s hand. ‘We’re totally united. Nobody can break us apart.’
Chapter Twenty-Five
Day Four with Mabel
I’m afraid my little girl is unhappy. When she’s not flat-out crying, she grizzles and makes ugly moaning sounds. No amount of cuddling or rocking comforts her, and I haven’t seen her smile for days. I indulge her with treats, but she spits them out and throws them on the floor. She’s not even that interested in her bottle. It’s as if she’s going on hunger strike.
I knew it wouldn’t be easy, that it would take a while for her to settle into her new life, but four days on, the situation is getting worse, not