with Gilbourne.
‘I can’t, Tara. He said the details were confidential because it’s a live investigation. I’m not allowed to tell anyone else.’
‘Yeah but this is me, Ellen. I’m not a random person in the street.’
‘I promised him.’
‘So why did he tell you this stuff?’
‘He said he was worried about me after what happened yesterday,’ I shrug. ‘Thought I would be safer if I knew some of the details.’
‘Seems like it’s a bit above and beyond the call of duty.’
‘What do you mean?’
She shakes her head. ‘He drives out here in an evening, gives you confidential info and swears you to secrecy like it could get him in trouble if anyone finds out. D’you think he would have done that for just anybody?’
‘Probably? I don’t know. I think he’s actually a nice guy, despite first impressions.’
‘He’s got a soft spot for you.’
I frown. ‘He’s just doing his job.’ I sip my coffee for a moment. ‘Is this your idea of trying to cheer me up?’
‘And he’s quite good-looking in a been-round-the-block-a-few-times kind of way. You can tell he’s a bit of a player.’
I shake my head at her, but I’m smiling. ‘Do you really want to help?’ I say.
‘Of course.’ She puts her coffee down on the table. ‘Anything.’
‘You did a stint on the Daily Mail, right? Before the boys came along?’
‘Longest three years of my life,’ she says with a grin. ‘Toughest newsroom in the country.’
She had put her English degree to use after leaving the navy. From newspaper journalism she had shifted into magazines and was currently on a career break as a staff writer for Jane’s Defence Weekly, with a specialism in the naval sector.
‘Are you still in touch with anyone you worked with at the Daily Mail?’
‘Some of the other specialists, yes. Education, health, the social affairs bod. Not so much with the general news guys.’
‘How about the crime desk?’
‘There wasn’t really a desk, more like two blokes with a couple of phones each. But I’m still vaguely in touch with one of them, yes.’
‘Do you think you could ask him a favour?’
I explain to her what I’ve found out about Kathryn Clifton, the way the locals in Great Missenden referred to her sister and the look Gilbourne gave me when I mentioned her. How he closed the subject down.
‘Kathryn’s boyfriend, Max too – his reaction when I asked about Kathryn’s sister. He was . . . weird. I thought he was going to really kick off, take a swing at me. But then he just shut the door. I googled the sister, all kinds of different combinations, but nothing came up that seemed relevant. Which seems weird because surely whatever happened would appear on a news site, a webpage somewhere?’
‘Could be a married name?’
‘Perhaps. I was thinking there might have been one of those EU privacy removal things to scrub her name from the Google results?’
Tara wrinkles her nose.
‘Maybe, but they don’t make that easy. Takes time and effort.’
Dizzy appears from under the side table, moving slowly and sniffing the air, likely checking the coast is clear of small boys for the time being. He jumps up beside me on the sofa and I scratch him behind his ears, his deep purr starting up on cue.
‘Well then, I thought there might be some kind of legal restriction on reporting? An injunction or something?’
‘There would need to be a sound legal reason for an injunction, a plaintiff with a lot of money and the high-powered lawyers that will buy you. Like those premiership footballers who got super-injunctions when they were sleeping with each other’s wives, so you can’t name names or even report the fact that there is an injunction. Victims of certain crimes get anonymity too. But I can message my guy at the Daily Mail and see if it rings any bells.’
‘Thanks, Tara.’
‘He’ll want to know why I’m asking.’
‘I’m sure you can spin him a line that’s plausible. Just don’t mention me.’
‘It might set some hares running. He might start doing some digging of his own.’
‘As long as he keeps us in the loop, that’s OK by me.’
She picks up her phone, selects a few options and begins typing a message. I stroke Dizzy’s head while she types. My cat has established himself on a soft grey blanket at the end of the sofa, his big paws kneading the material while he purrs contentedly. He seems to have settled in OK and I’m amazed how well he tolerates being pursued and grabbed by Tara’s boys,