phone screen. He wanted it to happen but, God, please don’t let it happen now, he thought, not here in front of the family.
‘You haven’t finished your tea, darling.’ Jonathan put his hands on his wife’s shoulders and bent over to her. ‘I’ll make you a fresh one.’ He took the cup and the basket from the table to the side. ‘Look, Mrs Fosse’s made us something to eat again.’ His voice was unnaturally raised, as if this was an old people’s home and Rose in the last stages of dementia. ‘Nice of her. Need neighbours like that.’ He pulled the linen cloth from the basket and sorted through the few things the woman had left. Some sandwiches, a pie and some fruit. A card, and a bottle of red wine with ‘organic’printed on the label. Caffery kept his eye on the bottle. He didn’t think he’d refuse if they offered. But the pie went into the microwave and the bottle stayed on the side, unopened, while Jonathan busied himself pouring hot water into a teapot.
‘I’m sorry about this,’ Caffery said, when they had cups of tea and slices of hot apple pie in front of them. Jonathan had seemed determined to keep up an illusion of normality, setting the table, serving food. ‘Interrupting you like this.’
‘It’s OK.’ Rose’s voice was a monotone. She didn’t look at him or the food, but kept her eyes on the TV set. ‘I know you haven’t found her. The lady told us.’ She gestured at the FLO, who had settled at the other side of the table and was busy opening a huge file to take notes of the conversation. ‘Told us nothing’s happened. That’s right, isn’t it? Nothing’s happened?’
‘No.’
‘They told us about the car. They said there was some clothing in it. Martha’s. When you’re ready we’ll have it back, please.’
‘Rose,’ said the FLO, ‘we’ve talked about this.’
‘I’d like the clothing back, please.’ Rose took her eyes off the TV and turned them to Caffery. They were swollen and red. ‘That’s all I’m asking. Just to have my daughter’s property back now.’
‘I’m sorry,’ Caffery said. ‘We can’t do that. Not yet. It’s evidence.’
‘What do you need it for? Why do you have to hold on to it?’
The underwear was in the lab at HQ. They were desperately throwing test after test at it. So far no trace of the jacker’s semen. Just like in the car. That made Caffery really uneasy, how controlled the guy was. ‘I’m sorry, Rose. I really am. I know this is hard. But I have to ask you some more questions.’
‘Don’t be sorry.’ Jonathan set a pot of cream on the table and distributed dessert spoons. ‘It helps to talk. It’s better to be able to talk about it than not. Isn’t it, Rose?’
Rose nodded numbly. Her mouth fell open a little.
‘She’s seen all the papers, hasn’t she?’ Caffery asked the FLO. ‘You showed her the one with Martha on the front page?’
The FLO got up, took a paper from a sideboard and put it on the table in front of him. It was the
Sun
. Someone in a women’s clothing store the Bradleys had visited on the Saturday morning had sold the newspaper footage of Rose and Martha browsing near the window thirty minutes before the kidnapping. The newspaper had published a frame with a time stamp and the headline:
The last photo? Just half an hour before she is snatched by a monster eleven-year-old Martha shops happily with Mum
.
Rose said, ‘Why did they have to write that? Why did they say the last photo? It makes it sound as if . . .’ She pushed the hair off her forehead. ‘It makes it sounds as if – you know. As if it’s all over.’
Caffery shook his head. ‘It’s not all over.’
‘Isn’t it?’
‘No. We’re doing absolutely everything we can to bring her home safely.’
‘I’ve heard that before. You said it before. You said she’d be having her party.’
‘Rose,’ Jonathan said gently, ‘Mr Caffery’s only trying to help. Now, here.’ He poured some cream on to her plate,
‘You haven’t finished your tea, darling.’ Jonathan put his hands on his wife’s shoulders and bent over to her. ‘I’ll make you a fresh one.’ He took the cup and the basket from the table to the side. ‘Look, Mrs Fosse’s made us something to eat again.’ His voice was unnaturally raised, as if this was an old people’s home and Rose in the last stages of dementia. ‘Nice of her. Need neighbours like that.’ He pulled the linen cloth from the basket and sorted through the few things the woman had left. Some sandwiches, a pie and some fruit. A card, and a bottle of red wine with ‘organic’printed on the label. Caffery kept his eye on the bottle. He didn’t think he’d refuse if they offered. But the pie went into the microwave and the bottle stayed on the side, unopened, while Jonathan busied himself pouring hot water into a teapot.
‘I’m sorry about this,’ Caffery said, when they had cups of tea and slices of hot apple pie in front of them. Jonathan had seemed determined to keep up an illusion of normality, setting the table, serving food. ‘Interrupting you like this.’
‘It’s OK.’ Rose’s voice was a monotone. She didn’t look at him or the food, but kept her eyes on the TV set. ‘I know you haven’t found her. The lady told us.’ She gestured at the FLO, who had settled at the other side of the table and was busy opening a huge file to take notes of the conversation. ‘Told us nothing’s happened. That’s right, isn’t it? Nothing’s happened?’
‘No.’
‘They told us about the car. They said there was some clothing in it. Martha’s. When you’re ready we’ll have it back, please.’
‘Rose,’ said the FLO, ‘we’ve talked about this.’
‘I’d like the clothing back, please.’ Rose took her eyes off the TV and turned them to Caffery. They were swollen and red. ‘That’s all I’m asking. Just to have my daughter’s property back now.’
‘I’m sorry,’ Caffery said. ‘We can’t do that. Not yet. It’s evidence.’
‘What do you need it for? Why do you have to hold on to it?’
The underwear was in the lab at HQ. They were desperately throwing test after test at it. So far no trace of the jacker’s semen. Just like in the car. That made Caffery really uneasy, how controlled the guy was. ‘I’m sorry, Rose. I really am. I know this is hard. But I have to ask you some more questions.’
‘Don’t be sorry.’ Jonathan set a pot of cream on the table and distributed dessert spoons. ‘It helps to talk. It’s better to be able to talk about it than not. Isn’t it, Rose?’
Rose nodded numbly. Her mouth fell open a little.
‘She’s seen all the papers, hasn’t she?’ Caffery asked the FLO. ‘You showed her the one with Martha on the front page?’
The FLO got up, took a paper from a sideboard and put it on the table in front of him. It was the
Sun
. Someone in a women’s clothing store the Bradleys had visited on the Saturday morning had sold the newspaper footage of Rose and Martha browsing near the window thirty minutes before the kidnapping. The newspaper had published a frame with a time stamp and the headline:
The last photo? Just half an hour before she is snatched by a monster eleven-year-old Martha shops happily with Mum
.
Rose said, ‘Why did they have to write that? Why did they say the last photo? It makes it sound as if . . .’ She pushed the hair off her forehead. ‘It makes it sounds as if – you know. As if it’s all over.’
Caffery shook his head. ‘It’s not all over.’
‘Isn’t it?’
‘No. We’re doing absolutely everything we can to bring her home safely.’
‘I’ve heard that before. You said it before. You said she’d be having her party.’
‘Rose,’ Jonathan said gently, ‘Mr Caffery’s only trying to help. Now, here.’ He poured some cream on to her plate,
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