Gone by Mo Hayder Page A

then his own. He put a spoon into her hand and, taking his own, loaded it with apple pie and put it into his mouth, chewing carefully, his eyes on hers. He nodded significantly at her plate, trying to get her to copy him.
    ‘She hasn’t eaten a thing,’ the FLO whispered. ‘Not since it happened.’
    ‘Typical you, Dad,’ Philippa said from the sofa. ‘Think food’s going to cure everything.’
    ‘She needs her strength. She really does.’
    Caffery took the cream jug and poured it over his pie. He took a mouthful, and smiled encouragingly at Rose. She stared blankly at the newspaper on the table. ‘Why did they have to write that?’ she repeated.
    ‘They’ll say whatever sells papers,’ Caffery said. ‘There’s not alot we can do now. We did get the rest of the footage from the shop, though, and we’ve looked through it.’
    ‘Why? Why did you need to do that?’
    He arranged a chunk of pie on his spoon – did it carefully, taking his time. ‘Rose, look. I know you’ve gone through it all before – I know it’s painful, but I want to go back over that morning. I specifically want to talk to you about the shops you and Martha visited.’
    ‘The shops we visited? Why?’
    ‘You said you’d left the food shopping until last.’
    ‘Yes.’
    ‘I think you said you were looking for a cardigan? Was that for you or for Martha?’
    ‘For me. Martha wanted tights. We went to Roundabout first and got her some. She wanted ones with hearts . . .’ Rose paused. She pressed her fingers to her throat and struggled to maintain her composure. ‘With hearts,’ she continued, in a small voice. ‘Red ones. And when we’d got those we went to Coco’s. I saw a cardigan in there I liked.’
    ‘Did you try it on?’
    ‘Did she try it on?’ said Jonathan. ‘Does it matter if she tried a cardigan on? I’m sorry to sound rude, but what’s that got to do with anything?’
    ‘I’m just trying to establish a bit more about what that morning was like. Did you take your coat off and try the cardigan on?’
    ‘You’re not “trying to establish what the morning was like”.’ Philippa glared at him from the sofa. ‘You’re not doing that at all. I know why you’re asking. It’s because you think he was watching them. You think he was following them before they went anywhere near the car park, don’t you?’
    Caffery took another forkful of pie and chewed, holding Philippa’s eyes.
    ‘It’s true, isn’t it? I can see from your face. You think he was following them.’
    ‘It’s just one line in our enquiries. In my experience, random is rarely that random.’
    ‘Does that mean you’ve got some more evidence?’ asked Jonathan. ‘Does that mean he’s communicated with you again?’
    There was something small and hard in the mouthful of pie. Caffery didn’t answer while he worked it to the front of his mouth and pushed it with his tongue into the paper napkin. A piece of tooth, covered in pie. A broken tooth right in the middle of a case like this when he really didn’t have time for a trip to the dentist.
    ‘Mr Caffery? Has there been another communication?’
    ‘I meant what I said. I’m trying to establish a little more of what . . .’
    He trailed off, frowning at the napkin. It wasn’t a
piece
of tooth at all. It was a whole tooth. But it hadn’t come from him. He ran his tongue around his mouth. No gaps. And, anyway, it was too small. Much too small to have come from an adult.
    ‘What is it?’ Jonathan stared at the napkin in Caffery’s hand. ‘What’ve you got there?’
    ‘I don’t know.’ Puzzled, Caffery wiped the tooth on the napkin and studied it closely. A tiny milk tooth.
    ‘It’s Martha’s.’ Rose was sitting bolt upright, her face absolutely white, her hands gripping the table. ‘It is.’ Her lips were pale. ‘Look, Jonathan, it’s her baby tooth. The one she used to keep in her locket.’
    Philippa shot to her feet, strode to the table and bent over to peer at what