brains on this Hind girl, old chap. Wouldn’t want a cock-up on something this big.’
Manon and Davy take up seats in Harriet’s office, Manon nursing her coffee with two hands.
‘What’s happened to her?’ says Harriet, pacing. ‘It’s like she’s evaporated. There’s no CCTV, no sightings …’
‘Where are we with the search?’ asks Davy.
‘Polsa’s widened it beyond Portholme Meadow – more than a hundred officers in all – and sometime today Spartan Rescue are going to start on the River Ouse.’
‘Take a week or two for a body to float up,’ says Manon.
‘What about that Graham Garfield chap, the Director of Studies?’ asks Harriet. ‘He was sniffing about on Saturday night.’
‘His wife says he was home with her after the pub,’ says Manon.
‘Think we have to be a bit circumspect about alibis given by wives and mothers.’
There is silence for a moment.
‘Right, the press conference with the Hinds. We’re going to watch Will Carter, see how he fares. Kim Delaney is trawling River Island for clothes similar to the ones Edith was wearing on Saturday night – jeans and a blue sweatshirt.’
‘Boss?’ says Colin, at the door. ‘We’ve got something.’
They all look at him.
‘Carter had another phone. Phone mast in Huntingdon picked up activity from a T-Mobile number registered to him on Saturday night.’
They all look at each other.
‘What sort of activity?’ asks Harriet.
‘Two calls, one at 5 p.m., another at midnight. That’s all we can tell before the full traces come in, but it puts him in Huntingdon on the night we think Edith disappeared.’
‘Where’s the phone now?’
‘Dunno, it’s switched off.’
‘Have we tracked his car out of Stoke yet?’ asks Manon.
‘No, we haven’t,’ says Harriet. ‘Nigel’s doing some work on the smaller routes, checking alternative cameras. We need to question him on this – no more tea and sympathy.’
‘Hang on,’ says Manon. ‘Let’s let him do the presser, see how he holds up. Then we’ll ask him about what his phone was doing in Huntingdon when he says he was in Stoke.’
‘I want officers on the door,’ says Harriet. ‘And I want us all over his alibi. House to house in Stoke around his mother’s address, see if anyone saw him leaving earlier than they both say. And CCTV.’
Manon perches one buttock on the edge of Colin’s desk and looks up at the monitor, which shows an empty table with four chairs behind it and microphones along the front, pointing at the chairs.
The rest of the team gathers around her: Colin in his swivelly chair; Kim back from River Island; Davy, of course; and the new recruit, Stuart Leach. Manon eyes him in her periphery, her eyes flicking from his shaven head to the monitor, then back to his broad shoulders in a billowing shirt (she loves a billowing shirt on a man, especially with sharp creases), his square jaw and dark eyes, which have a certain amused mischief in them. He catches her eye and smiles.
‘So, it was the boyfriend, was it?’ he says, and she can feel all his charm being launched at her like a hand grenade – mischief slash disrespect.
‘Looks like it. We don’t know for sure,’ she says, looking upwards at the monitor and simultaneously tightening her body under his gaze. She’s going to have to cut back on the Marmite toast. ‘Here they are.’
They watch as Harriet sits in the chair to the right of the screen. The Hinds then inch into view from the left, shuffling into their seats on half-bended legs and holding hands, their gaze downward. Will Carter enters last, wearing a mid-blue shirt that brings out the slate colour of his eyes. Manon can almost hear the female reporters in the room sitting up straighter. Flashes going, the electronic burr blending into the shuffling and murmuring of the crowd settling: TV news, locals, nationals, agencies, digital channels, web reporters. Manon sees the grey hollows beneath Sir Ian’s eyes. Lady
Manon and Davy take up seats in Harriet’s office, Manon nursing her coffee with two hands.
‘What’s happened to her?’ says Harriet, pacing. ‘It’s like she’s evaporated. There’s no CCTV, no sightings …’
‘Where are we with the search?’ asks Davy.
‘Polsa’s widened it beyond Portholme Meadow – more than a hundred officers in all – and sometime today Spartan Rescue are going to start on the River Ouse.’
‘Take a week or two for a body to float up,’ says Manon.
‘What about that Graham Garfield chap, the Director of Studies?’ asks Harriet. ‘He was sniffing about on Saturday night.’
‘His wife says he was home with her after the pub,’ says Manon.
‘Think we have to be a bit circumspect about alibis given by wives and mothers.’
There is silence for a moment.
‘Right, the press conference with the Hinds. We’re going to watch Will Carter, see how he fares. Kim Delaney is trawling River Island for clothes similar to the ones Edith was wearing on Saturday night – jeans and a blue sweatshirt.’
‘Boss?’ says Colin, at the door. ‘We’ve got something.’
They all look at him.
‘Carter had another phone. Phone mast in Huntingdon picked up activity from a T-Mobile number registered to him on Saturday night.’
They all look at each other.
‘What sort of activity?’ asks Harriet.
‘Two calls, one at 5 p.m., another at midnight. That’s all we can tell before the full traces come in, but it puts him in Huntingdon on the night we think Edith disappeared.’
‘Where’s the phone now?’
‘Dunno, it’s switched off.’
‘Have we tracked his car out of Stoke yet?’ asks Manon.
‘No, we haven’t,’ says Harriet. ‘Nigel’s doing some work on the smaller routes, checking alternative cameras. We need to question him on this – no more tea and sympathy.’
‘Hang on,’ says Manon. ‘Let’s let him do the presser, see how he holds up. Then we’ll ask him about what his phone was doing in Huntingdon when he says he was in Stoke.’
‘I want officers on the door,’ says Harriet. ‘And I want us all over his alibi. House to house in Stoke around his mother’s address, see if anyone saw him leaving earlier than they both say. And CCTV.’
Manon perches one buttock on the edge of Colin’s desk and looks up at the monitor, which shows an empty table with four chairs behind it and microphones along the front, pointing at the chairs.
The rest of the team gathers around her: Colin in his swivelly chair; Kim back from River Island; Davy, of course; and the new recruit, Stuart Leach. Manon eyes him in her periphery, her eyes flicking from his shaven head to the monitor, then back to his broad shoulders in a billowing shirt (she loves a billowing shirt on a man, especially with sharp creases), his square jaw and dark eyes, which have a certain amused mischief in them. He catches her eye and smiles.
‘So, it was the boyfriend, was it?’ he says, and she can feel all his charm being launched at her like a hand grenade – mischief slash disrespect.
‘Looks like it. We don’t know for sure,’ she says, looking upwards at the monitor and simultaneously tightening her body under his gaze. She’s going to have to cut back on the Marmite toast. ‘Here they are.’
They watch as Harriet sits in the chair to the right of the screen. The Hinds then inch into view from the left, shuffling into their seats on half-bended legs and holding hands, their gaze downward. Will Carter enters last, wearing a mid-blue shirt that brings out the slate colour of his eyes. Manon can almost hear the female reporters in the room sitting up straighter. Flashes going, the electronic burr blending into the shuffling and murmuring of the crowd settling: TV news, locals, nationals, agencies, digital channels, web reporters. Manon sees the grey hollows beneath Sir Ian’s eyes. Lady
Similar Books
