Someone You Know. Olivia Isaac-Henry

       Chapter 13

       Tess: June 2018

      I tell Dad to go to bed and get some rest. He refuses, switches the TV on and stays in the lounge. As the press have gone for the day, I sneak out to buy some vodka from the corner shop, ignoring the curious stare of the woman behind the counter. I’m back in my bedroom and pouring myself a glass, when Vilas rings.

      ‘DI Vilas here, is your father with you?’

      ‘He’s resting.’

      ‘Good. I understand your father became upset with DS Craven. It’s to be expected as he’s under so much strain.’ The irritation in his voice contradicts his sympathetic words. ‘Of course, you’re not obliged to have a family liaison officer. But it is advisable. If Mr Piper is finding DS Craven too intrusive, we could find someone more experienced.’

      So I was right about Craven, he is new to family liaison.

      ‘Dad doesn’t want anyone around,’ I say. ‘Is it true you made accusations against him when Edie went missing?’

      Vilas clears his throat.

      ‘That was a long time ago, before I even joined the force, and he was never accused. We do have to ask difficult questions of individuals closest to the victim, if only to eliminate them as suspects. We’d be negligent if we didn’t follow every line of inquiry.’

      ‘Dad’s not a line of inquiry. He’s Edie’s father and he’s really not coping with this. DS Craven hanging around is making things worse. You know he’s had problems in the past. Before Edie disappeared, even before Mum died.’

      ‘We’ve got that on our records. A breakdown. That was a long time ago. He’s on antidepressants, isn’t he? Aren’t they working?’

      ‘What, after he’s just found out his daughter’s been murdered? Strangely enough, they’re not doing much.’

      This man’s skills are better suited to working in an abattoir than dealing with bereaved families. Vilas is either ignoring or oblivious to my sarcasm.

      ‘If you’re determined not to have a new FLO…’ he says.

      ‘We are.’

      ‘…I’ll assign a point of contact for you within the investigation team. Do you think you could cope with Craven doing that? It saves bringing anyone else up to speed.’

      ‘As long as he doesn’t come to the house,’ I say. ‘Dad’s made that clear.’

      Better Craven than having to run through everything again with a new officer.

      ‘I’ll sort that out. And I’ll be seeing you tomorrow at eleven thirty.’

      ‘Tomorrow?’

      ‘We’re going over your witness statement from 1998. I’m sure DS Craven’s mentioned it to you.’

      He probably did.

      ‘Eleven thirty then,’ I say.

      *

      The low sun pours through the window. I sit cross-legged on the bed, a glass of vodka in one hand, a cigarette in the other. I’m playing a game. I press my eyelids shut then flick them open. For a moment the sun blinds me, then when I close my eyes again they’re filled with purple blobs that float across the darkness. If I try and focus on the blobs, they vanish. The trick is to look without looking.

      My mobile rings. I ignore it, happy in my land of purple and warmth. I try the purple blob trick again. The sun’s disappeared behind the rooftops and it doesn’t work. The phone rings once more. It’s Max. I let it go to voicemail and I’m about to switch it off, when I think about the newspaper clipping. Why did Edie think Mum’s death was suicide? I haven’t dared to ask about it. Dad’s a hair’s breadth from a breakdown. He disappeared once when we were children. Mum said he’d gone to visit a distant cousin. Raquel laughed when I told her. Didn’t I know? He was at the funny farm. Edie hadn’t believed her and neither had I, but we never met Dad’s distant cousin. I’ll have to ask Ray and Becca about Edie’s note, though Ray’s looking nearly as fragile as Dad.

      If Edie spoke to anyone about Mum it would have been Michaela and she might know about the boyfriend, too. Much as I loathe her, I need to get in touch. I try the phone number I found in the exercise book and am told it doesn’t exist. I look up the address online: the bungalow was bulldozed ten years ago to build a block of flats.

      I decide to download the Facebook app instead. A long time ago I had a profile. It was fun finding out what my friends were doing and to catch up with them. Then too much started catching up. Photos you’re tagged in from nights you don’t remember. Too many questions from Max. I deleted myself from social media. I may as well not exist. My new profile name is Laura Andrews. Not too obviously made up but dull enough to skim over if you don’t recognise it. I upload a photo of two Labrador puppies as my profile and write that I live in the area and am married with no children.