several times: but surely this was different in kind as well as in degree? ‘But she’s very self-willed. Her trying to run off like that shocks me but it doesn’t altogether surprise me.’
‘Ah.’ Maxham breathed on his glasses one last time, gave them another polish and settled them on the bridge of his nose. ‘I have to say your husband sees Lucy a little differently. He insisted that she wouldn’t run off of her own accord, that she’s far too sensible.’
‘Lucy likes being with her father.’ Sally chose her words carefully, unwilling to point out that she saw about five times more of Lucy than Michael did, and that Michael spoiled her terribly. ‘Perhaps she tends to be better behaved with him than she is with me. But I don’t think that there’s any doubt about the determination she can show. You can ask Carla. Or Margaret Cutter.’ She rushed on, answering the question before Maxham had time to ask it. ‘She’s our vicar’s wife. She runs a crèche at St George’s.’
‘Would you have any objection if we had a look round?’
‘A look where?’
‘All over the flat, if you don’t mind. Lucy’s room, especially, of course. It can help us get a feeling of the missing child, you understand. And if you’d come with us, perhaps you’ll notice if there’s anything missing.’
What did they expect to find, Sally wondered? Lucy’s body under her bed? ‘All right. But my husband’s asleep at present.’
‘Yes, your husband.’ Maxham drew out the words until he was speaking almost in a drawl. He sucked in air. ‘We wouldn’t want to disturb him.’
‘He needs to sleep.’
‘He was up all night.’ Maxham’s voice was neutral, uninflected. ‘I had to ask his friend Mr Rickford to come and collect him this morning. So he got home safely?’
‘Yes.’ Before she could stop herself, Sally added a plea on Michael’s behalf: ‘He was very upset, yesterday. Still is. He’s not himself.’
‘That’s understandable.’ The voice was still neutral, and the want of sympathy was in itself an accusation. ‘I gather he’s had a lot on his plate lately.’
‘Obviously.’ A doubt niggled in Sally’s mind: had Michael had something else to worry about, something that had happened before Lucy’s disappearance? But there was no time for that now. ‘What do you think might have happened?’ She was suddenly furious with Maxham. ‘Come on – you must have some ideas. What are the main possibilities?’
‘Three main scenarios,’ he said briskly. ‘One, she wandered off by herself, and hopefully found shelter. Two, a man or maybe some kids were passing by and thought they’d take her with them. It happens, Mrs Appleyard, I won’t conceal it from you; but it happens less often than you’d believe, so try not to think too much about it.’ His tone was still neutral, and she wondered whether kindness or insensitivity lay behind it. ‘Three: a woman took her. That counts as a separate option because usually the motives are different. You know, mothers who’ve lost their babies and need a replacement. Girls who want a young child to play with, a sort of doll. If that’s what’s happened, we’ll probably get her back safe and sound.’
‘Safe and sound?’ Sally whispered, so angry and so scared that her teeth wanted to chatter together.
‘These things are relative, Mrs Appleyard. You must understand that.’
‘Why do these women do it?’ Sally was reluctant to consider the other options; she knew they would haunt her later.
‘Sometimes it’s someone who thinks her relationship’s breaking up. It’s a way to keep a man with her. Usually that’s a baby, though. Or then you get a young girl with a history of parental neglect. Broken home – Dad’s in jail, Mum’s got a new man. You could say they need someone to love. Don’t we all, eh? And then you get the mentally ill. Usually no previous history of delinquency. Generally a one-off case, committed while the woman’s in an acute psychotic state.’ Maxham glanced at her, assessing the effect his words were having. ‘We’ll just have to see what –’
Without warning, Michael shambled into the room and leant on the back of the sofa. He stared at them as if at a roomful of strangers. Sergeant Carlow stood up, snapping shut his notebook. Yvonne looked at Maxham, asking mutely for guidance. Maxham simply sat there, his hands clasped loosely on his lap.
Sally had left the door open when she came into the room. Had Michael been standing in the hallway and listening for long? He was in his pyjamas, and he looked terrible: the jacket unbuttoned, his hair tousled, his face unshaven, his body dazed by the sleeping pill.
‘Find her, Maxham,’ Michael whispered. ‘Just find her. Stop talking and find her.’
Sally did not like Maxham, but she had to admit that he handled the situation shrewdly. He asked Sally to show himself and Carlow round the flat. He left Yvonne sitting at the table with Michael. Michael might have picked a quarrel if he had been left alone with either of the men. But he would not quarrel with a woman. He treated women he did not know well as if they were delicate beings, easily damaged by rough handling.
Sally heard Michael and Yvonne talking as she showed the two police officers round the flat. She could not hear what they were saying, but their voices rose and fell, stopped and started, in a reassuringly normal pattern.
When they returned to the living room, however, Michael looked up at Maxham and Sally knew from Michael’s face that nothing had changed.
‘The odds are a man took her,’ he said. ‘You know that. Women tend to take babies.’
Maxham drew back his lips and hissed. ‘We’ll have to see.’ He turned to Sally. ‘Thank you for your help, Mrs Appleyard. We’ll be in touch. And don’t worry – we’re doing everything we can.’
‘Bastard,’ Michael muttered audibly in the living room as Sally was showing the police officers out.
Michael shaved and showered. By now it was mid-afternoon. Sally made a pot of tea which only Yvonne wanted. The policewoman was doing her best, Sally thought, but it was like having a nanny on the premises. She sat by the phone, apparently engrossed in the last few clues of the Daily Telegraph crossword.
Michael pushed aside his mug. ‘I’m sorry, Sal. I can’t stay here. I feel like the walls are pressing in. I’m going to get some fresh air.’
She wanted to seize his hand. Don’t leave me alone. Instead she said, ‘Will you be long?’
He didn’t answer the question. He found his jacket and dropped his wallet in one pocket and his keys in the other. It was a waxed jacket, which reminded her of Oliver.
‘Should you phone Oliver at some point?’ she asked.
‘When I get back.’ He bent down and kissed the top of her head. ‘I love you,’ he murmured, too low for Yvonne to hear. He straightened up. ‘I won’t be long.’
His hand touched Sally’s shoulder for an instant. He nodded to Yvonne and left the room. The two women sat in silence. The front door opened and closed. They heard his footsteps moving steadily down the stairs. Sally hoped that he wouldn’t get into a fight with the journalists. In a moment or two she relaxed because no one was shouting in the street.
That
