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Authors: Rachel Abbott
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and it got a bit easier each time. She had found somewhere to hide stuff, but she still couldn’t risk them coming into the room whenever they wanted.
David – he wanted her to call him Dad but he could dream on – had given her an old mobile of his so she could ‘call her friends’. That had almost made her smile. It was a bit of a crappy old thing, but he seemed very pleased with himself for his thoughtfulness.
She wished he wouldn’t touch her. It made her flesh crawl.
She knew Emma had searched the pockets of her duffle coat when she had finally taken it off the night before. She had slammed her bedroom door but sneaked out to watch Emma glancing guiltily over her shoulder as her hands delved deep into the pockets of the coat where she had hung it in the hall. Emma probably expected to find a phone. As if Natasha would have been stupid enough to bring one into the house yesterday.
Emma wouldn’t have told David what she’d done, though. He would have thought it was a terrible thing to do. But Emma didn’t trust her. And that might be a problem.
Last night, when everybody was in bed, Natasha had crept downstairs. She had switched a lamp on and looked at the painting in the hall. She had forgotten what her mum looked like.
How could she have forgotten?
She was beautiful. And she had loved Tasha so much. Tasha could just about remember how that had made her feel, but she hadn’t felt like that in a very long time.
Now David had called the police and she was going to have to think on her feet. It wasn’t supposed to happen. She knew there were policemen who would pass on anything that they were told to, and she knew that would mean trouble. She had tried every trick she could think of to make David change his mind, but Emma wouldn’t budge.
David would have been easier to manipulate on his own. He was a man with guilt hanging over him, weighing him down. She might have managed to persuade him to keep the police out of it. Emma was much tougher. She said they had to tell the police because of the girl – the dead girl. Tasha stifled a sob. Could it be …? No. She mustn’t even
think
that.
Emma had won the battle, though, and convinced David to make the call. Emma thought she knew the difference between right and wrong.
She might know about right, but she knew nothing about wrong. She hadn’t the first
clue
about wrong.
Tasha smiled to herself. It was only a matter of time.
13
Becky looked at the open fields surrounding David Joseph’s home. The red-brick house itself was attractive in a solid kind of way, but she wouldn’t want to live out here. The idea of living in the countryside didn’t appeal to her at all, and if she ever changed her mind it would have to be for a house with stunning views. This was all a bit flat and featureless for her taste. And as she was a city girl, the vague whiff of manure didn’t do much for her either.
The front garden of Blue Meadow House looked pretty much like all gardens in March – generally quite drab but with some cheerful yellow daffodils offering a promise of the warmer months to come. In spite of their burst of colour, as she surveyed the shadows cast by the dark clouds that had chased away the brief morning sunshine, it seemed at this moment that Grey Meadow House might have been a more appropriate name. At least it had stopped raining.
Becky pushed the doorbell, glancing sideways at the quiet, confident profile of Charley Hughes, a young DC who was specially trained in questioning children. She had cropped blonde hair and her features appeared to have been skilfully sculpted, with sharp cheekbones, wide-set hazel eyes and a generous mouth. It was one of those faces that on first sight seemed merely attractive but which became increasingly interesting.
‘I’m really keen to see how you handle this one, Charley. It’s hard to believe Natasha Joseph has been missing for over six years, and nobody has seen hide nor hair of her in all that
David – he wanted her to call him Dad but he could dream on – had given her an old mobile of his so she could ‘call her friends’. That had almost made her smile. It was a bit of a crappy old thing, but he seemed very pleased with himself for his thoughtfulness.
She wished he wouldn’t touch her. It made her flesh crawl.
She knew Emma had searched the pockets of her duffle coat when she had finally taken it off the night before. She had slammed her bedroom door but sneaked out to watch Emma glancing guiltily over her shoulder as her hands delved deep into the pockets of the coat where she had hung it in the hall. Emma probably expected to find a phone. As if Natasha would have been stupid enough to bring one into the house yesterday.
Emma wouldn’t have told David what she’d done, though. He would have thought it was a terrible thing to do. But Emma didn’t trust her. And that might be a problem.
Last night, when everybody was in bed, Natasha had crept downstairs. She had switched a lamp on and looked at the painting in the hall. She had forgotten what her mum looked like.
How could she have forgotten?
She was beautiful. And she had loved Tasha so much. Tasha could just about remember how that had made her feel, but she hadn’t felt like that in a very long time.
Now David had called the police and she was going to have to think on her feet. It wasn’t supposed to happen. She knew there were policemen who would pass on anything that they were told to, and she knew that would mean trouble. She had tried every trick she could think of to make David change his mind, but Emma wouldn’t budge.
David would have been easier to manipulate on his own. He was a man with guilt hanging over him, weighing him down. She might have managed to persuade him to keep the police out of it. Emma was much tougher. She said they had to tell the police because of the girl – the dead girl. Tasha stifled a sob. Could it be …? No. She mustn’t even
think
that.
Emma had won the battle, though, and convinced David to make the call. Emma thought she knew the difference between right and wrong.
She might know about right, but she knew nothing about wrong. She hadn’t the first
clue
about wrong.
Tasha smiled to herself. It was only a matter of time.
13
Becky looked at the open fields surrounding David Joseph’s home. The red-brick house itself was attractive in a solid kind of way, but she wouldn’t want to live out here. The idea of living in the countryside didn’t appeal to her at all, and if she ever changed her mind it would have to be for a house with stunning views. This was all a bit flat and featureless for her taste. And as she was a city girl, the vague whiff of manure didn’t do much for her either.
The front garden of Blue Meadow House looked pretty much like all gardens in March – generally quite drab but with some cheerful yellow daffodils offering a promise of the warmer months to come. In spite of their burst of colour, as she surveyed the shadows cast by the dark clouds that had chased away the brief morning sunshine, it seemed at this moment that Grey Meadow House might have been a more appropriate name. At least it had stopped raining.
Becky pushed the doorbell, glancing sideways at the quiet, confident profile of Charley Hughes, a young DC who was specially trained in questioning children. She had cropped blonde hair and her features appeared to have been skilfully sculpted, with sharp cheekbones, wide-set hazel eyes and a generous mouth. It was one of those faces that on first sight seemed merely attractive but which became increasingly interesting.
‘I’m really keen to see how you handle this one, Charley. It’s hard to believe Natasha Joseph has been missing for over six years, and nobody has seen hide nor hair of her in all that
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