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Finally, PC Hopkins switches her attention to Tilly. ‘Thanks for that list of contacts,’ she says. ‘I know you’ve already put the word out, but we’ll follow up, just to be sure.’
‘What happens now?’ the girl asks.
‘We’re checking the area where Drew was last seen, seeing if there’s CCTV. We’ll put out alerts on social media, ask for dashcam footage, doorbell footage, that kind of thing.’
‘What about newspapers, TV?’
‘Not at this stage, but there’s nothing to stop you fromapproaching them. Just be prepared that they might not be that interested quite yet. There’s no indication anything untoward has happened – and it’s not like Drew’s a child.’ PC Hopkins returns her gaze to Joseph. ‘Finally, can I ask where you were Sunday night?’
‘Me?’
‘It’s nothing to worry about. But you’re one of the last to see her.’
Erin perches on the arm of his chair. She rests her hand on his shoulder. ‘Didn’t you go over to your mother’s?’
Joseph glances at his wife, appalled. His hope had been that the police, once they started investigating, would remain ignorant of his mother’s bungalow, and the car parked in its garage. ‘Uh-huh,’ he says. ‘Just a bit of maintenance work that needed doing.’
‘Does she live locally?’
‘Saddle Bank.’
Erin rubs his back. ‘Joseph’s mother passed away last Christmas,’ she explains. ‘We’ve been trying to sell her place since probate, but the market’s just …’ She shrugs. ‘Dead.’
The word hangs in the air. PC Hopkins glances from Erin to Joseph, then scribbles something in her notebook. ‘Well,’ she says. ‘You’ve all been very helpful.’
Tilly shows the officers out. Erin follows them into the hall. Joseph looks at Max, gasps for breath. He feels like he just ran a marathon in a clown suit. Somehow, he summons the energy to lever himself up. His body screams in protest; his knee, his hamstring, the line of fire stitched across his abdomen.
Did Erin tell the police about his visit to the bungalow deliberately? Or was she simply trying to be helpful? She’d also told them that his mother was dead and that her place was up for sale.
Moving to the living-room window, he watches PCHopkins survey the street. Her gaze lingers on Ralph Erikson’s doorbell cam.
Too late, he thinks.I beat you to it.
Except now the officer is studying Gemma Robinson’s house, and Joseph wonders if she has a doorbell cam, too. Gemma hadn’t mentioned one at the party. Then again, she’d been more interested in badmouthing her husband.
He watches the police car reverse off the drive and disappear up the street. Beside him, Max says, ‘We’ve got to move her, Dad.’
‘I know.’
‘We’ve got to do it now.’
‘Listen,’ Joseph tells him. ‘This has blown up. People are watching us. We can’t afford a single mistake.’
‘We can’t afford to wait, either. Erin—’
‘Leave Erin to me.’
‘That’s not what I meant. I think she—’
With a raised hand Joseph cuts him off, worried their voices will carry. He goes to the door, checks the hall. When he finds it deserted, he checks the kitchen.
Erin is standing by the espresso machine, searching through her bag. In the minute or so since the police officers left, she’s pulled on trainers and has tied back her hair. She retrieves her car keys, recoils when she sees him in the doorway.
‘Where are you going?’ he asks.
‘Out.’
‘Out where?’