Page 135 of The Altar Girls

‘Isn’t it? I left her alone at her school in a snowstorm. I lock the doors here, but I couldn’t lock the doors on the outside world.’ Zara dropped her head and Lottie noticed the shake in her hands.

‘What did you fear, Zara? What did you think would happen to them?’

‘Exactly what happened to Willow. That’s what I feared.’

‘No one expects their child to be murdered. Is that what you believed was going to happen?’

‘I knew something bad was going to happen.’ Zara clutched the takeout cup fiercely.

‘How could you know? Were you threatened?’

She dipped her head towards the cup again, without drinking. Lottie expected to see tears fall, but when the woman looked up, her eyes were dry.

‘Inspector, I’m only thirty-two years old and I’ve had it tough all my life. I’ve lived through a series of disappointments, my husband being just one of them. I’ve learned that nothing is as it seems, and because of that I trust absolutely no one. I have to rely on myself to keep my family safe. And I’ve failed them.’

‘Don’t be too hard on yourself. It’s not easy raising children alone. I know that from experience. But you have to stop locking Harper in her room. It’s not safe or healthy. Once you have the windows and the front and back doors locked at night, she should be safe.’

‘Doesn’t work that way. I’ve lost Willow. I will do my best to keep Harper safe. Whatever that may take.’ Zara’s features were blank, her eyes still darting around. The only real emotion was how she held the takeout cup, now almost crushed. Drops of liquid fell to the table. She fetched a cloth and mopped them up before sitting again.

Lottie had no words of comfort or reassurance to offer. Zara had suffered the worst kind of loss. Losing a child was heartbreaking. To lose one to murder was horrific. Unthinkable. But the locks on the bedroom doors? A sign of paranoia? If so, what had made her so fearful?

‘What happened to you, Zara? Something as a child, perhaps?’

‘What happened to me is of no consequence now.’

‘Why does Harper not speak?’

‘She will speak in her own good time.’

‘Have you brought her to a doctor? A speech therapist?’

‘I’ve barely enough money to put food on the table, and the landlord is selling up so I’m basically being evicted. I’ve only a few months to find somewhere else to live, and rental prices are through the roof. I can’t afford doctors’ fees when I can hardly pay my rent. Look, Harper will be fine in time. There’s no need for you to concern yourself with us. I will manage.’

Lottie wanted to put out a hand and offer comfort, but Zara was emanating a stark coldness. She didn’t think anything she did or said would help to warm her up.

‘You feed your children health food and try to live sustainably. Isn’t that expensive?’

‘Don’t you dare criticise my choices.’ A flash of emotion. Anger. ‘I may have prioritised my craft at times. I tried to upgrade my excuse for a workshop, but that’s failing too. But you don’t know me. You don’t know anything. So you can drop it.’

Far from chastened, Lottie asked, ‘Do you find comfort in your craft work?’

‘Yes.’ Zara’s eyes showed a little light. ‘I can lose myself in creating things. I find peace in it. If only my pottery and jewellery would make me more money…’

A thought crossed Lottie’s mind. She took out her phone and scrolled to the photo she wanted.

‘I showed you this before, but can you look at again? Can you tell me if you recognise it?’

Zara shook her head as she stared at the photo of the rosary beads.

‘It looks hand-made,’ Lottie prompted.

‘It looks like it was made by an amateur or an apprentice. I’d have thrown it in the bin if it was one of my pieces.’

‘Did you ever make anything like this?’

‘I make lots of jewellery. That’s just bad craftsmanship.’

‘We think it’s a rosary. What do you think?’